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Regulus Black was always level headed. When angry, he would behave noticeably colder than his usual indifference, and cultivate mind games; manipulation, emotional backlash, guilt tripping, gaslighting. Sometimes he'd stoop low enough to make silly little digs, a tactic to bother her and would wound her pride simultaneously.
Whenever he'd get over the altercations — sometimes after hours, occasionally days — he'd give his own indirect version of an apology. But the main point was despite their shortcomings, things had never escalated to the level where violence involved itself in the bickering. That was the one thing he steered clear from.
It seemed like that streak was going to be broken today; the damning mistake she had made being letting it slip she was aware of what occurred between the death eaters, and in extension, putting herself in danger — associating herself with the organization led by Voldemort.
"Do you think an apology can change this? Now we're both at risk!" Regulus shouted callously, his hair tousled from his hands carding through it repeatedly. "Can't you just go one day without causing any trouble?" He scoffed with irritation, pacing back and forth.
Within seconds his frustration increased tenfold, and he cornered her against the wall. His patience was straddling the line between anger and mania. His rage was palpable when he raised his hand, as if he was about to hit her.
And then he swung; but he threw the punch at the wall, right next to her head, rather than at her face.
Then, contradicting himself once more, he hugged her, regulating his breath; his turmoil visible in the frantic gleam of his grey eyes.
Regulus said nothing; he merely held her as those she'd disappear should he let her go.
She shakily turned her head to the spot in the wall in which he hit, mouth hanging open in shock. She remained still and quiet as she realized what a close call that was. She pressed her lips together in a tight line as she tried to calm her breathing.
He kept hugging her, refusing to let go, eyes shut, mind blank. After a while of just standing there with his arms tightly wrapped around her, he eventually came to his senses, relaxing his breathing and finally pulling away. His gaze drifted slowly to meet hers, and he could see a look of terror in her eyes.
"I'm sorry." He said blankly, and he really did mean it. He looked regretful, which was rare for him.
Her gaze quickly retreated away from his to a random corner of the room as she swallowed. Ever so slightly, she slid her back against the wall away from him. She was scared, even if it was all her fault.
"Please don't be afraid of me." He spoke softly, He still couldn't believe he almost put his hands on her. He didn't want to be like his father. He walked closer to her, putting his hands on her waist to draw her towards him. He ran his fingers through her hair, his voice lowering and growing gentle. "I would never hurt you." He said, his tone pleading.
She flinched slightly at his touch, even if it was meant to be gentle. "You were inches away." She breathed out weakly, quiet as a mouse.
"Yes, but I would have never carried it out." His hands dropped to his sides, and he took a step back. He knew her fear was justified; he was shocked with himself. "I want to be better."
He took a deep breath and looked at her with the same pleading look on his face. "I don't want to be like him." He murmured, the last sentence barely audible.
Her lips turned downwards into a frown. She was speechless, looking at him with so many emotions flooding through her brown eyes. She felt frozen in her spot on the floor, unsure of her next move.
He waited for a response from her, but when she continued to stare at him, speechless and scared, his hands found their way back to her again. He wanted to comfort her; he wanted to be trusted.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her into his body. He held her close, burying his face into her hair. "I'm sorry... I'm really sorry." He murmured into her hair, breathing deeply to calm himself. "I lost my temper."
Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she rested her hands on his biceps. "I don't know if I could trust you, you were so close to hitting me."
"I know." He answered, a deep frown forming on his face. He was still shocked with himself, and his voice cracked as he spoke. "I know. I don't want to be that kind of person." He gently took her hands in his and gripped them, his grip surprisingly gentle considering his anger earlier. He looked into her eyes with the same pleading look as before. "Please don't shut me out." He whispered.
She shook her head as she squeezed his hands softly. "I don't know what you want me to do, I- I'm speechless." She admitted with a heavy heart.
"Stay with me." He whispered, a little more forcefully, but not angrily. "Please." He added in the end, his grip on her hands tightening just a little more. He looked so desperate; he just needed her to stay with him, and for that brief moment, he was willing to he vulnerable instead of his usual cold self.
She closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. "I need the night." She finally spoke after some silence. "I need the night, please. I need to be alone to think."
He nodded; he understood. Maybe he was being selfish by begging her not to leave him when she just needed some space to think.
"Alright." He spoke quietly. "Please do what you need to do. I'll be here when you come back. Just don't leave me." With that, he gave her hands one last soft squeeze before walking away.
