First Regulus loses the Wimbledon final. The always so freshly cut and magnificent grass on the Centre Court so familiar for all those years betrayed him in the most aching way. The wandering eyes of viewers placed on his body, mostly so pleasant making him feel like he’s on top of the world right now long forgotten. At this moment every gaze to his side is burning him and there is nothing he could do. He is still holding his racquet, his fingers clinging on it, almost suffocating its grip. He cannot believe it, there in the center of his world, in the only place in his world, he just lost the one thing he could do best in life. To his own astonishment he doesn't feel the anger, bubbling up in his throat making its way to exit his system through the screamed words. There are no angry tears burning down his cheeks as he has to shake his opponent's hand. There is no brutal and almost animalistic desire to destroy the racquet he is holding so tight that the black wrap on the grip is slowly staining his left hand. There is nothing like that. Somehow it is only him, standing a bit behind the baseline like he is just getting ready to return the opponent's serve. The uncomfortable feeling in the bottom of his stomach and the way his knees felt so weak and fragile, in a different scenario he would be wondering how they can hold the entirety of his body. His eyes surveying the audience, funny enough they act as if nothing has happened. Just another final and just another winner. He could feel the relief of some because finally it was someone else than him. And so he didn’t move, standing there for them all to watch, for them all to talk because in that moment he became just another loser.
Then the rest of the season happened. Regulus, always so proud, never even allowed himself to dream about admitting that he has despised the American swing of tour ever since he started playing. The blue-green courts felt artificial beneath his feet, almost like walking on ice. He never was happy with outcomes of this part even when he was winning. But it never had been enough. It was faulty, tough and his game was intuitive with more wrong choices and balls hitting the bottom of his side of the net. He decided to skip Toronto, then he was eliminated in the second round of Cincinnati and New York hadn’t brought him satisfaction. He lost the first round in straight sets with a qualifier. The American swing felt like a humiliation. There he was sitting during the press conference in white room, having to listen to rounds of questions about the match. With every “what was the reason?”, “what didn’t work?” his irritation grew. He knew his game was declining and in that moment couldn't be compared to its years prior and he didn’t need to be reminded about that. His head was filled with questions, whether there was something more to do, something to work on, how he could be faster and stronger. He just hadn’t been doing enough and needed to try harder.
So he worked. His days were filled with training, his diet restrained and mind focused on tennis. But it didn't work. His game became boring, predictable, racquet felt strange and grass, oh his beloved grass, seemed so slow, yet the returned balls to his side felt like bullets. It was terrifying, for the first time in his life stepping on court was an uncomfortable experience. Playing with broken bones, stomach bugs and illnesses wasn’t pleasant but it was familiar. It was something he was prepared to do and he could do. Even then he could win and so he did. Therefore when it changed it was rapid and something he couldn’t be prepared for.
The one thing he could do in life, the one thing which gave him some twisted feeling of comfort. One thing that defined him, his whole life. The thing he fought for was slipping through his fingers. He was losing control, control he needed to have everywhere, control he was always so praised for. He knew his body betrayed him, his body gave up, he was used to redefining borders of possible but he knew had reached the one, final border.
After all he was once great, the greatest, hugged with glory and smother with attention. After all, he was great or nothing.
He was great or nothing
REGULUS BLACK RETIRING FROM PROFESSIONAL TENNIS AT THE AGE OF 37
The 22 grand slam champion’s career ended after his round two loss at Australian Open to no.2 Oliver Wood. “France’s most beloved child” played for an hour and a half and led the returning champion to round 3 with the game ending at 3 sets: 4:6, 2:6, 0:6.
Turned professional at the age of 17 during 20 years managed to win 104 individual titles (2nd in the Open Era), including 22 Grand Slams titles (11 times Wimbledon, 8 times Rolland Garros, 2 times Australian Open, 1 time US Open). He was a bronze Olympic medalist in singles and silver in doubles. He spent 290 weeks ranked as no.1 (1st in the Open Era) sharing the position with James Potter. The best French player of all time, one of the best players of his generation and one of the best players of all time in men’s singles. He thrilled audiences around the world with one of the fastest forehands ever displayed on tour and was one of the last remaining players using mostly one handed backhand. Has broken and held many records including: the fastest forehand, the longest ranked at no.1 and the most won Wimbledon titles. While being professional he treated fans with, for many, one of the greatest rivalries in modern tennis history with James Potter.
To his own words, after retirement he is returning to France to pursue his passion in movie making and prioritize his family. He has been married to actress Pandora Evans for a year, and dated her for 7 years before that. They have twins together, aged 9 months.
It was quiet, like it has never been before. The moment he stepped outside the Rod Laver arena it became quiet. Like the few moments after the winner is hit straight into the baseline. Silence filled with anticipation but the ecstasy after they passed wasn’t coming. He was alone, he fully acknowledged then, and he acknowledged he wasn’t alone only in loose moments. With sunlight caught in his hair and feeling of soft skin on his own. It frightened him. He always ended up bruising, tearing off his knees and then kneeling in church, praying to God to forgive him, praying to make him stronger, to make him resist. The church always felt too cold, colder than his bed than him. In church praying on his knees was painful, made more scratches. He never made it painful, he made it, him, beautiful. The same feeling rushed though his body then like when he won in New York for the first time. Surreal. He laughed at that. Somewhere in a lavish hotel, covered in sheets, he had the audacity to laugh like a string of pearls could be made out of it. No, then he definitely wasn’t alone. But also then one of them always had to leave. And he was alone again praying to God who remained deaf to every of his cries.
He was made to keep going back to him. It was so natural, like the weight of a racquet in the palm of his hand. Because of this there he was. Regulus Black sitting face to face with his live-long rival James Potter. There were new wrinkles appearing near his eyes and gray hair on the sides of his head. Regulus noticed, to his dissatisfaction, James cut his hair shorter and weighed a bit more than the last time they saw each other. He lost some, much, of his muscles and overall, at least to Regulus, didn’t look like once the great tennis dominator. The person who made his hard court part season a ride through hell. The person to whom Regulus lost five of his six US Open finals. The person who mesmerised him from the first time they met. Hong Kong second round. James, two years older than him, overlong his practice on a court Regulus’ team reserved to have a training session on. Their eyes met, they played the second round two days later. James won, of course he did and Regulus just kept running back to him since then. For twenty one years.
James looked a bit stressed, Regulus imagines it is because they haven’t spoken to each other in three years. Since James retirement. Why did he invite him there? He wondered but didn’t dare to ask. Not in the moment of Potter’s weakness, it was so rare, he wanted to remember it.
“How’s retirement going?” sloppy words escaping James’ mouth broke the silence. “It’s been more than a year already, have you adjusted yet? It’s pretty hard to do so I know but it gets better with time.”
Regulus thought about it. No, no he wasn’t, he wasn’t near getting used to it, he didn’t think there was a way of becoming accustomed to being without it. For this whole year there wasn’t a day when he hadn’t woken up at five so he could train, but there wasn’t any. It felt empty, pointless, he was tennis, there was nothing more to him than tennis.
“Could have been better, thank you.” he decided to say. He could not afford showing vulnerability, not to him, right now. “And you, mon cher? I heard your son isn’t exactly a tennis fan.” Harry was a very lovely boy and a neutral topic of conversation. From the moment he was born he became James’ entire universe, he was more than tennis, ranking, tournaments, prizes, titles. He’s someone James can talk about for hours so he's an acceptable topic even though, with every mention of him there appeared an uncomfortable feeling in the bottom of his stomach. He is stronger than this, he can hide it, he can accept it.
James just laughs. His laugh dared to stay the same. If he just closed his eyes there would appear nineteen year old Potter, his Jamie. The same boy with his red shoes, long curls held by neon pink headbands and sparkles in his brown eyes hitting aces with an ease he had never seen before. “Haz is team football I’m afraid, that’s why Marlene is really fun and I’m uncool and boring.” It's Regulus’ time to laugh. Of course James-to-the-bone English Potter’s son loved football, it would be more supring if he wasn’t.
“It’s Sirius' fault, isn’t it?” His brother has been a football fan since he could remember. Or at least he was when they were younger, he would stay up until middle of the night to watch Copa América, which was something their parents strongly disapproved of. Sometimes he invited Regulus to watch matches with him but he always refused. Think of tennis, only tennis his mother’s words stuck in the back of his head. Later, during tournaments, when he couldn't fall asleep, he would play some matches on TV. He was wondering whether Sirius was watching it too. Whether he was watching him.
“It’s you who said that!” The laugh James made confirmed his suspicions. “But Haz is a Barcelona fan so it is pretty chaotic with them. Remus complains that Sirius is like a grown child which is kinda true. But you haven’t heard that.” It’s not like he would say that to him either way. Last time he saw Sirius he wasn’t even playing professionally, he hadn't seen Wimbledon courts live yet. “But besides that it's been alright. For the first months I couldn't find anything to do but it got better, you know. Sometimes I catch myself practising forehands in the backyard, though. Muscle memory or other shit.”
Regulus nods in agreement. He hadn’t touched a racquet since he retired, too afraid of failing, he did not want to be reminded that he wasn’t the greatest anymore. He wasn’t even average. So every racquet he had at home was carefully hid inside one of the bedrooms. Regulus couldn't afford muscle memory or he would lose his mind.
“Anyways” James began, slightly stuttering. “It’s nice you actually came here.” he smiles and it is the one that always made the insides of him warm. The one he would send to the audience after a won match. With teeth showing off and eyes barely open. He was very, clearly satisfied with himself. “I actually didn’t think you would. So I would like you to know that I really appreciate it.” oh Jamie Regulus thought to himself, he would come running to him, always. When it came to him he never gained control and never would have. It bothered him, every move made had to be calculated, had to have an actual, logical explanation behind it. It was just like during the match, he liked to say, if you lose control love, forty becomes forty all and he hated the thought of that. But since they met it felt like a never ending tie-break with them breaking each other but not being able to keep the advantage.
I came here to see you. James. stayed in his head for a moment. How could he not, it had been two years and Regulus missed him. Even though he did not want to, he missed him everyday. And it didn’t help that James was everywhere. The colour of his racquet as brown as his eyes, the feeling of sweaty shirt clinging to his body, after hugging his wife, it was just like with him. Every slice on court wasn’t enough because it wasn’t as perfect as James’, even dressing himself reminded him of Potter. They had one sponsor so they wore the same things. He would wear it if he played, he thought as the hem of the t-shirt passed over his head. It was almost like he never left.
“I hope you realize I am not as sinister as some portray me as.” As my family is hung in the air for a brief moment, “and I have nothing against charity, I support charity so why wouldn't I be there?” he asks. James made a face, he really did not like this response. Good Regulus thought. He was going to win this match, no matter what.
Advantage Black!
“You know it’s not what I meant.” James whined, he rubbed his eyes with the lower parts of his palms, just like he always did. “I know you’re not like them, I just didn’t think you actually came to my house. After all, that’s it.” he added finding his previous composure. He dared to stare at him with that expectant look in his eyes. The same he had scanned him with, late at night in the hotel, after they played a match together and he was just getting ready to leave. Say something it challenged.
Deuce!
“Mon cher, we have always been friendly with each other therefore I didn’t think I had any reason to refuse your invitation.” There he was in his best shirt, trying not to look too snobby while also unique. For James, not for the public, not for his parents, not to maintain his image. He wanted James to like it, simply. It felt embarrassing, humiliating, raw feelings shown through milk white fabric touching his skin. Thus he had to deny it.
“Yeah, friendly.” James scoffed under breath. “You haven’t changed, you know. I mean it, not only by looks but in the way you talk too. So emotionless.” It made him clutch his fists under the table. Who he thought he was, inviting him to his house just to insult him. He would show emotions with him before, countless times. He would tell him his deepest fears while laying intertwined in the bed covered with layers of darkness. Or when they sneaked out in between conferences and hid in small rooms, where they enchanted kisses with small words squished among them. He gave himself, buried all of his guilt for him, made himself seem more approachable, tried all the new stuff James liked so much. He even had watched these stupid motorsports James mumbled about! Why wasn’t it enough?
Fault! Second serve!
“How is Lily doing?” Regulus decides to change the subject before he loses control over his emotions, before they show. He still didn’t lose this match, there was still a way to win.
“She’s good. She’s with Harry in London.” Oh, it definitely wasn’t something he expected to hear. Maybe it was for the better. Regulus grew accustomed to imagining James sharing bed with Lily before he fell asleep. How they were so close, there was no space between his tanned and her ivory skin. How he whispered sweet nothing into her ear for a good night. How his smooth fingers traced lines on her thigh and her bubbly giggle in response. Her long hair getting into James’ eyes and tickling the rest of him as he was beneath her. Regulus had always been jealous of Lily. They got married early, they had to be not older than twenty and James seemed so obsessed with his wife. Always rumbling about her, what she likes, what she wore, how she made him feel, what she said, where they went. Even when he had Regulus right next to him, there was the ghost of Lily observing them. Watching as they embraced, moved, as they loved, he couldn't help but wonder what she would say. Whether she would yell at them with venom leaving her body, grimace with disgust after all they were married, they had a child or would she pity him, James would run back to her and leave him alone, again. “I think she will be back in a few weeks. Harry missed his grandparents.” he smiled.
Fault! Advantage Potter!
“And you are not with them? How come?” It was truly absurd. Why would he choose some gala over visiting his family? It wasn’t like James he knew. James, whose box was always filled with the people he knew, after a few tournaments he could recognise his mother, father, two cousins and an uncle, who was his coach back then. So no, it wasn’t James like behaviour.
Deuce!
“Well the gala was really important and resignation wasn’t an option for me” he muttered. He was anxious? Why was he anxious? Regulus wasn’t the one to blame him for anything. After all, he himself had a family at home waiting for him. So what exactly made him so anxious and why he must have come to the gala. He was retired and as to Regulus’ knowledge he did not have any sponsor obligations. So what made it unavoidable?
“Do you still have Nike obligations? How come? I am sorry for intruding on your contract details but I assumed that you will not have any since I don’t have any and we should have similar contrats. I suppose. After all, we were alike for most of the time.” Maybe he wasn’t meant to ask that. I was too personal for his liking, it made it look like he cared. James could use it against him later but he wanted to know, he needed to know. If he didn’t know it would rot in him, he was sure.
James’ face became redder within seconds, he bit his lip. He used to do that, when he felt uneasy, Regulus knew. When it came time for a hug at the net, he would do that, as if to show that he was somehow sorry. Lier. You can never be sorry for winning, no matter against whom, it is unnatural. For them it was. Regulus never liked it, lying didn’t suit James. He was born to stand on top of the world, scream how much he loved winning, to wallow in sweat left on the ground and to accompany it with satisfaction tears. He was born a champion, they both knew that.
Advantage Black!
“Well it’s not exactly for Nike.”he stared. Oh, of course it couldn't be for Nike. But then for what? If not Nike, then also not Head and why would Dior need him there, it was a tennis charity event having nothing to do with them. And James had just a photoshoot for it. So it couldn't be it. “Well, I am on the way to become a board member of ITF and it was required.” he blurted out while intensively looking at the glass table.
Oh
Oh
Regulus was taken aback. That means he had to be involved in it for some time. That meant he had to be there, involved in tennis still. Which meant that he could reach Regulus if he wanted to, it wasn’t a problem for him! He had to avoid him, at every event, every tournament, every meeting! God, Regulus retired last year, he attended so many meetings with ITF! James had to know, they would have told him that, he would see him there! Yet he did nothing with that knowledge, he might have attended his last match maybe, just like he did for him! He had to break the persona he was building his whole life but he was there, for him as he was aware James would like that! He had to go out of his way not to meet him! And now, here after a whole year he wasn’t even courged enough to say it without stuttering! It was enraging, so enraging. He felt like the tears were about to run down his face, it would help, it couldn't happen, though, he knew. It would be humiliating, showing his weakness like that, here. In James’ house, in Jamse’ territory, lose control, surrender. No, it wouldn't happen.
“Well I hope it’s going to be a suitable job for you, James.” his tone was indifferent, just like he had trained when he was a child. Just like his mother would expect it to be. Vous êtes un champion Reggie, vous ne pouvez pas montrer vos sentiments, ils le retiendront et exploiteront vos sentiments, vous ne pouvez pas leur donner cela, vous ne leur donnerez pas cela. Vous allez gagner et ce sera naturel, vous allez perdre et cela vous rendra indifférent. Ne leur montre rien que tu n’es pas obligé, tu me comprends, ma petite étoile? (You are a champion Reggie, you can’t show feelings, they will hold them and milk them, you cannot give them that, you will not give them that. You are going to win and it is going to be natural, you are going to lose and it will make you feel indifferent. Don’t show them anything you don’t have to, do you understand me, my little star?) He could hear his mother saying this, like she did when he was a child. The sound of her rough voice, so determined, with so no feelings behind it, with no affection, no understanding, no empathy. Just her stoic silhouette, there, behind him so he couldn't see her, focusing on her voice. He imagined then, her, his mother, with an empty face, as empty as her voice then, it was frightening. He wanted to fight it, he knew he wasn’t supposed to be scared, he was five, a big boy. His face frowned with a brave expression, the bravest he could do. His chin was up so high his neck would go sore, brows so close he made them almost meet and pursed lips that went white from pressure he would put. His fists clenched so hard he couldn't feel the tips of his fingers. Later they would bruise, it hurt when he held a racquet. He was, then, just like the cartoon characters from shows Sirius watched. He wasn’t allowed to. They were brave, Sirius was brave and he could be brave, he would think. Just for a moment, just a few seconds and it would be over, he would go to sleep and dream of tennis, of winning. If Sirius was there he would feel so small, he wouldn't let the fear petrife his body. He can be like Sirius, he wants to be like Sirius. His heart wanted to race out of his chest, it was something he could mask and he did. She wasn’t supposed to know, he did not want her to know he was scared. There was nothing to be scared of, after all it was just his mother. His mother, who wanted the best for him. She could feel that he was going to be champion, one day and that’s why she was doing it. She was his mère, she wanted it all for him. So why did he feel bare like his skin was peeled off, his body burning, muscles ripped apart with fingers dipping right through to his bones? And his bones once flesh so closely attached to it, now alone, having to fight with what there was to come. He felt, oh he felt the wind going through them, so cold, so unpleasant, clinging to every one he had. It never skipped, always so explementary, making sure he knew it was there. He felt like there was nothing more to him than his bones, racing heart and scared soul. His mother could see his soul, he knew. She was disappointed, he knew. So he would try to strangle it with as much strength as his body was able to give. To no avail. Then, he gave this feeling to tennis, this uncontrolled fear. It was enraging, he wasn’t going to be afraid of one thing he could do, he knew how to do. No there, he was better, better than his mother, better than Sirius, better than the wind, the cold. He was better, he knew and with this he decided his life was going to be tennis. Nothing more, nothing less than tennis. Tennis was his everything, he was tennis. Then he met James’ eyes, those sweet, so brave eyes.
Fault! Second serve!
“Yes, it is, actually, suitable, I still get to work with tennis. I was so bored after dropping it. You should try it too Reggie― Regulus.” his eyes lit up with hope, Regulus recognised. He thought, he dared to think that he can just say something like this and then what. Run away from consequences? Or think it didn’t affect him? Pretend it didn’t? Typical James, putting himself in the center, not caring what happened to others. When he was having fun. He was having fun, it counted. “It helps really, tennis doesn’t change after all. It is still the same.” No, no it wouldn't help, and you should know it! Out of all the people in this world, his mother, brother, coaches, physios, judges, fans, sponsors, James should know it! James knew him, James should have known him! Why he didn’t, why he acted like he didn’t? What had he ever done to deserve this? He felt hopeless, like the control he had just a few moments ago started slipping through his fingers again but this time somehow there was no way of grabbing it again. It was like a double fault at the nine to ten, state of tie-break and opponents serve. He could just pray, he would be mistakeless or his everything was on the other side on the net. Carefully placed on top of the ball and he could only watch it being lifted up into the air. He could just observe his fatum as it was going to be hit with a smooth, well-known force. And there will be a moment for uncertainty, there always was. When the ball was in the air, flying over the net, deciding on what line to put itself. Whether it’s an ace or fault. Whether to crush him with all of its force or give him a chance to pick up this fight. He was always ready for the decision, he can fight the toughest of battles, with his racquet by his side, he can make it work, return it, and then again, and again until he wins. He could do it, he was sure, if just given a chance.
Deuce!
“No, it would not help. I am satisfied with my life after tennis, mon cher. We end careers for a reason, don’t we?” He was in the press conference again, indifférent, lying through his teeth, no it doesn’t hurt, James was just better, a runner-up is better than nothing, he deserved the Wimbledon title. Somewhere in front of his face it hurt, the lie, the tears he was keeping inside, letting them rot his insides. The unmoved face he had to put on, it melted on his skin, he was able to feel it leaving marks all over his face. It wasn’t going to be the same ever again. Nobody else noticed but James. He admired his face illuminated by the moon, kissed away his tears, whispered sweet words into his ear, and let him fall asleep in his arms that night, never after. Because he noticed. He always would notice. Why was he so cruel, then? Regulus examined his face trying to find an answer but there was none. It carried no emotion. He thought there was still a chance to win, there was always a chance, he used to repeat. Until his voice gave up, until his ears bleed. There was a chance, why did it feel like there was none? If only it was a real match, he would slice, he would ace, he would do a deadly dropshot, anything it takes, he was way better with tennis anyways. Words seemed artificial, forced, it wasn’t a natural state, without a racquet sewn onto his left hand, his white drowned sweat kit, shoes with polished soles and the sound of ball after hitting stretched strings, it wasn’t him then. It was what he was supposed to be but not him. There was no him without tennis.
Fault! Second service!
“Yes but when you spend your whole life with tennis it’s hard to stop. But maybe it’s just me, although most people there were professionals once too.” It’s hard to stop like it ever stops, Regulus laughed at that though. It’s ridiculous, no, it wasn’t going to stop. It was in his veins running through him endlessly, injected to his organs, to his heart. It was there and it was going to stay forever, James, it was going to stay forever. He could not stand these other people winning, playing, being unstoppable like he was once. There would be no one after him, he used to think back in the day, yet there were tons of others willing to take what he had once.
Fault! Advantage Potter!
The silence around them was the same as when one serves for the match. Breathing, then seems intruding, so there is only silence. And eyes watching, said one’s, every move. How their phalanx bones hug the begging of the grip, just where it becomes a thing and their Metacarpals break as it had dozens times before so it can cling into the wrap around the grip perfectly, like it’s supposed to. It doesn’t hurt, it used to but not now, it is a safe, known feeling. In the other hand one has a ball in such a hideous shade of green. It was tested by them before, compared to others one has on them, seemingly the same, they definitely started the same with one artificial felt but this one, the one chosen, was better. It got chosen, so it had to be better, didn’t it? It is what it likes to think, anyway. This ball gets familiar in the warmth of one’s distal phalanges as it gets lifted up. One has to choose how to locate it, how they want to serve it, what would be the best for them in this situation, what would be the worst for the opponent. It can be flat, nothing too hard technically as not to risk a double fault and with enough force it can be easily an ace. It can be a slice, there is no worry it touches the net and once can watch how the ball curves on the opposite side, acing, drawing the opponent to the other side gaining advantage. When one feels brave it can be a reversed slice. That does not matter, there is no time to think about it anyways, there is a timer, watching, threatening a penalty for every delay. One is left with what they learnt before, it is more of nature's decisions than their own. And so nature decides. In no time the ball leaves the warmths of their hands thrown coldly into the air. Soon it will hit the strings of the racquet one is already placing behind their head, it will not know it is going to happen. It’s unexpected, just as it starts to fall, there is one jumping, aiming it to the other side. And soon after it will land. Somewhere and soon before one notices it is going to be over. The ball will land, it might be faulty, it might touch the net, it might be returned, it might be an ace. It doesn’t matter because for one soon it is going to be over.
Regulus wouldn't speak, not daring to let his weakness sail out and lay on the glass table in front of him. As undoubtable proof of it, its existence. Until it was rotting inside him he could pretend it wasn’t there. But maybe, he had shown it the moment he stepped inside this house or the moment he agreed to attend the gala. Because of James, because he had some hope inside him still, that it would be just like when he was seventeen once again. So fresh, without reputation, just chasing a dream with Potter always somewhere by his side. They were tied together, it felt like. How much he wished they were. Then, he realised Regulus Arcturus Black was a weak man. Like a soil going through fingers, loose, leaving dirt behind.
“Why didn't you show up?” his voice weak, he allowed it, for the first time. Maybe he would find control in this, there would appear a string in this mess he created and then as he pulls it this mess would clean up. He hoped. It was as he stood in the court, against the worst opponent to ever encounter and every strategy was known to them. So the only thing left to try was to let the muscles decide what to do. To turn off thoughts, be there and just play. So that's what he was doing. “James, why didn't you show up?”
“Reggie, my dear Reggie, I was there. How could I not? You were so good, it reminded me of times when we were young. You always pushed me to my limits. When I thought I couldn't do more there you were, acing, returning. And what I had to do other than try to fit it? Oh you were so good Reggie.” James, he thought, you would be the death of me. How could he sit there, saying that like he didn’t avoid him, like he didn’t disavow their friendship in front of millions of people. No, we are close but in real life, outside of this I wouldn't say we are friends. It hunted him, Jamie was ashamed of him. He didn’t want people to know about them because he was ashamed of him. He buried it somewhere inside him. If James didn’t want to be linked to him outside of court he would show him on court how good he is. What he was losing.
“But why did you avoid me? James, you were there the whole time and didn’t even try to say hi!” He tried to control his voice. Shouting wouldn't change anything, after all it had already happened so there is nothing there that could be changed.
James balled his fists and clenched his jaw so tightly that the air escaping his mouth would ping. He was angry! He was the one who dared to be angry! He was the one who left and lied and there he was acting like a victim of Regulus’ actions while he did nothing! James was there to blame and somehow he couldn't see it.
“You were the one who left me alone! There in the locker room after my match! I cried, I told you before how important it was to me and you still left! Do you remember? You do, I know you do! Reggie― Regulus you didn’t care about me, you had a press conference so you left and never came back! Never called even! And you expect me to do what exactly? Move on? Chase after you? We are adults and you made your decision.” The locker room they were in after his last match. He could feel for a moment the cold metal of cabinets surrounding them and hear the shower in the background, probably Barty, he remembered thinking to himself. There was a smell of his raspberry soap, it had to be him. That place felt so surreal to him, the feelings inside everyone there exuding. It was a perfume of some kind mixing notes of sadness, relief, confusion and fear. And Regulus was scared of what was to come without James by his side, when he had to make sense of his life truly alone. Playing next to him he tried to capture him in his glory, soon missed hero, loved by the audience. It was how it was supposed to be, James by his side as they floated on court. The most natural state of being. Then they left court and it flew with first breath. He was in the locker room with James, with Lily, Harry, Fleamont, Euphemia, Sirius, Remus, Marlene, Mary, Mcgonagall, Peter, Dumbledore and the rest of his team. It didn’t seem natural, they observed him as an alien. He could feel their eyes on him, making him small again, so small he could disappear. He had to run away, he didn’t belong there with them. It wasn’t made for him.
“Then if I was so bad, if I hurt you so bad, why did you come to my match? Why would you do that if you didn’t want to chase after me!” He made it sound more hissful than he intended with his tongue slipping on his teeth. The wrath smelting inside him, touching his belly, squeezing his organs as it made its way up. His jaw cliched as teeth clung into it made crushing sounds. His eyes only observing James. His face was pale, eyebrows raised so high they could, with little more force, touch his hair. His hands were placed on the table soon after he threw them into the air with groans escaping his lips.
“Why? You dare to ask “why”! Regulus you always were so important to me! You were my everything. The first thing I saw in the morning, when I was going somewhere I asked myself whether you would like it here, when I was eating I was wondering what you were eating. If only you knew how many bottles of your perfumes I bought so I could smell the santalum album with vanilla when you were away! Ridiculous, wasn’t it? I missed you always, when we were together I still missed you because I knew it was going to be over soon. I wanted to catch your voice so I could listen to it endlessly. And you don’t even know how many times I caught myself saying words with your stupid Meridional accent just because I was thinking of how sweet your words sound and how your lips curving into circles. And then you slightly tilt your brows towards each other! You still do that. You meant to me more than any stupid match ever would. If I had a chance I would lose everything I won to keep you. So yes, I went there because I wanted to see someone I once loved! I didn’t want to talk to you but see you, how a part of my life comes to an end.” James scoffed.
“How can you say that? How do you dare to say you loved me? You were the one who left me more times. And I was then truly alone and you had Lily, Harry with you there in the locker room! And you did not seem moved when you were running from my hotel in the middle of the night leaving me alone! When I was losing, you knew that I had no one with me but no James Potter was too absorbed in living in the flash of lights to see me in his shadow! I still remember when you said that we are not friends, at twenty two and never acknowledged it later, you never said sorry to me. You treated me like something to play with and ditch later and it would be better if no one knew because it could ruin your immaculate reputation and picture perfect family! You could have loved me but gave me no chance to behold it, Jamie, James.” They didn’t speak after, glaring at each other in silence with a storm in between them.
James was the first to break it, he laughed, to Regulus’ deepest dismay. He lowered his head running his fingers through his hair and he howled. It felt endless just him giggling in front of Regulus. “You know sometimes I think if not for tennis, maybe we could have been something. Maybe in another universe we are something more than star crossed lovers.” he said finally with carefully chosen words. It was honest, Regulus knew, it was his most hidden dream. Somewhere on the border of his earlobe hiding in its curve and whispering things in rare moments. But when it did it was louder, clearer than anything he had ever heard before.
Regulus knew the answer, having spent too many nights alone crying to himself while hugging the pillow so he could pretend there was James to remain ignorant.
“No, no we wouldn't be something in any universe Jamie. We couldn't be something even in this without tennis. Jamie, I gave you the most I could, I tried to be better for you but you were too much. You are everything, you don’t end at tennis you started there and became something more. I end at tennis, there is no me without it like a petite étoile I am meant to burn out into nothingness. But before I shined so bright with every step I shined for everyone to see. I was meant to be sweet for an eye but from far away, in the seats, in front of the TV, on the poster, advertisements whenever. But no upclose. I am only me when I play and when I hang racquet I am what others want me to be. It’s like Regulus Black is not a real person. Maybe I am not and learnt how to play and how to change, shift. And Jamie to be with you would mean to be more than tennis which is something I cannot be. Every match, every point scored, no, no it isn’t something I could sacrifice then I would have nothing. Jamie I loved you but no, I was never what you wanted and you were never what I needed.”
There were instances in tennis, rare but they occurred when a match did not end since it wasn’t meant to ever start.