#and the sound design is also so mid and expected and uninspired and like cringe in how uninspired it is to me

[tonyglowheart]

okay so turns out we only finished 2 episodes of Sandman yesterday lmao not 3

so we finished ep 4 today

and. hey so apparently it's supposed to get good at some point right... :')

[anemonenemerosa]

Hello hello,

here we go. Thank you for staying with me and thank you @lumosinlove for creating this world =)

This is still dark (but we’re getting a bit better) so please stay safe.

Chapter 10

They stopped in front of a big apartment-building, windows mostly dark, it was almost one in the morning. There was no doorman, no entry hall to the building, just a corridor leading to stairs and a concerningly dingy lift. Ouais, enfin… maybe I pay with my kidneys for this, after all.

The door to the flat opened, Regulus was pushed in and all but froze. He had never seen such a place.

There was no entrance hall in here either, the front door directly opened into a small living room with an open kitchen and a dinner table shoved into a corner, half hidden behind an overloaded laundry rack.

The windowsills were crammed with pot-plants in several states of... health? survival? decay? Books and knickknacks were messily shoved into the tall but sloping shelves lining the walls, which were painted in a soft warm yellow, making the room look sunny and warm, even in the middle of the night.

Nothing, not even the chairs or precariously crooked shelves seemed to belong to the same set of furniture. And was one of the table-legs different from the others?

It was... all over the place, really.

The worn maroon rug in the living area clashed horribly with the big, ugly purple corduroy couch and the mismatched and multicoloured throw pillows.

Posters of 80's movies -Regulus recognised Ghost Busters and Back to the Future- and lots of unframed photographs almost covered the wall behind the couch.

On the far wall were three doors, one closed, one revealing bits of a very messy bedroom, the other ajar, sporting a poster of a rather ancient wooden privy... What. The. Hell.

Regulus did not know what to make of this. He somehow loved it instantly while simultaneously cringing over all the chaos and all the stuff crammed in here. His, stylistically uninspired, mother would probably die of shock at the view and somehow that made the place a little more endearing to him.

However, he always thought of himself as tidy and some part of him died just a bit at the sight of the mismatched socks and shirts littering the part of the bedroom-floor he could see. This place, starkly contrasting the house he grew up in was bursting with life, messy and welcoming instead of an assembly of model rooms resembling what was shown in some posh interior-design magazine. This is what a home looks like, Regulus decided.

He allowed himself to be ushered further inside.

"Leave you shoes here please and put your coat..." Regulus turned around as the sentence did not continue and saw Ben looking at the overflowing coatrack behind the door.

"...Put your coat somewhere you will find it again" he concluded, nodding to himself.

Mateo already went past them into the kitchen and dived headfirst into the fridge. "We have some left-over Minestrone from yesterday, if you want, Reg."

Regulus turned, having disposed of his coat on one of the chairs. As he didn't answer for long enough to be considered impolite, Mateo lifted his head from the fridge, noticing Regulus blank stare

"Is it OK, if we call you Reg? Regulus sounds so stiff..." This warm, infuriatingly disarming, smile. Regulus could only nod.

These people rendered him speechless at a disturbing rate. Usually, he chose not to speak but with them, he often couldn't.

The only one who had ever called him Reg was Sirius and even he stopped that years ago. Could he really be Reg again? Was he allowed to? No, a malicious voice echoed through his head. You do not deserve that comfort. Remember what you did. Regulus felt sick.

"Soooo... Minestrone?" – "I am not hungry, but thank you" Regulus looked at Mateo, hoping he would not call him Reg, regretting his thoughtless agreement.

"When’s the last time you eaten?" Ben asked as he came from the Bedroom in striped Pyjama-bottoms and an old shirt. Regulus tried to remember if he had had lunch today. Not good.

"If you need to think about it, it is too long ago. You eat." The man stated as Mateo chuckled and put a pot on the stove.

"Do never deny again that you are a freaking mother hen", he joked while walking into the bedroom, probably to change, too.

Regulus hovered in the room, wary and utterly confused. He struggled to maintain a safe distance, still trying to fathom what's going on and why these strangers were more welcoming and affectionate than his family ever been.

A quiet but reckless voice in his mind - very different from the sneer that chimed up just a minute ago and sounding suspiciously similar to a younger Sirius- reminded him that he fucked up already and that he might as well go and enjoy his time while the universe and/or his mother were probably already in preparation to take him down.

              ----------------------------------------------------------

A while later he was seated on the ugly, lumpy couch, nursing a bowl of minestrone. He was clad in a much too small shirt ("this is the biggest shirt we have, you are just a giant") and borrowed underwear (his blood-stained sweatpants were soaking in the sink along with his, also bloody, shirt) and wrapped in a baby blue blanket with pink chickens on it. Why does such an item even exist?  

The TV provided mindless background-noise while Ben and Mateo chattered along about anything and everything. Regulus just sat there in silence and listened intently. He never met people who would just go on and lay out their life in front of a person they just met. Let alone a person they found bleeding in the shower, mid-meltdown... Maybe their life history hinted on why they were so careless with private information.

And they really were. They told him everything and Regulus was confident he could write their memoirs by now.

Apparently, Mateo grew up in Manaus, Brazil So, it was Portuguese, not Spanish. ("That's where Rio Negro and Rio Solimões meet to form the Amazonas" The more you know...) He came to the US to study medicine on a scholarship, is in the last weeks of his training and only stays in Slytherin because-

"One cannot choose their training hospitals on that scholarship. No offense, mate." None taken.

They recounted how they met almost five years ago at an airport.  That, after spending eight hours waiting for their delayed flight, they were joined at the hip. "Metaphorically and literally." Regulus went bright red at the innuendo while Ben patted his back sympathetically, shaking with suppressed laughter. He and Mateo were huddled up together in a yellow blanket with... Flamingos? Where did they even get these bird-themed things?

Ben had a sister, Josephine, who stayed here during semester breaks ("But do call her Jo or she will end you.") After Regulus gave a pointed look to the closed door, he was informed that he did not need to worry about their noise as she slept like the dead and even overslept a fire alarm in the building last summer.

Jo was 18, like Regulus but already in her Sophomore at Boston University as she skipped a year in middle school. "Got herself a scholarship and does computer-sciences, the insufferable nerd and know-it-all."

"She's really great, Reg. Ben is just her brother and thus, bound to think she’s annoying." Mateo interrupted Bens speech about his sister.

Regulus allowed himself a minute of going over the relationship with his own brother. Sirius was annoying. Very annoying, to be exact. But if anyone except him had called him out in the past, Regulus remembered feeling a little surge of protection against the git he was related to... maybe this was a siblings-thing.

He focused back on the conversation in front of him, fascinated by the insight of other people’s relations and upbringing.

The siblings grew up in Bristol, Great Britain, and moved to New York when Ben was seventeen and Jo ten but he did not elaborate on why they came here. That’s why I couldn’t place the accent.

Ben had studied Art History at NYU and actually worked at the Art Gallery in the city-centre. Cleaning the rink in the evenings was his means to save money for a tattoo shop he wanted to open in Boston, where they would move, come February, for Mateo’s new job.

He got informed that a note has been shoved under Jos door, announcing his presence, a spare toothbrush was presented and then, at nearly half past two in the morning, he is left for the night with a hug (!) from both of them. How touchy they are.

Regulus was not cuddly, never had been.

Really? You loved to snuggle up with Sirius in bed. The voice of reckless young Sirius supplied unhelpfully. This whole situation was completely surreal but also comfortingly normal.

This is a dream or, more likely, a godamn fever-trip. C’est pourri! This is shit! Regulus sighed.

These people were mad... hell, they didn't even know him. Yet, they took him in, fed him (very good) soup and freaking hugged him good night. They probably even stayed awake that long, filling the air with their complete life-story to keep him from feeling lonely... Allez savoir pourquoi! God knows why!

Reckless young Sirius suggested again to just roll with it and Regulus began to wonder whether he, instead of them, had gone mad.

This life he had a short glimpse into, this night was not real for him. He couldn't have that, considering the family he was born into and his obligation to live up to their expectations. Not to mention that he absolutely did not deserve being cared for after he de facto kicked his brother in the face ruined and his career.

The tiny voice piped up again, but Regulus silenced it with an exasperated groan. Yep, mad.

He surely would not sleep here on this odd couch. He would sit here, mull over all the shit that happened in just this one day, wait for them to wake up to thank them appropriately, return to the Malfoys and sleep there for a week to recompose himself.