cold feet

When his mother finally asks, James finds that the question comes far later than he expected it to.

He’s in his room when it happens, scrambling to complete his chemistry homework so that he can call Sirius and then (hopefully) fall asleep by a decent time. Though to be totally honest, the call might have to wait. It’s currently a fight to even stay awake, and James’s glasses nearly fall right off the bridge of his nose as he struggles to write an answer down. Already the side of his left hand is smudged gray from all of the work he’s been catching up on over the past couple of hours, and he’s trying desperately to just get these last few problems completed.

It’s entirely his fault. Usually he gets half of his work done on Saturday, but yesterday he was too preoccupied by the thought that Walburga Black was going to kill him to make any sort of progress, which was a stupid thing to be paranoid over, but he couldn’t help it. He could barely even sleep—by the time he did, it was well past two in the morning, and it made getting up for dry land at 7:30 hell. So now he’s got to do it all tonight, and it feels like a race between him and his eyes staying open.

He’s so utterly exhausted and overthinking everything else that he must’ve missed the sound of the footsteps coming down the hallway, must’ve missed his bedroom door being pushed open. He only snaps back into reality as her voice fills the room, asking for the first time what she must’ve wanted to know hours upon hours ago.

”So, what was that all about earlier?”

James flinches out of pure surprise, his pencil falling out of his hands and rolling onto the ground. He pushes his glasses back up into place, tells himself to get it together, and turns to face his mother. He notices that as she steps into the room, she doesn’t seem angry or annoyed—just genuinely curious.

”With Regulus?” James replies, which is pointless, because of course she’s asking about Regulus. There’s nothing else that’s occurred since then that would be worthy of asking about.

”Yeah, with Regulus,” she responds, and then fully closes the door behind her. “Last I knew, Sirius barely spoke to him. Now you’re just having him over at our house? Qué pasó? ”

James freezes. He expected this question—of course he did—but it doesn’t mean he was able to formulate an answer. He still can’t quite formulate one, not one that makes sense anyways.

Finally, he decides on giving her the most honest and straightforward answer he possibly can. “I don’t really know, Mami. ”

”Really? You don’t?” she says, raising an eyebrow. When James shakes his head, she purses her lips together, but doesn’t press on further.

After a moment, she speaks again. “I mean,” she adds, “not that I’m opposed to it or anything. God knows he probably needs the time away from his mother, pinche pendeja. ”

”Mami!” James exclaims again, his eyes going wide as she casually throws the insult out. 

She simply shrugs in response. “What, it’s not true?” By this point, she’s sat down on the edge of his bed, and she pats the spot next to herself. “Seriously, though, tell me what’s up.”

James stares at the spot for a moment, debating. He has no idea why this has been so hard to come clean about—first to Sirius, and now to his mother. He doesn’t know why he felt it was something he needed to hide in the first place. It’s not like he’s been the dick in this situation, time and time again. Yet it’s like Regulus is determined to make him feel as though he’s done something wrong for daring to exist. For daring to speak to or associate with him. And it’s working.

But really, this is his mother they’re talking about. If there’s anyone who can make sense of all of this, who is far wiser in the ways of the world than he is, it’s her. 

Within a matter of seconds, James is joining her on his bed, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. Then he sighs.

Where to even begin?

He supposes that he could start from when they began coaching Learn to Skate classes. Or from that random Thursday in August, when they found out that their practices were taking place at the same time. Or he could omit most of the details and start when James watched him skating this previous Thursday, and then invited him over. He does have options—the problem is that they’re far too many.

When he does start, though, he goes all the way back to the beginning.

”I have no idea what I was thinking,” James says. “He’s always hated me. Ever since I met Sirius, he’s hated me. I knew he did. And it never really bothered me.”

He glances over to his mother, who is nodding along to every word he’s saying. Encouraging him to go on.

He takes a deep breath in before he does so, closing his eyes and exhaling out. ”Then I said goodbye to Sirius. And he was there. I looked up through the window, and he was there, looking back. He turned away almost immediately. But we’d seen each other.”

James doesn’t know why the next part is so embarrassing to admit out loud. It’s not even something he’s told Regulus yet. 

”And, I don’t know. I kept thinking about it over the next several days, I literally couldn’t stop if I tried. I guess… I just really wanted him to look again.”

He glances away from his mother as he continues, deciding the ground beneath his feet is far more interesting. “Anyway, I’ve spent this last month trying to get him to do that. And everything I did only seemed to make it worse. He told me to stay away from him, but then we ended up getting stuck coaching Learn to Skate together, so that obviously didn’t really happen. And I just, I don’t know. I kept trying. And then one day in the lobby I saw him watching Sirius’s game, and I thought, why not invite him over to watch? I didn’t even think he’d say yes, but then he showed up, and now we’re here.”

At this, James has to pause and shake his head. “It sounds so stupid now that I’m looking back on it.” 

For the first time since asking, his mom speaks. “It’s not stupid at all.”

”Yeah, it is,” James says, letting out a dry laugh.

”What makes it stupid?”

James’s answer comes instantly. “He hates me,” he responds.

”He wouldn’t have been over here if that was true.”

For that one, James doesn’t have a reply. 

After it’s become clear that he won’t be saying anything, his mother continues on. “Y’know, not everyone’s as blunt as you when it comes to this kind of thing. People can have a… weird way of expressing their emotions.”

”He’s literally said he’s hated me a hundred different times.”

”And yet he was here.”

”That doesn’t mean anything,” James says, shaking his head. 

“Uh, I think it means quite a lot,” responds his mom like the answer is that simple. James wants to tell her no, that it might just have been him wanting to get out of his house and nothing more, but he can’t. Deep down, he knows that she’s right. “Look, so he might’ve hated you in the past. But I saw him when he left. I was in and out of the kitchen making dinner so it was only for a second, but I did. And that might’ve been the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”

That statement is enough to make James’s heart leap into his throat, the words ringing in his ears over and over.

”This last month, you’ve been really hard on yourself. Your dad and I have both noticed it,” she continues, which nearly makes James grimace. It’s true—both on and off the ice, he hasn’t felt good about anything he’s done. Everything always feels like the wrong move, somehow, and he doesn’t know how to do better. 

She puts a gentle hand on his shoulder as she speaks again. “I’m not saying it has anything to do with Regulus ‘hating you’ or with Sirius being gone, I’m not. But you have no reason to be. You’re doing just fine, y’know.”

You’re doing just fine.

That phrase sticks with him, and he repeats it to himself a few times in his head. At last he glances over at his mother—a silent acknowledgement of her words, even though he isn’t sure how to reply. She smiles back at him.

And then she’s standing up, facing him as she does so. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your homework. I just wanted to see what was going on.”

She turns around and begins to head for the door. She doesn’t make it five steps before James is speaking, rising to his feet as well. “Mami?”

As she pivots around and opens her mouth to speak, James doesn’t wait any longer for his response. He throws his arms around her—something that he finds he doesn’t do as often as he used to nowadays. He isn’t sure when that stopped, when he stopped going to her for everything. He detests the fact that it’s happened.

Slowly, he feels her wrap her arms around him in return. He doesn’t say anything—neither of them do. They don’t need to.

James feels like he is ten years old again, burying his face in her shoulder for just a second. “Thank you,” he whispers as they pull away, and he makes sure to look her in the eye.

She simply takes his hand, squeezing it gently. “Of course, mijo,” she says before letting go. “You can always talk to me, you know that.”

James nods, because he does know that. Yet he’s not sure why it’s been so difficult to do so. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

To that, his mother smiles at him. Then she turns around, and heads for the door.

Within just a few seconds, she is gone, and James is left only with her words.

❅ ❅ ❅

As Regulus skates to the edge of the rink and swivels around himself, preparing for his step sequence, he does his absolute best to slow down and take in the lyrics.

He takes in a deep breath as he steps into his first move, a forward inside loop around himself. He absolutely needs to nail this—he hasn’t exactly had a good run-through thus far. Between the turn-out from the triple toe-triple toe combination, the step out from his triple flip, and just barely hanging onto his double axel landing, his constant fight for a clean skate persists. He knows he can jump better than this, knows that making it to sectionals is dependent on it, and yet he still can’t just do it already. Which is stupid, considering that the majority of his score relies on how well he jumps. He wishes it wasn’t that way, but it is.

If this does happen in competition, though, he needs to be prepared to make up for all of those lost points and deductions. He needs to ensure that everything else is completely solid, with no chance of going awry. And thankfully, he’s completely capable of doing that. His spins have always been remarkable, with his mother having taught him from a young age how to achieve the difficult position variations that typically only women have the flexibility for. And his skating skills are something he’s taken upon himself to improve over the years, after too many times watching the senior men on national television skate lifelessly in circles from one jump to the next. Not him.

As he cycles through steps, from rocker to bracket to counter to loop to twizzle and back again, he keeps that at the forefront of his mind. Be better at what everyone else lacks, he thinks, making sure not to shy away from the presentation factor of his component. While his free skate gets to be dark and broody, set to music from The Phantom of the Opera , the short program is definitely the more fun one to run through—as Michael Buble’s voice accompanies him in the background, singing the lyrics to Feeling Good, Regulus leans into that. He does his best to look like he is having the time of his life as his step sequence ends, instead of looking like he’s trying his absolute best not to run off the ice.

”It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life, it’s a new life for me,” blasts the speakers in the rink as Regulus flies into his second to last spin, his right leg soaring off of the ice and above his head. His left leg follows, but only his right touches back onto the ground as he falls into a back camel spin. As he gets into the position, he can hear Lucius in the background, screaming out how many revolutions he’s done.

”One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight!” he’s saying, and Regulus doesn’t need to hear any more as he grabs his left leg and spins around himself one final time, accounting for his difficult exit. Stupid new spin rules, he thinks, pushing out and skating to center ice for his last spin—a combination spin, where he begins in a forward sit spin. After getting three revolutions on his sit (and attempting to ignore Lucius’s continued screaming of how many revolutions he’s getting), he swings his right foot behind him and grabs his blade with his left hand, rising all the way up into a camel catch spin for three more revolutions. Once he’s gotten that, he drops his right foot and switches over so that he is spinning on that leg instead, bending down and grabbing at his left leg and then pulling himself all the way up into an I-spin. In this position he ends up overshooting and getting five revolutions before dropping his left leg and twisting it so that it is behind his right, accounting for his last difficult variation—a corkscrew spin. As he gets three final revolutions and hops out of the spin, he ignores the dizziness that follows. Years upon years of skating means that he’s gotten used to it, that he’s completely unfazed by it as he steps into his final pose, popping his right leg out and putting both of his hands behind his back as he looks up to the judges (or where the judges would be, anyways). 

His next few moments as he holds his final pose are spent attempting to catch his breath, sweat pouring down his forehead as he takes a step out from his pose and skates back to Lucius. He doesn’t look his coach in the eye—he knows that the run wasn’t any good, and the only thing that might have somewhat saved his score had this been a competition was his step sequence and his spins. It’s still the jumps he needs to get down, always the stupid jumps.

For a moment it is quiet between the pair, the only noise coming out of Regulus’s mouth as he inhales and exhales sharply. And then Lucius speaks.

He isn’t mad—as a matter of fact, it’s worse than that. He’s quiet, which can only mean one thing; disappointment.

”I really don’t understand,” Lucius says as he and Regulus skate to the boards, Regulus grabbing his water the moment they are close enough. “You’re a good jumper, hell, you’re getting the height for quads out there. But the second I turn your music on, you suddenly can’t land anything.”

Regulus doesn’t reply—partially because he’s still too out of breath, but also because Lucius is right and he knows it. He’s never been a nervous competition skater before, but he supposes things change. And besides, it’s not like his mind is entirely here either.

He doesn’t dare to admit that out loud, though. But it’s true. He spent all of Monday at home, his foot too messed up to even think about skating, and the whole time he rested on the couch he once again found that he couldn’t stop thinking about James Potter. It’s now Wednesday, and regrettably nothing has changed. He is still unable to get James Potter out of his mind, and it’s making him more miserable than ever.

Yesterday didn’t exactly help, either. Throughout the entirety of the Learn to Skate session, James was laughing and joking around like it was nothing, like this is how things have always been between them, and Regulus didn’t even have the energy to berate him for it. And after the session had been worse as they’d sat on their usual bench, the bench that neither of them had ever really claimed but had just grown accustomed to sitting on together.

“Hey, you planning on coming over for the game tomorrow night?” James had asked as he’d unlaced his skates—which weren’t really laced up that tightly to begin with. It never fails to amaze Regulus just how little self-preservation that boy has. “Or are you just gonna pull a Cinderella on me again?”

Regulus had yanked his left skate off of his foot and practically thrown it onto the ground, glancing over at him with a look that he hoped conveyed utter and complete irritation. “I did not pull a Cinderella on you,” he’d said, his lips forming a straight line of displeasure.

“Dude, you totally did. One minute we were just talking, and then the next you vanished like your carriage was about to turn into a pumpkin.”

“You seem to remember this very differently than I do,” Regulus responded, though he didn’t look at James as he did so.

James ignored his statement completely. “So what do I gotta do now?” he’d asked. “Go around to every figure skater in the town and make them try on your skate until it fits perfectly?”

“This allegory really isn’t working,” Regulus said, his cheeks heating up.

“Aw, I think it works great. You should skate to Cinderella next.”

“What, with you as Prince Charming?” Regulus said, laughing dryly. He really couldn’t tell if this was meant to be a joke or not. “Not happening.”

“Speak for yourself,” James replied. “I’d make an amazing prince.”

“Sure, just take out the ‘charm’ part and you've got it.”

“Deal,” James said with a glance over at him. Regulus looked back, and then they quickly looked away as they realized what the metaphor in its entirety had implied. It was completely silent for a minute.

They’d talked a little more, mostly small talk. James had asked him yet again about tomorrow—which Regulus supposes now is technically today. And Regulus had given him the same answer.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” he’d responded, grabbing his bag and hurrying out of the rink.

“This isn’t helping the Cinderella thing!” James had called out, to which Regulus had no reply at all.

The truth is, he’d really enjoyed Sunday. Probably far more than he should have. But then they’d gotten around to talking, and James had told him about how all of this had started, and then Mrs. Potter— Effie, he corrects himself—had come home and started talking to him, and then James had been asking him to stay for dinner, and it was all too much. It was too much, and he’s not used to his words actually being listened to. He’s not used to people talking to him without expecting anything at all. And he honestly has no idea how to handle it. He’s not sure it’s something he can handle. And to think that James wants to do it again? Is looking forward to it, even? The thought is dizzying every time without fail.

Still, all of it is just excuses. It shouldn’t be affecting his skating , something he’s desperately tried since he was little to compartmentalize from everything else. “I know,” Regulus responds to Lucius at last, nodding. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of the zamboni gates being thrust open, the rink’s polite way of kicking them off the ice. Regulus glances over at the source of the noise before beginning to skate off of the ice, and the sound of blades scratching against the ice behind him indicate that Lucius is following.

“I’ve never seen you get in your head like this,” Lucius comments as they step out of the rink and down onto the hard, solid ground again, Regulus making sure to close the door behind him.

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Regulus nearly snaps, as if he wasn’t already questioning this enough every day. Jesus, does he have to make it sound so gruesome?

“No, it’s a normal thing,” Lucius replies as they sit down at the bench where Regulus’s bag lies, Regulus almost immediately beginning to unlace his skates. “I’ve coached several other skaters who deal with it. Difference is, they learned how to handle it. You haven’t yet seemed to figure that out.”

That makes Regulus go quiet. He supposes that isn’t something he’s thought about.

Lucius sighs before lightly tapping Regulus on the shoulder, ensuring that he’s paying attention. Regulus stiffens, not entirely certain of the direction this is about to take.

“Listen, I’m not completely oblivious,” Lucius begins. “I know you’ve… had a lot going on, this past month. I know that.”

Regulus still doesn’t allow his shoulders to lower, doesn’t allow himself to breathe. This is the first time Lucius has acknowledged Sirius leaving. His first time actually acknowledging what’s happened, and they’re cousins too. Why would his entire family dare to act like he never existed? 

But before Regulus can yell at him that his brother has a name, that he doesn’t know a single bit of what this is like, Lucius is continuing on. “And I’m not asking you to tell me every last bit of what’s been going on. Quite frankly, I don’t think I have a right to know. But it’s obvious that you’re distracted, and it’s messing you up.”

What made it obvious? Regulus wants to retort, but instead he nods along. He doesn’t speak—anything he tells Lucius will likely become incriminating evidence against him.

“As much as I wish I could, there’s nothing that I can do to fix any of the off-ice havoc that’s happening right now,” Lucius states, which Regulus personally disagrees with, “but we can focus on what occurs on-ice. I think the biggest part of it is that you’re holding back.”

Regulus is continuing to nod along as a courtesy. “Okay,” he responds, “yeah.”

The thing is, Regulus doesn’t think he’s holding back. He never thinks he is until he’s actually in the air, falling out of a jump that he knows he can easily land. If he is holding back, he’s bitterly unaware of it or how he can resolve it.

”I know that sucks to hear, but sometimes, that’s really just all there is to it,” Lucius replies. “You’re not fully committing to the rotation, and it’s throwing you off. You get up into the air position, and suddenly, you’re in your head, scared that you won’t stay on your feet when you come down.”

Lucius is saying all of this as though it is coming right from his heart, like it is something he knows because he has experienced it too. At last Regulus softens up, realizing that Lucius isn’t speaking to him as a coach right now, but as his cousin. His cousin, who won multiple national titles as a teenager and even won the gold for Worlds one year. His cousin, who for once isn’t trying to push him to be better, but is trying to relate to him. “Yeah,” Regulus repeats, nearly mumbling it. He doesn’t want to admit how accurate Lucius’s words are.

“The reality is, sometimes you won’t,” Lucius says. “Every time you jump up in the air, there’s that risk that you’ll fall. But risks are a part of the sport. And if you aren’t willing to take it, then you’re never going to land cleanly.”

It takes a moment for those words to sink in, but when they do, Regulus’s throat tightens. He suddenly has a feeling that they’re talking about more than just skating.

He can only bring himself to nod. “Okay,” he replies eventually. “Okay, um. Got it.”

”Good,” Lucius says. He gives him a curt pat on the back before standing up, and that’s it—they’re no longer cousins anymore, but just a coach and his student. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, see you!” Regulus calls out. At 5:30 A.M is the part that neither of them say out loud, but that’s beside the point. 

He watches as Lucius turns around the corner and steps through the doors of Rink B, disappearing from his view within only seconds. And over and over again, he thinks on Lucius’s words. His right skate remains on his foot for several more minutes as he sits on the bench, staring at the ice ahead of him. Reflecting on what it means to take risks.

And that’s when he makes up his mind.

❅ ❅ ❅

“Sirius, are you coming?” Frank yells out from downstairs, causing Sirius to grit his teeth. Fuck.

”Yeah, I’ll be right there!” he exclaims with the knowledge that he is absolutely full of shit. He’s still struggling to pull a proper pair of pants on—seriously, why does the media constantly have to be taking pictures of his arrival to the arena? And what does it matter to them if he’s wearing athletic shorts instead of nicely tailored pants?

As he finishes hiking up his pants, he prepares to sprint out the door. He knows it’s an awful impression to be late to the arena, and he seems to nearly do that too much for his own liking. He has yet to be abysmally late, but he’s convinced it’s only a matter of time.

Suddenly, his phone buzzes on his nightstand—two quick hums, and then it stops. A text message, then, Sirius realizes. He wastes no time in grabbing it and turning the device around so that the screen is facing him, pressing the “on” button.

Then he takes a moment to read the contents of the message.

Reg: good luck tonight

He freezes completely, wondering if he has just dreamt this. But his phone buzzes again, and a new message pops up on the screen. He concludes that he is definitely not dreaming.

Reg: hopefully the rest of your team shows up 😅

”Sirius!” Frank calls again.

Sirius drops his phone onto the carpet.