cold feet

“…literally down to the last three minutes of the game, Sirius. I thought there was no way we were going to tie it. But then—“

”How’d you do it?” Sirius asks, eager to get to the point already and find out how the Marauders managed to win the entire tournament.

“Well, it was all Remus, really,” James answers with a grin. “He wouldn’t let the puck stay in our zone for more than five seconds. Every time it crossed the blue line, he was there, getting it out immediately. Then he had this fucking incredible break out of the zone, so I went with him…”

”Ah, last minute goal from the team captain,” Sirius responds, nodding in understanding. There’s still a teasing sort of edge to the way he says “team captain”—it’s been a week, and Sirius still cannot believe the title was awarded to James of all people. He would’ve thought that for sure one of the Prewett twins would get it, or Marlene. It's a pleasant surprise, but he will never admit that out loud. “So modest about it.”

“No, I’m telling you, anyone could’ve put it in!” James wastes no time in replying, accompanied by the aggressive shaking of his head. “Remus set it up perfectly. All I had to do was tap it in. It was crazy, I think my mom got a video—“

”And you haven’t sent it to me?” Sirius feigns shock, gasping. “I’m offended, Potter!”

”She didn’t send it herself?” James asks, raising an eyebrow. When Sirius shakes his head, James immediately throws his free hand up. “Okay, okay, I’ll send it right now.”

”You’d better,” Sirius responds, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve gotta see if this goal lives up to the hype now.”

”Oh trust me, it will,” James says with a laugh. Then it’s quiet for a few seconds, the only sound coming from James occasionally tapping his phone screen. Eventually, Sirius sees the notification pop up that indicates that James has sent it, and he gives James a thumbs up.

”I’ll watch it after this,” Sirius says, swiping up on the notification so that it disappears for now. “I wanna hear how you guys won.”

“Like I said,” James begins, “down to the last three minutes. We lined up again at center ice after the goal, I won the faceoff and got it to Marlene. She tried to take it up the boards and got swarmed, so I went over to help her. Turns out she didn’t need help. Like, at all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her fight so hard for the puck in my entire life.”

”I believe it,” Sirius replies with a nod. He hasn’t known Marlene nearly as long as James, but he’s seen how she plays out on the ice. And he respects the hell out of her for how she fearlessly takes on men twice her size, often skating away like it is nothing. If he didn’t know her so well, he would not have any sort of desire to mess with her. “She’s fucking crazy.”

”Damn right,” James affirms. “Anyway, she got the puck away from the boards and back to me, so I immediately took it to their zone again. I couldn’t quite find a clear angle, though, so we just kinda started passing the puck around and hoping that one of us could find an opening. I’m not sure how, at some point Remus passed it back to me, and I put it on net.. it didn’t go in, but Marlene was there and she just managed to shove the rebound in. With less than two minutes left. It was insane.”

”I can only imagine the screaming from the bleachers,” Sirius says, laughing as he attempts to visualize the scenario James has just described to him. It’s admittedly one of the things he misses about high school hockey—there were less people in the crowd, sure, but their enthusiasm for anything decent the Marauders did easily made up for it. And though he would’ve loved to have kept up with his former team over the course of the weekend, he had his own games to worry about. Ones that didn’t exactly go as splendidly as his first game on the Blazers…

Well, nothing on Sirius’s end has changed. He’s still playing the same as he always has, trying his damndest to prove that he earned his spot on the team. Over the past couple of games he’s picked up an assist and another goal, giving him three points in his first three games. So he’s doing just fine. His team, on the other hand, is not, and Sirius is just about ready to kill all of their defensemen. Scott fucking Niedermayer used to play for the Blazers, and watching his teammates out there in comparison feels like absolute disrespect on Niedermayer’s name. He’s attempting to stay optimistic, telling himself they’ll get another win soon enough and start playing like a coherent team, but it’s hard.

So instead of worrying about that, he’s now focusing on James’s team—who’s had a spectacular season debut as usual. The opening tournament of the season isn’t always necessarily indicative of what teams are going to do well over the next few months and what teams are going to crash and burn, but it does allow for educated guesses. And more often than not, those guesses wind up being right. The fact that the Marauders managed to win is a very, very promising sign. Naturally, he has to ask the most important question. “Hooch given out the tournament awards yet?”

“Nah, not yet,” James answers. “We’re all going to dinner in an hour, I think she’s saving it for then.”

”Well, you know the rule,” Sirius responds, because this part’s been a tradition ever since Sirius joined the Marauders (and probably even before that). At the end of every tournament, Coach Hooch always gives out awards. They vary anywhere from “Money Play” to “Most Valuable Player” to “Lady Byng” to “Power Play Merchant”, and whoever is awarded these is expected to wear the poorly designed T-shirt handed to them for the next 24 hours before returning it at the next practice. Sirius has no clue why that’s the rule—he asked James once, who had simply shrugged and said it had something to do with “luck for the next tournament”—but he’s eager to see what James is handed.

”If I even win anything,” James interrupts, which causes Sirius’s face to fall a little.

”What do you mean?” Sirius asks, concern quickly growing. James always wins something… he and Sirius have always walked away with a T-shirt, and though they’re admittedly stupid, they both wear them like a badge of honor. How could James not get one?

James is quiet for a second. When he speaks, he stumbles over his words, like he’s choosing them very carefully. “I, um… did not have the best games on Saturday,” James finally replies. “And everyone noticed. Even Peter made a comment about it.”

Yikes, Sirius thinks, attempting to suppress a grimace. One thing you’re never supposed to do in hockey is leave your goalie out to dry. James must’ve really screwed him over for him to say something. “Ah,” Sirius responds simply. “Damn.”

”Yeah,” James confirms solemnly. “Tried to make up for it today, but I don’t know. My t-shirt streak might be over.”

”Nah, I believe in you,” Sirius replies. “What happened with the games?”

James’s face is suddenly pale, and Sirius notices that he’s just bitten down on his lip. He seems genuinely nervous, though why, Sirius has no idea. James doesn’t look at the camera as he speaks now, choosing instead to look directly ahead of him at the wall. “I don’t know,” he says. “I just… my brain wasn’t there. I don’t know why. Felt like my very first time playing hockey.”

Okay, there’s definitely something more there that James wants to say, something that he isn’t letting onto. But what it is, Sirius doesn’t know, and it’s already clear this is a sensitive topic. Besides, James is generally the most straightforward person Sirius knows—if he doesn’t want to talk about something, Sirius has a feeling he shouldn’t push it. “I know how that is,” Sirius says, sighing. Then he pauses for a second, debating whether or not he should add something else. Slowly, he begins to ask James another question. “You sure there wasn’t anything else to it?”

”No!” James immediately exclaims, shaking his head. “No, not really. Just me getting in my own head, I think.” Sirius raises an eyebrow, causing James to speak again. “Sirius. I’m fine.”

Sirius throws his free hand up in mock surrender, though he still isn’t convinced. “Whatever you say.”

The silence that follows remains for a while, like they’re both scared to say something again. Sirius tries to tell himself that this is completely normal behavior for James, that even though they’re best friends that doesn’t mean that Sirius is entitled to know every single thing about him. Sure, James holding something back from him is new—but he absolutely doesn’t have to share if he doesn’t want to. Right? And Sirius would be a shitty person for continuing to press him about it when James clearly does not want to humor him. So therefore he should leave it alone, and not demand anything from him that he doesn’t have the right to uncover.

Still, though… this is the first time that James has ever held something back from Sirius. At least, the first time that Sirius can remember. Sirius doesn’t necessarily enjoy talking about certain aspects of himself, and James learned a long time ago to respect that. He talks enough to make up for the both of them, anyways. He’s never minded that Sirius doesn’t always like to talk about his home life, or his parents, or Regulus. Especially not about Regulus. When he does open up, James is receptive to it, and never points out how little he shares. Sirius should have the same energy for him, he should know better than anyone to respect when someone doesn’t want to discuss something… but it’s James they’re talking about. What is it he’s hiding that he thinks could possibly upset Sirius, that he doesn’t think he can handle? To Sirius, there isn’t a single detail in the world that could ever make him want to stop being the friend of James Potter. And he has to pretend it doesn’t hurt that James clearly believes otherwise.

Right as Sirius goes to talk, still unsure of what he’ll actually say, Frank comes into their room. “Sirius, you ready to go?” he asks, throwing a jacket on. And immediately, Sirius’s eyes widen.

Shit. He’d completely forgotten that the Longbottoms had wanted to take him to dinner today to commemorate his first weekend playing in the juniors. And considering the fact that Sirius is still in his pajamas—which consist of a Weezer t-shirt and flannel pants—he is nowhere near ready to go. “Shit, sorry. Um, give me five minutes.”

Thankfully Frank gets the message immediately, nodding. And Sirius is grateful that he doesn’t seem to be upset, that he’s actually understanding about it. “Hi, James!” he calls out, taking a step forward and waving. Sirius laughs and shifts his camera so that Frank is in frame, and watches as James’s face lights up.

”How’s it going?” James asks back. Frank flashes him a thumbs up.

”Going great, going great. Heard you all won your first tournament, eh?”

”We did, yeah,” James replies. “Hopefully not our last.”

”Nah, you guys have got this,” Frank replies, which makes Sirius want to chuckle. He finds it hilarious how supportive Frank is of the Marauders, considering the fact that his only knowledge of the team comes from him. Either way, he’s sure James appreciates the support.

Five seconds later James confirms this. “Thanks, man!” he exclaims, like he and Frank have known each other for years. Sirius grins.

”’Course,” Frank replies before turning to Sirius. “I’ll be in the living room,” he tells him, stepping back out of the bedroom and leaving.

Sirius waits a moment. Then, he readjusts his phone so that he and James are looking at each other again. “I gotta go,” he says, pointing to where Frank was just standing. “But keep me updated on what shirt you get.” He watches as James opens his mouth, ready to object, and immediately interrupts. “Nope, you’re getting one.”

James sighs. “I’ll let you know. I hope you’re right,” is all that he says.

“Always am,” Sirius replies, the corners of his mouth turning upwards as he prepares to carry on their tradition. “I love you, bye!”

”Love you!” James answers. Then, Sirius presses the red button that ends the call, and the image of James in his phone screen is gone.

He doesn’t start getting ready immediately, though he knows he probably should. The Longbottoms are super kind, understanding people, and he doesn’t want to take advantage of that.

Instead, he finally clicks on the video that James sent him a few minutes ago, turning his phone and pressing play. And immediately, he sees Remus in the center of the frame, skating back and forth as he attempts to cover the point. He is relentless in his footwork and he sprints to a new spot every single time a pass is made, either covering a player or covering the net ahead. Finally, after what feels like years of attempting to set up, one of the wingers takes a hard shot right at the net—and immediately Remus is there, diving towards the puck and blocking the shot straight on. Sirius grimaces as it bounces right off of Remus’s chest, knowing firsthand how much that must’ve hurt. But if Remus is in pain, he doesn’t let it show, quick to scoop up the puck on his stick and carry it from end to end. Sirius watches as he darts across the ice like his life depends on it, so fast that the opposing team barely seems to register what is happening. By the time they’ve begun to pursue him, James is already just behind Remus, who is approaching the goalie at light speed and is relentless in his pursuit. He comes up just on the goalie’s right side, and right as Sirius thinks he’s going to fire it…

He swivels around and instead backhands a pass to James, who is standing right at the other post. And he was right—James seriously just does tap it in, the goalie completely unready for what Remus was about to throw at him. Sirius’s jaw drops open, and he has to use his hand to close it again. Wow.

His chest also hurts a little as he shuts his phone off, turning it over so that he is no longer looking at the screen. He really does miss the Marauders. He misses James, and Marlene, and the twins, and Emmeline and Benjy and all his other teammates and even Coach Hooch with all her insanity. While he knows he’s better off up here, away from his family who was constantly holding him back and finally being able to thrive, he wishes that he didn’t have to be so far. He misses the late night pizza runs after games, misses the stupid T-shirts, misses the post-loss lectures and the relentless ladders that Hooch would make them skate. And really, he does want to meet this Remus kid more than anything.

But there’s no point in regretting his own choices. He’s here, now, where he was always meant to be. No more of his mother screaming at him that he’s throwing everything away, of his dad’s crude remarks about his choices, of his brother constantly glaring him down like he should apologize simply for wanting different things. All of that is no more. Instead, it’s been replaced by the caring hospitality of the Longbottoms, by all of the cameras capturing pictures and videos of him, by his coach and teammates telling him to play like he means it. He’s the same person, yet his circumstances are entirely different. Just like he’s always begged for.

And he is going to make the most of that, no matter what. It’s what James would want.

❅ ❅ ❅

“What the hell are you wearing?”

Up until now, James had almost forgotten about the bright magenta shirt that he’d been assigned. But his 24 hours of wearing it aren’t up just yet, and he honestly doesn’t mind the splash of color.

Regulus, on the other hand, clearly does. They’re currently getting ready for their Tuesday evening Learn to Skate class that is about to start, and James has just made the decision to sit next to him on the bench yet again as he laces up his skates. Or at least, he’s attempting to sit down. But Regulus is currently staring at him like he has four heads, and James is strongly considering aborting the entire thing.

Hi to you too, James thinks, resisting the urge to sigh. He hasn’t even sat down yet, and already this? He doesn’t know why he thought this was a good idea.

Instead of letting his embarrassment show, James opts to grab onto the ends of his t-shirt and display the words on them proudly. “It’s my Lady Byng t-shirt,” he replies, grinning. “Got it for taking no penalties at all this tournament.”

Regulus lets out a completely dry laugh, and James can’t help but wonder why. “Of course you would,” he says. Huh? But Regulus wastes no further time on the matter, bending back down as he resumes lacing up his left boot.

Okay, now James can’t back down from that. He immediately rushes over to the bench and takes a seat, pulling his own skates out of his bag. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks as he kicks his sneakers off, and he attempts to say it as casually as he can. But if Regulus hears him, he completely ignores him. So James asks again. “What did you mean by that, Reg?”

”Reg?!” Regulus immediately exclaims, and this time the laugh that follows is full of disbelief. Like James has somehow just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Okay, no, not happening. Not a chance.”

”Not a chance of what?” James asks, blinking. Literally all he did was call him a shortened version of his full name. Hockey players bestow nicknames upon each other like they're passing out candy. He doesn’t see the problem with that, but then again he supposes Regulus is always finding problems with everything.

It’s now that Regulus finishes lacing up his skates, pulling the ends of his pants over his boots (James has never understood why figure skaters do that—he thinks he remembers Sirius once telling him it had something to do with holding the laces. He still doesn’t get it). “Jesus,” he whispers, almost like James isn’t there at all. “You’re way too fucking nice.” The next part comes so quietly that James might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been listening so intently. Suddenly, Regulus’s remark about him being the one to win the Lady Byng t-shirt makes far more sense, and James is now realizing why it was supposed to be an insult. Ah.

And then Regulus throws his skate bag down on the ground, far more forcefully than he needs to. The words that follow are loud and clear, and James would be stupid not to listen. “Look, I appreciate you helping me out on Saturday. I do. But just because you did that doesn’t mean…”

He trails off right as James finishes tying the knot on his right skate, and James takes it as the perfect opportunity to sit up and glance back over at Regulus. “What? What doesn’t it mean?” he asks, pursing his lips together as he does so. He catches Regulus’s eyes flittering over to him, and just for a millisecond their gazes meet.

But Regulus turns away almost as quickly as he looked, and he stays that way for quite some time. And finally, just as James thinks he’s about to leave their conversation on that and head to the ice, he speaks, facing James once again. “It doesn’t just suddenly mean we’re good. Okay?”

Of course it doesn’t. James shouldn’t have expected anything less. “Okay. Whatever you say,” he says, raising both of his hands up in mock surrender. By this point, Regulus has already taken his focus off of him, staring straight ahead at the wall. And that’s when the urge suddenly hits James.

He blurts it out before he can stop himself. He blurts it out without even thinking, really. “How’s your foot doing, by the way?”

Regulus slams his hand down on the bench in between them, the noise so loud that James has to keep himself from flinching. Yeah, that figures. And just like that, Regulus is standing up and preparing to leave.

James wants to smack himself. Why would he say that? Regulus has literally just told him they weren’t cool, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from running his mouth. Maybe he is as much of an idiot as Regulus thinks he is.

As Regulus storms away from him, James manages to catch what he calls out. “You look stupid in purple.”

Yet again, he doesn’t withhold his response. “It’s magenta, actually!”

”Same difference!”

Whatever, James thinks to himself, taking a moment to breathe as he pulls his soakers off of his blades and shoves them into his bag. I look great in magenta.

Either way, the message Regulus has conveyed to him today could not be more indisputable: nothing has changed. He was delusional to believe that it ever could have, even for one second.

He tries not to let the harsh reality of that statement sting. Instead, he tells himself that at least now he doesn’t have to waste a second more of his time wondering what might be, wondering if finally he could be more than just despised. Wondering if maybe his presence could be tolerated, if it could even grow to be welcomed someday.

It won’t happen. And James knows that now. Still, he hopes that…

He has no idea what it is he hopes for. But that doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, he’s better off forgetting.

When at last he gets onto his feet and glances at the glass, Regulus is on the ice, flying around the ice like he did the day that all of this began. And for a moment, James watches.

Like always, Regulus does not look back.