cold feet

One month later…

In hockey, a player is only supposed to hit another player when they are in possession of the puck. If a player is not in possession of the puck, a penalty for interference will be called on the perpetrator, and if the hit is particularly ugly, a player could face ejection and even risk of suspension. Even then, there’s rules in place on how to hit properly. Body checks are supposed to be shoulder to shoulder, and never even come close to the head. A check to the head will often result in concussions, and in some cases may even be life-threatening to a player. There didn’t used to be so many rules in place—but as CTE has become more and more pronounced in former hockey players, these safeguards have become necessary. 

Sirius didn’t have the puck when he was hit, and on top of that, he was hit right in the head. So when Frank texts James to inform him that Sirius has torn the rotator cuff on his right shoulder and been diagnosed with a major concussion, it’s disappointing news, but is sadly expected. The player on the Broncos who checked him did it for no other reason than to spite him, probably to teach him a lesson about “showboating” and about playing the game respectfully. Which, in Regulus’s opinion, is utter fucking bullshit. He’s glad that idiot was ejected from the game and later suspended for five games.  

It’s no surprise that sectionals didn’t go well for Regulus.

He still somehow made it to nationals, something that he suspects only happened because U.S. Figure Skating wants a Black to be doing well again. But he feels less than deserving of it. The entire competition is a blur he can barely remember—all he knows is that when he was out on the ice, he couldn’t stop seeing Sirius going down right in front of him, as if Regulus had been there that day with him. He couldn’t stop thinking about the many injuries that have plagued his family over the years; first his mother, then Alphard, then Lucius, and now Sirius. He couldn’t stop thinking about the Black family curse and wondering if that was soon to be his own fate. Wondering if he was bringing it onto himself faster, or only delaying the inevitable.

His technical scores were awful. His component scores were the only saving grace, causing him to come in fourth overall with a combined score of 170.11—a score that narrowly beat out Evan’s 165.64, meaning that Regulus would be going to nationals and Evan would not. And while Evan simply smiled about it and jumped right into preparing for the next competitive season, Regulus still feels an awkward stiffness between them whenever they talk now, a weird tension that he can’t quite place. He feels terrible. Had he not been a Black, Evan would’ve beaten him out, and he’d be preparing for nationals, which he deserved.. But that isn’t what happened. And now, Regulus finds that it is far more difficult to focus on training for national competition when all he can think about is his injured brother, punished for playing the sport that he loves.

It’s not fair. None of it is. Sirius should still be in Canada right now, looking forward to the games ahead of him.. Instead, he’s had his season cut early, and is looking at half a year without playing hockey at the very least. Half a year back at home, the place he fought for so long to get away from. Half a year back at home, with their unbothered father and expectant mother, half a year back in a home where his heart never was. 

And half a year for Regulus to try and reconcile with the brother he lost, the one who he failed to fight for. Regulus doesn’t plan on letting that chance go to waste.

Maybe it’s for all of these reasons that on the day Sirius is set to fly back into Minnesota, Regulus skates with more energy and drive than he has in months.

He can’t tell if it’s out of excitement, nerves, or both. But what he does know is that he needs to clear every single swarming question from his mind right now. Though he and Sirius have spoken since the injury, it doesn’t mean that talking to him in person won’t feel totally different, won’t be completely awkward and odd. Are they going to be good now? Is Sirius still angry with him for the way he treated him on his final night? Will they go back to normal—if “normal” ever did exist for the two of them? Or will their relationship feel completely different than before?

Regulus doesn’t want to know. So he skates instead. He skates to clear his mind of every last thought, to cling onto the last thing in his life that he has complete and total control over. What happens outside of this rink does not matter. For now, it is just him and the ice, and the boards surrounding him feel limitless.

He can’t remember the last time he skated to please anyone but himself. With his mother at home and Lucius working with his other students, Regulus takes the time simply to feel the cold air brushing against his bare skin, to savor the feeling and remind himself of why he does all of this in the first place.

As he glides around the ice and takes a couple of backwards crossovers, he finds that his mind is completely clear. All he needs to do is focus on this, and nothing else will matter. He picks his right foot up off of the ground, reaching it back as he pushes his left foot onto an outside edge…

And he proceeds to nail the most explosive triple lutz he’s ever done, cascading down into a perfect landing where he is able to hold a deep outside edge.

The second he does so, Regulus feels as though he can breathe again.

He’s been managing to do these all day, only making mistakes on a couple of lutzes rather than nearly all of them. Since his last competition where he proceeded to yet again mess up his triple lutz, this time stepping out of it, Regulus has vowed to get it down before nationals. So far, it’s promising. And today, for the first time, Regulus has allowed himself to feel hope. Now he knows he can do this jump—he just needs to do it in competition.

He’s so excited about nailing the triple lutz that the time on the scoreboard ahead of him nearly doesn’t register. It isn’t until he looks back at the board after putting both of his feet down that it processes: 4:30.

Shit, Regulus thinks, and he doesn’t allow himself any more time to celebrate. Instead, he sprints for the exit as fast as he can, pushing through the glass doors that lead to Rink B and rushing to the benches in the lobby to untie his skates.

As he arrives back at the bench where he left his skate bag tucked safely underneath, he has to pause abruptly: unknowingly right on top of where his skate bag is, Evan is sitting. 

For a couple of seconds, Regulus simply stands there, hoping that Evan will just notice his presence and move. But Evan is staring intensely at his phone, and Regulus realizes that Evan is too invested in whatever is on his screen to see him. So finally, he clears his throat and speaks. “Sorry, Evan, could I just—“ he says, and he gestures to his bag resting right behind Evan’s legs.

Evan flinches in surprise at the sound of Regulus’s voice, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Oh my god, yeah, I’m so sorry,” he says, scooting over to the right and making room for Regulus to reach down and grab his bag. As he creates more space, he shuts his phone off and shoves it into his jacket pocket. Regulus doesn’t ever think he’s seen Evan put his phone away more quickly, and he brushes off his hands on his jacket afterwards as though he’s just committed a horrible crime.

Regulus wants to ask what’s going on, but they haven’t talked nearly enough over the past month for Regulus to pry. Instead, he just raises an eyebrow for a moment, attempting to conceal his bewildered expression at Evan’s complete overreaction. “No, it’s okay,” he assures him, shrugging as he takes his bag and then sits down on the bench. He then begins to undo his laces, yanking hard and watching as the knot becomes undone. He makes sure to go as quickly as he can while he continues to talk to Evan, fully aware that the Potters are going to get here any minute now. “It’s just, Sirius’s flight lands in less than an hour, and I’m supposed to be there to pick him up, so…” 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Evan says, and then he takes a pause. “How’s he been doing?” There’s an air of caution to his question, like he’s not sure which way the answer will go.

Regulus nods. “He’s fine,” he replies. “I mean, he’s not thrilled that he’s injured and has to be coming back home, obviously, but he’s doing okay.”

”Good,” Evan responds, shooting Regulus a half-hearted smile. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear that.”

”Yeah, me too,” Regulus says, yanking both of his skates off of his feet now and replacing thin-bladed boots for flat-footed sneakers. And to no one’s surprise at all, the conversation falls silent. This is what it’s been like between them for the past month—only making small talk, nothing more. Regulus hates it. He has no idea how to fix it.

He doesn’t have too long to think on the subject, however—seconds later, his phone buzzes, and Regulus already knows what it means. When he pulls his phone out of his bag and looks at the screen, his suspicions are only confirmed.

james: we’re here :)

His heart skips a beat as he thinks about what is to come in the next couple of hours. 

“Well,” Evan says from beside him, getting up onto his feet, “I have to get onto the next session, but I, um, hope everything goes well.” Regulus barely has time to react before Evan is already beginning to walk away, the sound of his hard guards click-clacking across the rubber floor.

Regulus can’t stop the words that come flying out of his mouth, nor can he stop his feet from instinctually chasing after his friend. “Evan, wait—“ he says, grabbing onto his shoulder.

Evan turns around at the touch, the puzzlement and surprise on his face totally apparent. Regulus realizes now that he didn’t have a plan for what to say next. He doesn’t know how to fit all of the words that he wants to say to him into one quick, short statement. He wants to say he’s sorry, wants to tell Evan that he skated beautifully and that he should be the one preparing for nationals, wants to ask him what he’s thinking in terms of programs for next season.

He doesn’t say any of it. Instead, three words fall out of his mouth, creating one question that cannot express everything he’s been feeling:

”Are we good?”

Evan’s face shifts into an unrecognizable expression as the question sets in, something that Regulus cannot read. But then he blinks, and whatever emotion has just overwhelmed him disappears without a trace. He smiles at Regulus and nods. “Yeah,” he says after a second. “Yeah, we are.”

The confirmation comes as a relief to Regulus, who returns the look on Evan’s face. “Okay,” he says. “Cool.” The stillness continues to linger between them, but Regulus doesn’t pay it any mind. He’s sure it’ll just take time. “Have a good practice.”

Evan nods again. “I’ll see you later,” he says again with a little wave. And with that, he turns around and heads for the door.

Regulus realizes as he watches Evan leave that Evan isn’t heading for Rink B, where the ice is currently being resurfaced for the next set of freestyle sessions. But as Regulus steps forward to call out to Evan, to tell him that he’s got the wrong rink, he’s too late—Evan disappears behind the doors to Rink A, and doesn’t come back out.

Regulus is left staring , confusion rampant in his mind. But after a moment, he dismisses it, shaking his head. Whatever, he thinks. I’m sure he’ll figure it out.

It doesn’t matter. He has more important things to think about right now.

Sirius Black, his big brother, is coming home.

❅ ❅ ❅

Evan struggles to keep his balance as he is sent stumbling backwards into the wall, kept upright only by the two blades beneath his boots and the hands that grip onto his back and waist. His head crashes against the surface behind them, but he deliberately ignores the pain, deciding that he doesn’t mind. If that is the sacrifice he has to make to feel Barty’s lips against his, to feel their bodies pressed against each other as the kiss they share deepens, then he’ll take the pain.

It started happening a few weeks ago, right after sectionals had ended. Evan was incredibly upset about his results, but resolved not to let it show in front of his two best friends who had made it to nationals. So instead, he’d smiled for the pair and then disappeared out of sight, slipping into an unfamiliar but pleasantly empty locker room in a dauntingly foreign Michigan rink.

From there, he hadn’t cried. He hadn’t felt anything at all, really. Instead, he just stared at the disgusting stained wall ahead of him, wondering how long it had been since anyone had cleaned up in here, and when it all felt like too much he covered his face in his hands and contemplated what to do next.

It’s not like he wants to quit figure skating. Not at all. But in that moment, he’d wondered to himself if his career was ever going to get anywhere, or if he should give up before it hurt too much to carry on. Now, Evan thinks he was ridiculous to even entertain the thought. But there was a brief moment in the locker room where he debated ripping his skates off of his feet and smashing them against the benches over and over again until they were ruined beyond repair.

Maybe Barty had known that’s what he’d been considering because suddenly the door opened and he was there. Evan looked up from his hands to see his friend quickly approaching him, and dancing on his face was anger that Evan recognized immediately.

He should’ve stopped it all then—he knows all too well where that emotion leads for Barty, how he does stupid and impulsive things and says words he later regrets when that feeling overtakes him. He should’ve known what was going to come of it. And maybe, at the time, he did. But in a place so unfamiliar, Evan suspects that he was just grateful to have that bit of Barty there, grateful for the comforting familiarity that Barty’s anger gave him.

”Hey—“ Evan began, but it was cut off almost instantly. All it took was a placement of Barty’s hand on his thigh, his other arm wrapping around Evan’s back, and Evan was entranced, too far gone within seconds.

Barty didn’t say a word—he simply looked Evan in the eye, ferocity in his eyes as he leaned forward and pressed their lips together, working quickly against Evan’s mouth.

That had been Evan’s first kiss. Evan didn’t mind that fact.

Instead, he kissed back, unsure of what the hell he was doing as Barty tilted his head to the side and deepened the kiss.

They’d stayed like that for a good few minutes, Evan’s hands clinging desperately onto the thin fabric of Barty’s shirt as he tried to make any sort of sense out of what was going on. And when at last Barty pulled away, Evan couldn’t stop the gasp that left his mouth, suddenly deprived of what he’d craved for so long.

It hadn’t gone beyond kissing then. When it was over, Barty had simply looked at Evan again, his eyes much gentler now, and asked him if he was okay.

Evan had never felt worse.

And yet, he’s let it happen many, many times since then.

He has no idea when it’s about to take place, when the switch happens. All it takes is a text on his phone screen, a questioning glance from Barty, and Evan is already too far gone. He knew it from the moment that their mouths had met, from the moment that Barty’s hand had brushed up against his thigh—now that he’s known what Barty’s touch feels like, knows the sensation of their lips against each other’s, he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop. 

Barty’s lips are slightly chapped against his, every single moment of contact burning. As he slides his tongue into Evan’s mouth, Evan has to restrain the groan that bubbles up in his throat, and it’s enough to make him wonder if he is being set on fire with every movement. It would explain why he feels as though he is drowning in the flames, why Barty’s sharp and deliberate touch against him hurts. Evan finds it masochistic that he enjoys the pain. As though to add insult to injury, Barty slots a thigh between both of Evan’s knees, and Evan finds himself fighting harder and harder to keep quiet as Barty begins to move.

When it escalates to this, when it goes beyond kissing and into the realm of something more, Evan forces himself to stay silent for as long as he can manage. He doesn’t beg for more, doesn’t let a desperate whimper escape from his throat, and he doesn’t dare let Barty know how much he wants it. He’s terrified that if he does let himself speak, he’ll say too much, and it will be over. He has no idea how many steps are too far over the invisible line they’ve drawn, or  how many steps there are between taking advantage of a close friendship and  something actually romantic and tender. He doesn’t plan on finding out.

Instead, he tilts his head to the side and parts his lips further, providing Barty with a pathway of brush to burn.

Once it’s over, Barty will ask him if he’s okay, like he always does. And when Evan tells him that yes, he’s fine, Barty will nod. He will crack a joke and then laugh, and then suddenly everything will be normal. Like nothing out of the ordinary has ever happened between them at all. Sometimes, to add insult to injury, Barty will even dare to call Evan a friend.

This will break him.

Evan isn’t naive. He also had to put up with Regulus at sectionals, who couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut about James. All weekend as the three shared a hotel room, the only things they seemed to hear from Regulus were about how incredible James was, about how much James would love this place and about how he wonders how the kids he coaches with James are doing this weekend with him being gone. He knows that’s why Barty initiated this entire mess. Regulus was and always will be the first choice—Evan is simply the second, more convenient option. It’s why the entire thing feels so impersonal, why they’re never going to progress beyond quickly and hurriedly getting each other off whenever they have ten minutes of time. And still, he doesn’t care. It’s everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s only dared to dream about where no one else could see him, and it is nothing like he imagined. He finds that part of it makes it all more thrilling.

Barty continues to press his leg in between Evan’s thighs, moving back and forth, and Evan can no longer restrain a gasp at the sensation. He speeds up and Evan moves to match him, pressing himself forward so that they rub against each other at the perfect time.

He doesn’t beg Barty to go faster, doesn’t tell him that he’s close. All it takes is one final flex of the thigh, and Evan cries out, clinging onto Barty’s shirt and seeing stars.

It takes a while for Evan to catch his breath afterwards, collapsing onto the bench that lines the locker room as his legs shake and give out beneath him. And then he waits for the familiar question.

Sure enough, Barty asks quickly, “You okay?”

It’s enough to make Evan’s stomach do somersaults, enough for every bit of anger inside of him to melt away completely. And so he nods. “Yeah,” he answers, dryly, hoarsely.

”Good,” Barty says, and Evan knows it’s over. His suspicions are only confirmed as Barty makes his way to the door, looking back at him. “See you tomorrow morning. If you can wake up that early.”

And there it is, back to normal. Evan wants to come up with some clever quip, wants to shove him over and tell him that for the record, Evan is actually the best out of the three of them about making his morning lesson on time. He doesn’t say that.

Instead, he just shrugs. “I guess you’ll see.”

Barty offers him a small smile, and then he is gone.

And now Evan is alone.

Evan knows that at some point, he won’t be able to take this anymore, and it’ll come crashing down on both of them. He knows that he can’t live like this forever, bucking his hips against Barty’s thigh and hoping that it will be enough for him to finish quickly. Never the one to initiate, but always seeing it through to the end.

It doesn’t stop him from trying.

❅ ❅ ❅

Sirius didn’t expect to be coming home so soon.

He wanted to do it at the end of spring, arriving to a cool breeze and warm, inviting sunlight. He wanted to smile as he made his way through the airport, embracing James tightly the moment that he was through the exit. He wanted it to be different. He wanted it to be happier. It makes the moment that he steps onto the tiles of the airport, a bag slung over his good shoulder, feel like an utterly humiliating defeat.

Instead, he comes home to bitter cold, to harsh snow pelting against the tiny airplane window. Instead, he finds his hands trembling as he makes his way down to baggage claim. Instead, he will have to hug James with just one arm. He’s back home like he’s dreamed of every night since leaving, and it is nothing like he imagined. He despises it.

He doesn’t want to be here. He should still be in Kamloops right now, talking with Frank as they prepare to leave the house for his game. He should be alongside his teammates, ready to take to the ice and play at his very best. He should be there. He isn’t.

Though he’s almost entirely recovered from his concussion, the fluorescent lights overhead only serve to make him more dizzy—though that could also be the nausea he is experiencing as he wonders what James and his family must think of him. And he doesn’t even want to entertain the idea of what Regulus thinks.

God, Regulus. That’s another factor that makes this entire debacle hurt even more, that makes Sirius want to hide away in shame for the next thousand years. Sirius was the one who made it out, the one who escaped from the pressure of their family and carved his own path. He was the one who broke free of their expectations and became exceptional anyways, the one who would prove that he was so much more than just one of the Black’s bright stars who shines too brightly and burns out before they turn twenty. He was the one who escaped their mother, the one who proved her wrong over and over.

Until she was right.

You’ve never had what it takes, he hears in his head, again and again. She didn’t finish her observation, but he knew what she meant. That he didn’t have the guts to put everything else aside to chase after glory, to pursue the gold, to win even when it meant sacrifice. Something that he didn’t want to believe was true when she first told it to him, but now becomes a sentence he can’t stop repeating to himself. It was true, wasn’t it? Someone who has what it takes to win wouldn’t have crumbled to the ground after one goddamn hit. They would’ve seen it coming, would’ve thrown the hit back and fought like hell to stay on their feet. Sirius didn’t do that. He let himself fall, and didn’t get back up.

Regulus must be so disappointed in him. Or angry. He wouldn’t blame him.

Either way, he is down the escalator now, staring down the words right ahead of him in bright, red letters:

EXIT ONLY. NO RE-ENTRY AFTER THIS POINT.

And he knows there’s no turning around now.

Maybe he’ll be back in Canada again sooner than he realizes. Maybe he won’t go back at all. For now, he has to learn to live with what’s happened, to accept the momentary detour his life has taken.

It’s proving to be harder than he thought.

❅ ❅ ❅

As the door out of the terminal keeps opening and closing, Regulus becomes more and more anxious while  his eyes frantically search for Sirius amidst the crowd. With every opening of the door, every click of the metal hinges going back into place, he hears his heart beat just a little louder.

Minutes pass by that could be hours. James is standing next to him, his parents sitting on the benches behind the two, but neither of them speak. Their eyes are both on the door ahead, watching for a brother and for a best friend. So much time passes that Regulus almost wants to turn over to James and joke that maybe Sirius decided he liked Canada too much to part ways.

That’s when the door clicks out of position again, swinging open.

And that’s when Regulus sees him.

He expects him to look to James first, to rush over to him and to hug him as tightly as he can. He expects to be an afterthought, like he’s been so many times before.

Except this time, it doesn’t happen.

Because ahead of him, blue eyes meet light grey, and nothing else matters. There stands a boy with the same face and jet black curls that are much longer, his expression unreadable as he walks forward and stares at his little brother.

In the silence between them, there is so much said.

And that’s when Regulus reaches forward and hugs him as tightly as he can, careful to dodge around his right shoulder. 

When Sirius hugs back, he only does so with only one arm.

“Hi, Sirius,” Regulus manages, despite the fact that he can barely even breathe right now.

”Hi, Reggie,” Sirius responds. “I missed you.” And those five words cause the flood to come in, cause Regulus to become overwhelmed with emotions that he can’t quite place.

He feels many things.

He feels sorrow for his big brother, resentment for why this all happened in the first place, anxiety over what the next few months might entail for both of them, and regret over how they left things off back in the summer. He’s happy he’s back and angry that he is, and he’s worried over what will happen the moment Sirius steps through the doors of the Black household again.

But mostly, he feels love.

He feels love, and hope for a second chance between them. A chance to make things right, to correct his many wrongs over the years. To set everything the way that it always should have been.

When he responds, he does so with a smile.

“I missed you, too.”