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He was drunk, not uncommon for him this past year — however, his inebriated mind seemed far more carnally reckless than the rest of him. He'd been having what most would call a 'boys night', watching a movie and sharing bottles of fancy wine with those closest to him in what could only be summarized as overly testosterone-filled atmosphere. He'd simply had too much to drink. When he was drunk, she was all he could think about.
The no contact rule was the bane of his nights; he pushed it out of his head during the day, only for it to have his imagination in a chokehold in the state between waking and sleep. She'd broken up with him when she found out that he was a death eater, and with that, he'd simply became undone. He was the perfect son, heir to the Black fortune, but yet these past few months, he was more pathetic than he'd ever been. As much as he told those around him that he'd ended things, and that he didn't care, here he was.
Drunk, barely able to stand after haphazardly driving through London while dangerously under the influence, nearly running over a pigeon in the road, just to show up at her door.
When she had finally opened it after his insistent pounding on the perfectly polished mahogany, he nearly stumbled into her arms. "Goddammit, I hate you." He muttered, leaning against her doorframe for support. He was a mess, the top buttons of his white shirt undone, his skin flushed with a light sheen, his usually untarnished black curls plastered and tousled across his forehead and over his eyes — the distinct aroma of fine wine on his breath.
His face was set in a frown, eyes half-lidded, yet he had to proceed to contradict himself in the same breath. "Forget I said that, I missed you."
She grabbed him by his jacket, pulling him inside before she could draw them any attention with how loud he was being. Her eyes swept around to make sure no nosy neighbors had been watching before closing the door, resting her back against it. In her mind, she didn't look presentable. Maybe that was because she didn't expect such a thing to happen. She wore fluffy pajama pants with a tank top, sporting some pink slippers. "What are you doing here?" She whisper-shouted, for no reason at all.
Regulus' eyes narrowed slightly to take in her attire. "Oh." He whispered quietly, though he felt the weight of his inebriated self-consciousness slowly lift. For the first time in months, it felt like one of the most natural moments of his life, despite their circumstances. He'd never judged her based on her attire, and his current drunk state only gave him more comfort.
"You're wearing your pajamas." He whispered slowly, seemingly trying to contain the sound of relief in his voice.
"It's almost midnight, what did you expect? Lingerie?" She simply spoke as she crossed her arms over her chest before lifting a single finger. "Actually, no, don't answer that."
He almost snorted, biting his lip to keep himself from chuckling at her quip. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time he'd imagined her like that. His breath hitched in his throat, and suddenly he felt every bit of liquid courage he'd had coursing through his veins. "It is a tempting picture."
