hockey season - week 8
Their next few games went well again, and shockingly soon playoffs were only three games away. Gryffindor needed to win just one of them to qualify.
The rink was cold, but James barely felt it. His mind buzzed with static as he taped his stick, redoing it over and over, long after it was already perfect. Maybe he didn't think it looked right, that it would mess him up or give him bad luck. Or maybe he just needed something to busy his hands and more importantly, his mind. James Potter was very much mirroring the latter.
The muffled cheers and shouts from the stands bled together like a distant storm, and for a moment, he let himself drift into the sound, as though it could drown out the turmoil inside him. His coach's voice pulled him back. "James! Line up!"
The game was against Hufflepuff, the worst team in the school but still a good team. James had always considered their games to be light work, and he especially thought so now that he was finally fixed again.
All of the Gryffindors skated out, James earning a series of slaps on the back, no different from all their other games, but it still most definitely felt different. He ignored any of the team's worried looks, this was their first time seeing James play under the new light of his confession. This made him feel even more inclined to do better than he'd ever done before.
The game came and went. That's all James can remember about it. He scored every goal passed to him, but it still wasn't enough. Hufflepuff had improved so heavily in the last few months, especially with two elite players. It wasn't terrible, the rest of the team wasn't worried about whether or not they'd make playoffs. Two more games is nothing.
So James packed up his stuff, pausing slightly as he reached for his bag. A strange but nonetheless familiar feeling washed over him. The increase in his heartbeat, rising to an audible level. The shake in his hands, that he couldn't play off as being cold from the ice or the Redbull he'd chugged a few hours ago. And most importantly, the sudden loss for breath that had begun long after catching his breath from the exercise.
"Alright, Potter?" Sirius asked, suddenly. The joking voice he'd been using while talking to the rest of the team had disappeared and been replaced with slight concern.
James shook his head quickly. Almost too quickly. "Fine, fine. Ready to go?"
His friends hesitated partially, but nodded. He knew to tell them if his problem had changed. He was fixed, wasn't he?
-
Game two they were up against Slytherin again. James didn't even think anymore. Not overthinking about the game, but also just not thinking at all. If a potential anxious thought tried to come through, James would start talking, or jump up, or do anything. Anything to not think.
But little did he know that all that did was pile up inside.
He had known this game was coming up, he'd been measuring all of his time as how long until he'd have to face his worst opponents. That’s how he coped; just don’t think about it. Shove it all into the farthest corners of his mind and lock the door.
"Lions on three!" Marlene started. "One! Two! Three! Lions!" The rest of the team chanted back. James included.
Then McGonagall came over with her clipboard for the lines of players. "In the goal we've got Braylen as per usual, starting out for forwards we've got Remus on left wing, Kinglsey right, and James in center. Defense we need Marlene and Sirius... Remember, two more games until playoffs. Let's get that win tonight and more importantly get another loss on Slytherin. We can do it! And also, Frank has an announcement."
McGonagall stepped to the side and Frank stepped to the edge of the rink. "If you guys make semi's, I can play in the game! I've missed being on the ice this season so much, so please get these wins for us!" Everyone cheered for his upcoming recovery, but all that did for James was create a pit in his stomach. It was his fault Frank was even injured, so he has to get him back out there this season.
“Come on, James,” Braylen said, clapping him on the shoulder as he strapped his leg pads on and goalie blockers. “We need you out there.”
James nodded, more out of reflex than conviction, and skated to his position after realizing everyone had headed out and he had been stuck inside his head. His stomach churned as he glanced at the Slytherin’s lineup. Thankfully he couldn't look for too long and then the puck dropped, and James threw himself into the game. He skated hard, made sharp passes, and took every opportunity to fire at the net.
For a while, it almost worked.
The Slytherins were good, but his team held their own, trading goals and keeping the score tight. But as the second period dragged on, James could feel the cracks in his mental armor widening. Every time he heard a familiar voice from the other team—those sneering tones he’d tried to forget—a wave of nausea surged through him. His breaths came faster, shallower, but he forced himself to stay focused. “You’re fine,” he muttered to himself. “Just play. Just play.” But by the third period, he wasn’t fine. His hands were trembling on his stick, and his vision blurred at the edges. His team lost momentum, and the Slytherins pulled ahead. The final buzzer sounded with a crushing 4-2 defeat.
James didn’t even hear the post-game speech. He shoved his gear into his bag with mechanical motions, desperate to get away from everyone, from everything. He wasn't panicking, not exactly. He was angry. But he continued to push all of the thoughts aside from the thought to not think. As he headed out of the locker room, he almost didn’t notice the figure waiting for him near the hallway—Regulus.
“James,” Regulus called softly, stepping closer. His dark eyes searched James’s face. “Hey, I just… I wanted to say… I'm sorry. I’m not mad at you anymore. About what happened between us. I mean, I don’t think I ever really was.” James froze. He had no idea how to respond. His emotions, already stretched thin, threatened to snap. He wanted to thank Regulus, to tell him he was sorry, to say that he missed him, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he laughed—a hollow, brittle sound that didn’t feel like his own. Regulus frowned. “James, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” James said quickly, too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be? I told you, I'm fixed.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I said I’m fine!” The words came out sharper than he intended. Regulus flinched, and James immediately felt a pang of guilt. “Why would you care anyway? You're the one that made this happen." Regulus opened his mouth to respond, expression unreadable. "I… I have to go,” James mumbled, brushing past him and heading for the exit.
Regulus watched him leave, his chest tight with worry. That laugh… the look in James’s eyes… something was wrong. Really wrong. It gave him a terrible reminder of just last summer, the sudden chill meeting Regulus as he went from the outdoor heat to the icy rink. Practice wasn't for another fifteen minutes, and most of the team was still on their way, everyone aside from James Potter who was already out on the ice, alone. Regulus’ sharp eyes picked up on the way James’ shoulders hunched as he skated in slow circles, stick dragging along the ice. He wasn’t his usual self—no swagger, no easy grin, just a kind of simmering tension that made Regulus’ chest tighten.
Regulus hadn’t planned to stay stationary against the boards. He rarely did anything other than practice and play hockey, no interactions with his friends, and even more concerning, none with James; Not since everything fell apart. Not since James kissed his two weeks prior. But something about seeing James like this- silent, bottled up- kept him rooted in place.
James finally skated to a stop near the boards, planting his stick against the ice and pressing his forehead to his gloves. He was shaking. The sight struck Regulus harder than he expected. He started to turn away, to pretend he'd seen none of it and continue on as if there was nothing between them. Technically there wasn't anything between them.
“You’re going to wear yourself out,” Regulus called as casually as he could muster, stepping closer. His voice echoed slightly in the empty arena as if reminding the two that this was the first time they'd interacted since the night they kissed.
James’ head snapped up, his face a mix of surprise and something darker. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone sharp. Defensive.
Regulus’ lips twitched in a faint frown. “We have practice soon and I was just… checking in.” He gestured vaguely toward the ice. “You look… not great.”
James let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Thanks for the pep talk, Reg. Really helpful right before I play.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, stepping onto the ice despite not wearing skates. The soles of his boots slid slightly, but he caught his balance. “Don’t do that. Don’t brush this off. You know what I mean.”
James’ jaw clenched, and he looked away. “I’m fine.”
"You’re not fine,” Regulus shot back, his voice gaining an edge. “You’re doing that thing again—bottling it all up until it explodes. Or have you already forgotten last season? Last week even?”
James flinched, a muscle in his cheek twitching. For a moment, Regulus thought he might actually listen. But then James stepped off the ice, shoving past him.“It’s none of your business,” James snapped. “You don’t get to act like you care now, Reg. Not after everything.”
Regulus’ breath hitched, memories crashing over him like cold water. The way James had kissed him not long ago ago, so full of fire and desperation it had stolen Regulus’ ability to think. The way James had pulled back, eyes wide and terrified, and then… nothing. Days of silence. Weeks of avoidance. Regulus showing up to the rink, hoping for an explanation, only to watch James laugh too loudly with his teammates, pretending Regulus didn’t exist.
Regulus shook his head, trying to steady himself. “You don’t get to push me away just because it’s easier than dealing with your shit,” he said, his voice low but trembling with emotion. “You did it then, and you’re doing it now. It’s not fair. I never thought you could be this selfish.”
James froze, his back to Regulus. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then James turned, and the look in his eyes was raw, cracked open in a way that made Regulus’ heart ache despite himself. He had said what any anxiety-ridden people pleasing self-conscious teenager dreads hearing; he was selfish.
A part of him knew it to be untrue, he knew that it was just one of those things Regulus could say because he knew it would reach him to an extremely personal level. But the more you hear it, the more you start to believe it. So as it echoes through the rink, James hears it enough to deem it true. He was being selfish.
“You think this is easy for me?” James said, his voice breaking. “You think I’m just… coasting through all of this? The team, the pressure, the… everything else? You have no idea what it’s like.”
Regulus stepped closer, his voice softening. “Then tell me. Let me help you, James."
But James shook his head, backing away. “I can’t,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Not with you.”
The words hit harder than Regulus expected, and he took a step back, the cold seeping deeper into his bones. James grabbed his gear bag and walked away, leaving Regulus standing there, staring at the empty rink and the faint traces of skate marks etched into the ice. For a moment, he thought about calling after him, demanding an answer or closure or… something. But he didn’t. He just stood there, alone, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him like the cold.
This memory coursed through him for longer than he'd ever thought it would or could. And Regulus couldn’t just let it go.
He turned a corner and sought out someone he hadn't wanted to see in years. His brother, Sirius. He still didn't want to see him, they were far from close anymore, far from on good terms. But Sirius was James’s best friend. If anyone could help, it was him. He found him by the entrance of the rink, walking beside Remus on their way to James' car. Regulus didn't want to bother him for this long but he also knew James would appreciate the extra time alone before having to put the mask back on.
"We need to sort this out, everything keeps getting in our way," Sirius was in the middle of quietly and carefully expressing his thoughts to Remus. Remus had opened his mouth to respond and Regulus figured he should back out this so they could carry on with their moment. But Remus caught his eye beforehand.
"Sirius, I think someone wants to speak to you," Remus whispered and Sirius turned around to face his own brother, though it was far less personal than that. Sirius bit back a groan, sighing but still stepping closer to him.
“What’s up, Reg?” Sirius reluctantly started. His voice was tense and annoyed, but his face still gave away the obvious concern for his little brother. He knew it took a lot to get him to speak to him at all, after how things ended before, and it must be seriously important or bothersome for the boy to say something on the topic.
Regulus’s voice was tense, but not in the same exasperated way his older brother's was. His was tense because of how much anxiety was going on at once inside of his head. “It’s about James. I think… I think something’s really wrong with him.”
Sirius straightened, his tone immediately serious. “What do you mean? Did something new happen, more than the panic attacks?”
"And I thought he was doing better was those even," Remus added.
“I don’t know, exactly,” Regulus admitted. “He just… he’s not himself. He’s shutting down or something, and it’s bad. I thought you should know. I know I can notice a lot that isn't even that important, but that also makes me remembering last summer and everything that happened there, it started like this. And it just got worse and worse and-and-” Regulus out his eyes, getting tongue tied as he felt his face burn.
Sirius’s jaw tightened. “Alright. Thanks for telling me. I’ll handle it.”
Remus out a hand on his shoulder. “How are you going to handle it?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Sirius said, already continuing towards the car. “But I need to find James.”