cold feet

As James enters the rink on Saturday morning, he thinks he might actually be on the brink of death.

Okay, that’s dramatic, but still. He had to take the entire day off of school to play in the tournament yesterday, and on top of that he had to drive to three separate rinks to play in three different games throughout the course of the day. His first game was at 6:15 AM, and his final game of the night started at 9:20 PM. By the time he left the final rink, he still had a near-hour drive home, and he didn’t actually get to bed until well past midnight. It sucked, but he supposes that’s what happens when hockey is the most popular sport in the entire state and ice time is limited.

At least they won, James tells himself about the final game. They might not have won their second game of the day, where they were demolished 9-2 by those fuckers from Rochester, but their third game was exciting up until the very last minute. Up until then they’d gone completely scoreless, and then James had made a pass that had gone directly to Derek—the adorable little freshman who’d just joined the team. James had watched as he’d had broken away from the rest of the players with speed that he’d never seen from him before, and soon Derek had somehow shoved the puck into the net with less than 10 seconds left in the game. Though the kid hasn’t really talked much, he became an entirely different person in the locker room afterwards. When he’d gotten the huge, golden belt with the letters “MVP” stuck onto the front, he’d worn it with honor. Coach Hooch gives it out after every single game they win, and it never gets any less hilarious to watch as one of them parades around the rink wearing the cheaply made product afterwards.

Even now, the image of it in his mind makes James smile a little. Yeah, he thinks, that really was cool.

Of course, it doesn’t change the fact that he presently feels like he may collapse from exhaustion. Ten in the morning may not be all that early to coach Learn to Skate, but even getting out of bed was a struggle. Now he’s here, where he has to coach with the most exhaustingly disdainful boy in the goddamned world, and he has another game to play in two and a half hours. This should be fun.

When he enters Rink A, he’s quick to find an open bench and sit down. They’ve only just started cutting the ice, so at least he’s got about ten minutes before he actually has to be out there. Once he’s sat, he tunes everything else out. Leaning his back against the boards, he closes his eyes and listens only to the hum of the zamboni. Then he takes a moment to breathe in, and out again. As he opens his eyes, everything is suddenly much quieter, and the day ahead seems just a little less daunting.

You’ll be fine, he tells himself, sitting up straight once again and kicking his shoes off. He has to be—as the recently named new team captain of the Marauders, it’s his responsibility to get his team’s head in the game. If his head isn’t entirely there as well, he will never be able to do that.

With that in mind, he grabs his skates from the bag he’s set beside him, bends over, and begins to lace them up.

He’s hasty with his fingers as he begins to pull from the very bottom, gritting his teeth together as his hands scrape against the laces. Waxed laces already hurt badly enough in the humid air of the locker room—but to be working with them in the freezing cold of the rink? Not James’s brightest idea.

Nevertheless, he perseveres, attempting to get his skates tied up as fast as he possibly can. In a matter of less than a minute, he has his left skate tied, and soon he begins to work on his right. He thinks he might set a record as he tugs and tugs at the laces on each rung, nearly making his way to the top and ignoring the burns against his fingers.

The bench suddenly shifts a little, indicating that someone else has just sat down beside him. James pays no mind to it, assuming that it’s just going to be a parent helping their kid. Then they speak.

He recognizes the voice, and thinks he might shit his pants.

“Hey, James!”

His hands still linger on the thick and coarse string, and they stay there as he whips his head over. Sure enough, Regulus Black is sitting right beside him, with a grin on his face so wide that James wonders what drug he might’ve accidentally gotten ahold of. Shrooms? It might just possibly be shrooms.

Thinking that he can’t possibly be serious, James opts to ignore him, going back to tying up his right skate and pretending that moment didn’t just happen.

His efforts are useless—not even five seconds later, Regulus is talking again. “How’s it going, buddy?” Buddy???

What. The. Fuck.

No, seriously, what is going on right now? James glances back up once he finishes tying his skates, scanning Regulus’s face like it’ll give him an answer. But his smile is still the same, and James is only left with more questions.

Regulus looks at James expectantly, and that’s when he realizes he still hasn’t said a single word. He sputters out what he thinks is a coherent response, though. “Um… fine? I guess? You?”

”Oh, I’m great,” Regulus responds, which is the absolute last thing in the world he expected to hear. James can’t look this weird, totally backward version of him in the eye anymore. He turns away, ripping the soakers off of his blades and putting them in his bag. “How’s your tournament been so far?”

James’s head has never whipped back around faster, and he is certain that his bewilderment is obvious. But Regulus’s expression remains unwavering, and he has no choice but to answer. “I mean, it’s been good—sorry, what is this?” he says before he can think twice, unable to stop himself from addressing the elephant in the room.

”What do you mean, ‘what is this?’” Regulus replies, shrugging. James stands up, thinking that maybe Regulus will drop this stupid act they get onto the ice, but to his despair Regulus stands too. “I’m just so excited to be here, you know?”

James audibly scoffs at that. “You have literally never once been excited to be here in the weeks we’ve been coaching.” His bag slung over his shoulder, he begins to walk to the doors, and Regulus follows.

“Oh, come on, Jamie,” Reg says, and James almost does a double take. Jamie?! The nickname is the only confirmation he needs—Regulus absolutely does not mean a word of this. “Don’t be like that.”

“You don’t be like that,” James retorts, almost wanting to punch him in the face. He already knows Regulus is putting on some sort of facade, though why he is James doesn’t know. “Are you on fucking drugs? What’s your problem?” By now, they’ve reached the door to the ice, and James has to keep his voice down. The last thing he wants is for the kids to hear his rather vulgar choice of words, but he can’t think of other alternatives at the moment. He only has so many brain cells, and all of them are currently scrambling to try and find a way to handle Regulus Black.

Regulus does not care how loud he is as he responds. “Oh, I’m absolutely fine,” he says, holding the door open for James. James steps through, and as Regulus does the same James can hear the door slam behind them both. “Just being my usual, happy, absolutely non-miserable self.”

The realization hits like a train.

Oh. So that’s what this is all about.

“Sirius thinks you’re an absolutely miserable prick,” James had said to him on Tuesday—God, had that only been Tuesday? It feels like lifetimes ago by this point. “Don’t let him be right.”

He shouldn’t have said anything. He’d only been trying to help him out, but he supposes that’s what happens when one’s attempting to help out someone who doesn’t want any bit of it. Now he’s only made it worse, and if James has to deal with this version of Regulus for six more weeks he thinks he might kill himself. James never once thought he’d want the discontented, spiteful version back, but this boy just continues to be full of surprises.

James has no idea what to say next. Maybe he would if he wasn’t so fucking exhausted of this. But as it is right now, he’s fighting a losing battle, and he can only take so many beatings before he surrenders.

At last, he just shakes his head, gliding right past Regulus. “I don’t have time for this,” he mumbles, refusing to look at the boy as he reaches the penalty box and grabs the attendance sheet. He can still hear Regulus while he’s rummaging around the benches for a pen.

”What, I thought you wanted this!” Regulus calls out. For the first time in his life James is fighting back a strange urge to punch him right in the face.

Finally James finds a pen, and as he leaves the penalty box he realizes that in order to get to the door he’ll have to skate right past Regulus again. As he begins his journey, he braces himself for what is bound to come next. He’s sure Regulus is just waiting to make another snarky comment, or to say something that will make James’s vision turn red.

But soon James is ahead of him, and not a single word comes out of his mouth.

For a moment, he debates just letting the entire thing go. Maybe he was only doing this to prove a point, and now that they’re actually coaching he’ll drop it and move forward. Maybe this is his sense of humor, or something. James still doesn’t really know him.

God, he cannot imagine hating someone you’re barely familiar with so badly. A part of James wonders if that’s why Regulus seems to almost want James to hate him the way that he does. Because it would make him easier to loathe. He wonders if Regulus lives for the fight, lives for the thrill it gives him.

And he doesn’t know why he can’t stop his mouth from running again—it was his words that got him into this mess in the first place, and it is his words that will keep him in this mess. But he can’t stand this. Any of it. So he does the very last thing that he should do—he turns back around to face Regulus, and he speaks.

“I honestly feel bad for you,” he says, softly enough that none of the other coaches can hear. “You must be so fucking exhausted.”

For just a moment, Regulus’s near robotic smile falters. But James doesn’t stick around for the aftermath—he’s already at the doors, and he can’t say he regrets his words.

Not yet, anyways.

❅ ❅ ❅

“Okay,” Regulus says, holding his arms out in front of him. “We’re going to do two foot glides across the ice.” He turns around so that he is facing away from the kids, and he starts out with forwards marching like they’ve been practicing. He hopes they’re actually paying attention as he gains a little more speed—God, it is killing him to skate this slow. It almost makes the pain that still lingers in his right foot from last night worse. But nevermind that—he’s going fast enough now that he keeps both of his feet on the ice and just lets them carry him forward, taking him across the ice. He doesn’t expect any of the little ones to cover that much area, of course, but he’s hoping the over-exaggeration of the exercise helps them to get it.

Soon, he turns back around and faces the little kids again. They’re all staring at him, and he can’t tell if they understand the assignment or not. But he supposes there’s only one way to find out.

”You’re just going to march, march, march,” he says, demonstrating yet again as he glides towards them this time, “and then when you’re going fast enough, you’re going to keep your feet down and glide.” He does so now, and this time he’s able to catch James’s expression at the other end of the group. To Regulus’s shock, he seems absolutely indignant, standing there with his arms crossed.

Good, Regulus thinks to himself, a slight smile still on his face. Now James knows how Regulus feels every single goddamn time he’s around him. He considers that a success.

The idea had come to him last night as he lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. His thoughts, of course, were still on James, as they had been since he’d left the rink. And Regulus’s initial feelings of regret, of sorrow, had twisted into something else as he’d thought of what James had said to him on Tuesday.

He’d tried not to let it get to him over the course of the week. He really did. At first, he’d brushed it off like it was nothing, trying not to think about it too hard. He didn’t need to know what his brother thought, and he shouldn’t care. But something about the way James had said it, like he wanted Regulus to be different…

Fine. If James wanted him to be different, then he would be.

And so for the second time in a week, Regulus has gotten to see James genuinely upset. He can’t describe a better realization to have than the one that James Potter is human after all, just like the rest of them, and even he is capable of hate.

You must be exhausted, James has just told him. And maybe he is—but at least he doesn’t waste his time attempting to remain untroubled and carefree. He thinks it must be more exhausting putting on that act all the time.

As he comes to a stop in front of the kids, he makes sure to avert his gaze from James to them. “Now you guys try,” he says, putting his hands on his knees and meeting them at their eye level, “okay?”

And immediately they are off, marching down the ice with their tiny legs.

Regulus skates over to where James is, and for a few moments he just observes the children from behind. Some of them, like Reese and Isabel, get it down nearly immediately, gliding as fast as their little feet can take them. Others—like Alex and Blake—are now just marching faster than ever, and are unable to keep their feet underneath them.

But for the most part, they’re all at least trying, and Regulus can’t help but feel a surge of pride in his heart as he watches. Naturally, he can’t stop himself from what he says next: “Not bad,” he mumbles to James, “for a miserable little prick.”

Immediately, James lashes back. “Oh, fuck you!” he whisper-shouts, and yet again another surge of pride runs through Regulus. For a second they’re quiet again, both watching their children get faster and more confident. And then James is back to speaking. “You know,” he begins, “I honestly really wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. Stupidly, I thought, ‘maybe he’s not as bad as Sirius says!’ But you just get worse and worse to be around, and I—“

Regulus does not get to hear what comes next, because suddenly in front of them Sofie loses her balance completely and stumbles forwards, completely tumbling down. For a seemingly long time, she’s flying through the air. And then she slams against the ground, landing hard on her knees and smacking her chin right down into the ice—the one part of her head that is not protected by a helmet.

Almost immediately, there’s blood. And then the wailing starts.

Fuck.

Regulus wastes no time in skating over to her as fast as he can, stopping in front of her and observing the damage. Sure enough, there’s a large scrape on the right side of her chin, and she’s bitten down on her lip so hard that there’s a gash on her mouth.

He has to fight the urge to freeze up completely, instead forming words faster than his brain can think. “Hey, Sofie,” he says, bending down so that he is at her level. “Are you okay?” Almost immediately, he wants to smack himself.

Are you okay. Seriously, a 4 year old just went down so hard on the ice that she’s now bleeding, and Regulus is asking that? No fucking shit she isn’t. As she looks up at him, her mouth still agape, she can do nothing more than shake her head.

Not seeing any other options, Regulus offers her both of his hands. “Come on, sweetie,” he says. For a moment, she just stares at him dumbfoundedly. But slowly, she grabs onto his hands, and eventually Regulus is able to hoist her back up to her feet. “Let’s get you off of the ice, okay?” he says, holding both of her hands and beginning to gently pull her towards the door. She doesn’t resist, and as they are gliding along the ice together she continues to loudly sob.

It takes a moment, but eventually they reach the door, and Regulus is able to hoist her off of the ice. Picking her up in his arms, he quickly scans around until he finds a nearby bench, and soon he’s plopped her down there. Now he just needs to wait for some sort of responsible adult to show up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell is Regulus supposed to do with a bleeding fucking child? He can barely take care of himself when he’s injured, nevermind a small kid.

The sound of footsteps to his right causes him to turn, and that’s when he sees a woman walking towards him with the same brown skin and shiny black hair as Sofie. Thank fucking God, he thinks, stepping aside. “You’re her mother, yeah?” Regulus asks, and she’s quick to nod. “Okay, I’m going to get her some ice,” he replies, because he figures that’s a good start. Without another word, he rushes off towards the lobby, ignoring the stinging in his feet as he does so. Sprinting in skates turns out to be a way more difficult feat than he imagined, but eventually he gets to the snack bar, where the employee working is quick to give him an ice pack and a couple of bandaids. Before he knows it, he’s back by Sofie and her mother’s side, handing his findings off to her mom.

By now, Sofie’s sobs have died down to suppressed sniffles, and the bleeding seems to have slowed. Regulus could probably go back to the ice now, if he wanted to—but he was also four, once, and remembers when falling was the worst feeling in the world. So he stays, just for a little longer, and address her directly.

”You feeling better?” he asks, watching as she holds the ice pack to her chin. Though she doesn’t speak, she’s quick to nod. The tear streaks on her face are now starting to dry, but her face is not any less red.

And suddenly, Regulus thinks of a way to cheer her up.

”Hey,” he says, reaching out and tapping her on the shoulder, “falls happen all the time. I fall all the time. You wanna see one of mine?”

She wipes at her eyes now, and then she nods again.

Regulus is quick to pull his phone out of his pocket, and as he scrolls through his camera roll it doesn’t take him long to find the exact footage he is looking for. Making sure the volume is on mute, he shows the screen to her and presses play.

Regulus vividly remembers this day, and this video—Barty was the one filming this. Regulus wanted to have a nice video of his triple flip to show off, so he got Barty to follow him around the rink as he skated through the jump pattern. Taking a couple of backwards crossovers, he holds his left foot out in front of him for a moment before stepping onto it. As he steps onto it, he turns around again so that he is gliding backwards on his left once more, and he lifts his right foot up before digging the toe pick into the ground and taking off.

Or at least, attempting to.

To this day, Regulus has no idea why the hell he fell there. But for some reason, once he took off he couldn’t quite bring himself to rotate. In the video, he digs his toe pick into the ground and launches himself several feet up into the air, and before he realizes what is happening his feet land back on the ground at the same time. He’s still gliding backwards, and though he tries to save the fall his feet slip completely from underneath him and he stumbles to the ground, landing right on his ass.

The reason Regulus muted the video is so that this little four year old girl in front of him doesn’t hear him yell out “OH FUCK!!” at the top of his lungs. But it doesn’t matter—either way, she’s started laughing as she watches, and as Regulus breaks out into laughter from the ice she only giggles harder. Regulus pauses the video and puts his phone back in his pocket, offering her a smile.

”You see?” he asks. “All the time. You’re doing great.”

”Thank you,” her mom suddenly says from beside her, still holding an ice pack to her daughter’s chin as she continues to giggle. Though her mom is hiding it better, the corners of her mouth are turned upwards, and all Regulus can feel is relief that he’s managed to make the moment less worse than it could’ve been. "I've got her."

”Yeah, no problem,” he responds, offering Sofie one last glance. He gives her a thumbs up, to which she beams, and with that he decides it’s safe to stand up and return to the ice.

When he at last reaches the corner of the ice where he and James coach, James is standing right where Regulus left him. “She’s okay,” he says, though the entire situation still has him shaken. He wonders now if his reaction was wrong, if there was anything more he should’ve done.

Regardless, it’s too late now. And James nods at Regulus’s confirmation. “Okay,” he responds. “That’s good.” Nothing about how he should’ve done something different, which he takes as a good sign.

The kids in front of him are still working on gliding, but James doesn’t pay them any mind. His eyes haven’t left Regulus, and they’re wider than Regulus has ever seen them before—even considering the time that he’d slammed him into a wall.

”What?” Regulus finally asks, letting his face fall as he stares James down.

This seems to break him out of his trance, and suddenly James is blinking rapidly and clearing his throat like he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Nothing.” He doesn’t look at Regulus when he says it—he opts to glance towards the ice instead.

Okay, Regulus thinks to himself, but he doesn’t decide to pursue the subject any further. He really doesn’t care enough to want to know what goes through James’s head.

But as he begins to coach the kids again, though, he is now confident of one thing: James Potter does have a flaw. He’s a horrible liar.

❅ ❅ ❅

James resolves not to say a single word to Regulus once they’re off the ice.

Seriously, he knows he shouldn’t. There’s no point in it. Up until Sofie had fallen, Regulus seemed very intent on pissing James off as much as he could, and it had almost worked. Truthfully, James has no idea what he was about to say to Regulus back on the ice. But he knows it would’ve been something he regretted.

At least one semi-good thing came out of all this—Sofie’s fall, at the very least, got Regulus to drop his little act. And then there was the matter of everything that came after it…

James has never seen Regulus like that before. He’s never seen him so frantic to help someone else, never seen him act so gentle. Up until now, he didn’t know those were emotions Regulus was capable of feeling. And after he’d gotten ice and band-aids, he’d somehow managed to make Sofie laugh. Like the fall had never even happened.

It’s the most human he’s ever seen Regulus.

And James absolutely shouldn’t push that. He shouldn’t say a word more about the subject—who knows how Regulus is going to tell him off for it. He knows it’s best to drop the entire thing. He does.

But when James walks around after the session looking for a spot to take off his skates, he can’t help but notice one of the only open spots is just a few feet in front of him—and right next to Regulus Black.

Okay, he’s done way more stupid things in his life. Right? All things considered, this wouldn’t even place among the top 10 dumbest moves he’s ever made.

Before he can think about it too hard, he throws his bag down and takes a seat right next to Regulus. And then he begins to unlace his skates.

If Regulus has noticed what he’s doing, he doesn’t say anything. And maybe James should leave it that way. For a moment, he almost does.

But he’s never been capable of letting his words linger within his mouth. And he’s not going to start now.

”Hey, um…” James starts, and holy shit, what is he doing. “Good job with Sofie. You handled it well.”

He doesn’t look at Regulus’s face—he wouldn’t dare. But he watches as Regulus yanks at his laces far more forcefully than before, and immediately James knows that he should’ve kept his mouth shut. He waits for Regulus’s reply, and braces himself for the storm he’s just brought on.

But the thunder never comes, the lightning never strikes. When Regulus does respond, it’s so soft that James might’ve missed it. “I tried,” he mumbles simply.

Not exactly a thank you, but James will take that over the angry quips and furious curses he’s usually offered in return.

”You did good,” James says. “I can never get them to stop crying.”

“I got lucky,” Regulus offers, and then he doesn’t speak again.

For a moment, it is completely quiet, and James tells himself that he should end this conversation here and now before Regulus is reminded of his hatred for him. And he absolutely intends to.

As he finishes loosening up both of his skates, he takes a moment to glance back down at them. He gets a hold of his left boot first and begins to rip it off—but before he can, the sight of dark red in the corner of his vision stops him in his tracks. When he glances over at the source, he freezes.

From next to him, Regulus has just taken off his own skate. And though James shouldn’t be looking, though he should just ignore it, he can’t—Regulus’s right foot is wrapped up in a bandage that goes all the way up to his ankle, and the bright white material is decorated with fresh splotches of blood.

Naturally, James is running his mouth before he can even think about it. “Shit, are you okay?” he says, and his eyes move up from Regulus’s foot to meet his eyes instead.

Regulus’s head whips up at the same time as his, and for a moment they’re just staring at each other. Then, Regulus’s face screws up. “What?” he asks, though James has a feeling he already knows.

”Sorry,” James says—and God, he hates feeling like he has to apologize simply for existing. But he continues anyways. “It’s just—you’re bleeding,” James points out, gesturing to his foot again. And then, one more time, he repeats his question. “Are you okay?”

James expects Regulus to be angry he asked—he’s played this game before, and he knows it never ends well. But to his surprise, that isn’t what happens.

Instead, Regulus turns his head away from him entirely, and with his face to the glass he answers. “Oh, um… yeah, I’m fine. I was jumping a lot yesterday, and I kinda overdid it.” Clearly. “But I’m fine.”

Then Regulus bends down again, reaching for something underneath the bench. A few seconds later, he pulls out his skate bag. Zipping the front pouch open, he begins to rummage through his belongings, letting the silence hang in the air.

James doesn’t speak—these are the most words they’ve ever exchanged that haven’t turned hateful, the most they’ve talked that hasn’t been overshadowed by years upon years of grievances. He doesn’t want to ruin it now.

So instead, he listens to the sound of Regulus’s hands shuffling around in his bag, the clanking of keychains getting rearranged, the jingle of a zipper. “Shit,” Regulus is whispering, and before James can ask what’s wrong, he speaks again. “Thought I had bandages in here.”

James’s mouth, as usual, acts faster than his mind. “I have a roll,” he offers, and immediately he grabs his bag from beside him and reaches his arm in. A year of coaching hockey kids has taught him to always keep all different types of band-aids on hand, though he never imagined they’d be useful in this very moment.

Regulus scoffs. “No,” he answers. “Absolutely no—“

He’s too late. James has already taken the bandage wrap out of his bag and is offering it to Regulus, holding his hand out in between the two of them. “Take it.”

”James—“

”Get over yourself and take it,” James nearly snaps, and this is it, he knows it. This is the moment where their exchange is about to go sideways, where Regulus is about to turn wrathful and loathsome. Bring it on. He’s prepared for it to happen, and is even ready to welcome it.

Regulus’s eyes meet his once more, and then he glances down at James’s palm, still cupping the bandage wrap. He looks up again. He looks down again. And throughout it all, his face is entirely unreadable.

Then, hesitantly, he reaches forward.

When Regulus finally grabs onto the bandage, his fingers brush against James’s skin. He still seems uncertain as he lingers there, and James wonders what must be going through his head right now. He doesn’t ask. Regulus’s hand stays on top of James’s, just for a split second, and all James can think about is how freezing his fingers are.

He doesn’t pull away.

When Regulus finally does, it’s like a spell’s been broken on both of them. They turn away from each other and bend down at the same time, and as they finish taking off their skates it is completely silent.

Finally James finishes putting his sneakers on—but before he can say anything else, before he can even begin to formulate words, he hears the clattering of something being dropped on the bench beside him. “Thanks,” Regulus says, and James’s head shoots up. He glances over to his left, ensuring that he’s just heard things correctly and Regulus Black hasn’t been completely replaced by someone else.

Sure enough, Regulus is still there.

It doesn’t matter, though. Already he is standing up and swinging his bag over his shoulder, obvious that he has no intention to stay.

He takes off before James can say anything at all. And soon enough, he is gone, leaving James behind with a bandage roll and the ghost of a touch.