Cold
The mist covered the dark night like a blanket covering a corpse. The wind dug into Regulus, stabbing him with cold. Cold that reached his bones. Cold that reached his soul. Cold, that could end lives.
There was nothing to keep at peace on this dark night, no full moon, no star, his star, no friend. The cold reached his hands. The were now cracked, blue and purple at the knuckles.
There he walked slowly, down the dark, cold concrete city. Cars drove passed him, people walked passed him, animals trotted passed him with no acknowledgement.
Why should they?
He is a stranger, dressed in black on a black night. Who would even look his way? There was no one to notice Regulus on his way home. There had never been.
Yes, there was Evan, to drag him out of his hole of a home to some meaningless party, or group hangout, but he never found any solace to them. Party's were too loud, too hot, too bright. It was all lonely if you hadn't a friend. Or it was lonely if you were with a friend. Evan was always obsessed with someone at social events. Sadly Regulus was never his obsession. The cold reached his face, biting him through his thick, wool, grey scarf.
He was almost home. Back to his one room apartment, gifted as a leaving present from his parents. The last thing they did to him before he turned 18. Atleast it was good. His parents were not known of good. His parents were cold, however his brother recieved much worse. Much, much worse. The cold reached his legs. His feet were numb.
He was close, although he stopped. Maybe the cold got to him too much. Maybe it was the welcoming aroma of coffee and sugar. No, he was cold. Or maybe, it was the sign that shone brightly in replacement of the moon. He didn't know. Nothing usually stops his way home.
Potter's, it wrote.
Regulus went in. The bell on the door jingled, and the boy at the counter, just like a puppy sat up straight and smiled at the new customer.
It was warm. Warmth was strange to Regulus.