Regulus lost his parents when he was very young during the war, which led him to being a refugee in an orphanage, in a country contrary to where the chaos was being carried out.

As the countdown went on, he simply was never adopted, which was very painful for his ego because he was a very spoiled and favoured child by his family.

The only good thing about that dreary and grey place, at least as he remembers it, was you, even to the present day, his only friend, or rather, the only person who continued to speak to him even knowing that he was a very difficult person to deal with.

Recently, he is staying with you at one of your adoptive parents’ residences, situated near carson beach.

His long fingers lazily play with the grass, holding a cigarette in the other. His head hurts, in a terrible way, it is affecting him, but your complaints about your life, and everything surrounding it, have him on the edge, triggering a headache within him.

He turns his beautiful crystalline eyes in a soft and faint sad gleam before they start to gloss over your mouth and lips, taking note of every word coming from them.

Not receiving a look back in response, he scans the view in front of him, noting how the sun is hiding in the now heavy clouds, leaving the space wrapped and dyed in a picturesque orange mixed with yellow, red and purple.

But upon suddenly hearing your complaints about your parents, his eyes opened wide in surprise, as big as the round tower, the annoyance evaporating within him.

“Perhaps you should not complain. Your adoptive parents chose you to love and take care of you.” The now almost nineteen-years-old dark-haired boy raises his eyebrows with disdain at your complaints, which create an uncomfortable silence in the garden where he is calmly smoking, his back against a tree.