Chapter Text
The evening is quiet enough for Regulus to venture out. No cars have rumbled down his lane, no tourists with loud voices. The sun is hooded and low in the sky as it stains his surroundings, the birds sing their final song before sleep.
It's one of those days Regulus feels ok, at peace. It's been a little while since he's been down to the town anyway, and it shouldnt be too busy, empty enough for him to manage a trip to the shops.
The walk itself is as quiet as he could hope for. He sees no one as he ambles along, hands in pockets and headphones on. His heart still jumps every time he rounds a corner.
When he reaches the town, he's relieved to see that he was right. Some sort of special congregation is happening in the church tonight, a celebration of God for something or other that he did at some point, and the town is practically deserted.
He walks through the cobbled street with unease in his gut, expecting to inevitably bump into someone; a cheery old lady who had to compliment his hair, a young man with a cruel smile, a small child with a million questions to ask. But he sees no one as he practically falls through the small door of the even smaller shop. It's just the local grocers, but at a half an hour walk from his house, it's the best he's got.
His heart hammers as he walks empty aisle after empty aisle, the upcoming task of paying weighing heavy on his mind. He picks up milk and flour, oranges and sugar, even a packet of fancy biscuits and a bottle sprite before he realises he's stalling. All his essentials are piled in his basket, all that's left to do is pay.
Regulus wants to throw up.
He's always had this issue. Eyes on him make him want to vomit, hands touching his skin make him want to hide away forever.
He rounds the final hurdle, the bathroom aisle, and picks up some toothpaste. It's the last thing in his list. The teen at the counter is looking down at their phone, chewing gum the same colour as their hair.
Regulus takes a deep breath and walks over. They look up with a bright smile at him and begin to scan his items.
"Did you find everything you needed?" They asked, rather sweetly as they slid his yeast, carrot seeds and pumpkin paste into a bag.
He just nods, it's all he can manage because he can feel their eyes on him and it's digging beneath his skin.
"Good, that'll be £46.95 please." Their voice is chipper as they offer a card machine. "Or did you want to pay cash?"
Regulus just slides over a fifty pound note, taking his receipt and refusing his change. He attempts a smile back as they thank him for shopping. It comes out watery and weak.
He sees their face in his mind as he speeds home. Confused and disgusted looks he knows the cashier didnt even send him, but that his mind can't help but conjour up anyway.
He tries to focus on his footsteps, the crunch of the gravel beneath of his boot, the way the stones skitter out from his sole. Until suddenly it's dusk, the sun down for the night and he's left trying to muddle his way down the lane in the cloudy darkness.
He's so busy trying to focus on where he's going, he almost doesn't see the bird. He's five minutes from home, the reusable shopping bag begining to dig into his palm and headphones almost dead. A dire situation he decides, and speeds up. Then he sees it.
A sleek brown shadow collapsed on the ground. He pauses, hesitates slightly. But Regulus has always had a thing for animals, ever since Sirius had bought a raggedy puppy home and his mother had locked it in the bathroom until it stopped whining. And breathing. Regulus has spent his entire life feeding, petting or helping any animal he can in the dogs memory. And in his brother's.
He crouches next to the bird and when it doesn't flinch away from him, rubs gently over it's chest. It's feathers feel like satin against his cold fingers, warm and soft.
"Hello pretty."
It's some kind of hawk he thinks, as he lifts it's legs. Both are well endowed with talons, but don't seem broken. He lays them back down carefully just in case. Next he checks it's wings, lifting one then the other. He finds the cause of the birds distress then, a bloody cut runs the length of its ribs, hidden by the way it held it's right wing.
Regulus tuts under his breath. "How did you do that then?"
The cut looks nasty, caked with blood and mud. He doesn't think before he slides one hand under the bird, lifting it as slowly as he can and murmuring under his breath.
"It's ok bubba, I'll look after you."
The hawk mews when Regulus's fingers get a little to close to the cut, it's sharp beak snapping quickly around his finger. He hisses at the pain, but doesn't recoil, moving to hold he bird against his chest with one arm, his shopping in the other.
"Let's go home, hey mister?"
He's pushing through his back door five minutes later, the hawks beady eyes still trained on him. It hasn't protested, much to Regulus's suprise but gratitude. He drops his shopping and heads to his kitchen, fishing about under his sink for a suitable cardboard box. While not exactly the comfiest birds nest, it'll do tonight. He sets the bird down in it, shuddering slightly as it observes him.
Hes right about it being a hawk, it's red tail and hooked beak give it away.
He preps quickly, washing his hands and fetching gauze and a bowl. He runs warm water into it, mixing in salt as the hawk stares him down. It's alarming really, how conscious the hawk seems to be, despite the amount of blood it's lost.
When he approaches, he can see the dark stain against it's ruffled feathers.
"It's ok sweetheart, I'm going to have a look at that cut of yours."
He lifts it out the box carefully, hands around it's wings so it doesn't flap. It doesn't even wriggle in his hold.
He sets it down on the table, one hand keeping it in place as he lifts it's right wing with soft fingers.
The cuts still bleeding, so he cleans it quickly, wincing as the bird digs it claws in his hand.
"I know, but it might get infected my sweet. Just lay still, everything's ok."
He keeps his tone soft as he presses gauze to the cut.
They stay there for a while, Regulus and the hawk. It doesn't struggle or squawk, just lays there allowing him to tend to the cut.
Its close to midnight by the time he's satisfied. He sets the bird back on its feet, watching as it tilts its head at him, taking a step forward. It doesn't attempt to fly, keeping it's wings tucked tight into it's body.
"Is that better?" The hawk nudges into his hand, burrowing it's head into his hand. Regulus laughs. "I'll take that as a yes then. I'm glad."
He leaves the bird watching him as he moves about, taking newspaper and laying it in in the box, with a little bowl of water. He offers it to the hawk before he puts it in the boat.
The hawk gives him such a judging look Regulus feels indignant.
"No need for that. I know it's not glamorous, but it's all I have for tonight. You need to sleep."
He swears the hawk understands. It bobs it's head at him, hopping towards him and squeaking. Regulus laughs, holding his hand out.
The hawk hops on and Regulus heads to his bedroom.
"I hope you know you're going in that box tonight, I'm not having bird shit all over my bed."
The hawk just blinks at him.
He heads into the bathroom, setting the hawk on the counter as he brushes his teeth, combs through his hair and takes off his rings. He goes to pull off his jumper, but looks at the hawk. It's still watching him with sentient eyes.
"It feels weird with you here."
The hawk simply mewls and tucks it's head under its wing. Regulus's jaw drops.
"You understand me."
The hawk just clicks it's beak at him from under his wing.
He turns his back on the bird and strips off his jumper and trousers, leaving him in boxers. He quickly pulls on the loose shorts that brush his thighs and replaces his jumper with a baggy t-shirt, a relic from an old boyfriend.
It's head is still under its wing when he turns around.
"You're the oddest bird I've ever met."
The hawk looks up at him, tilting his head.
"I suppose I'm probably the oddest human you've ever met."
It nods and hops towards him, using it's claws to walk up to his shoulder, surprisingly gentle.
Regulus goes to bed that night with a mind full of confusion at the seemingly impossibly smart bird and the way it really does seem to understand him.
He wakes in the morning with a headache and a thirst in his throat. He feels slightly hungover even, so the first thing he thinks of isn't the hawk in his kitchen, it's a cool glass of water and paracetamol.
He does think of the hawk when he sees the cardboard box he set it in last night. It sits crushed on his kitchen table, under the torso of a sleeping man, spread out on his kitchen table.
Regulus gasps, running forward to shove the man off his table, away from the bird box.
There's no hawk inside. He shrinks in relief, swallowing before he realises.
There's a stranger in his house, asleep in his kitchen.
The stranger may or may not have done away with the hawk.
He's just shoved that stranger off the table the hawk was on.
The stranger is looking directly at him from where he lays on the floor.
Regulus screams, scuttling backwards, hands grabbing for any kind of weapon. His palm finds metal and he brings it in front of him, pointing the whisk very threateningly at the man.
He gets up slowly, one hand pressed over his ribs. Regulus can see blood stains on the white shirt that clings to his torso.
He's definitely injured as he leans on the kitchen table, breathing heavily and saying nothing. He raises one eyebrow at Regulus and his whisk. Clearly not as threatening as he'd hoped.
Regulus heart pounds.
"What have you done with the hawk?" His voice shakes almost as much as his hands, as he pressed himself into the counter, hand reaching out behind him to try and find his phone.
He'd left it there the night before. So careless.
The thought of police all over his house raises his pulse point, but so does the idea of a stranger in his house. Yet here one is, tall and beautiful, looking at Regulus like he's fresh meat.
The man says nothing as he takes one step forward, then another, keeping one hand pressed to his ribs.
Regulus throws the whisk at his head. He catches it easily and drops it to the ground. Regulus gives up on trying to find his phone, looking for something more stabby as the man stalks towards him, eyes locked on Regulus's terrified face.
"Why are you in my house?" He breathes out, panicked and high. "Where's the hawk?"
The man smiles, catching the mug then the wooden spoon as Regulus throws them, barely looking as he snatches them out of the air and drops them harmlessly to the floor. Regulus flinches when the mug shatters.
He's panicking now, heart pounding in his ears and breath coming short and fast.
The man's incredibly close now, his breath ghosting across Regulus's face. He stops in front of Regulus, the hand that's not pressed over his side coming up to slide along Regulus's cheek bone, down to his neck.
His skin is cold and smooth, somehow detached from the heat in the man's gaze.
When he speaks, it's low and gravely, and goes straights to Regulus's core.
"Hello Pretty."