dying-for-jegulus:

Regulus.
He looked like water. He was always flowing, moving dynamically, surrounding me like a warm current, making my skin tickle like sparkling cider.
Regulus.
Like red wine. Smelled of sweet grapes and made my head giddy, reddened my cheeks, brought so much warmth into my life, but without the terrible headache afterwards.
Regulus.
A blooming rose, lips as soft and scarlet as red petals, caressing mine, as wet as fresh dew, begging to be kissed all over again each time they stopped. Daisies, pale skin and stolen kisses.
Regulus.
Blood. The taste of iron while exploring his mouth after he had bitten the inside of his cheek. The scab on his forearms after he had scratched them open with his fingernails. Hickeys he left on my neck.
Regulus.
Tears and sobs. The salty taste of his cheeks whenever he failed to be strong. The only one who had ever seen him cry. The half-smile on my lips when he told me he realised letting go around me didn’t make him weak.
Regulus.
A childhood memory. A tap on my shoulder, a little hello, was all it took. Smuggling him up into our dorm at Christmas. Fancying him since he was thirteen. Finally knowing I had a chance.
Regulus.
My anchor. My soulmate. My star. A forgotten dream. The one who made me feel alive. The one who always cared too much when no one cared about him. The one who was always there. The one I wanted to wake up next to every single day for the rest of my life.
Regulus.
I was his and he was mine. And that wouldn’t ever change, would it? Because my Regulus and I, we were just right, then.
– James

For my Jegulus Marathon.