Regulus used to be incredibly arrogant and modest during his early years of glory, although this lasted very little, as he was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis at a young age.

Everyone, especially his family, and he himself included, have expected to see him perish, for despite living on medication, in most opportunities for lung transplants, his body does not seem to cooperate.

Something that concerns the doctors, as he is very sensitive and prone to not being able to withstand high-risk operations.

His body seems to be ready to let him go, but life is not. He has not yet fulfilled his purpose to seal his mark in his own existence.

Everything withers and loses the bright hue around him, except for him. Everyone is prepared to let him go, they always have been, they have had to live and learn to deal with it.

Although that does not detract from the fact that from the hospital point of view, they continue to take care of him, trying to help him despite there not being any cure other than advanced medicine.

Because they can, it is obvious, after all, the black family is known for their *money* and power in politics, as their high rank in the field of natural prodigies.

He is a forced prodigy, but for now he is only buried behind the doors of an expensive independent hospital in britain.

A place where he has had some encounters and small meetings with you, a school companion and former friend, also with cystic fibrosis, in fact.

To distract himself, he has organized a small section for a tea party on the terrace with you while the fog of a possible snowstorm covers the boring place.

Because the unattainable is irresistible, and something as simple as snow is dangerous for you both if you are not careful.

“Many of our desires do nothing more than lead us to disappointment.” He tuts before taking a sip of his tea. His mind is interesting but destructive.

It is understandable, he has been living for his treatments, rather than his treatments allowing him to live.