Way Enough

James

James woke up on Sunday morning with a headache that felt like it was splitting his skull in two.

And, worse than that—

He felt guilty as fuck.

He groaned, rolling over in bed, trying to piece together exactly why he felt so awful. It wasn’t just the hangover—though that certainly didn’t help. It was the way he left things with Regulus. The way he had—

Fuck.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

He grabbed the bottle of aspirin on his nightstand, dry-swallowed two pills, and forced himself out of bed, dragging his ass to the kitchen where Sirius was already sitting at the counter, eating a bowl of cereal like he wasn’t suffering.

James sat down across from him, pouring himself a glass of orange juice, trying to act normal—whatever that meant.

But he had a hard time looking Sirius in the eyes.

“So,” Sirius said, raising an eyebrow. “How was your night?”

James cleared his throat, forcing himself to take a sip of juice. “Good. I didn't really talk to anyone—just got drunk. Barely saw any of my rowing guys.”

Sirius hummed, chewing his cereal. “Yeah, I kept to myself too.”

Then, too casually, he added, “I heard Reggie got some action.”

James choked violently on his orange juice.

Sirius barely reacted, just passed him a napkin while James tried not to die.

“Oh yeah?” James said, voice strained as he played it off, wiping his mouth like he hadn’t just short-circuited.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, sounding surprised but not particularly concerned. “Who would’ve guessed. Someone said they saw him go upstairs with someone.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I’m surprised.”

James forced a nod, gripping his glass too tightly. “Yeah, me too. I—uh—I didn’t even know he was coming.”

Liar.

Such a fucking liar.

Sirius didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t call him on it. He just shrugged and went back to eating his cereal.

James, meanwhile, just sat there, gripping his glass like it was a lifeline, trying to convince himself that everything was fine.

That last night didn’t mean anything.

That Regulus didn’t mean anything.

…But fuck, he wasn’t sure he believed himself.

James ate his breakfast at record speed, needing to get the hell away from Sirius.

He was a bad liar, and if he sat under Sirius’ sharp, all-knowing gaze for too long, James was convinced he’d become completely see-through.

So he escaped to his room, shutting the door behind him, and reached for his guitar.

For the next hour or two, he fiddled aimlessly with chords, letting the raw scrape of steel strings drown out his thoughts.

It was a technique his dad had taught him.

Whenever he got in his own head after a bad play in hockey, when he couldn’t shake the weight of a mistake, him and his dad would rock out to Queen until he felt better.

And this? Kissing Regulus. Admitting he was attracted to him.

That was a bad play.

So he channeled his dad, fingers flying over the frets, music loud and messy in his small room, anything to shake the feeling lingering in his gut.

He didn’t stop until his phone buzzed beside him.

A text from McGonagall.

“Potter, can you come to practice early tomorrow? I have an opportunity for you that I’d like to go over if you’re interested.”

James sat up straighter, interest instantly piqued.

He typed out a response immediately.

“Very interested, Coach. I’ll be there.”

Whatever McGonagall had in mind, James knew one thing for certain—

The best way to ignore the things you want, is to throw yourself headfirst into something else. Completely. Unquestionably. Unrelentingly. Thats how he did it in Hockey, and it was something he knew he could do again.

The rest of the day went on normally enough—he played video games with Sirius, he ate dinner, he went to bed at a decent hour.

And if he only thought about Regulus a few times—

Well.

He successfully pushed it down.

And for now, that was good enough.

When James showed up to the Snake Pit—the historic, dimly lit boathouse that felt eerily empty this early in the morning—the first person he saw was McGonagall.

Unsurprising.

The second person he saw, however—stepping out from behind her, dressed in his uni, looking just as gorgeous as he had the other night—was Regulus.

James' brain short-circuited immediately.

Because, fuck—Regulus looked good.

James hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how red his lips had been after they kissed, how he had looked wrecked but composed all at once. And now? Seeing him standing there in the crisp morning air, tight spandex highlighting every lean muscle—

Yeah. James was not prepared for this.

But before he could dwell on it too long, Regulus' voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"What’s he doing here?"

James blinked out of his trance, his jaw tightening instinctively at Regulus' sharp tone.

McGonagall, unfazed, clasped her hands behind her back. “I called you both here because I have some insider information, and I think the two of you can be the key to beating Harvard and Yale this year.”

Regulus' expression didn’t change, but James caught the slight furrow of his brow, the way his fingers twitched slightly at his sides.

McGonagall continued, voice steady, calculating. “We’re switching up lineups. I’ve received word that Harvard and Yale are stacking their 1Vs with their biggest, fastest ergs—”

James had no idea what the fuck that meant but nodded like he did anyway.

“—which means we can’t go head-to-head with them on pure strength alone. We need to win by making our boat run smoother than theirs.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “So, what? You want to put some of the lightweights in the 1V?”

McGonagall nodded once. “I need to combine our fastest guys with our best technical rowers—create a lighter, cleaner crew that can out-row them on efficiency and precision.”

James' brain was lagging at this point, completely lost in the rowing jargon.

Regulus, however, looked skeptical.

McGonagall didn’t hesitate.

“James is our newest guy, but his numbers are blowing our current 1V guys out of the water.”

James perked up slightly, resisting the urge to smirk.

McGonagall turned to Regulus. “And you have the best technique on the team.”

James didn’t miss the way Regulus’ posture straightened slightly at that.

“So,” McGonagall continued, “here’s the opportunity I’m giving you: one month in a pair with James.”

Regulus' face dropped. James felt his stomach flip.

“You’re going to teach him to get his technique like yours,” McGonagall said simply. “And if you succeed—I’ll put you both in the 1V.”

She let that sit for a moment, watching them both closely.

James turned to Regulus, grinning slightly despite himself.

“Hows that for an opportunity?” McGonagall finished.

Regulus looked absolutely fucking livid.

McGonagall barely hesitated before turning on her heel.

“Regulus, show him where we keep the pairs and get going. I’ll meet you out there in my launch.”

Regulus immediately bristled. “But Coach, Potter has barely ever rowed in an eight—how the hell am I supposed to teach him in a pair?”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “Well, I hope that’s not the case, because the water’s nearly freezing.” She clapped James on the back, grinning slightly. “Good luck.”

And then—just like that—she disappeared.

The moment she was gone, Regulus turned on him.

He stalked forward, his jaw tight, his eyes practically burning, and jabbed a finger into James’ chest with sharp, precise emphasis.

“I would literally rather put needles in my eyes than row a pair with you,” Regulus hissed. “But you are not going to ruin this opportunity for me.”

James swallowed, a shiver running down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Aye aye, captain,” he said, grinning weakly, even as his stomach twisted. “You’re in charge.”

Regulus’ glare hardened, but James swore—just for a second—there was something else there too.

Something uncertain, hesitant.

But then Regulus scoffed, stepping back like he’d touched something scalding.

“Damn right, I’m in charge,” he muttered. Then, voice flatter, colder, “Now come on. We don’t have all day.”

James forced his expression to stay neutral, even as something inside him ached at the way Regulus had shut down so quickly.

And it wasn’t like he could blame him.

James had kissed him.

And then, just as quickly, made it very clear that it couldn’t mean anything.

So James followed silently, shoving his hands in his pockets, trying not to feel like the biggest idiot alive.

When they got out there, James hadn't known how hard rowing in a pair was going to be. But whatever difficulty he had expected—it was worse. So much worse.

The boat was absurdly narrow—the widest part couldn’t have been more than a foot and a half—and it was tippy as hell.

The moment they pushed off the dock, it became very clear that they were in trouble.

Regulus was trying to lead him through some drills, but James kept messing up, and soon enough, they were arguing.

“Jesus, Potter, you’re digging in too much, you’re throwing the whole balance off—”

“Maybe if you gave me an actual direction instead of just telling me what I’m doing wrong, I wouldn’t be fucking it up!”

Regulus let out a sharp exhale, visibly gritting his teeth, before twisting his body just slightly so he could look at James directly.

“I did give you direction. Multiple times,” he snapped. “It’s not my fault you’re built like a fucking bulldozer with no concept of finesse.”

James huffed, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “Well, maybe if—”

“No, you can’t take your hands off the oar—”

Before Regulus could even finish the sentence, the boat tilted violently to one side.

And suddenly, they were flipping.

James barely had time to register the shockingly cold water before he was completely submerged, his breath ripping out of his lungs as he gasped in the freezing air.

When he surfaced, spluttering, he heard Regulus furious and breathless next to him.

“I fucking told you!” Regulus shouted.

James wiped water out of his eyes, glaring at him. “Are you seriously blaming me for this?”

Regulus looked at him, soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes alight with rage, and—fuck.

James was so screwed.

Regulus took a deep, steadying breath, shaking wet curls from his face. "Okay, James, shut up. We need to be calm unless we want to freeze to death."

James, who was currently shivering his ass off, wasn’t exactly feeling panicked, but he also wasn’t opposed to getting out of the goddamn water as soon as possible.

Regulus pressed on, voice even, authoritative. “We need to turn the boat right side up again. On three.”

James nodded, following Regulus' count, using his strength to help flip the boat back over.

“Now,” Regulus instructed, adjusting his grip, “make sure both oars are on opposite sides of the boat for balance. Hold onto either side, hoist yourself up, and straddle it like you would mount a horse.”

James, very much freezing, nodded—but then—

Regulus had to go and say “straddle” and “mount.”

James absolutely did not need the mental image of Regulus mounting anything right now.

Fuck.

His face flamed, and he pushed the thought away violently before it could fully form.

Instead, he focused all his energy on following Regulus’ instructions. To his surprise, the directions were solid, and James managed to pull himself back onto the boat, straddling the hull and grabbing both their oars to stabilize it.

That’s when he realized that—somehow—being out of the water was even worse.

The biting wind hit him full force, his drenched clothes clinging uncomfortably to his freezing skin, and fuck—his body was not built for this.

Then, with infuriating ease, Regulus hoisted himself up, moving with far more grace than James had. He was deadly calm, his breathing steady as he made precise, confident calls to get them back to the dock.

James hated to admit it, but—fuck, he was good at this.

By the time they reached the dock, McGonagall had just arrived. She took one look at them, soaked and miserable, and let out a sharp exhale through her nose, clearly holding back a laugh.

“Off to a great start, I see, boys.”

James swore he heard Regulus mutter something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "fuck off."

McGonagall, still unbothered, continued. "Don't worry about putting the boat away—I’ll get some of the other guys to do it later. Both of you need to warm up in the showers. ASAP."

James, not needing to be told twice, was already halfway to the locker room.

“Bright and early tomorrow.” McGonagall called after them. “Try to keep the boat upright this time.”

Regulus sighed sharply beside him, clearly beyond done.

James, still shivering violently, grinned through chattering teeth.

“Can’t make any promises, Coach.”

The locker room was mercifully warm, steam from the showers still lingering in the air from whoever had been there before them.

James, however, was still freezing his ass off.

So the second they stepped inside, he started stripping immediately, yanking off his soaked shirt and tossing it onto the bench with a wet slap. He barely hesitated before reaching for the waistband of his spandex, more than ready to get under the hot water.

But before he could even get them off—

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

James glanced up to see Regulus staring at him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

James blinked. “Uh. Showering?”

Regulus scoffed. “No, I’m showering first.”

James frowned. “Dude, there are like fifty showers. Pick one.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes, feeling the lingering frustration from flipping the boat coil tightly in his chest. James was infuriating.

Which meant… he deserved to be messed with.

Regulus leaned against the bench, crossing his arms.

“No, no, I can’t shower with you, James,” he said dramatically, shaking his head.

James, mid-way through pushing his spandex down, paused. “…What?”

Regulus smirked, tilting his head in mock pity. “You haven’t earned that right.”

James’ brows furrowed. “Earned the right? What the hell are you talking about?”

Regulus sighed dramatically, running a hand through his damp curls.

“Well, see,” he mused, his voice smooth, casual, “I’d be totally fine showering next to you if you hadn’t just confirmed the other night that you’re attracted to me.”

James went rigid.

Regulus bit back a satisfied smile, watching as James’ expression flickered between flustered, confused, and irritated all at once.

“That’s—that’s not—” James spluttered, suddenly too aware of how naked he already was.

Regulus tut-tutted, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “I mean, I get it, really. I’d probably be flustered too if I had to shower next to someone I couldn’t stop thinking about.”

James' jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap.

Regulus just sighed theatrically, peeling off his own soaking shirt with a lot more grace than James had.

“You’re literally insane,” he muttered, stepping back and dramatically throwing his hands up in surrender. “Fine, oh great and powerful Black, have your precious first shower. I’ll just stand here and fucking freeze.”

Regulus grinned, clearly pleased with himself, before turning and striding toward the showers, peeling off his spandex with far too much confidence.

James huffed, crossing his arms tightly as he stood there, shivering, waiting for his high-maintenance boat partner to be done.

And if he very pointedly tried (and failed) to not look at Regulus’ bare back as he walked away—

Well.

That was his business.