cold feet

When Remus Lupin was three years old, his father took him to his first public session. 

The moment he stepped onto the ice, cruddy rentals and all, he didn’t want to get off. He cried at the end of the session when his father told them they had to leave, so that the zamboni could cut the ice. When at last his father was able to drag him off, their first stop was the front desk. Within minutes Remus had been signed up for an introductory hockey class, and since then he hasn’t gone back. He’s sixteen years old now, and he’s stuck with hockey to this very day because he loves it more than anything else in the world. And even though he was briefly deterred from it, his passion drove him to the sport again anyway. Right back to where he started.

It wasn’t the slightest bit easy, though. For months on end Remus refused to open his bag of gear, refused to look at his skates. He didn’t even entertain the idea of playing again; his dad asked him countless times. “Tryout season’s coming up, you know,” he’d say. “We can find you a new team.”

Remus’s answer was always the same. “Yeah, maybe,” he’d say, only because he knew flat-out refusal would break his father’s heart. And so it went on for months.

As tryouts for new teams came closer and closer, his dad had grown more desperate. “Remus, you’re really good out there,” he began to say. “Just join a new team, give it another shot.”

Remus’s answer was confident, was final. “They won’t want me,” he replied. The Wolves didn’t, so why would another team take him on? It was stupid of his dad to even be entertaining that fantasy in the first place.

At least, that’s what he’d thought.

One day in June, his dad had talked him into attending one tryout—hosted by the Marauders. “Just go this one time,” he begged. “Give it one shot, and if you hate it then I’ll leave it alone forever. I promise.”

The second Remus had stepped back onto the ice again, he was reminded of why he’d been so enamored with the sport. There the ice was, perfectly crisp and smooth and white, begging for Remus’s blades to scratch it up. Just like he’d never left it.

Coach Hooch had offered him a spot on the team after tryouts were over, and that had been the end of it. Remus Lupin was a hockey player once more, and he didn’t plan on saying goodbye this time. 

And as it turned out, he’d been wrong about not being wanted. After a month of playing on the team, the Marauders have taken him in without a second question, like he’s always been one of them. Now he just needs to be extra careful not to muck any of this up.

If that means hiding bits and pieces of himself, so what? Besides, it’s not even like he’s hiding anything—his teammates just haven’t asked. It hasn’t come up in practice or games, and there’s no need for it to. When the Marauders are out there, they’re only focused on the game, on playing together, on winning. Remus Lupin’s personal life absolutely does not have anything to do with those, and he prefers it that way. All he needs to do is focus on being the best that he can, on continuing to stay at the top of his game, and he’ll be all set.

So it’s after a Tuesday evening stick time that Remus sits in the lobby, staring at a text he’s just received on his phone. He’s trying not to let his face shift as he reads it, trying not to give away any sort of discernible reaction.

Mom: Talked to Dr. Pomfrey and she wants you to come in. If it’s really chronic migraines, we’ll need to let Hooch know.

We’ll need to let Hooch know, he repeats in his head. He knows what that really means: You’re going to have to sit out of games. You can’t handle hockey anymore.

He turns his phone off, feeling his stomach twist. No, he thinks. He refuses to even entertain the possibility, refuses to believe that this could be happening. He’s just gotten back to hockey, and now his stupid body wants to take this beloved sport away from him? Not a chance he lets it happen.

A voice from above him suddenly catches him off guard. “You’re here today?”

Remus shifts his expression as quickly as he can, shoving his phone into his pocket. When he’s sure that there’s a somewhat normal smile on his face, he looks up at James across the lobby and gets out as coherent of an answer as he can manage. “There was a sticktime happening,” he states. “I just came for the hour.”

”Ah,” James nods, not saying anything else. That’s Remus’s first sign that something is wrong; James not blabbing the second that he sees him is new, and he has a feeling it’s not normal.

Once Remus concludes that he isn’t going to say anything else, he gives him a wave. “Well, hi,” he says, expecting James to laugh. But James doesn’t crack a smile; in fact, he isn’t even looking at him.

”Hi,” James says, dazed. Then he blinks, like he’s snapping out of whatever haze he’s become enshrouded in. At last he looks Remus in the eye. “Sorry, did you say something?”

Remus shakes his head. “Just said hi,” he says, hoping it doesn’t show just how thrown off he is. “Dude, what’s up with you?” He asks because he cannot stand this any longer. This absolutely is not the James he’s come to know.

James crosses his arms over his stomach, quickly averting his eyes. “What do you mean?” he responds, and it doesn’t escape Remus that he is currently as pale as a ghost. “Nothing’s up.”

”No offense, James,” Remus continues, “but it’s incredibly obvious that isn’t true. Now, what happened?”

James opens his mouth immediately, and Remus prepares to hear the entire truth in a matter of seconds. He knows the drill with James right now, knows exactly how this is going to go.

Except apparently he doesn’t, because James’s response doesn’t come as quickly as he thought. And when he does reply, it’s with hesitation he’s never seen in his friend before. “I wish I knew,” he settles on, which gives Remus absolutely nothing.

“You don’t have any sort of an idea?” Remus asks, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Like, at all?”

”No,” James blurts out far too quickly for Remus to be convinced he is telling the truth. Then, he sighs. “Well, I do. It’s just. It’s complicated.” 

“Oh,” Remus replies. “If you wanted to tell me about it—“

“No,” James interrupts before Remus can even finish. “Thank you, but he wants me to forget all of this even just happened, so.. I probably shouldn’t.”

He. Remus racks his mind in an attempt to figure out who James could possibly be referring to, who could have rendered the boy that always has something to say so damn speechless. He. But it’s the only clue James has given him, and Remus can tell he’s not going to get much more out. “Huh,” Remus responds. “Okay, um, sorry about that. The offer still stands, though.”

”I appreciate it,” James says, offering him a half-hearted smile. Remus returns it, though he suspects his is probably more genuine than James’s. After a moment, James exhales, and then he is back to normal. “Hey, I feel bad always complaining to you about all of my problems. Anything going on with you?”

Now it’s Remus’s turn to become choked up, barely able to form a sentence. “Me?” he gets out, to which James nods enthusiastically. He pauses.

Well, I don’t know. I’ve only been sleeping for three hours at most every night, my head is constantly killing me, and now I’ve just been told that I might not be able to do the only thing I’m good at anymore because of that.

He figures that’s far too much for James to hear all at once. So instead, he just shrugs. “Nothing’s new with me,” he replies. “Same as always.”

Okay, now he’s getting dangerously into purposefully-hiding-himself-from-others territory. But he can’t be blamed—he’s just been asked a question he completely wasn’t ready for. Naturally, his first instinct is self-preservation. 

He’s worried that James will see right through his facade, worried that he’ll just somehow know that Remus is not telling the truth. But thankfully James doesn’t seem to think anything of it. “Ah, okay,” he says. And then… “If you do ever want me to return the favor. Just let me know.”

Remus laughs a little at that. “Thanks,” he says, attempting to offer James a smile. “I’ll make a note of it.”

”Good.”

Remus would be surprised if James is even aware of his own response—he still seems lost in something else entirely, stuck in a daze that Remus has no clue how to navigate. Instead of looking at Remus, his eyes are focused on the corner of the lobby, as though he is anticipating something that does not come. He’s only ever seen James in this state one other time; during that game on tournament weekend, when he’d taken that nasty hit and had barely even been phased by it. He has that same look in his eyes now, as though he is out in space admiring the stars. 

“James, are you sure that you don’t want to—“

”Remus,” he insists with a wave of his hand. “I’m okay. Honest.” 

“You’re sure of that?”

”Yeah,” James says, nodding. “I’m sure.”

If you say so, Remus thinks, though he doesn’t give a voice to it. He would be a total hypocrite if he did so, more than he already is. 

Something passes between the two—something that feels like a moment of understanding without coming anywhere close. Remus wonders if James knows he is keeping things from him, the way Remus knows James is hiding from him. At least Remus doesn’t have to feel so guilty for his own distrust anymore.

And then the moment is fleeting as James snaps out his trance, back to normal like always. “Hey, you see Sirius’s goal from yesterday?”

”Did I see it?” Remus replies, scoffing when James nods. “How could I not?” He doesn’t add that he’s probably watched the clip 50 times today alone. That probably verges on weird.

”Fucking incredible,” James says, the same as he always does—he knows this routine with James by now. “We simply are not worthy.”

Remus laughs at that. “Dick ride him a little more, why don’t you?”

James’s head snaps over quicker than a flash of lightning—it occurs to Remus that he hasn’t really made a vulgar joke like this yet, not to James. He used to make them all the time, back on the Wolves. He’s not sure when it stopped. “Woah!” James exclaims, his eyes so wide they might come tumbling out of his sockets. “Where did that come from?”

”Literally all you do is dick ride him,” Remus points out, which causes James to smack him on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m right!” he exclaims, and James only confirms Remus’s accusations by smacking him again.

”Can’t a man have admiration for his best friend’s incredible hockey skills?”

”Yeah, just make it sound like you’re a little less in love.”

”Oh, come on!” James groans, though his shoulders are shaking like he’s attempting to hold back laughter. “I’m just appreciating what he can do, is all.”

“If fantasizing about him at night counts, then sure.”

”Jesus!” James yells out, but it’s too late. He and Remus have already burst into hysterics as Remus backs away from him, James stepping towards him at the same time. “Hey, get back here!” he says to Remus, who is beginning to break into a sprint as James chases him around the lobby.

God, has Remus missed this. For the first time in over half a year, he feels like he is himself again, feels like he’s at last worthy of belonging once more. He’s forgotten what it feels like to laugh, forgotten his out-of-pocket quips and lighthearted banter, forgotten the pure and utter joy that this brings him. Like when he was three, he is reminded all over again of why he sticks with hockey, even when hockey doesn’t want to stick with him.

And he tries not to think about the fact that when he sees Dr. Pomfrey, it all could get taken away from him again. This time, it won’t be by choice.

❅ ❅ ❅

Tumbling, crashing, crumbling, falling apart.

For the next 24 hours, that is how the world around James appears. He can barely focus in school, can barely eat or sleep, can barely even keep his grip on the puck during Thursday practice. Everything seems to be spiraling out far too fast, the ground beneath him caving in, and he has no idea how to make it stop. Every time he attempts to tune out the noise around him, to dial back into the present again, all he can hear is those words again. Those stupid words that changed everything, embellished by the melancholy sound of Regulus Black’s voice.

You didn’t steal Sirius. He chose you.

I completely understood why.

It’s no contest, really. He shut me out almost the second you guys met. I would’ve liked to be friends.

Was either you or myself. You’re easier.

He chose you.

He chose you he chose you he chose you he chose you—

I understood why.

That part is the one that has stuck with him the most. The acknowledgement that Sirius made a choice, that he’s stood by it all of these years, that he would’ve rather taken James over his own brother because to be with James was easier.

And then there’s Regulus, too small for his own skin, admitting that he accepted Sirius’s decision long ago. Admitting that besides James, he feels entirely inadequate.

James’s stomach twists at this. He’d never realized that his biggest crime around Regulus was the one of undermining him completely, leaving him unacknowledged and unimportant. He hadn’t meant to do that. He hadn’t even known.

It’s too late to take it back now, though, isn’t it? The damage James was entirely unaware of has already been dealt, and he can’t fix any of it if he isn’t even sure where the broken pieces have fallen. Not to say he hasn’t tried—he’s attempted before to grasp at them, attempted to gather them up, but they keep slipping through his fingers. Regulus just keeps running away, no matter how fast James chases after him.

There was a time where he wouldn’t have. A time where it all could’ve been different. I would’ve liked to be friends, the three of us. Regulus told James that it would’ve been nice.

”We still could be,” James wants to scream, more than anything else. “The three of us could be friends. You and I could be.” But he knows that his window of opportunity has long passed, and all those words would get him now is a swift and sharp glare. It still doesn’t stop him from wanting to plead, wanting to beg like he is nothing more than a dog sprinting after a ball.

He restrains himself only by thinking of Sirius. Sirius, who doesn’t know what’s transpired over the past couple of weeks, who would tell James that he is playing with fire and that he should absolutely stop whatever this is before he is burned.

He’s right, of course. He’s very logical about the entire thing in a way that James can only admire. But unfortunately, James has never been good at listening, and he especially doesn’t do well with logic. It’s why he’s done so well at hockey—making plays that are considered “impossible” simply because he wanted to try them out.

Maybe it’s the same thing with Regulus. Maybe he sticks with this because he likes the challenge, likes the irrationality that comes with it. And, yet again, he wants to prove to everyone else that they are wrong.

So far, they’ve been correct. But he refuses to let that deter his optimism.

He really does wish that this entire thing would stop affecting him on such a personal level, though. It was because of his piss poor performance during practice that Coach Hooch made them skate ladders for a solid 15 minutes, and he’s sure he’s got the entire team fuming at him. He didn’t stick around long enough to find out—Sirius’s game started half an hour ago, so now he is dashing out of Rink A with his eyes glued to his phone, planning on getting home as quickly as he can so that he can pull up the game on TV instead.

But even as he watches Sirius play, he can’t stop seeing his stupid fucking brother in place of him, like he’s the one that’s a thousand miles away. Sometimes that is how it feels.

God, he needs to focus. Sirius is doing some incredibly impressive shit out there, setting up beautiful opportunities for his teammates and skating from end to end like his life depends on it. James should be appreciating that. He absolutely should not be focused on his brother instead.

Surprisingly, he manages for just a few moments to tune out everything else that is occurring, just watching his best friend do what he does better than anyone else. He watches as Sirius races to the corner of his own zone, quick to snag the puck out before any of the Calgary players can even cross over the blue line. James isn’t even sure they’re aware of Sirius’s presence as he darts to the other end of the ice, blazing by the opposition as though they aren’t there. He makes it over the red line, passes the blue line, and then…

”Oh!” exclaims the play-by-play commentator, at the exact same time as James gasps. For seemingly no reason at all, Sirius has slipped over himself, flying 5 feet into the air before he crashes back down into the ice. Sirius doesn’t even seem phased as he lands on his back, quick to swivel his legs around and scramble back up to his feet as though the entire incident hadn’t just happened. “That’s a new one from Black. Seems to have caught an edge.”

”I think he’s too fast for even himself,” the color guy chimes in, and the two commentators chuckle at that. James doesn’t suppress the smile that comes to his face—he will definitely be mocking Sirius for this when they call later. As his best friend, he’s also obligated to be his biggest bully.

The moment passes, but not quick enough. Sirius is now joined by the Hitmen players as they attempt to defend their zone, at last catching up to him. He looks around the zone, bouncing the puck back and forth on his stick, desperate to find another one of his teammates and relieve the pressure off of him.

But then there is an echo, and James nearly does a double take—the words are way too familiar, the voices on his phone all overlapping. He wonders if he’s going crazy.

“…A new one from Black. Seems to have caught an edge.”

James smacks his phone a couple of times, bringing it up to his ear. But by now, the play-by-play commentator is saying different words entirely. “Looking to make a pass, Black—“ 

No, it’s definitely not his phone glitching. Someone else in the lobby has the game on, though how they’ve done so James doesn’t know. It’s not like it’s easily available.

He glances up from his phone now, taking a moment to search the lobby. By this point in the night, it’s near empty, with only a handful of figure skaters left over. He sees a couple of moms waiting in chairs by Rink C, chatting and laughing, sees that pair of ice dancer siblings storming out of Rink B together, clearly angry at each other, sees the bored employee scrolling through his phone at the front counter. Who the hell is—

When his eyes fall upon the bench that resides in the middle of the lobby, he stops dead in his tracks at the sight before him. Holy shit.

Well, this one’s unexpected, but Regulus Black continues to shock James in ways he didn’t even know possible. Maybe he should start expecting it.

He doesn’t even need to see his face to know who it is—he can tell just by the jet black curls that fall down past his ears, by the dark green jacket that reads “Salazar Figure Skating Club” on his back, by the all too familiar bag that lays by his feet. Regulus is sitting on the bench with his eyes glued to his laptop, watching an incredibly pixelated and much slower version of the same game.

Is he… watching it illegally? James’s first instinct is to laugh, but he resists. He thinks that if Regulus heard him right now, if he sensed his presence in any way, shape, or form, he would have his head for it. And James very much prefers to keep his head intact. He’s rather fond of it.

“—Too fast for even himself,” repeats Regulus’s laptop, and James watches as he attempts to keep his shoulders in one place. But it’s no use—James catches the outline of them wobbling as Regulus makes a point of not laughing, and it hits James that he’s never seen Regulus actually laugh before, or even smile for that matter. Sure, there was that one Saturday a couple of weeks ago, but that hadn’t been real. He has yet to witness genuine emotion from Regulus that isn’t anger, or perpetual bitterness. And James doesn’t know why the thought of that saddens him. 

He doesn’t end up thinking on it too long, though—Regulus slams his laptop shut a few seconds later, shoving it into his skate bag that lays beside him. Shit. With no clue where he is headed, James wastes no time in backing up against the nearest wall, praying that if he stays still enough maybe Regulus won’t notice him at all. Or maybe he’ll go in a completely different direction. He can hear his heart pounding against his chest as Regulus stands up, turning to his left… Please don’t look this way, please don’t look this way, please don’t look this way.

And then Regulus picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder, taking as direct of a path to Rink B as possible. His skate guards click and clack on the ground beneath them, the only noise ringing in James’s ears as Regulus walks away. He doesn’t stop for anything, and James wouldn’t doubt that he only has eyes for one task.

He doesn’t need to guess what; he already knows. The task that Regulus lives and breathes for, what all of them here live and breathe for. Skating.

The glass door shuts behind him, and then Regulus is gone.

James revels in finally being able to breathe himself again, practically gasping for air right now as relief washes over him.

Then he looks at the door where Regulus just stood not even a second ago, and a stupid idea forms in his head. Probably the dumbest one he’s had yet.

No, he tells himself, attempting to keep his feet glued to the ground. Absolutely not. It’s like he wants to be murdered, or something, because there is no way that a part of him is seriously considering doing this right now. He’s already done this weeks ago, and it turned out awfully for him last time. There is no reason for it to turn out any different this time.

Except that James’s feet are acting faster than his body, and he can’t stop thinking that maybe this is just another impossible play, something he has been told he cannot do. And maybe this time, it could work. 

Or maybe it won’t. Maybe he really is only going to make everything worse. But he won’t know unless he keeps trying—right?

James drops his bag and stick down onto the ground, inhales deeply, and without further hesitation follows Regulus into the freezing cold of Rink B.