The Story of Regulus Black - Years 1-4

XCIV. Halloween 1975

Chapter Notes: I got a bit carried away, and this chapter ended up being over 8k words. I hope you enjoy, and have a very good day/night!!
CW: brief talk of poor body self-image

"Fran?" Deacon asked again, his voice as quiet and gentle as ever. He could see the contemplation clear on his friend's face - it looked as though he were trying to come to a very, very difficult decision.

His brow was furrowed, leaving very faint creases where the bridge of his nose meets his forehead. He was biting down on the inside of his bottom lip, and Deacon could see his eyes roving over him slowly - as though he were trying to take in every single small detail. Deacon suddenly felt very self-conscious under Francesco's gaze, and he shifted a bit.

In truth, Deacon had always felt a bit self-conscious. He was shorter than all of his friends, resting at the reasonable - yet unwanted - height of around 5'7. He was a rather boney boy, with lanky limbs and ribs, collar bones, and shoulder blades that created a rather harsh contrast against his skin. He didn't like how skinny he was - ever since he was a kid, people had been calling him borderline unhealthy. Of course, it wasn't intentional - Deacon just had a very fast metabolism, was all.

He had tried to gain weight, of course. Especially since coming to Hogwarts, Deacon had been trying so, so hard to gain weight and make himself appear healthier. However, it just never seemed to work. Over the summer, when he had been staying with Benji and his family, he had prided himself on trying to improve in the bodyweight aspect. However, despite all of his efforts, it simply had not worked, and he was left as gangly as ever.

He frowned slightly when Francesco still didn't look away, and he looked himself over. Was there something wrong? Deacon was wearing a baggy jumper and his school trousers from that day, so they definitely did not bring his overly-thin body to light. Instead, they shielded it - just how he liked.

Deacon hated wearing form-fitting clothes. It was for this reason that his wardrobe consisted mainly of baggy tops and too-large bottoms that he often needed to cinch at the waist with a belt. Along with this, he could count the number of times that he had changed in front of his best mates on one hand. Sure, going all the way to the toilets to change was time-consuming, but he didn't like being perceived by the others.

"Is there something wrong?" He asked, his frown deepening.

Francesco blinked rapidly a few times, and he shook his head lightly. Deacon smiled despite himself - it was quite a cute gesture coming from the boy before him. He watched the way that Francesco swallowed, causing his adam's apple to bob in his throat, and he shifted his weight nervously.

Deacon tilted his head, the smile disappearing and morphing back into a frown. "Fran? You're acting odd," he commented.

Deacon watched Francesco take a deep breath, and he approached the boy rather unsurely. Deacon got a grim twisting in his stomach, and he could feel his heart rate picking up. The last time Francesco had given off these mannerisms, he had told Deacon that he would never love him, and he had shattered his heart beyond repair.

But... he had already done that. He wouldn't do it again... right? Had Deacon been a little too obvious of his still-existing feelings for Fran? Was Fran uncomfortable - was he going to do it all over again?

Francesco sat heavily on his bed which was just across from Deacon's, and he faced the boy with a panicked look on his face and his chest heaving sharply with heavy breaths. He fidgeted with his fingers in his lap, and he furrowed his brow as the terror failed to subside from his eyes.

"Deacon," he began, his voice coming out strangled and panic-stricken.

Deacon felt a pain in his chest, and he felt his own breath picking up. This sure was reminding him quite a lot of what had happened last year. He wanted to stop Francesco from speaking - to tell him that he understood and that he didn't need Francesco to say it again. That he didn't want Francesco to say it again.