Notes: For the lovely Amber (Cheeky Slytherin Lass) for the Gift-Giving Extravaganza. Also for the second Hunger Games Fanfic Style Competition (prompts used: Word, dialogue, emotion, setting and word count.)

Amber: I knew I was going to do BartyReg as soon as I saw the prompts a year ago. And writing this was so much fun! I really hope you enjoy it :D

Vanilla

Up until now, you've never given clothes much thought.

You've noticed fashion and conformed to it, but you've never been so conscious about the sensation of soft fabric against your sore muscles, just after nakedness had felt so good. It's driving you insane to feel such a barrier, now that each of you is sitting in their own chair, enjoying some ice cream and a sunny afternoon in complete silence. It feels like miles apart, when just an hour earlier your skin had been pressed against his, and you'd been begging for more between fervid kisses.

Even if it's normal for him to be quiet, his current silence makes you feel uneasy. You really don't know what to make of it, but your intuition can easily decipher the cracks on his facade. Though 'facade' is a poor word to describe what you've come to know as a mild, reserved temper, that doesn't hold back but doesn't push forward.

So you speak.

"You're the only person I know that eats vanilla ice cream at Fortescue's."

He smiles. "What's wrong with vanilla?"

"I have been here so many times, and I haven't tried all the flavors."

"I think I've tried them all." He pauses. "I always tried them off of Sirius."

You choke on your ice cream. Regulus has been three years mourning a dead brother walking. Sirius is a ghost of flesh and bone that has long left the reality Regulus lives in. The name hasn't crossed his lips since the night he lost him, when Regulus had shown up at your place unannounced. You'd almost expected, craved for him to cry on your bare shoulder. But shoulders weren't bare at fourteen - and even as he sought for comfort in your arms, all you could make up from his whispers was smoke coming from the family tapestry and unimportant belongings left behind for his parents to ignore.

"I hadn't heard you bring up Sirius in a long time." Now that you're exposed to his train of thought, you go straight to the point. "Why now?"

"He was my brother." He pauses. He swallows. He leans in, his voice turning into a soft whisper. "Last night... last night he was there."

Last night the Dark Mark had covered the sky. Last night, Regulus had buried his face in your shoulder and held onto you as if you were the only thing left for him in the world.

(It occurs to you that maybe you are.)

"Why now, Regulus? Why worry now? He's - he's dead to you."

"Exactly. I lost him once. You know what happens to those who oppose our Master. I'm not ready to mourn Sirius a second time, and I can't- I can't fight, Barty. Not when he's there."

You can't fight even if he's not there, you want to say. You have never truly understood why Regulus had chosen to serve the Dark Lord. His admiration was genuine, sure, but his hand shook when providing punishment to those who went against the cause.

Now you understand that Regulus sees Sirius in every act of dissent.

Now you understand that Regulus's heart might be with your Master, but his actions will never be.

You look behind both your shoulders. Everyone is busy with their own business. A mother is feeding chocolate ice cream to an unruly child. A man laughs scandalously as his girlfriend tells him a story. Everyone else is drowned in their own sounds, and the environment looks safe enough for you to pose your question.

"You want out, don't you?"

"I don't." His answer comes a little too late.

"Your loyalties mean nothing to me, as long as you're loyal to me."

He shrinks suddenly and shakes his head. You can practically see the chills that go through his spine.

"Don't talk like that."

"No matter what-"

"Our friendship isn't a matter of loyalties."

"You call it a friendship?" It makes your chest contract painfully, but you know what he means. First and foremost, you're friends. And you're loyal to each other before anything. "You want out," you repeat.

"This knowledge will kill you."

Why was he worried about you? He was the one with betrayal on his heart. Your knowledge of such an act would mean nothing to the Dark Lord once he was dead.

"It will kill you first," you point out.

His smile doesn't reach is eyes, but his expression somehow looks soft.

"You're always so cruel."

You shrug. There's nothing you can say as the pain in your chest grows. You knew that one day, you would have to go separate ways, but you never suspected it would be like this. Death seems to alien to be real. He's seventeen. He's not supposed to die now. You can only speak about death as if it's a distant fate, the end of a long winding road you haven't set your foot on.

But Regulus's expression is grave, as if he had been born ready to face death.

"Let's run away."

"Barty, don't."

"Regulus-"

"I will not run away."

"He's going to find out. I'm not... I'm not good with hiding. You know this, and yet... and yet... You're going to die, and it's entirely my fault."

"I'll only die under my own terms."

You can't think. It has to be a terrible lie. Your only answer is to lean in and kiss him softly, in the light of day for the first time. He clutches the front of your robe, that same robe you wish you didn't have to wear. You don't care if the crowd is watching. You can't think of consequences, and he cannot afford to care. You hold onto him as if this is the last time you'll ever get to taste those lips - because maybe it is.

(He tastes like vanilla.)