cold feet

As James steps out of Rink C and into the warm air of the lobby, he can’t help but wonder how much longer it’s going to be before Sirius can change out of his gear in a decent amount of time.

He really doesn’t want to be mean about it, but come on. By the time James left the locker room, Sirius had barely taken his chest protector off. And the fact that he refuses help doesn’t make it any easier.

“Give him time, mijo,” his mom had said when James had complained about the exact same thing at practice last week. “He’s still getting used to everything. You were the same way when you started out.”

She’s right, of course, like she always is. But he wishes that he’d hurry it up and learn already. As it stands, James is absolutely starving right now, and his family can’t get going until Sirius is ready too. And he is seriously looking forward to devouring some donuts. 

In the background, his parents are talking to him about the game he’s just played. And though he is trying his absolute best to listen, the growling of his stomach is currently overpowering any other sounds ringing through his ears. He picks up bits and pieces–”That was incredible of you!” 

“Sirius and you, you make a good–” 

“That pass was absolutely unreal!” 

“You gotta be a little more aggress-”

None of the phrases actually stick in his head, though he probably should be taking note. Yet how is he expected to pay attention when the promise of a chocolate pastry with rainbow sprinkles and rich frosting is just around the corner? All he’s got to do now is wait for Sirius, and then they’ll be all set to go.

So maybe it’s with Sirius in mind that his eyes scan the lobby, hoping that he’s magically developed the skill of hyperspeed and is out here already. He really does search everywhere for him, glancing first at the front counter and then letting his eyes pause over each and every door frame…

In the distance, a smaller figure suddenly catches his eye. At first, he thinks it could be Sirius. But then he steals another look, and realizes that the piercing gray in the irises do not belong to his new best friend. This boy’s hair is shorter and curlier, and his skin is pale. On top of all that, he’s currently donning figure skates, his tight black jacket and looser pants considered an unusual uniform for any hockey player to be wearing.

James realizes that the striking resemblance is because he’s just caught sight of Sirius’s little brother–Regulus. This is far from the first time he’s seen him; he was there during James’s first introduction to Sirius, and admittedly, James had been watching the two of them beforehand. So he’d watched him skate a little bit, even though he’d had little idea of what he and Sirius were doing out there. Ironically, he was the one who actually scolded James that day on the public session half a year ago, despite the fact that he hadn’t been the one to take the hit.

“What were you thinking?” Regulus had asked as James scrambled up to his feet, right after he told Sirius he should think about hockey. “You can’t be skating up the middle!” There was a way in which he said it, like he was so totally right and James would be stupid to even object to it, that caused James to burst into imminent laughter. Regulus had simply glowered. And since then, he hasn’t said a word to him. James isn’t sure whether it’s by fate or by the boy’s own choice.

An idea suddenly bursts into James’s head as he stands there, watching Regulus look up from the ground and around at his surroundings. He has a headband on that keeps the majority of the curls out of his face–or at least, at one point in time it did. Currently they’re splaying out wildly in every direction, his headband practically falling off. His face is bright red, his exhaustion nearly palpable, and James is reminded of his own current state. 

So maybe his empathy for Regulus is why he pitches the idea to his mom without thinking. Regulus seems just as worn out as he does, and really, there isn’t any harm in asking. “Mom, can Regulus come get donuts too?” James asks as he keeps an eye on the boy, pointing him out to his mother with his finger.

“Don’t point, James,” his dad says, taking a hold of his arm and shoving it down. “It’s rude.” James doesn’t quite understand what’s so bad about that, but he doesn’t question it.

“Yeah, of course he can,” responds his mom, putting both of her hands on his shoulders. “Go ask. Just make sure it’s fine with his parents.”

James could wince and tell her all the reasons why he can’t do the latter part. He figures it’s better to ignore that completely and focus on the first part; getting him to say yes. Which shouldn’t be too hard, right? Besides, his mom will figure out that Sirius and Regulus’s parents are absolutely missing a screw soon enough.

But for now, what the heck. Regulus is here, and there’s no time like the present.

James takes in a deep breath, dropping his bag down onto the ground and setting his stick gently on top (his parents have just splurged for a $400 CCM stick, and he really doesn’t intend on snapping it in half in three days again). Then, he approaches Regulus, striding towards the younger boy like a man on a mission.

”Hi,” he greets Regulus, whose eyes immediately widen. The first thing he does is glance from left to right, like he thinks that James has said hi to the wrong person. But no, James is talking to him, and after a couple of seconds Regulus finally gets out a quiet response.

”Hello.”

James might have missed it if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been listening so keenly. The second he has his response, he gets right to his point.

”You look tired.”

Regulus’s wide eyes narrow very quickly. “No I don’t,” he objects, crossing his arms over his chest like James has just attacked him.

James thinks it is simply a factual statement. “Yeah, you do.”

”Do not.”

”Do too.”

Regulus opens his mouth to repeat himself again, but seems to second guess it. Which pretty much gives James all of the confirmation he needs that he is right, and Regulus is in fact as exhausted as he appears.

After a moment, he extends the olive branch. “Sirius and I are getting donuts from Hagrid’s. Wanna come?”

”Donuts?!” Regulus exclaims, yet again staring at James as though he has five heads. Surprised by the instant horror of his reaction, James slowly nods. Once the suggestion has set in, Regulus’s response comes dejectedly. “I can’t eat those.”

Now it’s James’s turn for the horror to set in. ”Can’t eat those?” he asks, thinking maybe he’s joking. “Are you crazy?”

”No, I’m not crazy!” Regulus defends. James would disagree currently. His voice drops before he speaks again. “My mom won’t let me.” As he says the words, his eyes travel in seemingly every direction, like she’s going to just pop up behind them.

“So she’s no fun,” James replies.

The way in which Regulus’s facial expression drops reminds James of how it dropped the day he fell right onto Sirius. “I never said that!”

”Well, I said it,” James says with a shrug. He thinks Regulus might pee his pants. “Your mom’s a total party pooper.”

Regulus’s mouth falls open before he can get any words out. “I—she is not,” he insists, but James is still going.

”Party pooper, buzzkill, wet blanket, stick in the mud… anything else?” He attempts to rack off as many insults as he can think of off the top of his head, and watches as Regulus gradually becomes more and more horrified at each and every statement.

And then James watches as, in spite of himself, Regulus’s lips begin to turn upwards. He has to glance away for a moment, and James doesn’t miss the way his shoulders shake up. “Stop it!” he’s exclaiming, his voice catching for just long enough that James knows he’s at least made him smile.

”I’m right,” James says. Regulus doesn’t object; James doesn’t know if he’s just given up or if he secretly agrees. “Anyways, you going or not?”

When Regulus faces James again, there’s something different in his demeanor. Any semblance of a smile he might’ve had has since fallen, and James doesn’t miss how he crosses his arms just a little tighter. “I can’t.”

”What do you mean, you can’t?” James feels as though all of his efforts have been for nothing.

”I just can’t, okay?” Regulus snaps, and James winces. Just when he actually thought he was getting somewhere…

”Oh, so you’re no fun either,” James says, attempting to find some humor in his rejection. “Listening to what mom tells you.” 

“Cut it out,” Regulus replies. James quickly realizes that he’s said the completely wrong thing—Regulus’s expression has changed from downhearted and doleful to downright angry. “I said no already.”

”Why?” James asks, never knowing when to leave well enough alone. His persistence has admittedly always been one of the best and worst things about him, though right now it is undoubtedly turning out to be for the worse. “Your mom afraid I’m gonna take you away too?”

When Regulus retaliates, his words are so loud that they echo throughout the entire lobby, and remain within the walls long after he’s said them. ”Can you SHUT UP?”

The world around them grows quiet.

James takes a step away from Regulus, knowing that he’s taken things way too far. He’d only ever meant to help, and instead, he’s just made everything worse. He doesn’t speak—it’s his big mouth that got him into this mess in the first place, and besides, he’s not sure that a “sorry” would quite suffice.

Only when the sound of Rink A’s far too heavy door opening ring through the lobby does the commotion surrounding the two seem to resume. And when James glances over at the door, he sees a very confused Sirius standing there, frozen totally in place.

When James looks back to Regulus, he is already backing away. “I’m gonna go,” he mumbles, practically shoving James out of the way as he moves past him. He practically spits out his next sentence. “Have all the fun you want with Sirius.” There’s something about the way he says his brother’s name—like it’s such a crime to even be invoking it, like the very mention is a sin—that makes James feel dizzy with guilt. 

Before James can ruin this further, Regulus robs him of the chance—he’s gone just as quickly as he appeared, forever a puzzle. James doesn’t think he could be any more the opposite of Sirius. He wonders how they are able to stand each other, but fears they probably don’t. He tries not to think about how that is likely his fault.

Sirius is quick to join James’s side now that his brother has left, glancing at the spot where he just stood. “What was that about?”

If only James knew.

He could tell Sirius the entire truth. He could ask about Regulus, ask why he is like this and how he hasn’t been driven crazy yet. He could tell Sirius that they should stop forgetting about him so often, that maybe they should be a bit nicer so maybe he won’t be as rude. He could figure something out, he knows it. He could fix this.

But Regulus’s message to him has been loud and clear: whatever James attempts, whatever efforts he makes, Regulus doesn’t want any part in it. And for once, James knows that he is better off stopping here than pushing further and worsening the cracks.

He looks at Sirius, and shakes his head. “Nothing. Come on, let’s go.”

Sirius doesn’t object.

❅ ❅ ❅

I wanted to stay.

As Regulus steps away from James and approaches the ice, those are the only words ringing in his ears. Over and over again, they repeat, and do not let up.

I wanted to stay.

The more time passes, the less James has any idea what to make of it. And the less he has any idea where to go from here.

I wanted to stay.

If it weren’t Regulus Black, maybe he’d know. But the matter of the fact is that up until now, his hatred has been relentless, and James has serious doubts that he will stop. 

Yet for a moment, it didn’t feel that way. For a moment, just for one second, it seemed like everything could change.

No.

James shakes his head, attempting to bring himself back to the present moment. He’s reminded all over again of that moment six years ago, the moment where he drove Regulus to detonation and then James swore that he would lay off of speaking to him ever again. He remembers thinking the same exact way—remembers thinking that maybe, even if it was only for a minute in time, everything could be different. He remembers the optimism with which he had approached the younger boy.

And more importantly, he remembers the sting that followed when he realized nothing was going to change. 

The sting is what he needs to recall now, as his mind revisits those treacherous territories of prospects long past. He needs to remind himself of what happened years ago, before his head becomes overwhelmed with reckless fantasies. This is the second time in less than two weeks that he’s thought this way about Regulus, and look where it’s gotten him. He still has nothing. Regulus still despises him, and just because he saw James play hockey decently for a minute doesn’t mean his opinion is going to change. And why should it? Regulus ran away afterward—as much as James would only like to focus on the first part of what happened, he’d be ignorant to omit that part of it. And today, Regulus has run away again, leaving him only with a perplexing statement that James can’t decode. James doesn’t think Regulus wants him to. 

Jesus, he needs to snap out of this. He still hasn’t started putting on his skates, and considering the fact that class starts in three minutes he should probably get on that. After putting the battle inside of his head on pause for a brief moment, he kicks his sneakers off and fishes his skates out of his bag, and he doesn’t think he’s ever pulled at his laces quicker. He ignores the burning pain that shoots through his fingers as they work against the bitter air, and he’s pretty sure he breaks a record for how fast he manages to secure both of his skates onto his feet. If he’s done a poor job tying them, he doesn’t have time to redo anything—he leaps up and makes his way to the door in record time. But suddenly, as he’s putting his hand onto the latch, he stops.

He doesn’t know why he does, why stepping out there onto the ice is now a daunting challenge. But he’s reminded of who is out there on the ice with him, reminded of his indignant attitude and his utter unpredictability. And that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s because of Regulus’s ever changing convictions towards him, because of Regulus’s stingy hatred and fleeting moments of vulnerability, that James has gotten cold feet. With him, James never has an idea of what is going to happen, and every exchange they share only further solidifies his confusion. It’s insufferable. James can’t stand it.

And maybe it’s because of this that James yet again debates something that he shouldn’t even be questioning—but he really isn’t to blame. If Regulus could just be more understandable, if James could figure out his deal, then there wouldn’t be the need to keep talking to him. And Regulus should know that James doesn’t quit easily on anything. Really, it’s his problem.

Finally, James pushes the door open, with a decision at the front of his agenda: he’s got to ask Regulus about all of this afterwards. Regulus might hate him if he does, but James will hate himself even more if he doesn’t.

❅ ❅ ❅

The walk back over to the benches after class has ended is completely silent, but it doesn’t last long. As James and Regulus sit down, Regulus practically making a point to plant himself on the very other end of the bench, James gets right to talking.

”So…” he begins, attempting not to let himself get hurt by the fact that Regulus is absolutely refusing to look at him, “you wanted to stay?”

The noise that comes out of Regulus’s mouth is something between a groan and a sigh, his head immediately collapsing into his hands. “I knew that was gonna be the first thing you asked,” he says, the sound completely muffled by his palms. 

“Yeah, you kind of really like saying these super cryptic things and then just acting like it’s normal,” James observes, to which Regulus has no response. At least he isn’t running away. “I just wanted to know what you meant by that.”

At last Regulus pulls his hands away from his face, and he could not seem more defeated if he tried. He still doesn’t spare a glance James’s way as he speaks. “Was I not clear the first time?” he questions. “I wanted to stay. I can’t get any more direct than that, can I?”

“No, I know. I’m asking why you wanted to.”

”You’re insufferable.”

James shrugs. “I try.”

Regulus sighs, yet again bringing his hands up to his head as he closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. When he exhales, he finally turns so that he is facing James. “You are a lot of things, James Potter. You are annoying, you are loud, you are persistent, you are infuriating, you never know when to leave anything alone, and I cannot stand being around you.”

James pretends like those phrases absolutely do not wound him to hear, instead nodding along. “Go on.”

Regulus seems like he would rather die than give a voice to his thoughts, but finally, he speaks, fiddling with his hands in his lap. “….You’re a lot of things. A shit hockey player isn’t one of them. You’re really good out there, y’know.”

James’s entire brain short circuits as, for the first time in his entire life, he receives a complimentfrom Regulus Black. A motherfucking compliment. Maybe he’s died and gone to an alternate dimension, because there is no way this is real. “Oh,” he finally sputters out, unsure of what else he can say without crossing a line. “Thanks.”

But Regulus is not done, and based off the expression on his face one would think he’s just revealed his darkest secret. “Yeah, whatever,” he says, complemented by the rolling of his eyes. “Now can we just move on and forget this ever happened? I think it’ll be better for both of us.”

Like he often tends to do around Regulus, James’s mouth acts faster than his brain. ”Better for you,” he retorts. “I’ve told you, I have nothing against you.”

”I know, it’s part of the reason why you’re insufferable,” Regulus states this as though it is total and complete fact. But this is the first time that James has heard Regulus give a justification for his hatred, and so he only does what anyone else would do—he pushes the subject.

”That’s why you hate me?” James says. And before he is able to stop himself, he continues to run his mouth, continues to escalate. “Listen, I’m not an idiot. I know that it feels like I stole Sirius from you, or something, I get that—“

Regulus interrupts him before he can finish his thought. ”You didn’t steal Sirius, James.”

And for the second time in the span of a minute, James’s brain completely short circuits. You didn’t steal Sirius. “What?” he gets out, because it’s the only word at the forefront of his mind. He’s gone these past six years thinking surely that is why Regulus despises him—what other explanation is there?

As if James didn’t hear him initially, Regulus repeats himself. “You didn’t steal Sirius. He chose you.”

James’s entire world feels like it is crashing down as Regulus’s words sink in, as he at last learns his point of view. Sirius chose me. I didn’t steal him. With just that phrase, every belief James has held surrounding his best friend’s younger brother begins to crumble, shattering right in front of his eyes. He has no idea what to make of it.

Regulus seems to be waiting on James’s response, but he does not have one to give. At last, when Regulus realizes this, he continues to speak. “He did. He chose you,” he repeats, as if the words were not shocking enough the first time. “You know the worst part? From the moment he did, I completely understood why.”

It is like James cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot do anything except just look at the boy whom he’s never been able to figure out. And for the first time in his life, as the words begin to set in, he begins to comprehend it all.

”I mean,” Regulus says through completely dry laughter, “come on. You’re this kind, good, always forgiving person, you’re so nice that I can’t fucking stand it, you took him in without question because that’s who you are. And then there’s me.” Then there’s you. “It’s no contest, really.”

James’s heart sinks at that statement, though he imagines any words of comfort he could offer would surely be inadequate and unwelcome. Still, he tries. “I don’t think it was that simple,” he says. “I don’t think Sirius saw it like that.”

”Oh, he did,” Regulus responds casually, like he’s had years to reflect on this subject—he probably has been reflecting upon it for years. James does his best not to imagine all the comparisons Regulus must have drawn between them, not to imagine the years of insecurity that he’s entirely responsible for. “He shut me out almost the second you guys met.”

James didn’t know this—he’d always thought that they’d drifted apart over the course of several years. He thinks he might be sick. “Oh.”

”Yeah,” Regulus nods, donning a look that resides somewhere between internalized conflict and resolved acceptance. “I wish he didn’t. I would’ve really liked to be friends, the three of us. It would’ve been nice.”

That day six years ago at the rink suddenly flashes through James’s mind—when he asked Regulus to come with them. He remembers it like it were yesterday, remembers the same look of conflict painting Regulus’s face as he dejectedly told James that he could not. He supposes some things never change.

James doesn’t point out that there is nothing stopping Regulus from being friends with him now. He doesn’t foresee the outcome of that going well. “It would’ve,” he agrees instead. 

“Yeah,” Regulus says, staring off at a point in the distance. James wonders if he’s imagining a world in which that could’ve been, the same way he is. “Doesn’t matter now, though. Not like that fucking happened.”

The bitterness in his voice is far from subtle, and James nearly winces as he’s reminded that this entire conversation began because Regulus needed to justify his hatred. “Nope,” James responds. “You hate me now.”

Regulus doesn’t hesitate to nod, his next words soft. “Was either you or myself,” he admits. “You’re easier.”

For once, his words make complete sense. It’s easier for him to hate me than to hate himself. “Oh,” James says, in an effort to pretend that Regulus’s blatant and unbothered statements aren’t the saddest he’s ever heard. “I’m sorry. I never meant…” He trails off, not even sure of how to explain what has transpired between them.

“Yeah, I know,” Regulus says. “It’s not your fault. No one to blame but myself.” 

It is the closest to forgiveness that James will ever receive from him. And for just a second as he speaks, his and James’s eyes meet. For once, they are not filled with blinding hatred, nor searing agony. 

Instead, within them there is remorse. 

Then it is gone, fleeting, as they come to their senses at the same time and look away. 

“Did you want to talk more abo-“

“No,” Regulus answers him immediately, shutting that door before it can open any further. “Absolutely not. Actually, I want to forget that I ever told you any of this. And you to forget that I ever said it.”

“If that's what you really want,” responds James, who is physically incapable of forgetting anything that has ever happened to him. “Consider it forgotten.”

(He absolutely is not going to forget it, or even let it go for that matter.)

“Yeah," Regulus confirms without hesitation, "that is what I want..." For a second, it seems like he debates whether or not to say something else. But if he does have more words, he does not say them, instead just mumbling one. "Good.” James doesn't know whether he's talking to him still or to himself.

And that’s the end of it.

In sync, they reach down and begin to unlace their skates together, and the rest of their time spent on the bench is completely silent, both of them understanding the other just a little bit more now.