Way Enough

James

James was not himself.

Ever since he made the decision to get Reg to hate him, it was like something had hollowed him out from the inside. He had done what needed to be done, right? He had been cruel, he had been cold, he had done everything in his power to make Regulus never look at him the same way again.

And it worked.

And yet—

Seeing Regulus turn his attention on Remus had almost killed him.

No amount of strumming Dust in the Wind on his guitar, pretending it was Reg playing the violin part, like he’d done since he was a kid, could fill the void he felt now. 

I close my eyes

Only for a moment 

And the moment’s gone 

All my dreams 

Pass before my eyes

A curiosity

Dust in the Wind 

All we are is dust in the wind 

His fingers ached from pressing down on the strings, his voice raw from singing to himself in his room, but none of it helped.

Because Regulus wasn’t there.

Because James had spent so long convincing himself that he didn’t want him, only to realize that pushing him away made it worse.

But James Potter was nothing if not a people person. If he couldn’t fix his own problems, he’d focus on someone else’s.

So when he started noticing that Sirius was acting weird—weird like himself—his own emotions took a backseat.

Because James knew Sirius Black like the back of his damn hand. And something was wrong.

So when he found him sprawled out on their couch, aggressively scrolling through his phone like he was trying to set it on fire with sheer willpower, James plopped down next to him, nudging his foot.

“I feel like we haven’t seen each other in forever,” James said, forcing some lightness into his tone. “It’s not the same not being on the ice together. I feel like we’ve disconnected.”

Sirius let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “That’s on you, mate. You’re the one who decided to fuck off and become a rower.”

“You're insane, that was your idea!” James exasperated, but to no avail. Sirius was still acting all weird and solemn.

James hummed. “You’ve been acting different.”

Sirius arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been acting different.”

James rolled his eyes. “Touché.”

There was a beat of silence, then James nudged him again.

“We should do something. Just the two of us.”

Sirius arched a brow. “What, like a date?”

James gave him an exaggeratedly dreamy look. “Exactly, Siri. A candlelit dinner, long walks on the beach, maybe even a dance under the moonlight.”

Sirius threw a pillow at his face.

James caught it with a laugh, shaking his head. “No, but seriously. You wanna talk about it?”

Sirius hesitated. Then— “I don’t think so.”

James exhaled sharply. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Another beat. Then—

“So let’s just fuck around like old times, yeah? Clear our minds a little.”

Sirius finally looked at him, something almost grateful flashing in his eyes.

“…Wanna hit Leaky? I need to get fucked up.”

James grinned, slapping a hand on his knee. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

Leaky Cauldron Bar, 10:34 PM

James slammed his empty shot glass down onto the bar with dramatic finality, grinning as Sirius did the same.

"Alright, Bud, just don’t make eye contact with the bartender again unless we wanna be forcefully cut off," James announced, his voice just a little too loud.

Sirius snorted, already reaching for the beer they’d ordered alongside the shots. "Speak for yourself, Jamie. I can hold my liquor."

James gave him an extremely skeptical look before pointing at him accusingly. "That is objectively false."

Sirius gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "How dare you?”

James just laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve seen you drunk off three beers and declaring war against the concept of gravity.”

Sirius took a long, slow sip of his drink, staring James dead in the eye. "It was betraying me, James. My feet were on the ground, and then they weren't. Suspicious."

James lost it, doubling over in laughter. "God, I’ve missed you."

Sirius huffed dramatically. “I’ve been right here, you dramatic bitch.”

James grinned, taking another sip. “Yeah, yeah.”

For the first time in a long time, they felt like themselves again.

And James needed that more than anything.

James could finally breathe.

The bar was crowded, the music was too loud, before he knew it Sirius was halfway through another a ridiculous story about one of their teammates skated straight into the glass during practice.

“Man, I swear to God,” Sirius cackled, wiping a tear from his eye. “He hit the glass so hard I thought he was gonna phase through it. Full-on Looney Tunes style.”

James snorted, taking another sip of his drink. “I miss this.”

Sirius cocked his head. “What, getting hammered?”

James hesitated. Then— “No. Hockey.”

The words just… slipped out.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, tipping his beer bottle between his fingers. “Well, yeah. Of course, you do.”

James stared down at the condensation on his glass. “No, I mean… I really miss it.”

Sirius didn’t fully get it—not the way James meant.

For Sirius, hockey was about winning. About proving himself. It was a battle he fought every day to be enough—to be better than Regulus in his father’s eyes.

But for James?

Hockey was the only place he had ever felt whole. It had been his purpose, the one thing that made sense no matter what.

Now?

Now, he felt lost.

Now, he wanted something he wasn’t supposed to want.

Now, he wanted someone he wasn’t supposed to want.

And rowing wasn’t enough to outrun that feeling. In fact all its done was make it worse.

Sirius, still oblivious, shrugged. “So come to a game, then. It’s not like you died, you have free will.”

James huffed, swirling his drink. “I don’t want to stand in the student section. People will ask too many questions.”

Sirius made a face. “Oh, please. You love attention.”

“Not that kind.”

Sirius sighed dramatically, then sat up a little straighter. “Alright, fine. Take one of my comp tickets.”

James frowned. “What?”

“My parents’ tickets,” Sirius clarified, rolling his eyes. “You know—the ones they never use because they’d rather eat glass than watch me play, and they hate me.”

James hesitated. “I dunno, man…”

“Oh, shut up. You’ll get a private seat, no screaming underclassmen, no explaining why you suddenly love cardio.” Sirius grinned. “You’d be doing me a favor, honestly. Looks less pathetic when the seat isn’t empty.”

James sighed, but the idea was tempting.

No distractions. No questions. Just him and the game.

“…Alright,” he said finally, tilting his glass toward Sirius. “Deal.”

Sirius clinked their drinks together. “See? That’s what I thought.”

James just shook his head, taking another sip.

Maybe this was what he needed.

Maybe, for one night, he could just focus on the game.

But what he didn’t know was that somewhere across campus, Regulus Black was holding an identical ticket.

He hadn’t felt this excited about something in weeks.

After the absolute disaster that was the last few days—pushing Regulus away, feeling like a shell of himself, watching Reg turn his attention away from him—this felt like the first time in ages that he had something to actually look forward to.

For two whole days, the thought of being back in the arena, hearing the sounds of skates cutting through the ice, the buzzer blaring through the stadium, the rush of watching his team play—it had been the only thing keeping him sane.

And now?

Now he was finally here.

James adjusted in his seat, sinking into the comfort of the more private section of the arena. His seat. A prime fucking view of the ice, completely away from the loud, rowdy students and any annoying questions about why he wasn’t playing this season.

It felt good. It felt right.

He sighed in content, settling back, letting the sounds of the rink wash over him like a warm bath.

And then—

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

James’ head snapped up at the sharp, familiar voice, his entire body tensing.

Standing in the aisle, looking just as incredulous as he sounded, was Regulus.

James’ stomach dropped.

Of course. Of course. The universe hated him.

James blinked. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Regulus scoffed, sliding into the seat next to him, like this was his problem. “I should be asking you that.”

James huffed, trying to shove down the sharp pang of something almost like relief at seeing him. He wasn’t going to think about that.

“What, I can’t watch my own team play?” James said, shrugging. “Sirius invited me.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Figures.”

James turned slightly in his seat. “And what about you? You hate hockey.”

Regulus let out a long-suffering sigh, like this conversation was physically draining him. “Sirius and I have an agreement. We have to go to at least one of each other’s events.”

James’ brows lifted slightly. He hadn’t known that.

Regulus barely tolerated hockey when they were younger. He had been fucking phenomenal at it, sure—he had always been incredible at everything—but he had never seemed to care the way Sirius or James had.

James frowned. “You still do that?”

Regulus shot him a look. “Yeah?”

James hesitated. “Even after—”

Regulus cut him off with a glare. “Yes, Potter. Even after.”

James didn’t push.

Regulus exhaled sharply, already looking bored. “But I can go.”

James swallowed. “No—” He shook his head, too quickly. “Whatever. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine.

It wasn’t fine that Regulus was here. It wasn’t fine that Regulus had shown up looking ridiculously good, wearing a dark sweater that clung to his stupid lean frame, looking all sharp and put-together and unbothered.

But James was selfish.

And part of him—the worst part of him—wanted Regulus to stay.

Because he missed him.

So instead of telling him to fuck off, James just turned back to the ice, jaw tight, fingers curled into fists in his lap.

The game started, and for a while, they were quiet.

Regulus scrolled through his phone, barely looking up. James tried to focus on the game, but his skin was buzzing with awareness, hyper-focused on the fact that Regulus was sitting right fucking there.

And then—

Something shifted.

Regulus looked up from his phone, watching the ice. Then—completely unprompted—he muttered, “They need to stop dumping and chasing. Yale’s defensemen aren’t big enough to shut them down in the neutral zone. They should be taking the zone with control.”

James blinked, caught off guard.

He turned his head slightly, watching Regulus as he watched the game.

He looked serious, eyes locked onto the play, completely in analysis mode.

James frowned. “What?”

Regulus sighed, gesturing to the ice. “They’re wasting possessions. If they carried it in, they’d have more chances for odd-man rushes. Instead, they’re just giving Yale’s defense time to set up.”

James stared.

That… was correct.

Really fucking correct.

James felt something stir in his chest—something almost like recognition.

Because this—this—was the Regulus he remembered.

The brilliant, calculating, obsessive Regulus. The Regulus who understood the game better than anyone James had ever met.

The Regulus he had been obsessed with. When he would watch him skate and play like he was his own personal Gretzky. 

He pushed the thought down, just a dumb childish feeling.

James turned his body slightly, fully facing him now. “Since when do you actually care?”

Regulus scoffed. “I don’t.”

James narrowed his eyes. “You literally just analyzed the game better than our coach.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I care.”

James shook his head, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He couldn’t help himself. “You’re such a liar.”

Regulus didn’t respond, but he didn’t deny it, either.

And James couldn’t stop watching him.

The way his brow furrowed when someone made a bad pass. The way his fingers tapped against his knee absentmindedly, like he was still thinking in game rhythm. The way his lips parted slightly when a play got intense.

Then—

Something happened.

The game suddenly turned violent—a full-on scrum in front of the net after a late hit on one of their players. The crowd erupted, bodies crashing, fists swinging—

And before James could even process it—

Regulus grabbed his thigh.

Out of reflex.

His fingers dug in, squeezing just above his knee, his grip tight, his whole body tense.

James felt it everywhere.

His breath hitched.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

When the fight got broken him by the refs, Regulus finally exhaled, the tension in his shoulders shifting, but his hand remained.

James swallowed, voice rough. “Oh, so you do still care.”

Regulus didn’t look at him. He just stared at the ice, his grip tightening for a split second before he let out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“I used to come here and watch you,” Regulus admitted. “When you’d get in a fight, I would hold my breath.” He let out a small, humorless laugh. “I even prayed you wouldn’t get hurt.”

James’ chest ached.

Regulus finally turned to look at him.

And then—just like that—he dropped his hand from James’ leg.

He stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. His face was unreadable, but his voice was soft, resigned.

“Maybe I used to care.”

He turned to leave.

And before James could stop himself—

“Wait.”

Regulus paused.

James swallowed, forcing the words out. “Row the pair with me again.”

Regulus let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Hell no. I have some semblance of self-respect.”

James exhaled sharply. “I was a dick. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, and I’m really sorry. But you shouldn’t lose your opportunity to be in the 1V because of me.”

Regulus stayed silent, just staring at him, brows drawn together, confused.

James swallowed. “You can hate me still. In fact, please do.”

Regulus looked even more confused.

“Just… give me another chance.” James let out a breath, running a hand through his hair before quickly correcting himself. “Just at the rowing, I mean.”

Regulus rolled his eyes and scoffed, borderline offended.

“I’ll think about it.” Before spitting out a final “Dick.”

And then he turned and left.

James put his head in his hands and rubbed his face violently.

“Fuckkk,” he muttered.

What the hell did he just do?