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regulus and james are a summer love. they're stargazing in the warm air of summer and adolescent love. they're picking flowers and kisses pressed to foreheads, temples, cheeks, and necks, and whether it is too much or too little, they always end up yearning for more.
it's always been summer because james is the sun. james, loud and warm and full of love for everything the world has for them, so proud of himself and the world for giving and receiving his adoration for it.
and regulus is the moon and the evening and the sticky air of summer, running away, the grass tickling your feet, but not too far away. not too far away when you have a legacy, chained to your feet, not allowing you to escape. the family will always be more important than childhood love.
they're summer love. they're a cold and a warm body cooling off and heating up each other, bringing out the perfection of the other, bringing out the best and the worst, a collision of so many factors, a maelstrom of feelings and emotions that never are just the right amount.
it's too little, and they want more, and more, and more love, in their blood flow and filling up their bodies, pooling in their bellies, and then it's too much and they push each other away because they feel it and, deep down, they know that it'll never be so right, but it feels so good.
but summer always ends, autumn takes over, and, no matter how hard you want, how much you wish, no two summers are the same.