Delivered, Read, Ignored

Regulus stared at his phone, James’ last message glowing on the screen.

Challenge accepted.

He could picture James grinning, warm and cocky, already planning whatever ridiculous strategy he’d use to pry information out of him. It was annoying.

But. The idea of James trying… it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Regulus exhaled sharply and flopped onto his side, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure why he had texted first. No, that was a lie. He did know.

The silence had been bothering him. He wasn’t used to that. He didn’t care about other people’s texts, about whether or not someone messaged him back. He left Barty on read constantly just to prove a point. But James… James was different. His presence had settled into Regulus’ day like an annoying, comfortable weight. He was just there, lingering at the edges of his mind even when he wasn’t texting.

Regulus ran a hand down his face. This was ridiculous. James was some guy. Some guy who had texted the wrong number and never stopped. He was an idiot. He overshared. He went on too many dates and hated all of them.

He shouldn’t be interesting.
And yet.
Regulus' phone buzzed.

Regulus had been staring at his messages this whole time.

He locked his phone. A full minute passed.

He unlocked it again. James hadn’t texted back.

Regulus tapped his fingers against the screen. He shouldn’t care. It was stupid. Pointless.

But his message was still sitting there, unanswered. It had been—what?—forty minutes since he sent it? Maybe less? James usually answered fast. Maybe he was busy.

Maybe Regulus should be glad he was busy. Maybe that meant James would forget about him, move on, start texting some other stranger about his awful love life.

Regulus stared at the empty chat bubble. He didn’t want James to move on. But he didn't have the courage to own up and tell him. He was stuck in a cycle of leading people on because he couldn't own up to share how he feels.
His fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving, like the message he wants to send is something fragile—something that might shatter if he presses send too quickly.

He shouldn't be thinking about this. About him.

James Potter is a stranger. A stranger who happens to be stupidly charming and incredibly frustrating, famous model, but a stranger nonetheless. Regulus shouldn't care about his terrible dates or his ridiculous optimism about soulmate marks or the way his texts feel like warmth seeping through the cracks of a cold room.

He shouldn't want to text him right now.

And yet.

Regulus exhales sharply, locking his phone. Then unlocking it. Then locking it again. His thoughts tangle in on themselves like a knotted thread. If he texts James first, what does that mean? Does it mean he cares? Does it mean he's invested? And if he is, then what?

It’s nothing. It’s just a distraction. That’s what he tells himself, over and over, like a prayer he doesn’t believe in. But his fingers are already moving, unlocking his phone, opening the chat.

Before he can stop himself, he types.

He hesitated. Then, before he could change his mind, he hit send.
The read receipt popped up instantly.
Regulus' heart stuttered.

Regulus blinked.
He hadn’t expected James to ask that. Not that Regulus had a deeper reason.

…

Regulus locked his phone again.
He wouldn't answer that.
Not yet.