cold feet

“Wait, why did the whistle blow again?”

”Blazers iced the puck,” James explains for what might be the tenth time already. He’s trying his best to be patient, but it’s proving to be incredibly difficult. 

“They did? How?”

”#87 wasn’t past the center line when he fired it,” he says, glancing over to Regulus. He has to look a long way—Regulus has opted to sit at the complete opposite end of the Potters’ very roomy couch, putting him as far away from James as possible. James personally thinks it makes everything way more awkward than it has to be, but he doesn’t say anything. Just like Regulus told him not to.

”But Sirius was almost to the—“

”He wasn’t fast enough,” James shakes his head. “You see that Tri-City player? #10? He was barely ahead of him, it’s why they called it icing.”

Regulus opens his mouth to protest, but to James’s relief he closes it. Then he tilts his head down, rolling his eyes. “Such a stupid rule.”

”It’s so simple!” James exclaims, exasperated. God, Regulus and his mother would get along great. “If a player fires the puck into the opposite team’s zone before they’re past the red line in the center, and the puck crosses the red goal line at the end of the ice, then it’s icing.”

”It’s fucking moronic!” Regulus responds, throwing a hand up into the air. “There is no reason for that rule to be there.”

”Would you rather just watch sixty minutes of players firing the puck into the other zone and then racing to catch up to it?” James retorts—his justification for the icing rule existing since he was 12. It isn’t a dumb rule, and he lives by that; people are just upset they don’t get it. Regulus, without even realizing it, is proving him correct right now.

”I—“ Regulus begins, before cutting himself off. He instead elects to let out an annoyed sigh. “They could at least make it easier to understand.”

”Were the first fifteen million times I explained it not helpful enough?”

”Well, excuse me for not knowing everything about this sport!” Regulus defends, though James doesn’t miss the way his cheeks are flushing bright red in embarrassment. “It’s not like I, y’know, only started watching it this month or anything.”

”Jeez, okay, sorry!” James exclaims, nearly wincing. “I was just trying to help.”

By this point, he knows Regulus well enough to be aware that what he’s just said was a mistake. He’s already expecting Regulus to spit back a response about how he doesn’t need any, complete with a curse thrown in there, and prepares himself for the blow.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, Regulus turns to look over at him, and something in his gaze shifts as his narrow eyes broaden again. “Yeah,” he almost mumbles, “of course you were.”

For once, James isn’t sure what to make of that statement. He looks back at Regulus, but no words come to mind.

Neither of them speak.

And then right as James tries to, in spite of the fact that he has no clue what words will even come out of his mouth, a voice from the TV interrupts both of them. 

“And oh my god, what a goal! Sirius Black yet again, what a start for this rookie as he now extends his goal streak to six games,” says the play-by-play commentator, which immediately makes James whip his head back to face the TV. Shit, he thinks, his eyes widening as he watches Sirius on the screen become surrounded by his teammates. How did he manage to completely miss this?

”What are you doing, go back!” Regulus exclaims from beside him, practically flinging himself across the couch as he attempts to reach for the TV remote. But James reaches it first, quicker than ever to press the rewind button. As the images on the screen begin to reverse, he focuses on attempting to hit play at the perfect time.

“No, go back further, a little furt–there!” Regulus practically screams, and he’s so loud out of nowhere that James nearly flinches and drops the remote altogether.

“Jeez, I got it!” James defends, slamming on the play button as fast as he’s able to. And though he admittedly did hit it a little late, the replay of the faceoff only takes a few seconds, and soon enough they are watching as Sirius takes possession of the puck and sprints down the ice like his life depends on it. For a moment, he is so far ahead of everyone else that it looks as though there is no one else in the rink.

The goalie comes into frame, taking a few strides towards Sirius like he’s stepped up to the challenge. What a stupid mistake, James thinks. Sirius seems to barely regard the goalie as he shoots the puck. It flies past the goalie quicker than he can process anything that’s going on, and by the time he notices Sirius has already buried it back in the top corner of the net.

”Holy shit!” James exclaims at the same time that Regulus gets out an “Oh my god!” James pumps his fist up in the air, and resists the urge to jump up to his feet. “Right where Mom keeps the cookie jar!” he adds in excitement, more to himself than to anyone else.

Immediately, he can feel the air beside him shift as Regulus snaps his head over to look at him. “What?”

When James looks over, he’s expecting to be greeted with glaring eyes and tight lips. But no, Regulus genuinely seems dumbfounded right now, his expression totally blank. That’s new.

James can only blink. “Um, top shelf?” he states, having completely forgotten that no one outside of hockey players ever uses that expression. He’s said it so often by now that it’s practically instinct—every time a goal is scored in the top shelf, he is physically unable to resist the urge. “Where Sirius scored?”

Regulus stares at him in disbelief. ”You guys call that top shelf?”

”What else would you call it?” James shrugs.

“I don’t know,” Regulus replies, glancing straight ahead at the TV again. “But really? ‘Where Mom keeps the cookie jar?’”

”Aw, you’re no fun,” James complains as he sinks back into the couch. When his eyes move over to Regulus again, though, he realizes that the boy next to him has closed his mouth altogether, completely transfixed on what is in front of him. James looks back at the screen.

On the TV now, they’re showing a shot of Sirius settling on the bench, laughing as his teammates surround him and sing his praises. He holds out his closed hand, attempting to fist bump as many of them as he can as the camera pans away and focuses on the center face-off circle again.

James wonders what’s on Regulus’s mind right now. He doesn’t dare to ask. He’s sure that it’s none of his business, and besides, Regulus hasn’t moved back to the far corner of the couch yet. James would rather keep it that way if he can help it. He’s bitterly aware of the incredible distance between the two that’s only grown and grown over the years—he doesn’t need it to be physical as well. 

“Jesus,” Regulus mumbles at last, once the puck has dropped and play has resumed. “He hasn’t changed, has he?”

James has never looked at him faster, and as he speaks he attempts to keep his voice steady. “What do you mean?”

”That was his thing after competitions, too,” Regulus explains, and though his arms are crossed over his chest James catches the soft smile on his lips. James suddenly notices that Regulus’s mouth does the same thing as Sirius’s when he smiles like that—one corner, the right side, turns up slightly more than the other. “He always went to the boards and just fist bumped everyone in sight. Even his competitors.”

”No way,” James replies, and now he’s grinning as well as he reflects on all of the times that Sirius would fist bump them in the middle of a game. He was always sure to return them, of course—but he supposes what he didn’t know is that it’s been such a longstanding tradition.

”Oh yeah, Maman hatedit,” Regulus continues, nodding. “I think that’s why he did it.”

”Sounds like Sirius,” James responds wistfully, suddenly reminded of the best friend-sized tear in his own chest. What he wouldn’t give for a fist bump from Sirius right now…

“Yeah,” Regulus says simply. “Can’t believe he still does it.”

It falls quiet after that, the only noise coming from the commentators on the television. It hits James suddenly that this is the first time Regulus has ever said anything about Sirius that doesn’t have an edge of contempt to it, that isn’t dripping with sharp indignation. James has never heard Regulus speak as though everything isn’t a slight against him, and it’s completely unfamiliar.  He likes it. He tries not to be hopeful that he’ll get to see more of it. 

Before he knows it the second period comes to a close, and as the TV cuts away to a screen that reads “Commercial break in progress,” there is now nothing but total silence falling between the pair.

To James’s complete shock, Regulus is the first one to break it. “Y’know,” he starts, “I don’t completely understand your end goal here.”’

James’s first instinct is to raise an eyebrow, certain that he must’ve misinterpreted that. “My end goal…?” he repeats back, hoping that his tone speaks for him and asks What the hell does that mean?

Regulus gestures wildly, first towards James, then to the television, then to himself. “With all of this,” he says, like that’s any more of an explanation. “Like, what do you want out of me?” The question isn’t said aggressively, but with complete sincerity. James’s heart could sink as it begins to settle in, as he comprehends what Regulus is actually asking. As he realizes that Regulus genuinely believes that there is no reason for James to be doing this that doesn’t involve using him. Is that actually all that he thinks there is to this? Is that all that he’s been led to believe of people?

Realizing that he still hasn’t actually spoken, James begins to shake his head. “Nothing,” he says as sincerely as he can. “I don’t want anything.”

”Really?” Regulus asks, an accusatory edge to his voice. “I’ve said it before, James—I’m not Sirius. I’m not your replacement for him when he’s not here.”

“I know that,” James responds nearly immediately. And really, he does. They may not be as dissimilar as James initially made them out to be, but he still knows. He can’t help but question in his head why Regulus feels so compelled to repeat this, over and over again. He wishes he had any semblance of an idea. “I’m not trying to replace him, y’know.”

“Then why do it?” Regulus asks, and holy fuck, he sounds genuinely baffled right now. Can he seriously not comprehend the fact that James wants nothing out of him? Why is that so hard for him to believe? He scoffs before continuing. “I mean, come on. I’ve been nothing but cruel to you. I’ve done nothing but push you away, and yet you still don’t give up. I mean, Jesus. You have every reason to hate me, and you don’t.”

”Yeah, you have been a bit of a dick,” James admits, and he manages to catch Regulus wincing in the corner of his eye. His next words are softer. “I’ve never hated you, though.” 

He turns to face Regulus fully now, as he attempts to form the best answer he can give. Regulus looks back at him, dumbfounded.

”Do you remember,” James begins, “that night that I dropped Sirius off at your place? When I looked up, and saw you through the window?”

The look on Regulus’s face tells James he wants nothing more than to forget. But he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he glances down at the ground, fumbling with his hands as he does so.

”Yeah,” he eventually admits, “I remember.”

”That was the first time I’d ever actually looked at you,” James says, and oh God, this sounds so stupid when he puts it to words. For a moment he debates burying his head into the pillow next to him and refusing to go on. He barely decides against it. “And I realized just how much you cared. You cared so much about Sirius, and I didn’t even know it. He sometimes made it sound like you didn’t give a damn if he lived or died.”

Regulus now chooses to focus his gaze on a spot on James’s ceiling, his arms yet again crossing over his stomach. “I wanted him to think that,” he eventually admits. “I wanted myself to believe it. Thought it would hurt less that way.”

James’s throat wrenches. “Yeah,” he says, “I get it.” He lets a moment pass before softly clearing it, best figuring out how to articulate all of this. “I just—it hit me that yeah, I was losing a best friend, but you were losing your brother. And I’d never even thought about that.”

For that statement, Regulus does not have a response.

After a moment, James continues. “I don’t really know what was going through my head that day at the rink,” he says, referencing when this all began. When James stepped through the doors of the rink and saw Regulus, and made the decision to say hi without truly having a clue as to why. “But when I saw you, I just… I don’t know. I guess I wanted you to know I was looking.”

He prepares for Regulus to laugh at that, prepares for him to call that sentiment stupid. He wouldn’t argue against it, either, because it is. Regret is immediately eating at him, the wish that he could wipe this conversation from their memories and start again with a clean slate.

Regulus doesn’t laugh. Instead, his eyes meet James’s for half a second, completely unreadable. “Yeah,” Regulus says, a soft acknowledgement. Then he glances down at his lap, his next words barely said above a whisper. “Only took Sirius going away for you to do so.”

James has no idea what to say to that. 

He doesn’t end up needing to say anything—Regulus does first.

”You probably have no idea, but I spent years looking at you, you know,” he says, staring up at the ceiling again before finally glancing back to James. “Trying to figure out what I was doing wrong. Trying to find any sort of flaw in you. But no, you’re just perfect. It’s infuriating, actually.”

James’s chest seems to twist as he hears that, an indescribable sensation of something forming in his stomach. “I’m not perfect,” he manages to get out without even thinking about it. “I’m not.” And he isn’t, is he?

He could list a million reasons off the top of his head why he isn’t. He’s constantly making mistakes in practice and in games, he lets far too much get on his nerves, he’s always comparing himself to his teammates and what they can do far better than him instead of focusing on himself and what he can do. He’s told himself since he was named captain that it is a title he absolutely does not deserve, despite the fact that he’s wanted to be named as one for as long as he can remember. And every time he tries to come up with reasons as to why he shouldn’t have the C, he can only think of one: that he’s not good enough. Which is ridiculous, because he should feel good enough, right? He’s been committed to play at University of Minnesota since last year, and he wouldn’t have gotten that spot if he’d sucked at hockey. Yet every time he fucks something up in practice, even if it’s a minuscule error, the doubts come flooding in again. He tells himself that he’s gonna lose the C, that he’s going to lose that spot, that he’ll never get to play in the show. He can’t accept anything but perfection from himself, even though he never expects it from anyone else, and that drives him insane.

Maybe that’s why Regulus strongly and openly disliking him has gotten to him so much—another thing that makes him far from perfect. Because as much as he attempts to pretend as though it doesn’t bother him, pretends like he can live with it, it’s all he thinks about. He can’t stand being hated, and will do everything in his power to assure he is not. And though Regulus has told him his reasons don’t have to do with him or his flaws at all, it bothers him more than anything else in the world. A perfect person wouldn’t let that bother them, would they? They’d just brush it off and move on. James just can’t.

Regulus shakes his head from beside him. “Yeah, you are.”

James opens his mouth to respond, opens his mouth to argue otherwise, but before he gets a chance the sound of the front door slamming shut sounds throughout the house.

”I’m back!” calls out the voice of his mom, and James is quick to stand up as she comes into view with several bags worth of groceries in her hands. “How’s the game?”

James doesn’t hesitate to rush over to her and take a few of the bags off of her hands, offering her as much of a smile as he can manage. “Tied 3-3,” he responds. “You missed a Sirius goal.”

”Dammit!” she exclaims, more to herself than to anyone else. James has to hold himself back from responding with No seas grosero, the same way she would to him. “You’ll have to show me later.”

James nods, holding back a laugh. “Will do.” Then he remembers that Regulus is still on the couch in the living room with no explanation. “Oh!” he exclaims as he rushes over to the kitchen and sets down the bags in his hands. “Regulus is here, by the way. Sorry, forgot to tell you.”

He knows that his mother could take it a lot worse—as a family, they are more than accustomed to receiving unexpected visitors all the time. Once, his abuelitos literally just showed up in the backyard with no explanation or warning, and sure enough his mom invited them inside and they all had dinner. That being said, the complete shock in her eyes is prominent as the words Regulus is here seem to process in her mind. Though it only lasts a second, James doesn’t blame her. The last she’d heard of him was probably back when Sirius would complain about him. He feels a twinge of guilt for not keeping her updated.

(To be fair, though, it’s not like he thought Regulus would show up. He fully expected him not to come, and here he is. Always keeping James on the edge of his seat.)

”Oh!” she exclaims after a second, turning to face the living room from where she stands in the front hall. She waves eagerly. “Hi, Regulus! How’re you doing?”

”I’m alright, Ms. Potter. How are you?” James can’t see Regulus’s face, but he can hear the surprise in his tone as his mother welcomes him with no questions at all. That’s just the kind of person she is, and always has been.

”Effie’s fine,” she says, grinning. “But I’m good. Thank you.”

”’Course,” Regulus replies. “Sorry I just kind of showed up.”

”Oh, it’s no problem at all,” she says, shaking her head as James steps into the hall again. “How’ve you been?”

Regulus is quick to nod, offering her as much of a smile as James has ever seen him give. “Been okay,” he answers, which James knows is the complete and total opposite of the truth.

“Great, that’s good to hear,” his mother replies with a genuine grin. “How’s the figure skating and everything going?”

Regulus’s face quickly shifts, his eyes widening ever so slightly before he manages to catch himself. “It’s been good,” he says simply. “I have regionals in a couple of weeks, so. That’s scary.”

”Aw, I bet you’ll do great,” she responds without missing a beat, always the positive one. Maybe that’s where James got it from. Maybe that’s why he remains so optimistic about this somehow working out. 

”Thanks. I hope so,” Regulus says, without any trace of annoyance in his demeanor. The next thing he adds is quieter. “I, um, honestly haven’t skated a clean program in practice yet. So I’m kinda praying it all just comes together.”

Okay, what the hell.

Seriously, James wonders how his mother manages to get everyone to love her and open up to her instantly. First with Sirius, and now with Regulus? It’s taken him years to have any sort of breakthrough with this boy, and so far the most he’s done is explain to James why exactly he despises him for being “perfect”.

James attempts to get over his irritation as his mom replies, her face immediately displaying sympathy. “I think it will,” she states. 

Her next sentence catches both James and Regulus completely off guard.

“Your brother, a few months ago, he showed me this video of you skating at nationals, I think? It was really impressive, you’re quite good.”

Instantly alarms go off in James’s head. He glances over to Regulus “don’t-ever-watch-me-skate-or-I’ll-kill-you” Black, but James is the last thing that Regulus seems to care about right now as his body stiffens and he becomes completely unreadable.

”He did?” he practically exclaims, his gaze never meeting James’s. Good. Because James absolutely does not want any part of this. “I didn’t realize.”

He did, James wants to respond before reminding himself that he absolutely should stay out of this. But James remembers this day vividly, actually. It was sometime in January, when Sirius had come over to James’s house to work on homework. But it was clear as they’d attempted to decode their algebra work together that Sirius was more invested in whatever had been playing on his phone, and so finally James bit the bullet and asked…

”Okay, what are you watching over there?”

”Sorry!” Sirius had yelled, practically shoving his phone away. “Just, um, Reggie. He’s at nationals right now, he’s skating soon.”

”Ah,” James nodded, though he didn’t quite understand why Sirius continued to torture himself that way instead of just making plans with his brother every once in a while. “That’s fun.”

”Yeah,” Sirius answered. “It’s exciting. I’m excited.” He’d never said anything with a bigger sense of dread.

That’s when James’s mom had piped up from in the kitchen, where she had a clear view of James and Sirius sitting in the dining room. “Wait, Regulus is skating?” she’d asked, immediately setting down whatever it was she’d been preparing and rushing over to them.

”Yeah, he’s doing novice this season,” Sirius replied. “You wanna watch?”

”Of course,” she’d said, naturally. So the next couple of skaters went and then Sirius and Effie had watched Regulus’s free skate together, their eyes transfixed on the screen the entire time. Between Sirius and his mom practically shoulder to shoulder and both trying to look at a tiny phone screen, there’d been no room for James to lean over and watch. So he’d sat back instead and judged how the skate was going based off of their reactions. Oh well, he told himself. Figure skating wasn’t his thing, anyways. He’d never quite gotten it. Why put yourself through the torture of subjective competitions when you could simply play a game that was objectively fun and straightforward in its rules?

Regardless, his mother and Sirius watched. And Regulus had ended up placing third overall and winning the bronze medal, after popping his triple loop in the free skate (whatever that means—he’s going to trust Sirius on that one). James wonders why his mother is bringing it up now.

”Yeah, he did,” she confirms to Regulus. “I loved it. Figure skating was always my favorite sport to watch in the Olympics, y’know? I loved that Ukrainian girl.. I think it was Ok-something…”

”Oksana Baiul!” Regulus finishes for her, and now he’s grinning. Jesus Christ, he is actually grinning. “Yeah, I grew up watching her programs. She was great.”

”Right?” his mom replies, and James can safely say he has no idea what territory this conversation has veered into. “She was my favorite Olympian… her and Scott Hamilton, if we wanna go way far back.”

Regulus lets out a laugh at that, one that surprises James. “Oh, I’m nowhere near their level yet,” he says, nearly causing James to do a double take. He saw Regulus skate beautifully the other day! If he’s not ready for the Olympics—then how ready does one have to be? “But I appreciate it.”

”Yeah, of course,” she responds. And before James realizes what is happening, she is walking away from both of them with two full grocery bags still intact in her hands. “Anyways, don’t let me keep you. Just thought I’d say hi.”

”Thanks, Ms.—Effie,” Regulus is quick to correct himself, and soon she’s out of sight as James steps back into the living room yet again.

As he settles back down onto the couch, it is completely silent. James suspects that neither wants to be the first to speak.

Seconds later, Regulus decides to bite the bullet. “Now I see where you get it from.”

James’s hands abruptly clench into fists as those words sink in, as he thinks about what Regulus could possibly be referring to. “Get what from?” he nearly hisses. If Regulus dares to speak ill of his mother, even if it’s supposed to be targeted towards him…

But when Regulus glances at him, James cannot find a single hint of malice in his eyes. In the background the commercial break has come to an end, and the game has begun to start back up. James doesn’t care.

The words that follow are as earnest as they could be. “The never-ending kindness. Even if people don’t deserve it.”

Regulus speaks, then turns back to the TV and watches as though he’s said nothing at all. 

❅ ❅ ❅

As the game wraps down and the final score is shown, James finds he can barely look at the screen.

5-3, Tri-City Americans. One goal in the last five minutes, and then an easy empty netter. To make matters worse, the broadcast has decided to show a shot of Sirius storming off, his head low as he makes his way to the locker room. James turns away.

”Fucking hell,” James mutters under his breath.

Regulus doesn’t seem to have a better reaction. “Now, I’m not a hockey expert, so tell me if I’m wrong,” he starts, “but I feel like they’d win more if Sirius wasn’t the only one actually trying out there.”

Immediately James shakes his head. “No, you’re right,” he replies. “He definitely could use actual help.”

For a moment Regulus doesn’t respond. Then the weight of the couch shifts, and James glances over to see him standing up. “Yeah, see,” he’s saying, “that’s why I’ve always hated hockey. At least you only have yourself to blame in figure skating.”

The statement is short, but somehow it explains a lot to James. 

But James doesn’t get to linger on it for too long—Regulus is making his way to the door, not sparing a single second. “Well,” he begins, “this was interesting, but I’ve gotta be getting home.”

James leaps up to his feet, quick to rush over to Regulus. “Wait, you’re not staying?” he asks. “My mom’s making dinner, we could—“

”I can’t,” Regulus cuts him off, insistent as James has ever seen him. He looks back down to the ground for a second before meeting James’s eyes, and his head hangs ever so slightly. “Thank you, but. I can’t stay. My mom’s probably losing her mind already.”

James immediately understands. “Oh,” he says. “Well, do you need a ride or anything? I could drive.” The Blacks don’t live very far—at most, it’s a 20-minute walk. But James saw the state of Regulus’s foot this morning, and quite frankly, he’s questioning how the hell he even got here in the first place.

Regulus looks at James like he’s just suggested they murder somebody. “You really think you pulling up to my house and just dropping me off like it’s no big deal is gonna go over well with my mother?”

Oh. James nearly winces as he’s reminded of that obstacle. “Fair point.” After a moment of silence, he can’t help one last attempt. “Seriously, are you sure you don’t want to—“

“James.”

”Okay, okay, just thought I’d check,” James says, throwing his hands up in the air. Regulus lets out something that sounds like a mix between a sigh and a huff, turning away for a moment before facing the door again.

Regulus reaches for the handle, but James gets there first, opening the door for him before his hand even comes close to touching the knob. “I got it,” he says, to which Regulus just shakes his head.

“Had a feeling you’d say that,” he replies, though James can’t help but notice that the corners of his mouth are undeniably turned upwards. Really, he wishes Regulus would let himself do that more. It’s nice.

Regulus begins to step out the door—but right as he’s about to set his second foot down on the mat outside, he stops himself. He turns back to face James, and James can only guess what he’s going to say next.

”Hey, um.. thank you. Really.”

Then he reaches an arm out, and, just for a second, a singular second, his hand grazes against James’s shoulder. And just like that, he’s drawing his arm away, his gesture of appreciation far too short-lived.

James’s mind stops working completely.

It only starts working again when Regulus turns to leave, and steps completely out of the door. He’s halfway across James’s lawn when James is able to form coherent words again. “Reg!” he calls out, and watches as Regulus turns back. Suddenly, he finds he’s more nervous. “If you wanted to come over and watch again, you can. Just, for the record.”

Regulus doesn’t seem to have any discernible reaction to what James has just offered. After a few moments, he manages a smile. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Then he turns back around, and continues walking.

James watches him from his porch. He watches Regulus until he’s out of sight, disappeared into the Minnesota greenery and the orange and pink sunset.

And Regulus’s words replay in his head, over and over, the touch he's offered James lingering on his skin and ingraining itself into his memory.

I’ll see you later, yeah?

It’s not a no.