Chapter Text
As Regulus Black approaches the place he will call home for the next five years, he should be feeling dread.
Or panic. Or stress. Or something else that everyone said he would feel.
But as Regulus looks at Trinity College, he feels all the tension in his lungs dissolve.
TEN YEAR OLD REGULUS, WHO WANTED TO BE THE NEXT GRETA GERWIG: As our below-average height, blank-faced, exhausted protagonist makes his way through the campus he makes sure to look at all the supporting characters for the next five seasons.
He pretends to not see the teary goodbyes, smiles at the old friends starting something new together, makes out the people scowling at the two people are moving a mattress and reminds himself that all these people have had nothing to do with each other until today. He’ll call some of these people his classmates, others friends. They’ll share inside jokes and discover new places together. Their lives will be intertwined for however long it takes for texts to become stale and phone calls to go unanswered. They might even promise to stay.
THIRTEEN YEAR OLD REGULUS: People sure love promises don’t they? It makes them feel special. First they want to be special because they managed to tame the beast, then they’re special for gaining it’s trust and then for leaving.
It doesn’t matter if they leave. Regulus has matured and learned that life is simply easier if people like you, but deep down he’s a spiteful bastard. Even if the stranger sat on a bench scrolling through Instagram breaks him into a million tiny pieces, as unlikely as it is (fool me twice and all that) he’ll still have had an impact on their life. No matter what they do, they’ll never be able to go back in time and have never met him. That is unless Elon Musk pulls some new billionaire bullshit and-
“Sorry, do you mind?”
Shit. Right, there’s a shit ton of people here, and he not only got lost on his way to his dorm but also his thoughts. This is why you compartmentalise and have a time and place for thoughts. Years of insomnia has made sure he always has time to untangle all the different things yelling at him for attention in his brain.
“Is he okay? “
“I haven’t got the faintest clue”
“It’s like he doesn’t see us”
“I say we pour some water on him.”
“Evan, no!”
The change in volume is enough to pull Regulus out of his head. He takes a second to asses the situation and determine what exactly is happening. There’s two people in front of him. Well, you could say he’s in front of them, actually, since he’s very clearly in their way given they’re trying to transport a massive mattress through a tiny doorframe, a doorframe that’s being ever so kindly blocked by yours truly.
It takes him two seconds to start apologising, plaster on his “don’t hate me” smile and move out of the fucking way.
The guy- Evan, apparently, and the girl next to him don’t say anything, they just stare. Fuck that, Regulus can stare too. He’s not about the become the stared at, he’ll make this just as uncomfortable for them as it is for him. Of course, there is two of them—an inherit advantage- but his staring skills can recoil people into a squeamish mess, thank you very much.
Evan is one of those bastards who’s tall enough to have experienced being forced into the school’s basketball team by the P.E teacher in secondary. His features are neutral, but hindering on slightly amused, and his brown eyes are glued to Regulus and taking all meter sixty-something of him. He’s well-dressed in the way that his clothes are clean, not made of plastic, and have no noticeable wrinkles.
SEVEN YEAR OLD REGULUS: He’s wearing a sparkly pink ring on his pointer finger. I wonder if he likes pink.
He has the skin that either requires winning the genetic lottery or being a descendant of a bloody Greek God. His shining dark brown face looks like it’s carved out of marble. If he wasn’t currently rudely staring at Regulus he’d be quite handsome.
Next to him, the girl, is giving Regulus a toothy smile that reminds him of how he used to smile before the world reminded him he should be insecure about every aspect of himself. She’s startlingly pale, especially compared to Evan. Along with the bleached white hair, she could be a ghost, if not for her eyes—so brown they’re almost black, and Jesus, she is looking into his soul. Yeah, she was definitely one of those kids with hippy parents who didn’t care about her marks, just her happiness. She’s wearing gummy bear earrings that Regulus catalogues and reminds himself to ask where she bought if anyone actually says something, a shit ton of bracelets, purple eye shadow and dungarees.
FIVE YEAR OLD REGULUS (GLEEFULLY):Dungarees!
PRESENT DAY REGULUS (WITH DISDAIN): Dungarees.
She looks like a mix between a character in a Victorian novel and a kindergarten teacher. She’s weird. He likes her.
After about fifteen seconds of this showdown, Evan extends his hand.
“Evan Rosier, second year med student, nice to meet you.”
Huh. That’s.. genuine? He did not see that coming. Regulus shakes his hand, but before he can introduce himself, the ghost girl starts speaking.
“I’m Pandora! It’s great to see someone with blue eyes and black hair around here, I’ve been keeping a tally and so far I’ve only seen one other person in the building. Crazy, right?”
Oh, she’s weird weird. Yeah, they’re going to be seeing more of each other.
“I study linguistics”, she says smiling proudly. Linguistics wouldn’t be his first choice, but Regulus is more than familiar with art students, and thinking about it she clearly isn’t one.
He takes one last look at the strangers in front of him, still holding a mattress, and decides he likes them. His gut is telling him that they’re not serial killers or homophobes but maybe people he can grab a coffee with. And his gut is always right, thank you very much.
“Regulus Black, first year medical student. Do you need help with that mattress? I love your earrings, by the way.”