Word Count: 518
It's freezing, but he doesn't care. Fingers like ice, Peter grips the tree branch and pulls himself up. Climbing trees have always been something of an escape for him, and Merlin knew he needed an escape now.
It isn't that his friends deliberately try to be mean to him. Peter is just something of any outsider, even among the people he loves more than anything. If he's honest, he envies James and the others. They get along so naturally; even Remus in all his shy and bookish glory fits in easily. Peter will never be like that; he will never truly fit in.
Once he sits comfortably on a low branch, Peter shifts slightly, plucking his blue mittens from his pocket and sliding them onto his hands.
"I wasn't aware that lions can climb trees like that."
The sudden voice startles him. Peter's hand turns so quickly that it cracks against the trunk of the tree. The skin throbs, but he doesn't feel blood when he checks it. Worst case scenario, he'll have a nasty bruise later.
"Sorry," Regulus says, moving closer and grinning up at Peter.
"It's fine." Peter hates how curt and snappy he sounds, but he knows they aren't supposed to like Regulus. Sirius would never approve.
Regulus pulls a cigarette from his pocket and tucks it between his lips, lighting it. He takes a deep drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Shouldn't you be with your friends?" he asks.
Peter swallows dryly and looks away. He doesn't want to talk about that, especially not with Regulus.
The younger boy chuckles softly. "Ah. I see," he says, even though Peter hasn't said anything. "People can change. Even your friends."
Peter keeps quiet. Is it that obvious? Maybe Regulus is trying to goad him; he's just having a laugh at Peter's expense.
Except there's nothing teasing in Regulus' expression. He looks like maybe he knows what it means to be left behind and forgotten. Maybe he does. Peter thinks Regulus and Sirius might have been close once. Now, Sirius can barely stand to say his brother's name.
"What do you want?" Peter asks at last, awkwardly kicking his legs out, trying to release his nervous energy.
"To talk." Regulus shrugs and takes another drag. "You looked like you needed a friend."
Friend. They aren't friends. Peter has his friends, and Regulus doesn't fit into that. Then again, maybe Peter doesn't fit in either.
He groans, suddenly feeling defeated. "Is it too much to want to be wanted?" he asks.
"Not at all."
There's an undeniable sadness in the Slytherin's tone. This isn't just a front; he does understand how Peter feels. It's strange. Peter has spent so much time with an us versus them mentality that he has forgotten that maybe, just maybe, they aren't so different.
He drops from his perch, landing clumsily and nearly losing his balance. The snow crunches beneath his feet. "There's a spot near the lake," he says. "It's my favorite place to think. Wanna come with me?"
Regulus drops his cigarette, crushing it beneath his boot. "Let's go."
