★
Black, Black, Black, Black.
The crowd around them cheers and Regulus Black can feel the vibrations of his own name ricocheting against his skin with a frivolous excitement that always seems to be bursting in his blood during games.
He hasn’t stepped away from the locker room but the crowd is being so loud their screams reach him even from under the stadium walls.
Barty gives him a crooked smile from where he is tying his shoes and the glint in his eyes spells violence. They all know the stakes from this game, what it will mean if they lose. Tonight, even more than ever, they will be playing as a well-oiled machine that has team written in orange flames in every move they make on court. The trophy they will be carrying home — the EU Exy Championships — will not only mean they won as the best team in Europe while representing their country or that this will be for most of their players an one way ticket to the Olympics in a couple of years but they know something else is at stake, something much more precious.
“I, for once, am so excited about punching someone in the face,” Barty announces and Regulus can already see his teammates rolling their eyes. Barty is always punching someone so there is nothing out of the ordinary in this.
Dorcas huffs, a mischievous expression on her own face. “It feels good being close to action. Bring me some British, hum, Evan, so I can have a really good swing at them.”
Evan winks at her at the same time Barty says “You have my full support on this plan.”
“You buffoons,” Pandora flickers Barty on the forehead. “Exy is not a legalised fight club. Behave.”
“The rules are basically the same,” Sirius mumbles under his breath but as soon as Pandora gives him The Look — capital letters and all — he taps two fingers in salute in his usual saying of Yes, captain.
“I have a good feeling about tonight,” Regulus announces in cue of the conversation.
“Focus more on the game than the good feeling and score at least five points in the first half,” Pandora says, a murderer fire in her eyes, before pointing at Sirius and Dorcas. “Each.”
“Oi, Oi, Captain,” Sirius salutes again.
“We have warm ups in three minutes. Barty, keep the fucking ball on our side of the court or I swear to God I will be the one punching you tonight.”
Barty whispers she so needs to get laid under his breath but Regulus is sure he will be following Pandora’s rules.
Slughorn rushes them outside with a chorus of yes, coach when he explains the drills they will be doing for twenty minutes.
The crowd roars when they come into the stadium and the referees open the court doors for them. The other team, a blur of gold and red on the opposite side, are already on their drills, so Regulus focuses on the thousands of people chanting their name. It feels good to play again after the three weeks they had from the semifinals earlier in the month but Regulus is feeling even better for playing at this stadium in particular. Nothing will be as satisfactory as to win the EU Exy Champshiops trophy on their home court, at the heart of Paris. The people surrounding them seems to agree.
Sirius waves to them, completely disregarding Pandora’s orders to focus on the drills, and they start chanting France’s national anthem so loud Regulus’ ears ring even from inside the court.
Sirius smiles at him. “Oh, this victory will be so sweet.”
“Black,” Slughorn slams against the plexiglass to get their attention. “Yes, both of you. Focus.”
Sirius whispers a yes coach even though Slughorn won’t be able to hear him and follows Regulus to a quick set of exercises to get them moving. Their side of the court is a wave of black and green so well adjusted even in drills they move as one synchronised body.
Regulus’ eyes never drift to the other side, not once. Tonight, he will need all the focus he can master, even if Regulus can feel his eyes on him, the weight and burn that has become so familiar after years of playing against each other. Still, he won’t give the satisfaction of sparing James Potter any attention.
When the whistle blows, Pandora gets them all in line back to the locker room for one last recap in the team’s strategy. Above her vicious face, Regulus watches the TV, a sports reporter already making comments on the biggest night for EU Exy Championships, and one for the records, as the all time rivals, Regulus Black and James Potter, face each other in their last opportunity to take the trophy home. This is, of course, after their long rivalry of bitter plays that has resulted in Potter being benched for two games last season.
If Potter wins the game tonight, he will be getting England their first EU trophy in five years and if Black wins, he will be putting France in a three consecutive year of first place. Must I say, the stakes are high for both of them, especially when the Championships come with the ending of both their contracts with their home teams. This win might not only mean their future on a possible spot on the national team at the Winter Olympics in two years, but also their future on Exy itself.
Regulus scoffs. He knew the media would come for their necks tonight as they have been building this Potter-Black rivalry for years now, coming into full speed when both England and France qualified for finals earlier in the month. Regulus and James were truly giving a full meal to the reporters and both their PR teams and sponsors were over the moon with the amount of money this was pulling from the fans.
Well, he thinks, make your bets and let the games begin.
—
Regulus is almost certain he jinxed himself.
The first point England scores is because James is playing a brutal game and Regulus knows why. The fucking bastard.
The second point James scores is because Regulus distracted himself for a second longer than necessary looking at him. They are face to face and Regulus doesn’t let that half inch in their height make a difference when he pushes James, hard and harder until they are growling at each other’s faces. Then, James smiles.
Regulus trips.
It takes a second but it is enough for James to bypass him and Barty, who is too focused on Marlene to see James reach for Pandora like a meteor ready to strike their well constructed planet.
Sirius takes their goal lighting up red as a personal offense and throws himself against Evans with so much force that it sends her spiralling against the court floor with enough momentum that Remus misses his cue and Sirius scores with a vengeance that sends everyone on the stadium on a frenzy.
Regulus clicks his racquet to Sirius’ when they pass each other to reposition themselves in court.
For a moment before the referees blows the whistle, Regulus lets his gaze fall on James. Since he is offense for his own team — of course he is, James could never play another position that is not a striker because he needs the fucking attention — and Regulus plays defense, they always come into this: face to face. There are hundreds of pictures of them like this on the internet and both the fans and media eat it up every time. Regulus has to admit, they do look good together.
It is such a shame James always has to give him an infuriating charming smile when their eyes meet, as if Sirius’ scoring could not deter him from being the most insufferable person to ever exist.
“Lily is pissed, ” he tells Regulus with an energising voice, as if challenging him to take the bite and argue back.
Regulus always falls for it because it is in his nature. If James speaks, then he has the sudden itch to say something back. “You would know that, right, Potter?”
James laughs and for a suspended moment in time, that sound is the only thing Regulus can hear in the whole thundering of the stadium.
“Jealous much, hm?”
“Barty,” Regulus calls in french, “La prochaine fois que Potter parle, tu as mon autorisation explicite de le frapper.”
Barty laughs under his breath. “Absolument. Ce sera dommage de ruiner sa belle petite bouille, mais bon.”
“Tsk, talking in French is just a low blow Black,” James calls, a raised eyebrow indicating he is actually enjoying the whole thing. Bastard.
“That will teach you to mind your own business, Potter.”
Before James gets a chance to answer him back, the whistle blows and the ball goes from Evan’s racquet directly to Sirius’. Regulus watches as everyone closes on him, Remus’ especially and, not for the first time, Regulus thinks Remus is probably the only backliner that can give Sirius as much shit as Sirius gives them. They battle for a second before Remus gives a nasty blow on his ribs that makes Sirius lose momentum. Remus catches, runs enough to bypass Dorcas and sends the ball up high. It ricochets on the wall and then both Regulus and James are reaching for it.
James is being extra committed tonight but Regulus is prepared now and they lean on each other enough that neither of their racquets are able to reach for the ball and when Barty collides against James’ racquet, they both stumble to the ground.
For a second, it’s just a mess of limbs and legs and Barty must have been able to get the ball and throw to either Sirius or Dorcas because the crowd is chanting so loud Regulus ears are ringing. His focus, however, is on bright brown eyes under him, James hands on his waist as Regulus takes a moment to push himself up from him.
“Enjoying being on top, Black?”
Regulus scoffs at him. “You wish,” he looks up just to be sure and yes. “Meadowes just scored. Guess we are even now, huh? A step closer to losing, Potter.”
Under the helmet, James is all teeth and attitude and his skin glints with sweat. For a moment Regulus loses track of his thoughts before he pushes up, leaving James to fumble for himself.
Movement at the court’s door gets Regulus’ attention and he sees them trading McKinnon for another striker, one that Regulus knows by name and reputation. Fuck.
“Garde-le éloigné de moi,” Regulus spits at Barty.
Brown takes McKinnon place and Regulus knows he is so fucked. The game restarts and the pace is an inferno. By the time the inevitable happens and Brown — a massive body of muscles and nothing else — hits him against the plexiglass with too much force on it he hears his helmet crack, Regulus is relieved; when Brown proceeds to smash against Regulus, sending them both into a mass of bodies on the ground; when Regulus ears start ringing and everything sounds underwater; when he starts tasting blood in the back of his throat, he figuratively turns his hands up to the sky in thank you. His legs are burning and he cannot be sure he was even breathing, so these few moments of pure pain gives him at least a second on the ground where he can just rest.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hears someone screaming, a voice sweet on its familiarity and dripping with rage.
Regulus doesn’t hear the answer because someone — and he will bet his whole fucking money that it was probably Barty — starts a fight over the overly illegal move Brown just did — he is pretty known by it and, selfishly, Regulus is glad he did it because it means a red card for England.
He cannot move at the moment though, to see what is happening. His eyes are fixated on the shiny plexiglass above him and he is not even bothered about the crowd uproar because he isn’t quite listening to anything at the moment.
Someone removes his helmet and his head is being carefully cradled by gentle hands.
A pair of warm brown eyes, sweaty hair plastered over skin, curling at the temples, brown sun-kissed cheeks glistering maroon with adrenaline and Regulus wants to punch him so badly he aches.
“… not gonna die on me, Black. Can you get up?”
Regulus gulps on his own blood and saliva and pushes that gorgeous face out of his staring contest with the ceiling, mumbling “I will actually punch you, Potter.”
James laughs, something liquid and warm that Regulus wants to bottle up. Fuck him.
“He is okay,” James says over his shoulder but doesn’t let go of his head, fingers absentmindedly putting Regulus’ own hair away from his face.
“Is he alive?” someone else asks and Regulus immediately recognizes the voice as Evans. “That was brutal.”
Regulus tries to push himself up and immediately regrets it. A wave of nausea gets through him at the same time his body starts to function again and the sounds from the crowd add up to his dizziness.
“I think you have a concussion” Evan mumbles, on his knees on the other side of Regulus. “Don’t worry though, Barty got him straight on the nose.”
Regulus swallows what he must assume is bile. He will not vomit.
“That is so relieving to hear, Rosier. Truly,” he mumbles sarcastically.
James lets go of his head in favour of letting him sit up. “Told you he was okay.”
Regulus glares at him but it must not be threatening at all because James just reaches again for his face, wiping the blood coming from his nose. “Your teammate is dead, Potter.”
“Get in line, Black.”
“Regulus,” Pandora reaches them with a furious glare of her own, her helmet forgotten some place else on court. “Fuck, you look horrible,” she turns to James. “Do that shit again on my court and I swear I will end your life, Potter.”
Oh, that is just not okay, is it? “It’s not his fault,” Regulus says, softly slapping James’ hand away to clean his own blood. The nausea is under control but Regulus feels he still needs a few more minutes to adjust his brain back inside his head and then he will be ready to go. “Give me a minute.”
Pandora’s outraged glare is as powerful as James’ own undignified noise. “You are not playing anymore. Get out of here before I drag you myself.”
“You cannot throw me away from the court, are you serious? Is just a minor injury, I have had way worse than this.”
“Regulus…”
Regulus glares at James’ interruption. “What are you even doing here? Go back to your team.”
James is unimpressed by this. “You cannot play.”
“You are not my captain, you cannot order me around.”
“Yeah, but I can,” Pandora says, ignoring the whole theatrics of Regulus and James’ interaction. Before Regulus can even protest, she raises her finger in silence. “Get check up with Pomfrey and let Dupont take over for you. If you are better by the second half, then you come back. We can hold our ground against them.”
“Keep telling yourselves that,” James says and that earns him an elbow on the ribs by Regulus, who is truthfully getting better already. He doesn’t want to piss off a teammate, least of all Pandora, so he dutifully gets up and Dupont takes over for him.
Coach McGonagall takes advantage of the moment to also trade some of her players and Regulus can see James getting off the court on the other side. He ignores the burning feeling in his chest to focus on Pomfrey meddling around his nose to see if anything is broken. It isn’t, as Regulus has said, and the wound on his head is nothing serious.
“You have a very minor concussion and I would recommend you to sit this game out but you are not going to listen to me, are you?” Pomfrey asks, just as she finishes cleaning Regulus’ face. His fierce eyes say enough.
The first half of the game ends with 6-7, France’s favour. Pandora strides out of court as if she is caring the world on her shoulders but the burning smile on her face betrays everything. She wasn’t really expecting them to make it past five and her earlier threat was mostly a sort of tradition between them but nothing can ruin her mood when they go beyond expectations. For a game as brutal as this one, even Regulus is surprised either of them was able to score at all.
Coach Slughorn gets them going back to the locker room for refreshers and a new change in attitude because they just have to hold the game for another half and France will be the first country to take the EU Exy Championships trophy home for the third consecutive time. Most importantly, Regulus will get the immense satisfaction to throw this victory at James Potter’s stupid face.
“Okay, we will be starting the second half with Bonnet and Moulin as strikers. Sirius, I need you and Dorcas to be ready to step on by the end of the second half. Rest as much as you can but do not stop moving. You both are our best strikers and we need all of your energy for the final blow. Crouch, I want you and Regulus back on court after our first fifteen minutes. This means Laurent and Butler will be holding their ground for this first half. Rosier…” she turns to him. “You cover for them. When Barty gets in, I will trade you but until then, you play defense.”
“Are you seriously putting Regulus back on the game?” Sirius asks, a note of concern in his voice.
Regulus doesn’t even have a chance to protest before Pandora cuts him in. “Yeah, he has much more to lose than the rest of us and Pomfrey says he is good to go,” she looks around. “Anyone wants to add something?”
Sirius gives them a maniac smile at the sound of ninety thousand people chanting their name. “As the French say, let’s crush some English, shall we?”
Evans frowns at him. “That’s not what the French say.”
Sirius taps him on the head. “Way to ruin my dramatic line, you cunt.”
“I cannot believe I’m trapped in a team with a bunch of morons,” Dorcas mumbles and they all laugh.
“Well, Vive la France, right?”
—
When the final buzzer ricochets in the stadium, Regulus’ knees gives up and he is so winded he ridiculously thinks his minor concussion earlier was not the worst thing to happen during this game. Barty is in no better condition, having given up himself. Maybe it was the stakes, but they haven’t played this hard in a long time and it was a savage and magnificent game.
Barty takes his helmet off with visible discomfort and looks at him, too stunned to speak.
Above them, the score says 8-7, England’s favour. James scored in the last two seconds of the game.
“I refuse to accept this,” Regulus mumbles and Barty’s lips twitch in what he must assume would be, in other circumstances, a wide smile.
“I’m going to miss you, Reg.”
“I will not move from here,” Regulus declares, fully convinced he will not. “I shall rot on this spot and be remembered forever by the humiliation I brought upon myself.”
“Ooooooh, the dramatics,” Pandora says, walking towards him. She takes her helmet off, pale cheeks burning bright red and eyes shining with both disappointment and something else. “We almost got them.”
Regulus makes a gesture of stabbing himself but his arms are so pathetically weak it just seems the knife grazed his chest. “Kill me now,” he breathes.
Pandora extends her hand. “C’mon now, Reg. We need to congratulate them,” she tells him. When Regulus accepts her hand and it’s pulled up, she turns the gesture into a hug. “It was really an honour playing with you.”
Regulus makes a disgusted face. “No emotional goodbyes.”
She laughs. “That’s not goodbye, we still have a wedding to plan.”
Oh, that.
Regulus pushes her away. “Do not remind me of that. Let’s get this over with.”
The team falls in line with Pandora’s sturdy orders, even though most of them are either too exhausted to move or overly disappointed to greet their adversaries. Either way, they follow her to the middle of the court for the usual post-game handshake. England is already in line and Regulus can physically feel the piercing arrogance radiating from each one of them.
Well, that’s my life now, he thinks somberly. Red is so not my color.
They pass them with weak handshakes and mumbles of great game but he knows what is coming for him. James is a beacon of delight and triumph and his smile is louder than the pandemonium going on outside the court.
Regulus raises his chin high — he will not give Potter the satisfaction of seeing defeat all over his face — and stares directly into his eyes when their hands meet. James is trying so damn hard not to seem like today isn’t the best day of his life, trophy aside, and for a split second Regulus wants to kiss him, right there, in front of everyone.
James never looks as beautiful as when he is flushed out of a game, scarlet cheeks warm to touch, hair sticking to his face, skin glowing with sweat and happiness and everything there is in between.
Regulus was the one named after a star but James’ eyes shine brighter than any celestial body right now.
“Great game,” Regulus bellows, the words trapped behind his teeth in a painful admission of defeat. He cannot help the smile trying to creep its way, though, and he forces his lips in a tight line as he feels the cool metal of James’ necklace when he closes his hands on his.
James uses his free hand to tap a finger on Regulus’ chin. “Well, love. It’s time for you to start wearing this now,” he beams, his own body swaying forward as if he is as trapped in his gravitational orbit as Regulus is to his.
The line pushes him forward before Regulus can even think to bite an answer back but truthfully, he is not even sure he would have an answer. In the state his head is — bloated with want and adrenaline and excitement for what is coming — he is not certain he would be able to stop himself. From kissing or punching James, he doesn’t know.
Regulus follows his team off the court but Pandora doesn’t let him drift very far, her expression clear enough. “Press duty,” she points to where the press conference is happening. “You and I against the vultures,” she cries, already regretting being Captain, Regulus is sure. She lets Slughorn deal with the clear overgrowing disappointment and dramatics of everyone else — mainly Sirius — while she drags Regulus to the conference room.
The place is already crowded with reporters from every media channel and not even a second after going in, Regulus already misses the overflowing adrenaline of the game, the protection of the court’s wall and the feeling of a crowd surrounding him. Needless to say, he despises press duty.
Pandora deals with the initial comments of the game, with Regulus doing some input here and there, their strong points and weak moments, even though both of them are known to be very clinical about it, giving almost nothing on the other team’s performance but their own. Regardless, Pandora emphasises how proud she is of every single member of her team and I would have not asked for a better game, honestly. We played with everything we had and that is enough for me. We are definitely taking notes on tonight, though, and will be better for the next Championships.
The reporters take the opportunity to direct the conversation to where they really want. Pandora will travel back to the U.S. for her pro-team and her contract is far from ending but a lot of players from France had their futures open after this game.
“I am sure whatever future they choose, we will be meeting again in the Olympics in a couple of years,” she replies, already seeing where the speculation is coming. “We always come home when France needs us, right?”
She is not technically wrong, especially with mostly everyone spread in professional teams in different countries. Sirius, Regulus and some others were the rare ones who stayed and signed with professional teams in France and Sirius is not looking forward to any trade in his contract as far as Regulus is concerned. It’s a fucking shame Regulus has a double-citizenship and a lost bet under his belt.
Pandora laughs, “Well, some of us will, anyway.”
“That’s my cue,” Regulus says grumpily on the mic. “I know everyone was wondering about my contract ending by the end of this season.”
“There were some rumours you would be transferring teams. That’s unusual for you, right? You’ve played with your brother since you were kids,” a reporter Regulus is familiar with, Miriam Blanc, questions.
Regulus regards the question with boredom. His career was built with Sirius’ because they were both sure the Black Brothers™ would be a great media strategy and their managers always seemed to agree. They made so much money by being always paired together that Regulus actually used this argument to convince James to trade pro-teams. Of course, James was great in ignoring both Regulus and Sirius’ drama over their separation because he knew from personal experience they spent more time bickering than actually playing and Regulus’ strategy of encouraging Sirius through words of disappointment never truly worked. In James’ words, I’m actually doing you both and your team a favour.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll survive. Can’t attest for Sirius, thought. He never quite learned to function without me,” Regulus tells them and it earns him a nudge on the ribs from Pandora, who is watching this whole ordeal with amusement.
“So you are trading teams?” the same reporter asks. “Do you already have a contract with another one?”
Regulus steels himself. Here we go. “Well, Miriam, I just lost a bet. So I guess I am trading teams and regarding Lovegood’s earlier accusation, in the future I will be taking into account my double citizenship and will start playing for England.”
There is a tense second of sepulchral silence before every reporter bursts into questions, their cameras flashing so fast and unexpectedly on Regulus’ face he is momentarily blinded.
“Is this the same bet Potter was talking about earlier?” a reporter voices louder than anyone else.
Oh James, the bastard, Regulus thinks.
“Well, unfortunately, yes,” Regulus admits with a bit of irony. “Glad he already made everyone aware of the situation. Did he tell you it was basically coercion?”
“You’re transferring to Potter’s team in England?” he retorts.
“Are the rivals finally friends?” Mirian asks. Oh, Regulus will have to just give her what she wants. He is starting to like her.
Regulus shrugs, as if his next words will not make the headlines of every sports channel for the entirety of the month – no, scratch that, for the entirety of the fucking year. Fuck England’s victory, they will not even remember there was a game tonight.
“I’m tired of playing against him anyway,” Regulus reveals. “Besides, marriages cannot withstand long distances, so it will be good for ours if we are playing together. It will be shit playing against Sirius though but I’m sure after tonight he is already used to being on the loser side.”
Then, chaos ensues.
—
Pandora has to intervene at some point or else Regulus would spend the next few hours being held hostage by a bunch of sports reporters interested in the nature of his relationship with James. She guides him out with a strong hand on his shoulder, then just mumbles something about how she did not sign up for this before walking away to the girls locker room.
Regulus has the intention of doing the same thing and taking a long, warm shower — and to actually check if either of the striker’s broke his fingers when they stepped onto his foot way too many times — but James intercepts him when he turns into the hallway. He is talking with three other people Regulus vaguely recognizes but as soon as his eyes lands on Regulus he cuts himself mid speech with an excuse me for a second and Regulus has almost no warning to brace himself before James collides against him, hands already reaching for his face.
“Urgh,” Regulus complains, but there is no heat in his words. “You stink, Potter.”
James proceeds to kiss the air out of his lungs for that. His lips taste like honey and warmth, something that Regulus is sure James carries in his blood cells and that is slowly infecting him. “You were brilliant,” he says against his lips, smiling so much Regulus is kissing more of his teeth than his lips.
“That’s nice to hear after you swiped my ass in court,” Regulus admits with a defeated tone to his voice.
“Oh, love, don’t be a sore loser,” James kisses his forehead, before giving him a little space. “I saw your press conference.”
Regulus pushes him off. “Don’t even start. It’s official now, I’m no longer French. What a tragedy.”
James laughs something familiar, his head shaking with barely contained elation, his eyes bright and face flushed. He is ready to kiss the ever living shit of Regulus again when someone clears their throat and Regulus is rudely reminded they are not alone. His eyes fall on the three men standing behind James and his eyebrows shoot up.
“Kevin fucking Day,” he calls. “What are you doing in France?”
Kevin shrugs a shoulder. “Had to see your ass being kicked at least once, Black. A beautiful game, though.”
“Glad we are making fun of me now.”
“You basically gave James that second point,” Kevin says, smiling something arduous and arrogant. Oh, Regulus had missed the prick.
Regulus huffs, offended. “He tricked me!”
James does an innocent expression no one believes. “How do you people say in America? I will take the Fifth.”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “It’s nice seeing you, Day, especially without your evil twin.”
“Regulus,” James sputters.
Regulus ignores him but Kevin is quicker, turning to introduce them to his two other companions. “This is Neil Josten and…
“Andrew Minyard,” Regulus rasps. “Speaking of evil twins, we actually threw a party when you broke Riko’s arm. A huge thank you from the Exy community. Not saying who, but there was champagne involved.”
“It was Sirius,” James confesses under his breath.
Minyard taps two fingers against his temple in a salute. “At your service.”
“Neil was talking about wanting to play against you. They’re staying in France for a week,” James explains. “Apparently, you made an impression.”
Regulus turns his hands up in a peace-offering sign. “I’m not playing against Kevin, though. He is insufferable in court. Did James tell you about when we spent two months on training camp? I thought Sirius would kill him.”
Neil laughs. “Sounds like Kevin,” he admits. “Congratulations on the wedding, by the way.”
James makes a sush sound. “Don’t say the w word out loud. Regulus is allergic.”
Regulus ignores him. “Did everyone watch the press conference? I was not trying to start something, by the way,” he looks at James at this. “I just wanted to make sure no one would be talking about your huge shiny trophy.”
James takes his hands. “No huge shiny trophy can compare to you saying yes.”
Regulus makes a disgusted noise. “Keep it on your pants, Potter.”
“Did Kevin already give you the talk about losing sponsors and making your life harder by being gay?” Neil asks, cutting their conversation.
James chokes a laugh. “Don’t say that in front of Barty or he will punch you.”
“Or suck your dick so good you will change your mind,” Regulus complements. “Either way, don’t tell him that Kevin.”
“Can we not talk about Barty’s ability to suck dick?” James asks, exasperated.
Regulus gives him a sideways look. “It’s a shame he never sucked yours or you would not want to stop talking either.”
“You are both disgusting,” Kevin cuts in before James can bite back. “Thank you for the condolences for Riko thought…”
“We didn’t give any,” Regulus whispers.
“Tell everyone to come, too. We kept wondering what Evans can do with Andrew in the goal,” he explains.
“I’m on vacation,” Andrew announces. “I’m not playing shit.”
Neil cuts in. “He’ll play.”
Andrew arches an eyebrow at him. “Will I now, Josten?”
Kevin rolls his eyes, as if already used to this type of behaviour from the two of them. “I’ll talk to Coach Slughorn about the court and text James the details.”
“Don’t be a stranger, Day.”
“Really nice meeting you,” James says when they start walking away.
Regulus watches them from a distance when James turns to him, softly whispering “Hey.”
Regulus fights against the smile already reaching his lips. “Hey, you.”
James wastes no time in dragging Regulus inside the locker room, thankfully already cleared up from Regulus’ other teammates. The game ended almost two hours ago and if Regulus would bet he would say everyone was already halfway to their hotels to drown their sorrows in some alcohol.
Thankfully, Regulus’ preoccupation with his teammates is welcomely interrupted by James’ lips on his, a hand on his waist guiding him until he is seated on the sink’s balcony, James between his legs, his nose bumping against his cheeks, seeking and asking a question all in once and when Regulus meets his lips, everything inside him is silent.
James breaks their kiss when neither can breath and their foreheads rest on each other.
“I was really scared earlier,” James mumbles, lips tipping down in a frown.
Regulus’ brain is so far away from everything that is not James’ warm skin and soft hair between his fingers that it takes a second for him to get his voice back. He makes a sound from that back of his throat that sounds like a question and James turns his lips to his cheekbone and then his temple, where some bruises are already forming from his earlier match with Brown.
“When you fell, you didn’t move for a few seconds. I thought you had passed out,” he explains, voice fragile.
Regulus finally opens his eyes, searching for warm brown. “I’m okay.”
“Still,” James grumbles. “You wouldn’t stop bleeding either.”
Regulus squints at him. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
James hums in vague agreement, leaning into him to gently press his face down in the crook of his shoulder. Regulus’ arms around him gets tighter and for a few moments they just breathe together.
“Hey,” Regulus finally reaches for James’ face to turn his gaze upwards. With his other hand he pulls from under his uniform the necklace James gave him earlier, where a golden ring hangs from it.
Regulus swallows, the line of his throat rising and falling, and together they unclip the ring from the chain. James, as delicately as he can, fits on Regulus’ finger where, hopefully, it will stay for a long time.
“Can we go home now?” Regulus wonders, the question burning between them.
James gazes up from his finger, eyes serene. “Yes,” he whispers softly, and the waves inside Regulus’ chest rocks in his direction. “We can go home now.”