Chapter 37
The rink is exactly how Sirius remembers it.
He shouldn’t be surprised by this fact. It’s only been four months since he said goodbye, which is not enough time at all for any major changes to take place. But he’s still shocked all the same. Everything is different now, and here he is. Back in the place where nothing has changed.
He drags his feet as he walks through the lobby, hoping that the slower he takes his surroundings in, the less real it will all feel. Because the moment he sees his teammates, it will become real. He’s actually back here, at the rink that he’d hoped to leave behind forever. The rink where he grew up under the watchful eye of his mother, where countless tears have been shed, where friendships formed and fell apart all at once. He loves this rink. He hates this rink. He was ready to part ways with it.
Sirius should’ve known that he couldn’t stay away forever.
As Regulus turns back around and glances at Sirius, who has now created several yards of distance between them, he stops dead in his tracks. “They’re gonna be happy to see you,” he says with a glance over to Rink A.
Sirius shakes his head in response as he catches up to Regulus. “It’s not that,” he sighs, but if it isn’t that, then what? How does he articulate to his brother that he didn’t expect to fail so badly that he ended up right where he started? How does he express that without making Regulus, who has also spent his entire life here, feel like he contributed to the misery Sirius experienced in this rink? “It’s just… the place seems different now.” He doesn’t exactly tell a lie—he just doesn’t tell the whole truth.
“What, it’s not the arena you got used to in Kamloops?” Regulus asks, raising his eyebrows, and Sirius doesn’t know how to take his suddenly heightened tone.
“I mean… no,” Sirius responds, to which Regulus places a hand over his heart and feigns offense. Okay, Sirius thinks, he’s definitely fucking with me.
“Oh, come on, what do you mean you guys didn’t have a ceiling that dripped all over you while you practiced?” Regulus says, to which Sirius huffs out a laugh before he can even think about it. “What next, are you gonna tell me you had a working water heater in the bathrooms? Or that your boards didn’t have mold growing underneath them?”
Sirius isn’t laughing now. “There’s mold underneath the boards here?”
“Don’t think on that one too much,” Regulus responds grimly, patting him on the back. “Embrace the mold.”
All Sirius can do is look at his brother with a blank stare, suddenly too freaked out to actually reply. This earns an annoyed “What?” from his brother, which causes Sirius to snap out of it as he hears Regulus’s favorite phrase to use around him.
“Nothing,” Sirius says, shaking his head yet again as he closes his eyes and re-opens them to make sure he isn’t still dreaming. Yep, still Regulus. “You sounded exactly like James for a second there. That’s all.”
Regulus’s lips part at this, but he doesn’t say anything. Sirius doesn’t push it; he isn’t sure how he’s expecting him to reply to that observation anyways.
He doesn’t end up needing to. Before either of them can get another word out, the subject of their conversation speaks from the door of Rink A. “Look who decided to show up after all!” James exclaims, leaning against the glass.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sirius responds with a grin on his face, deliberately casting aside the fact that not even an hour ago, he definitely was planning on missing this.
As he takes a step forward, he feels Regulus slip a hand onto his shoulder for just a second. “I’ll see you after,” he says from beside him, and when Sirius turns to say goodbye, he’s already gone.
How quickly Regulus disappeared is a surprise to him. What’s more surprising is when he turns back to James and notices that the smile on his face has been completely wiped clear. And as Sirius joins James by his side, James keeps the concerned expression on his face, still staring at the area where Regulus just was. Sirius and James speak at the same time.
“Are you good?”
“Is he mad at me or something?”
“What?” Sirius asks. “No, you know that’s just how he is.”
James doesn’t seem entirely convinced of this fact, his brow only furrowing further. “I guess so,” he mumbles eventually, though he still seems unusually worried . It only concerns Sirius further. Even when they would call and talk about this earlier in the year, James never looked this upset over the matter. He can’t help but wonder what’s gone on between the two.
When James doesn’t seem to snap back into his usual, chirpy demeanor after a few more seconds, Sirius snaps his fingers in front of his face. “Dude, are we going in to say hi or what?”
“What?” James asks in a daze. Right as Sirius opens his mouth to repeat the question, however, James seems to process it and answer himself. “Yeah, yeah, we’re going.”
“Okay then,” Sirius says, raising an eyebrow. Together, they begin to walk.
The trek over to the locker rooms is quieter than Sirius would like it to be. He debates asking James about what’s going on, about why he’s bothered by Regulus’s behavior, but he figures the answer is more complicated and will take longer to explain than the time they have. They’re already almost at the locker rooms by the time Sirius considers it, anyways.
James speaks as they turn the corner. “So, I may or may not have already told them all you’ll be here,” he says, to which Sirius’s head snaps over. What? he nearly screeches, but he figures his cheeks heating up is already enough of a reaction. “Don’t be surprised if they all tackle you the moment you open the door.”
Sirius opens his mouth to ask if James told them to heed caution towards his shoulder, but he’s too late. The door to the locker room has swung open from the inside, and he doesn’t even have to look to recognize the thrilled voice of the girl that speaks.
“Sirius!” Marlene exclaims, rushing up to him. “You’re home!”
Not really home, Sirius thinks, though he reckons it’s more complicated than that. This is his home, yes—but so was Kamloops. So was the life he’d begun to establish with the Longbottoms, the friendships he’d formed with his teammates, the attachment he’d grown to the arena and to the people who came and watched him. He feels like he’s being torn apart from all different directions, and he has no idea what to make of it.
He doesn’t say any of this out loud, of course. But his thoughts cause his reaction to sound far less playful and far more bitter than he’d like. “And here I thought I’d escaped you,” he replies, pursing his lips together.
If Marlene notes the weight of his tone, she doesn’t say so out loud, instead opting to punch him in the shoulder (thankfully, his good one). “Oh, fuck off,” she says with a laugh. She wraps her arms around him so quickly that he can’t refuse, and, he’ll admit—he appreciates all of the hugs he’s received in the past twenty four hours. Maybe he’s needed this more than he thought. He returns the embrace as best he can, and his mouth turns upward as he hears her mumble something about how she missed him.
“Say that again?” he asks loudly, to which she finally pulls away. Yet again, she punches him, aiming for his chest now.
“Not a chance, Black,” she retorts. Then, before he knows what’s happening, she’s calling out to the rest of them. “Sirius is here!”
Just as James predicted, he finds himself right in the middle of a large group hug, where he has to get out through fits of laughter that he can barely breathe with all of these people swarming him. “Jesus, it hasn’t even been half a year!” he exclaims as they begin to disband, taking in the comforting familiarity of his teammates’—his old teammates’—faces. “Has James been that shit of a captain, then?” He hears a loud gasp that he can only assume comes from James, but it’s not like he can turn and look.
“Hey, I don’t appreciate this slander!” James exclaims after a moment, suddenly appearing in Sirius’s field of vision. “Take it back!”
“Or what, you’ll kick me off the team?” Sirius teases. “I don’t even play for you guys anymore.”
“That’s right… you don’t!” James suddenly says, an edge of sarcastic shock to his voice. It’s how Sirius abruptly finds himself getting shoved out of the locker room by his best friend, saying something along the lines of The locker room’s for players only. Sirius doesn’t really catch it.
He’s too busy looking over at the corner of the room, where only a select few remained as the rest of the team got up and said their hellos. He’s not sure why they caught their eye; it’s not like he’s obsessing over the fact that not everyone in the room immediately got up and started singing his praises. No, actually, he’d hate to know that everyone was simply putting on an act for him. Nonetheless, he takes his time looking over their faces.
One’s far younger than the rest; the new freshman kid, Sirius presumes. Not many freshmen make the team. He makes a note to congratulate him later. Another one, dressed head to toe in goalie gear, has sandy blonde hair, and a familiar face…. Peter, Sirius realizes. He definitely has to say hi later.
And the third boy is the one that he finds himself most intrigued by. He’s not sure why; besides the obvious scar that stands out against the pale color on his cheeks, there isn’t much to note about him. Maybe it’s the way that he sits on the bench with his bag of gear still fully zipped, like he has no intention of changing anytime soon. Maybe it’s the frizzy, unkempt brown hair falling on his forehead, suddenly reminding Sirius of how awful his own hair must look right now.
Or maybe it’s the fact that he refuses to stare at anything except the floor, his eyes trained downwards as the rest of the team laughs at James and Sirius’s banter.
As he studies the other new kids and then looks back, that’s when he puts two and two together. That must be Remus, he realizes. Here’s the kid that James has been ranting and raving about for the past four months, the boy who’s as mysterious as he is clever and witty and the defenseman who puts everything on the line to protect the puck. Remus Lupin.
He doesn’t have another moment to think on the revelation: James pushes him out of the doorway about half a second after the name returns to him, after he thinks back on everything he’s heard about this new boy. “Sorry,” James apologizes hastily. “I was totally joking, but we only have five minutes until we’re supposed to be on the ice, so… you’ll have time to talk to them afterwards.”
He closes the door only moments later, and Remus disappears out of Sirius’s vision as quickly as he spotted him.
❅ ❅ ❅
Sirius sees him again sooner than he thinks.
He’s been sitting up in the stands above the ice for the past twenty minutes, watching as Coach Hooch tortures his friends with drills he knows like the back of his hand. For a moment, he finds humor in their exhaustion, reflecting on when he used to do this alongside them. Then, it’s replaced by a pang in his chest, a desire to get back out there even if it kills him. He wishes he could listen—but the searing pain in his shoulder is stronger, a brutal reminder as to why he can’t.
He’s so caught up in the intense emotion he’s feeling, the inner turmoil taking place as he’s torn back and forth between want and logic, that he doesn’t notice he isn’t alone up here.
To Remus’s credit, he’s quiet in nature, his presence so still that it would be difficult for Sirius to spot him unless he was actively looking.
He only sees him when the pain flares up in his right shoulder, a tugging sort of ache that causes Sirius to grit his teeth together. He uses his left hand to gently massage it—only a week left until surgery, he thinks to himself, the late December date pinned on his calendar. He already considers it his favorite Christmas gift of the season. Until then, the relentless physical therapy sessions and meager attempts at managing the pain will have to do.
As he rubs at his shoulder, he turns over to glance at what he’s doing; that’s when the figure tucked away in the top right corner of the stands catches his eye.
He recognizes him almost immediately. And once he gets one glimpse of him, he can’t bring himself to look away.
If Remus has felt the pair of eyes on him yet, he shows no sign. He’s laser focused on the practice that’s occurring beneath them. He has his earbuds in, and Sirius can tell he’s completely disconnected from everything else.
So Sirius watches.
He watches Remus’s expression shift as his head turns back and forth, watching his teammates skate brutal ladders beneath them. He watches Remus’s concentrated frown turn to a smile as they all collapse on the ice afterwards, James lying down and loudly groaning in order to flaunt his suffering to Coach Hooch. He watches as Remus’s mouth begins to move now, presumably lip syncing along to whatever song is playing through his earbuds. He watches as Remus’s hair moves ever so slightly to the sides as he sings along, catching the feeling that he’s restraining himself as he jams along to his music. And then he watches as Remus looks around, his eyes landing on Sirius’s as he too realizes that he isn’t alone. He watches as—
Shit, Remus saw him?
The immediate turn of Remus’s head, snapping away and looking ahead, tells Sirius that he did, in fact, notice him. And he’s now trying incredibly hard to pretend as though he didn’t.
But Sirius won’t take that. He’s heard too much about this kid for him to be neglected and ignored, and they might as well meet now.
Sirius stands up and climbs the several stairs over to Remus, wondering if the steps are that steep or if he’s this out of shape already. He hasn’t been away from hockey that long, has he? No matter—he takes a seat beside Remus now, and focuses all his energy on attempting to figure out what to say now that he’s actually up here.
No one said Sirius Black was good at thinking these things through.
Finally, he speaks. “Just gonna listen to your music and pretend I’m not here, then?”
Shit, no. Probably the absolute worst thing he could have said to initiate this conversation.
Remus pulls out an earbud as he speaks, but he still doesn’t look over to Sirius. “I know you’re here,” he says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m trying to watch my team practice.”
“Yeah, right. Sorry,” Sirius quickly apologizes as he grits his teeth together. Then, because he’s stupid and he doesn’t think before he speaks—“Any particular reason you’re up here and not out there with them?”
Remus doesn’t respond to that, which is an answer enough for Sirius. He knows when to take a hint, at least sometimes.
Sirius shifts uncomfortably on the bench and attempts to find something else to discuss instead, something that might warrant something besides total silence from Remus. He talks about himself now. “I mean, I’m sure you heard what happened to me. Took a bad hit, got a concussion and fucked up my shoulder, now I can’t play for half a year. So, that’s why I’m here.” He’s talking too much. He doesn’t know why he’s talking too much. If it were James beside him, James would be blabbing back and it wouldn’t feel so starkly silent. But it is not James beside him. “Embarrassing reason, but I don’t know. Now you have another injured person to keep you company, I guess.”
This is what finally gets Remus to talk. “‘I’m not injured,” he begins, turning his head to glance over at Sirius.
They only hold eye contact for a moment before Remus is turning away again, looking straight ahead. “Sorry. It’s just… it’s not an injury. It happened because I was injured, but I’m not still actively injured.”
”Oh,” Sirius says blankly, feeling like an idiot. “…I’m sorry.”
Remus smiles at him now, appreciative yet unimpressed. “I get that a lot,” he responds, and there’s an edge of sadness to his voice that Sirius doesn’t think he could imitate if he tried. Sirius wonders how long he’s dealt with this. “I’m, um. I’m used to it. So it’s fine.”
Sirius’s heart sinks as he hears the familiar statement, the one that he’s said so many times himself. This must be what I sound like to others. He hates that thought.
“I’m not used to it,” Sirius says after a moment, looking ahead wistfully at his teammates. They’ve split the ice in half now, working on a defensive drill on one side and practicing an offensive rush on the other. “I fucking hate this.”
”I can tell,” Remus responds, offering him the tiniest little smile that falls almost instantly. “I hate it too. The injuries, the sitting out. Never gets easier.”
Sirius can’t stop the next question that falls from his lips, no matter how much he tries to restrain himself. “Why do you still play, then?” he asks, one hand gesturing towards the ice. He asks because it’s something he’s contemplated himself. Why go right back to the sport that hurt him, knowing that he might go through it all again? Why torture himself like this, watching from a distance and wishing it was him? Is it really worth it?
This is the first time Remus looks at him—really looks at him. His eyes lock onto Sirius’s, his expression completely genuine as he answers confidently. At last, he sounds sure of something. “Because I love it.” He cocks his head towards Sirius now. “You?”
Sirius isn’t expecting the question to get flipped onto him. But he answers without even thinking. “I love it too,” he says instantly. “More than anything.”
Remus nods at this, satisfied, and something seems to pass between them. They’re nothing alike—this much has become clear. They’re complete opposites in nature, brought together only because they can’t be out on the ice with everyone else. But for a moment, they understand each other.
And well, maybe they aren’t as different as Sirius initially thought.
It falls quiet now, but Sirius doesn’t let it last for long. He gazes back out at the rink ahead of them, where James has just stumbled over and bumped into the boards, and a thought pops up in his head.
”Did you know there’s mold underneath the boards here?” he asks, turning back to Remus.
Remus’s eyes widen. “What? Who said that?” he asks, squinting now as he looks towards the boards.
Sirius’s eyes twinkle with amusement. ”My brother told me.”
Remus glances back at him with an expression of utter disbelief.
❅ ❅ ❅
Regulus doesn’t understand what’s happening to him.
Now that Sirius is back, things should be better between the two of them. Things are better between the two of them. Their talk last night had solidified that. Maybe their relationship still isn’t perfect, but it will get there. He’s sure of it.
So how come he still can’t stand to look at Sirius and James together? How come his seething jealousy, something he thought he’d moved past, still remains, and announces its presence more loudly than ever?
As Regulus takes yet another meaningless lap around the ice, mindlessly attempting to keep his legs going, the question haunts him.
He thought he’d changed. He thought that he’d gotten over himself, that he’d matured enough to realize that he and Sirius have a completely different bond than James and Sirius do. It’s something he’s learned to acknowledge. But it somehow makes everything hurt worse.
He first felt it at the airport yesterday, when James and Sirius were joking around. God, we’re so gay, Sirius had teased, and Regulus had to look away. He could tell himself that it was because of the insensitive comment, the thoughtless joke coming from someone who should know better. Before he was a hockey player, he was a boy in figure skating—he’s familiar with the confusion that comes with getting a label placed on yourself before you’re even old enough to know what any of it means. They both were mocked ruthlessly by the hockey boys for years, and Regulus saw firsthand how it hurt Sirius. To hear him making those jokes like they’re nothing now, fully embracing the role of a hockey player; it’s baffling. Regulus doesn’t get it.
But who is he kidding? Sirius and James have made those jokes with each other for years now, and it never hit him as hard as it did yesterday. It was different now for reasons that Regulus still can’t figure out.
Oh well, he’d thought afterwards. He’s gone several months without hearing the jokes, without seeing James and Sirius together. It’s something he’ll need to get used to again, that’s all. Just because James and Sirius have been reunited doesn’t mean that he’ll fade into obscurity again. Things are different now, they’ll be better. He’s sure of it.
Except it had happened again today, when he and Sirius had stepped into the rink.
James and Sirius had seen each other, called out to one another, and Regulus had felt it again: insurmountable rage boiling up without reason, rage that threatened to burst if he didn’t leave right that second. So that’s what he did.
And now he’s here, uselessly trying to make sense of it all, and he has nothing. He’s been trying for the past hour, and yet, there’s nothing. No good excuse, no logic, no reason. He does know one thing and one thing only: he’s jealous.
He’s been jealous of the two for years, something that he has no problem admitting now. But somehow, this jealousy, this envy, is… different. It’s not the same as it was before: before, it was quiet, it was miserable, it was resigned. Now, he is angry, he is bitter.
Why am I so jealous of them again? he wonders as he skates on his right leg, alternating between his outside and inside edge as he pulls himself back and forth. He’s getting odd looks from the coaches and students on the ice alike, probably wondering why he’s spent this entire session aimlessly skating around when nationals are only four weeks away. He still has yet to run a single program. Why does it feel so different? He reflects back on the past twenty four hours, attempting to pinpoint it all.
He’s not so much focused on the friendship itself, he finds. As he circles back again, he repeats Sirius’s joke to himself, over and over. But he finds that it isn’t the comment itself he’s focused on. Rather, he can’t stop thinking of James’s response.
Well, yeah. We’re literally getting married, remember?
It rings in his head, feeling more like a taunt towards him than simply a quip at his friend.
Regulus can’t stop hearing it, can’t stop letting himself get angrier and angrier even though he knows it’s irrational. They’ve been like this for years, he tries to tell himself in a dismissive attempt to feel better, but it doesn’t help. They’ve been like this for years, but it’s just begun bothering him now.
He doesn’t get it. Yesterday, at the airport, he and Sirius had hugged, and it had all felt so relieving, so good to be back in the arms of his brother. And for one second, one single second, Regulus had felt that everything would be alright.
It was only when he and James had hugged that Regulus’s heart dropped into his stomach.
He and Sirius are okay, yet the second James is in the picture, Regulus wants to run away from everything, refuses to acknowledge the two together at all.
It hits Regulus like a freight train, crashing down onto him.
Suddenly, he gets it. Why his jealousy’s returned, why it hurts so much worse, why it feels so different. It all makes sense.
He used to be jealous of James, of the friendship he had with his older brother and of the fact that he’d never be the first choice in Sirius’s eyes.
Now, he isn’t jealous of James at all. He’s jealous of Sirius.
He’s jealous of Sirius, and angry at his jokes, because he likes James.
No, he doesn’t just like him. He’s head over fucking heels.
The realization is as startling as it is infuriating. It’s fitting, then, that Regulus leans too far forward and hits his toe pick on the ice, causing him to fly forward and flop right onto his face in front of everybody.
There’s gasps as he goes down, and he hears one of the coaches yell out to him as he lays there. “You okay?” they ask, although his ego is hurt far more than he is physically right now.
He actually couldn’t be worse. But he nods anyways, getting up to his feet and brushing the snow off of his pants.
And then he heads for the exit, grabbing his hard guards as he rushes off of the ice and back onto solid ground again. He knows when to call a session quits, and falling flat on his fucking face for no reason other than he just realized he has feelings for James Potter is reason enough.
He doesn’t know where he’s going until he’s upstairs, in the spare closet where Salazar Figure Skating Club keeps their spare costumes and competition posters. Seeing as the room goes largely unused except for their biannual competitions, he’s had many good cries in here before, and he knows the same is true for the other figure skaters as well. You aren’t really a Salazar FSC member until you’ve cried in the supply closet, the joke goes.
Regulus doesn’t cry today.
Instead, he grabs the fabric of the closest costume to him and smothers his face in it, letting out the loudest scream he’s ever produced.