Way Enough

James

James had always considered himself a hands-on learner.

This, however—
This was fucking ridiculous.

The boat was still saddled up against the dock because, apparently, Regulus still didn’t trust him not to capsize them again.

James was sitting in the stern, his port-side oar resting lightly on the water, while Regulus was kneeling on the dock, his starboard oar still hooked in, keeping them stable.

And, of course, Regulus was also way too close to him.

Not in a bad way, necessarily.

Just in a way.

A distracting way.

"Alright, James," Regulus said, voice clipped, professional, as if they weren’t physically on top of each other. "We’re going to work on your sequence before I let you off this dock."

James nodded, forcing himself to focus, but before he could move, Regulus reached out, sliding his fingers over James’ hand on the oar.

James forgot how to breathe.

Regulus—completely unbothered—was adjusting James’ grip, his fingertips grazing over his knuckles, pressing into the soft part of his palm.

James stared straight ahead, crashing inside his own head.

"He's touching me. He's actually touching me. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal."

Regulus clearly noticed nothing.

"Relax your hands," he said absently, repositioning James’ fingers. "You're holding onto it like a hockey stick. If you grip too tight, you'll lose control at the catch."

James made a noncommittal grunt, which was about all he could manage when Regulus’ hands were literally on him.

"Okay," Regulus continued, brisk and businesslike. "Go to bodies over."

James moved forward, shifting into the position, but—

Apparently, he did it wrong.

Because Regulus immediately adjusted him.

One hand pressed against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his uni. The other poked at his lower back, firm and insistent.

James nearly died.

Like, actually almost died.

Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.

"You're slumping," Regulus said, completely unaware that James’ entire brain was short-circuiting.

"Sit up. Chest forward, shoulders back. Good—like that."

Regulus’ hands lingered for half a second too long before finally pulling away.

James exhaled a little too hard.

He needed a distraction.

Something—anything—to shift the power balance.

So, before he could talk himself out of it, James said, way too smoothly,

"You know, you don’t have to touch me. You can just use that pretty voice of yours."

Regulus froze.

Then—

Then he smirked.

And James immediately knew he fucked up.

"Hmm," Regulus hummed, tilting his head. "I thought you would’ve liked it."

James felt a full-body shiver crawl down his spine.

"If only I knew you were into me," Regulus continued, voice dripping with fake innocence.

Then, grinning, he leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a mock whisper—

"Oh wait…"

James groaned, throwing his head back.

"You have to stop this," he gritted out. "I already told you—we're not going anywhere."

Regulus shrugged, backing off a little, but looking annoyingly amused.

"I don’t know what you mean," he said airily.

Then, with a perfectly timed smirk—

"The only place I want to go is on the water, if we can ever fix your form."

James—who had never lost a battle of wills in his entire life—
Was very much losing this one.

He stared straight ahead, gripping his oar so hard his knuckles went white, and did his absolute best to pretend he wasn’t losing his entire mind.

Because he was.

Regulus knew it.

And worst of all?

James knew he knew it.

James barely got through practice. Once they pushed off the dock and actually started rowing it got better, but James could still feel the imprint that was Regulus’ hand burned into his skin. 

When they got on land again, Mcgonagall complimented their improvement. For the first time in his life he didnt even care about the praise. All he wanted to do was get through his cool down bike, and get the hell out of that godforsaken boathouse as fast as he could.  

He needed  a distraction. 

When he got home, he beelined to his room and collapsed onto his bed. 

James stared at his phone for way too long, scrolling through his contacts, looking for something—
Someone.

He needed to do something, needed to get his head back on straight (no pun intended, but Jesus Christ), because—

He couldn’t handle this.

He couldn’t handle how out of control he felt.

How completely distracted he was during practice. How Regulus fucking Black had infected every corner of his mind.

This isn’t working.

He could barely tell if he was getting better at rowing because he couldn’t even focus on rowing.
All he could focus on was him.

So he needed a reset.

Right. A girl. I just need to hook up with a girl.

Simple. Easy. Nothing complicated.

His finger hovered over a few names, none of them feeling right, until—

Lily Evans.

His stomach twisted slightly at the name.

Because Lily was…different.

She wasn’t just some random hookup.
She was—

Well.

They had history.

They had hooked up a few times back in first year, back when James was obsessed with her.

Back when she was tutoring him, sitting across from him in the library, tucking her hair behind her ears, explaining things in that ridiculously smart, annoyingly hot way she did.

But that was years ago.

And they had ended on good terms—James had moved on (sort of), and Lily was…Lily.

They were friends.
So this was fine.

Right?

With a deep breath, James shot off a text:

"Hey Lily, I might need some tutoring again—getting a little rusty in anatomy."

He immediately cringed at how fucking horrible that was.

Jesus Christ.

But before he could regret it too much, his phone buzzed.

"You’re an idiot."

James huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

But then—another message.

Her address.

James took that as a win.

By the time he got to Lily’s apartment, he had almost convinced himself that this was a good idea.

They greeted each other easily, like old friends, and James let himself relax as they caught up.

"How’s the English major treating you?" James asked, sprawled across her couch.

Lily rolled her eyes fondly. “Good. I’m working on a book.”

James grinned. “Oh yeah? What’s it about?”

Lily smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

James held a hand over his heart. “I’m wounded.”

Lily laughed, then tilted her head at him. “And how’s hockey?”

And—
That’s how it started.

James had barely meant to talk about it.

But suddenly, he was ranting—

About rowing.
About his stupid fucking pair partner.
About how he can’t stand being around him.

And Lily, wickedly perceptive as ever, was watching him closely.

Because James was passionate when he spoke.
His voice was too sharp, too intense, his words borderline obsessed.

And he didn’t sound like he hated Regulus at all.

But James didn’t realize that until he stopped talking.

Until he noticed Lily staring at him with a strange expression—amused, knowing, like she had figured something out.

He felt exposed.

So—
Before she could say anything, before she could read between the lines, James shifted gears.

He leaned in, his hand skimming her knee, his voice dropping.

“So,” he murmured. “You gonna help me with my anatomy or what?”

It was too desperate.

He knew it.

Lily knew it.

But she let it happen for a few moments, let him kiss her, let his hands wander, let him try.

James tried to focus on the way she felt. The way she smelled. The softness of her lips.

But—

But his brain was a traitor.

Because suddenly, Lily wasn’t Lily anymore.

Her hair wasn’t red—it was dark, curling slightly at the ends.

Her hands weren’t delicate—they were lean, strong, calloused from years of gripping oars and hockey sticks.

James froze, because—

Fuck.

He was thinking about him.

Thinking about Regulus.

James clenched his eyes shut, desperate to force it away, desperate to focus on the present, desperate to feel normal again.

He kissed Lily harder, too hard, like he could chase the thought out of his head.

But it didn’t work.

Because in his mind, it was still him.

Still Regulus.

Regulus, breathless and flushed, eyes burning with challenge, voice dripping in condescension.

"You should see how much I’ve changed."

James let out a shaky breath against Lily’s mouth, his hands gripping her waist too tightly.

Lily pulled back immediately.

“James.”

He stilled.

Lily exhaled. “Stop.”

James froze, eyes snapping open.

Lily searched his face, her expression soft but firm.

"I mean—your heart’s never been in it," she said gently. "But you’re really not in it now."

James looked away, jaw tight.

Lily hesitated. Then—

"You wanna talk about it?"

James swallowed hard, shaking his head.

Lily watched him carefully. “Is it that boy from earlier?”

James’ eyes snapped to hers in panic.

But then—he averted his gaze, a telltale sign of guilt.

Lily exhaled softly.

James clenched his fists, his entire body tensing.

“James,” Lily said, voice softer now, careful.

James didn’t look at her.

“I—” He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. “I used to think I could make it work with girls.”

Lily said nothing.

James let out a shaky breath.

“But if I can’t even make it work with you,” he murmured. “Then I can’t make it work with anyone.”

Lily’s chest tightened.

He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“And I have to,” he whispered.

Lily furrowed her brows. “Why?”

James let out a humorless chuckle.

“Because I’ll never make it in the NHL if anyone knows.”

Lily’s stomach twisted. “James—”

“No.” James shook his head sharply. “You don’t get it.”

James exhaled, voice low, rough, pained.

“The best case scenario is that the guys in the league just wouldn’t look at me the same.” His throat bobbed. “More realistically, the league would say ‘i'm just not that good’ as a reason to drop me down to the farm team before I even get a real chance.”

James let out a choked sob.

“They don't let you be gay in Hockey, they just don't. So that means I dont have a choice.”

Lily’s heart broke for him.

James laughed—hollow, defeated.

“None of this would even be a problem if it weren’t for him.”

Lily tilted her head. “Him?”

James exhaled sharply, his voice full of something raw and aching.

“It’s always been that asshole for me.”

Lily stilled.

James let out a miserable laugh.

“And I hate him for it,” he whispered.

His hands curled into fists.

“I hate him,” he repeated, voice thick.

“And I hate myself for it.”

Lily’s eyes burned.

She reached for his hand—
And for once, James let her.

She didn’t try to fix it.

Didn’t tell him he was wrong.

Didn’t tell him it was going to be okay.

Because right now—
It wasn’t.

All she did was squeeze his fingers, anchoring him, grounding him, letting him breathe.

They adjusted so that James could lie with his head in her lap, she ran a calming hand through his hair.

And James—
For the first time in a long time—
Let himself fall apart. 

Tears, and thoughts, and feelings all running rampant. One thought held space over all the others. 

‘I wish he hated me. It was easier to stay away when he did.’

Another tear ran down his face but this one was filled with the resolve and fear that he knew what he needed to do to free himself.