Chapter 25
James’s first words when Regulus opens the door are completely unexpected.
”…Hi,” Regulus begins, barely able to look at him. Somehow, this is far more terrifying than the first time.
James’s response is immediate, and he doesn’t bother to greet him back. “Why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”
Even just hearing that makes Regulus’s stomach flip, his message to Sirius the only thing visible before him. He can’t stop repeating it in his head, trying to assure himself that it didn’t sound too stupid.
Is it that obvious? he wonders at James’s statement, but it’s likely a rhetorical question. Regulus really isn’t all that good at hiding panic from others, and he’s definitely panicking right now. He hasn’t gotten a reply yet—it’s not like he was expecting one. He’s sure that, just like him, Sirius has been attempting to figure out what to say for the past month. Or at least, he hopes so. Maybe Sirius hasn’t thought about it at all. But he tries not to imagine that scenario. Still, it makes the waiting all the more intimidating. He hasn’t stopped checking his phone the entire way over here, hoping that every time he flips it over he’ll be greeted with the notification. He wonders if pretending not to care would make it go faster.
He has a feeling that, sadly, that is not the case. So instead, he decides to be honest about the situation—what does he have to lose at this point? He’s already here, and that alone is something he never would’ve dreamed of a month ago. “I, um, texted Sirius,” Regulus answers, glancing down at his feet. “Just about an hour ago. First time since his plane landed.”
”Oh,” James says, and it probably falls out of his mouth before he even has the chance to think about it. Surprise taints his voice, and he doesn’t seem keen on hiding it. He hesitates before speaking again. “Well… that’s good, right?”
In theory, he’s right. But in reality, it feels like the worst thing Regulus could have possibly done at the moment. Regulus quickly shakes his head. “I guess so,” he admits, and Jesus Christ, he might actually be on the verge of fainting.
And he must be possessed by something right now, because somehow he finds himself babbling and spilling all of his guts to James. “I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea when I did it, but now I have no clue what I was thinking and he hasn’t responded yet and I just feel like I made a huge mistake.” He says it so quickly that James seems as though his brain is struggling to catch up. “And I don’t—“
”Hey,” James interrupts suddenly, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. The contact only lasts for a second, but it’s enough for Regulus to snap back into his senses. “You didn’t make a mistake. Not at all. I can tell you right now, he’s glad you reached out.”
”He hasn’t responded.”
”We aren’t allowed to have our phones in the locker rooms.”
“Oh,” Regulus says. And then he blinks. “Really?”
James nods confidently. “Yup. Our coaches would actually kill us.”
”Oh, okay,” Regulus says, taking a deep breath. Relief is quick to wash over him. “Jesus. I thought—”
”Nope, you thought wrong,” James says. “He’ll reply after, Regulus. I promise you he isn’t angry you texted.”
”Okay,” Regulus says, and he tries his best to leave it there. But then— “Are you sure that—”
”Yes,” James insists, and by this point Regulus can tell that his consistent doubts are getting on his nerves. “I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t think it true, Reg.”
His stomach twists at the nickname, though why he isn’t sure. And finally, he glances back up at James, looking him in the eyes. “Okay.” He still doesn’t know if he believes it, but for James’s sake he will try to. “Okay, um, got it.” He stops just short of a thank you.
”Right,” James affirms, and there’s something about the crinkles beneath his eyes that Regulus can’t quite place. “Right, good.”
And then he pats Regulus on the shoulder again. This time, it lasts just a little longer before he pulls away, stepping to the side of the door. “Come on, the game’s just starting.”
For the second time in his life, Regulus steps inside James Potter’s house. And each step is a little less hesitant than before.
❅ ❅ ❅
“—And now as the third period comes to an end, it looks like we will be going into overtime,” rings out the voice of the play-by-play broadcaster throughout the living room. Sure enough, just seconds later the final buzzer sounds, and Sirius is quick to come to a stop that sprays the side of the boards with bright white snow. Regulus has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Really, do hockey stops have to be that dramatic? He can’t imagine the rut it’s going to leave in the ice.
”Mami, it’s in OT!” James calls out upstairs, and those words make Regulus want to vomit. Holy shit, the game is actually in overtime. This may be the first win for the Blazers in a couple of weeks. And it had better be.
The score currently is tied 3-3, with Sirius having scored two of the three goals. It’s safe to say that Regulus is currently on the edge of his seat, and has to resist the urge to begin biting his nails.
“Okay, so how does this work?” Regulus asks as the TV cuts away to a brief commercial break, turning to glance over at James. “Do they just keep playing until someone scores? Or—“
”They’ll play five minutes of 3-on-3,” James responds, though he doesn’t dare to look away from the TV. He’s completely transfixed, probably paranoid about missing something major. “That means—“
”Only three players per team instead of five?” Regulus guesses, to which James swallows hard and nods. Regulus can’t stop noticing James’s hands in his lap, fiddling and fidgeting around and never stopping. He’s picked up on that being a habit of James’s.
”Yeah. If no one scores after five minutes, it goes to a shootout. Which is never good.”
”So hope that someone on the Blazers scores in the next five minutes,” Regulus concludes. “Got it.”
The commercial break comes to an end, and suddenly the screen cuts back to the arena. The first thing Regulus does is search for the back of Sirius’s jersey on the faceoff circle, where the players and officials currently stand. 13, 13, 13, he thinks, glancing at each number. But after a moment—
“Wait, what the hell? Why isn’t Sirius out there?” Regulus asks as the puck drops and play resumes, beginning the start of overtime.
”I don’t know,” James replies suddenly, watching as the Regina Pats nearly instantly gain possession of the puck and begin to skate right towards Marty. Regulus can’t help but feel for him—every poor game really just becomes an impossible trial falling on his shoulders, and it seems like this game is about to be no exception.
One of the forwards takes a shot at Marty and the puck flies off of his pads, continuing on its trajectory and hitting the boards behind him instead. One of the Blazers is quick to snatch the puck back and skate towards the other end, but stops just short of crossing the blue line. He dumps the puck into the zone before returning to his bench and hopping over the boards. Regulus is waiting for Sirius to take his place, but #87 jumps onto the ice first.
Now James’s eyes are widening. “Wait, are they not going to send him out at all?” he demands, rising off of the couch. “They’ve gotta be kidding.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Regulus asks, though he knows asking that question is pointless. James doesn’t know anymore than he does.
The Blazers take the puck into the opposite zone, but don’t have much luck attempting to generate any sort of offense. The defense on the Pats circles around them, and soon enough the Blazers are forced to retreat back to center ice.
”This is such bullshit,” James spits out as the process continues a few more times—Regulus notices that three-on-three isn’t as riveting as it sounds. All the players on the ice have done so far is attempt to bring the puck into the zone, and when that fails, they go back to half ice. “If Sirius was out there, he’d be smoking by everybody.”
A couple minutes pass by, and Regulus watches as the time on the clock continues to dwindle. This is his first time watching an overtime in hockey, and it may soon turn into his first time watching a shootout. He has a feeling those also aren’t as thrilling as they may initially seem. And all throughout that time, Sirius does not step out onto the ice.
”Christ, what are they doing?” James asks yet again, and Regulus thinks this might be the angriest he’s ever seen James. He can’t help but wonder how he is during his own games. “Send him out!” he yells to the TV, like the coaches are going to hear him. Regulus doesn’t feel like pointing out that nothing James says will make a difference.
Even the commentators are making a note of this. “And as the Blazers go back to the bench for another line change, Sirius Black still has yet to be sent out,” says the play-by-play commentator, unable to keep the confusion in his voice minimal. “With two goals in this game alone, you can’t help but wonder what the coaches are thinking there.”
“Right?” James calls out, gesturing to the screen wildly. “Thank you!” Regulus simply watches, too confused by any of this to be properly angry like James.
“Well, I’ll say this,” the color commentator comes in. “This is his first overtime in the WHL. We’ve all seen his competitive nature thus far. Think the coaches might be worried that once he gets on, he won’t come back off.”
Competitive is a way to put it, Regulus nearly snorts. He thinks of all of the times as a kid that Sirius would complain to him about the corrupt judging of figure skating, complain about how he clearly out-skated everyone else and the panel just wasn’t able to see that. “Did you see my components?” he’d demand at home, once the yelling by their mother was over and he was allowed to have feelings and emotions over his own competition results. “You’re telling me that my composition was lower than the kid who dressed as a surfer dude?” Regulus would always have to hold back laughter while agreeing with him that yes, he clearly was better and more worthy of placing higher.
He also thinks about all of the times that Sirius would change his elements without warning—Regulus will never forget watching him at his first juvenile competition, preparing for him to jump a double salchow—and then hearing the entire crowd lose it as he changed his jump last minute to a triple instead. Regulus had thought it to be the most amazing thing in the world.
Their mother had been furious afterward, of course—“What did I tell you?” she demanded. “You never, ever deviate from your programs. What if you’d fallen? What then?” But Sirius was so thrilled with the gold medal in his hands that he hadn’t even had it within him to care. And neither did Regulus.
Regulus is reminded of that now, as he watches Sirius grow restless on the bench. The camera angle is making it easy to see him standing there, the only one on the entire bench that is actually on his feet. He’s yelling something, Regulus can tell by the familiar voice that echoes throughout the arena—but he can’t quite make out the words. He’s slamming his stick against the boards as play continues, looking for any opportunity, and Regulus cannot imagine the restlessness he feels at the moment. The clock continues to lose seconds, and he still remains on the bench. Regulus finds himself holding his breath as Sirius waits there, his heart pounding out of his chest.
It reminds him yet again of when they were kids, and he would watch Sirius as he waited for his turn on the ice. Yet again he is taken back to another time in his life, where he is seven years old again. He was always in the bleachers—he wasn’t allowed in the competitors area unless it was his own group on the ice—and he would stand just above where Sirius was. He’d keep a tiny stuffed animal in his pocket for once the performance was over, and would place his hand on it the entire time that Sirius was up. He’d watch him during warmups, absolutely terrified on his behalf, and would try his best not to overanalyze the look on his coach—Tom’s—face. It was almost always disapproval, even during his best moments on the ice. Regulus used to want to coach under him; he thanks God now that he never did. He’d watch as Sirius got off the ice, or stayed on if he was the first skater. But either way, Regulus’s eyes never left him.
Sirius used to look up at him as he waited his turn, and that’s when it would happen. Regulus has no idea how it started, but one day as Sirius was watching, Regulus put a hand over his heart. To this day, he’s not quite sure what it’s supposed to mean— a reminder to Sirius that he loves him, sure, but he thinks it more so was a reminder to forget everything else and to just skate with his heart.
And then Sirius would return the gesture, telling Regulus that he was listening and that he would try his best.
Regulus would always hope that he couldn’t hear the loud beating coming from his own chest as Sirius got into his starting position. He always tried, even when he was terrified on Sirius’s behalf, to remind him that he was on his side, that he was watching and rooting for him. He’s not sure if it helped. He hopes that it did.
Suddenly, it happens—one of the players on the Blazers returns to the bench, hopping over the boards, and his second skate isn’t even off the ice yet before Sirius is dashing onto the ice, immediately rushing out to meet one of the Pats players who has possession of the puck.
”Sirius Black at last skating onto the ice, and he is already flying out there—“
The play-by-play commentator doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Sirius has stolen the puck right from #13 on the other team’s hands, as if to remind them of who is the better player wearing #13. He swivels around to face the offensive zone, and is quick to begin sprinting down the ice. He can’t tell if the Pats players genuinely do not know what to do or if they’re just that much slower than Sirius—but once they realize that he’s gained control, they are quick to fall back into their zone. They hardly even bother looking at him or where he is going as they put all of their energy into getting there first, and surround the net as a form of protection.
They’re faster, but they don’t make it look easy. Sirius, on the other hand, looks nearly weightless as he reaches the zone, his stick handling effortless. Regulus wonders how he makes it look so beautiful. He can skate, sure, but would completely freeze up if he was handed a stick and told to handle a puck.
The first player, #13, comes out to the edge of the blue line to meet Sirius, and Sirius dodges around him like he’s simply an annoyance. He skates alongside the wall now, and the second player, #43, rushes over to him and hits him, causing his helmet to smack into the glass.
It looks like a hard hit—it should be a hard hit—but Sirius merely stumbles over before regaining control of himself, squeezing just past #43 and continuing his journey along the wall. That’s when the third player, #91, rises to the challenge, leaving the net completely open as he skates over to Sirius and attempts to check him yet again.
This time, Regulus watches as Sirius throws his shoulders back with as much effort as he can, and before he realizes what’s even happened #91 has stumbled over as all of the force he’s just thrown at Sirius has deflected right back at him.
Regulus’s eyes widen. Fucking Christ, his brother is insane.
But he isn’t given much time to celebrate before #43 recovers and skates right into him, causing Sirius to actually lose his balance. He lands forward on his knees, and Regulus’s first instinct is to ask James if he’s going to be okay—but then he catches something.
Trickling towards the center of the screen, slowly, is a tiny black dot. And the net is now left completely unguarded.
Time seems to freeze as Regulus watches a player in a blue and orange uniform with the number 65 on his back—one of the defensemen, Regulus realizes—skate up to the puck and fire a shot at the net as hard as he can.
It’s only as Regulus sees the white laces rattle and hears the loud clink of the puck hitting metal that he realizes the shot has gone in.
“AND HE SCORES!” yells out the play-by-play commentator just as Regulus jumps up onto his feet, his jaw dropping open. “My goodness, what a pass from Black to win the game!”
”YES!” James says, and when Regulus glances over he sees that James is actually jumping up and down right now. Regulus wants to scoff, but he can’t help the smile that immediately comes onto his face.
Then James turns to face him, and before Regulus can process what is going on James grabs onto both of his arms. Regulus doesn’t get a chance to say anything before he’s talking again.
”Jesus, did you see that pass?!” he’s exclaiming, practically pulling Regulus back and forth with him as a widespread grin decorates his face. “Did you see that? That was crazy!”
Regulus should, in theory, absolutely despise this.
He does not.
“I did!” Regulus says, and he can’t help the little laugh that escapes him. “Oh my god, wow.”
”Right?” James says. He opens his mouth again, but before he does, the commentators on the TV are speaking. Regulus snaps his head over to look.
”—Might not have been the hat trick we expected, but he delivered something even better! What a bright future for this young rookie.”
The camera is now focusing on Sirius, who is laughing in delight as #65 practically tackles him to the ice in a tight hug. He remains there for a moment as the rest of the players skate out to him before scrambling back up to his feet.
”The fact that he’s making plays like this only a month into the season speaks volumes about the caliber of talent this young man possesses,” the color commentator chimes in, but his words are suddenly unimportant to Regulus. Sirius has just made eye contact with the camera following him, and his gaze lingers there for quite some time.
Then, for a moment—just for a moment—Sirius brings his gloved hand up to his heart.
It can’t last more than a single second in total. But it has happened all the same, and as Sirius turns back to face his teammates and resumes the celebration, Regulus finds that image quickly burning into his brain.
The corners of his mouth turn upwards, and remain there.
Eventually, he looks back to James, a smile still highlighting his lips. And that’s when it hits him that James is still clinging onto him for dear life, that he never let go. Regulus is about to demand that James do that when he glances down at their arms.
His eyes widen.
He has no idea when it happened, but it must have. Because to his horror, his hands are wrapped around James’s arms right back, and their limbs are practically intertwined as they stand in James’s living room, grasping onto one another in a way that makes Regulus’s stomach flip.
He looks back up to James.
And then they both let go at the same time, pulling away as their arms fall at their sides again. Regulus turns back so that he’s facing the TV again, glancing at the ground and not daring to catch even a glimpse of James’s reaction. He doesn’t think he wants to know.
”Um,“ Regulus begins, “It’s late. I’d better get going.”
James makes no attempt to argue this time. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, that’s fine.”
Regulus doesn’t have to hear it twice before he’s heading for the door, grabbing his skate bag from off of the floor as he does so.
He’s reaching for the door handle when James hits him with the question, the stupid, inevitable question. “See you Friday?”
For the first time since letting go of his arms, Regulus looks back at James, standing alone in the living room.
Regulus blames his next words on the expression that paints his face, on the pure hopefulness that lines it. He could say no—it would be so easy to. But for some reason, he can’t bring himself to shatter the look that James wears, can’t bring himself to wipe the smile from his lips.
Regulus nods. “Yeah,” he replies, swallowing thickly. “I’ll see you.”
Then he steps through the door before he can think on what he’s just agreed to a moment longer.
There is suddenly an ache in his mouth as he lingers at the door, and that’s when Regulus realizes something.
Oh, no.
No.
Oh, no, no, NO.
He’s still smiling. Which means he never stopped in the first place.
He is quick to wipe the expression right off of his face, leaning back against the front door and as he does so.
He then puts his head into his hands and attempts to ignore the warmth his cheeks are producing, groaning softly.
What is happening to him?
❅ ❅ ❅
Regulus is settling down in his room when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
Immediately, he scrambles to fish it out, turning the screen on in record time.
He’s greeted by a singular message.
siri: I’m now convinced these texts are the reason we won the game
Regulus reads it once. He reads it twice, and then a third time.
And then he laughs. There he is, he thinks. There’s my brother. Just like nothing had ever gone down at all.
For the first time in years, Regulus experiences a feeling that has now become a distant stranger to him: hope.
Maybe things will turn out alright.