cold feet

“Yeah,” confirms Sirius with a grim expression on his face, “you might be cooked.”

That absolutely is not the reassurance that James was looking for, and Sirius’s statement only seems to seal the nail in the coffin for him. Unsure of what options he has to save himself, he has no choice but to smother his face in one of his pillows and groan as loudly as he can. He waits for Sirius to tell him that he’s just kidding, that there’s still a way to salvage this—but it doesn’t happen.

“I didn’t need to hear that, Sirius,” he gets out, his words muffled.

“I’m just being honest,” defends his best friend. “Not that you’d know about that.” His last sentence is said with a bitterness that causes James to wince, and he’s glad that Sirius can’t see his face.

It’s not like he can blame Sirius for his attitude, though. James has just spent the last twenty minutes coming clean to Sirius, telling him every single occurrence between him and his brother that he’s withheld over the past few weeks. He’s held nothing back—from the bandage roll to Regulus watching his game to James following him into Rink B to Walburga showing up at the rink today. He’d meant to keep it a secret, honestly, he did. But it was no use; the second he called, Sirius was able to tell there was something wrong. Because of course he’d been able to. James had been stupid to think he could hide all of this, and he’d felt so guilty withholding it that everything had come spilling out all at once. All it took was Sirius asking what was wrong, and James was a goner.

Sirius had tried not to seem upset about it at first. But James could see it in every reaction, in every minuscule change of his face. And the comment he’s just made is the only one he needs to know that Sirius is rightfully pissed.

”Sirius—“ James begins, though he isn’t sure how to continue from here.

”Sorry,” Sirius apologizes hastily. “That was harsh.” James still thinks it’s justified, but before he has time to say that Sirius is already continuing. “Seriously, though, why wouldn’t you just tell me any of this while it was going on?”

James’s answer is immediate. “I thought you’d be pissed!” he says, at last pulling his face away from his pillow. “You literally told me not to talk to him, and I didn’t listen.”

”No, god no,” Sirius quickly rejects that thought. “Why would I be pissed?”

”Because you told me—“

”That was before you two were coaching together,” Sirius responds. “And when have you ever listened to anything I’ve told you?”

James opens his mouth to interject, but closes it when he realizes he has no response. Yeah, he is kind of a terrible listener. “Exactly,” Sirius says. “I’m not mad, honest.”

“But you’re disappointed,” James fills in for him. When Sirius doesn’t reply, James knows he’s hit the mark. “I’m sorry. I just thought…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, because he doesn’t quite know what he thought. He just—he has no idea how to handle Regulus, and Sirius clearly doesn’t either, and he assumed that informing Sirius about any of this would somehow make it worse. But it’s not like things can continue to go downhill from here, can they?

”Well, you thought wrong,” Sirius responds. Out of excuses, James resolves to burying his face in his pillow again, saying nothing at all.

“This is it, then,” he mumbles eventually. “I’m going to die at the hands of your mother.”

”Oh, no, no, no,” Sirius quickly responds. When James looks up from his pillow and back at his phone, Sirius is shaking his head vigorously on the other side of the screen. “I wasn’t talking about my mom. I meant Regulus.”

James’s eyes go wide at that. “What do you mean?” he asks after a second, the question coming hesitantly. Regulus is going to murder me? After all they’ve been through…

”Look, I know this routine well enough with them by now,” Sirius explains, and James notices how quickly he averts his gaze from the screen as he talks. “Regulus realizes what a shit person she is, he wants out and slowly begins to drift away from her, then she catches on, and right as you think he’s about to finally have a break-through she suddenly has him in her clutches all over again. Convincing him that everyone except for her is the enemy, that he can’t trust anyone and that they’re all out to get him just like they’re out to get her. She’s been doing it for years, and it works every time. Right now, you’re the enemy.”

James can’t help the laugh that escapes from his throat. “As if I haven’t been for years.”

“No, but this time, she has probable cause,” Sirius replies. “Regulus doesn’t have as hard of a shell as he likes to think he does—it’s probably been obvious over the past couple of weeks that he’s distracted.” Distracted by you, Sirius is boiling it down to, even if that isn’t exactly what he says. “So then she walks into Learn to Skate and sees you—and boom, there’s her explanation for it all.”

”Oh, joy,” James responds dryly. He hopes it doesn’t show that his heart is practically in his throat right now as he thinks of the implications of that. “So basically, I’m her scapegoat.”

”Welcome to my life, friend,” Sirius nods. “For years that’s been my job. Guess you’re the replacement.”

James nearly grumbles that he doesn’t want to be the replacement, but he supposes that goes without explanation. From the sound of it, that wasn’t what Sirius wanted to be either. “Jeez.”

”Yup,” Sirius affirms, and James really wishes he would sound less cruel about the entire affair. “Get ready.”

James absolutely does not want to do that. And this all sounds far too final, far too confident for him to accept it just yet. Still, it doesn’t make hearing this any less gut-wrenching. “God,” he gets out, laying back on his bed, “ just when I thought I was getting somewhere with Regulus—“

”—she comes in and takes it all away. I know, James,” Sirius replies, his tone all-too empathetic. “It sucks.”

”I just wish—“

”—Me too,” Sirius responds without even having to hear the rest of his sentence. Because he knows. He always does. “For the past six years.”

James doesn't think he has to say anything for Sirius to know he’s in agreement. It’s silent for a moment before Sirius asks another question. 

“He really watches me?”

”He does,” James answers immediately. “He watches, Sirius.”

”That’s nice,” Sirius replies, a sad smile on his face. Behind that smile lies years of pain James will never truly know about, dozens upon dozens of fights that James didn’t bear witness to, a bond that was shattered…. all because of him. “Good to know.”

And then the confession comes spilling out, the words that Sirius has been avoiding this entire time—it comes out all at once.

”I didn’t mean to choose between you or him,” Sirius blurts out, his words barely above a whisper. “I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to, you know.”

”I know,” James reassures him, but Regulus’s own confession from days earlier  echoes through his head all the same. I completely understood why.

”I wasn’t,” Sirius repeats, and James isn’t sure if he’s attempting to convince him or himself. “Honest to god, I wasn’t. It’s just—Reg and I, it was so much harder. We—“

Sirius cuts himself off there,  and even through the phone screen James catches the way his eyes glisten. Only for a second does it last, but James has seen it all the same. Sirius doesn’t need to speak—James knows what he’s trying to tell him.

I would’ve liked to be friends, the three of us. It would’ve been nice.

”Sirius,” James says, “it’s okay.”

He knows the second that he says it that Sirius is going to attempt to argue, but he’s prepared. The second Sirius opens his mouth, he continues.

”I know it sucks. I know. But you’re acting like he never wants anything to do with you ever again, and that’s just not true.”

Sirius is silent, pondering for a moment, before he launches right back into argument again. ”Just because he watches my games doesn’t mean—“

James is tired of the constant excuses that he sees both Sirius and Regulus make. And he decides that he needs to put an end to it. “It means quite a lot, actually,” James replies. “You were always going on and on about how he never watched your games as a kid, right?”

”Yeah, but—“

”So, he’s watching them now. Are you going to tell me that means nothing?”

Sirius closes his mouth, and James finds himself thanking god for that. “No,” Sirius eventually admits, refusing to look at James through the screen.

“Exactly,” James replies. And at last, he reaches the point that he’s wanted to get at all along. “I can’t tell you what to do, obviously. But there isn’t as much separating the two of you as you think.”

Sirius snorts. “Regulus would probably disagree.”

”And he’d be wrong,” James shrugs, though Sirius is right. Regulus would definitely be arguing otherwise if he were here right now. But alas, he is not, and just because Regulus’s beliefs happen to be incredibly cynical does not make them true. “You’re both wrong, and the sooner you two realize that and get over yourselves the better off both of you will be.”

Sirius is quick to begin speaking, but right as he gets his first word out James’s mom yells out something from downstairs. “James!” she calls out. “ Ya nos vamos!”

We’re leaving now is what she’s just said, more or less. “Sí, sí, ya voy!” James responds, though where they’re going is a mystery to him. Saturday nights always mean some family party celebrating a birthday for a cousin James didn’t even know existed, and have always meant that since he was a kid. Not that he’s complaining—it’s always a nice chance to listen to some nostalgic music blaring way too loudly, and to consume the incredible cooking of his family. They probably make the only good Mexican food in the entire state of Minnesota, and James has yet to find something that comes close. 

After ensuring that his mother has heard him, he turns back to the camera. “Family’s heading out,” he explains to Sirius, who nods.

”Celebrating one of your fifty million cousins?” Sirius questions, which manages to make James laugh.

”You know it,” he responds. “I can… talk to you later about all of this though. If your brother doesn’t kill me first.”

Sirius just shakes his head, though there is the hint of a smile on his face. “Try and stay alive,” is all he says.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he responds with a fake salute. “I’ll try my best.”

And right as James is preparing to continue their tradition, opening his mouth and preparing to say the words, he is interrupted by Sirius. “Wait, James,” he says. “Thank you, for, um… y’know. Telling me everything.”

Hearing Sirius say those two words is completely unexpected, but James definitely isn’t complaining about it. And he knows that when Sirius thanks him, it is not only for telling him about what’s occurred between him and his brother, but for telling him to get over himself already. He suspects Sirius needed someone to get that through his head. 

“Anytime,” James replies. And then he breaks out into a grin, waving aggressively at his phone screen. “I love you, bye!”

”Love you!” Sirius responds, blowing a dramatic kiss to the camera in classic Black fashion. James nearly chuckles as he hangs up.

He can only hope that Sirius will take what he’s said to heart—because he knows Regulus would not. And James has found that they’re similar in more ways than they care to admit.

❅ ❅ ❅

As Regulus slams down onto the ice, sliding forward so that his hip takes most of the impact, he can already hear the voice of his mother in his head.

Come on, she’s saying, what is wrong with you?

And honest to God, Regulus wishes he had an answer. He could blame it on the early time, on the fact that their rink only offers freestyle sessions at ungodly hours on Sundays, but that simply wouldn’t be true. Because as he scrambles back up to his feet, he is far from exhausted. Actually, he’s never felt more awake in his life. Every single bone in his body is incredibly alert, aware of the fact that he has to do better than this.

And he’s trying. Really, he is. After what happened yesterday, Regulus knows that if he does not present a clean program run-through to his mother later in the week then she will unleash all hell on him. More so than she already has. 

To her credit, she’d shown remarkable restraint as they’d left the rink together. But that all went out the window the second they’d begun their hour-long drive to Ms. Malkin’s place.

The first words out of his mother’s mouth were harsh, right to the point. “That’s why your skating’s been horrid recently, then?”

Regulus turned to her, attempting (and probably failing) to feign cluelessness as best as possible. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” his mother had immediately replied. “You’re been on a completely different planet these past several weeks. I should’ve known.”

Regulus could do nothing but blink in confusion, failing to see the correlation she’d drawn in her mind. ”No, Maman, it’s not that.”

”What is it, then?”

That’s when Regulus had made the fatal mistake of freezing up, of not responding at all. But he couldn’t speak the truth, could he? How would she react to it? “It’s you, actually. It’s your constant pressure on me to be perfect, all of your threats on what you’ll do if I don’t get first at sectionals and then at nationals, it’s all you. James has nothing to do with it.”

No, he couldn’t have said that. And never in a million years could he even dream of giving a voice to those thoughts. 

“I thought so,” she’d said at last, when it was clear that Regulus was going to offer her nothing. And then she’d laughed, shaking her head as she turned out of the parking lot. “God,” she’d continued, “it’s always James Potter, isn’t it?”

Regulus was quick to scoff—that statement in itself was comical. “You think I care the tiniest bit about him?” he’d replied. Honestly, if she believed that then she’d have to be delusional.

”I do, and I think it’s making your skating go to shit,” she’d retorted, not even sparing him a glance as they twisted and turned down the road. 

“Well then, you’re wrong,” he’d said, his words small and timid.

Silence fell between them, and only as Regulus turned his head to look out the window did his mother speak again. Presenting him an ultimatum.

”Skate a clean program, and then I’ll figure out how to handle this.”

She’d gone on and on for the remainder of the hour, of course, but it all fell on deaf ears. He’s quite sure she probably mentioned something about James Potter corrupting her children hundreds of times before their drive was done—he doesn’t have it in himself to care. All he can hear are those words, over and over again. To anyone else, they wouldn’t mean much. But Regulus knows too well what she’s just told him: if he doesn’t skate clean for her, then he’ll never teach a class again.

A month ago, he would’ve prayed for that ultimatum. He would’ve probably fallen on purpose, just so that he’d never have to see James Potter or have to interact with him ever again. But now, the thought of it makes him hesitate. Why it does, he’s unable to say. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to quit now. And he certainly does not want that choice stripped out of his hands.

Regulus glances up at the time that’s displayed on the scoreboard: 7:26. Just four more minutes to clean these jumping passes up, and then he won’t skate again until tomorrow. He needs to do better, needs to be better.

Debating what jump to go for, he takes in a deep breath. Should probably go for the triple flip-double loop-double toe, he tells himself, beginning his backwards crossovers as he skates straight down the ice into his pattern. Then he extends his left leg out behind him, stepping forward onto it before turning back around and digging his right toe pick into the ice.

He launches up okay, but right as he twists around himself and attempts to snap into position, he suddenly loses all sense of where he is in the air. All he can tell is that he is super high up, and the ice is very far down, and he doesn’t know which his left from his right.

Yet again he pops the jump, whipping around only once before his right skate hits the ground hard. He’s admittedly been popping jumps far more than he’d like to be lately, but something is different about this one. Never before has he lost himself like that, never before has he gotten so dizzy with so little warning. And now he’s back on the ground and his right foot aches, and he finds himself gasping for air as his hands go to his knees.

For a moment, all he can do is stay there, wondering what the hell is wrong with his brain. Scott Hamilton once described Tonya Harding’s laces breaking before the 1994 Olympics as every skater’s worst nightmare—but Regulus personally thinks this comes pretty close. Popping or falling on every single one of his jumps just days out from one of the most important competitions of the season is admittedly also terrifying.

Right as Regulus looks up from the ice, attempting to compose himself, he hears a familiar voice from behind. “Popping it like it’s hot today?”

When he turns to face Barty and Evan, he can’t bring himself to muster up a grin. The three have been making that joke since they were in middle school as a way to cope with the many, many bad skating days they’ve shared. And usually, Regulus would find Barty’s reference to it funny. He would. But right now, he can only shake his head.

This isn’t fair to Barty or Evan, he’s not being fair—neither of them know what’s at stake right now. But he can’t help but feel his stomach twist as he thinks of Barty’s always-flawless triple lutz, or Evan’s perfectly centered spins. He’s jealous.

Which is fucked up, because they’re all friends, aren’t they? Yet Regulus cannot afford to view them that way. Until further notice, they’re his competition. And he has to be better than them. 

“You shouldn’t be on for another few minutes,” Regulus points out, because he decides it’s nicer than telling both of them to fuck off completely. Plus, it’s true. They’re skating the 7:30 session, and it’s still 7:27.

”Aw, but we wanted to see you,” Evan complains, though there’s still a smile on his face. Regulus doesn’t know how he does it. How is he not absolutely sickened at the thought of the next several months, at the thought of competition season? How are he and Barty still finding the fun in this, still cracking jokes like it’s nothing? “I was hoping I could catch one of your jumps, but—“

And that’s all Regulus needs to hear before the emotion suddenly overwhelms him. The next thing he knows, he is shoving through Barty and Evan, heading right for the doors and not sparing a second glance to either of them. He skates as fast as he can manage, ignoring the excruciating pain in his right foot as he hops off of the ice and his blades find the solid ground again.

They won’t follow him. Regulus is sure they know better—he hopes they know better. They have the hour to get their money’s worth of skating, and they certainly won’t waste it. But already he feels guilt tugging at him, and he tells himself to apologize later. It isn’t either of their faults that he is irrevocably resentful. But it’s them and everyone else Regulus even comes near that has to bear it.

He storms out to the lobby, and tries not to make it obvious that he is favoring his left leg over his right as he walks. It’s not unusual for this to happen to him—his right foot takes all of the impact from his landings, both good and bad, so it makes sense—but it is happening more and more recently, and Regulus is growing tired of waiting for the pain to go away.

As he unties his right skate and yanks the boot off, he can immediately see through his thin tan socks the source of his pain. Bright red blisters decorate his foot, covering his heel and toes, and there’s blood dripping right out of the back of his ankle yet again. Lovely.

Regulus doesn’t despise the pain so much as he’s annoyed by it, realizing almost immediately that he’s yet again managed to bring the bag that he does not carry bandages in. Now he’s going to have to patch it up at home and rest it for the remainder of today and until he goes skating tomorrow, which means a day of sitting on his bed miserable. And probably a day of hearing his mother go on and on about how awful James is, about how he’s the one who got Sirius to hate her because God forbid the very idea that it could’ve had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her, and Regulus will have to listen and pretend like he agrees.

All thoughts to do with his mother and the terrible day he has lying ahead suddenly go out of his head as he hears the front door ahead of  him burst open, the sound of something big and heavy clashing against the glass.

When he glances up to look at the source, his heart falls into his stomach.

What on Earth is he doing here? It’s Sunday, aren’t his hockey practices on Saturday mornings? But it doesn’t matter—James is there all the same, and even though Regulus glances back down at his skates as quickly as he can he knows he isn’t fast enough. James is bound to spot him—he always seems to.

And sure enough, Regulus hears the sound of footsteps approaching him, slow and apprehensive but still in his direction. He resists the urge to roll his eyes.

”Do you not know when to leave things alone, Potter?”

”Rough skate, I take it,” James says, not a single ounce of annoyance in his tone. He even sounds… understanding, in a way? Jesus, Regulus wants to strangle him.

”If you had any sense of self-preservation—“

”Never been my thing,” James interrupts simply. “Besides, if you wanted to kill me, I think you would’ve done it by now.”

”I could still change my mind,” Regulus retorts, at last glancing back up at him.

James throws his hands up into the air, but all it takes is one look at James’s face to know that James absolutely doesn’t believe that. “Whatever you say.”

”What are you even doing here?” Regulus asks at last, the undoing of his skates completely abandoned as he looks at the boy standing over him.

There’s something about James’s expression that immediately makes Regulus feel stupid for asking. “You know figure skaters and hockey players have to share the rink, right? We’ve got another game.”

Okay, so Regulus did see that on the schedule when he walked in. But Jesus—the Marauders aren’t playing until nine. Why is James here an hour and a half early?  “Well, don’t let me hold you back,” Regulus remarks, finally bending back down and beginning to undo his left skate. 

He hopes that’s the end of it, that James is going to get the message and just drop it. But his next words hit Regulus right in his chest, as sudden as a bullet.

”Regulus, are you okay?”

His hands stop fidgeting with his laces as he forgets how to move, how to breathe.

Regulus Black is constantly getting questions thrown at him. “Do you wanna try that loop again?” Lucius will ask him at warm-ups on competition day. “Was my program okay?” Barty or Evan will ask him on a freestyle session. “What cut do you want for your blades?” asks the red-haired girl at the pro shop who always sharpens them the best. “Can you stay just a little longer?” his dad will ask when he can’t pick him up immediately. “Why aren’t you trying?” his mom demands in the car after a rough skate.

He has been asked many, many things. But he cannot remember the last time someone asked him the question that James just has. The question that he’s asked before, and has just asked again.

And he doesn’t know how to answer.

”I—what do you mean?” Regulus responds, glancing back up at him.

“Just, um… with your mom showing up yesterday and everything,” James says, his head moving down the second Regulus’s eyes meet his. “Are you okay?” he repeats.

It sounds far worse the second time.

Regulus can’t bring himself to do anything more than just laugh. “Who said I wasn’t?”

”That’s not what I meant,” James starts, “I just wanted to make sure that—“

”—That what?” Regulus cuts him off. “That you didn’t fuck things up any more than you already have? It’s a bit late for that.”

”Reg—“

”Don’t fucking call me Reg,” he snaps, his head throbbing. It’s too much, this is all too much, it’s too loud and too big in here and his mind feels too big to be held by his body. James is quiet, for once in his life, and Regulus has to put an end to this before he goes insane. “I am not my brother, you do not know me, and you absolutely don’t get to ask me if I’m okay. Can I make that any clearer?”

James opens his mouth, and Regulus is fully expecting him to keep pushing like he always does.

But for the second time, his response catches Regulus by complete surprise. “You’re bleeding again.”

Regulus takes a moment to look back down at his foot, and notices the blood has in fact only gotten worse. But he doesn’t see why James should be concerned with it—honestly, it isn’t any of his business.

He’s about to tell James just that, about to lie and tell him that he’ll take care of it right now, yet he can’t bring himself to get out those words. “I swear to God—“ he begins instead, but cuts himself off when he’s unsure of what to say next.

By the time he’s able to form a coherent response, he’s far too late. He catches a small box flying at him in the corner of his peripheral vision, and reaches his hands out to grab it on instinct.

The words come before Regulus can even glance back up. “Keep it.”

When he does at last shift his head back up, he manages to just catch James Potter walking away. And soon enough, he is out of sight as he disappears behind the door to Rink C.

Regulus waits until the door is closed to look back down at the box in his hands, removing his hand from the label. And immediately, he sighs.

Curse James Potter and his stupid fucking bandage rolls.