Way Enough

James

James Potter was nervous.

Not that anyone would know.

He had perfected the art of effortless confidence—the easy grin, the smooth charm, the devil-may-care attitude that made people believe he always had a plan.

And technically, he did.

He had gotten Regulus to agree to his mystery bonding experience without any real details. He had the skates in the backseat. He had the rink picked out.

But now, sitting in his car at 11 PM, waiting for Regulus to come outside…

He felt like a fraud.

Because if he was being completely honest, when he came up with this idea, it had been purely selfish.

Sure, he had packaged it well. Had sold it as "this will help us get a rhythm together in the pair," but the truth?

The truth was he just wanted to skate with Regulus again.

Hell, he had been dreaming of it for the better part of five years.

Because when they skated together, it was like they were connected by some invisible string, something deeper than just muscle memory and reflex.

James could always find him on the ice—without looking.

Maybe it was because he had memorized the exact sound of Regulus’ skates carving into the ice, could feel the exact pace he was moving at, could anticipate the way his body moved like it was written into his bones.

They had once moved in perfect unison, cutting across the ice like they had been born to mirror each other.

It had been the closest thing to magic James had ever felt.

And then Regulus quit.

And James had spent the next five years pretending he didn’t miss him.

Pretending that something in him hadn’t broken when Regulus walked away from the game, from him.

Now?

Now he had a chance—a single, selfish chance—to get that feeling back.

Even if it was just for one night.

And if that connection translated to the boat then great, two birds. 

James clenched his hands around the steering wheel, taking a steadying breath as he shot Regulus a text:

I’m outside.

A few seconds later, the passenger door swung open.

James’ breath caught.

Regulus slid into the seat beside him, narrowing his eyes immediately.

“Why are we meeting so late?” he asked, suspicion dripping from every syllable. Then, with a pointed look, “If this is because you think it’s too ‘gay’ to be seen one-on-one with me during a normal hour, I swear to God I will march my ass back inside because I will not be subjected to your shit.”

James blinked.

Jesus.

“No, no!” he said quickly, hands raised in defense. “That is not why, I swear.”

Regulus looked deeply skeptical.

James hesitated. “It’s just that… what I have planned is minorly illegal, so—”

Regulus’ eyes widened in alarm, and before James could even process it, his hand was already on the door handle, ready to bail.

Fuck.

James reacted on instinct, his hand shooting out—

Landing on Regulus’ thigh.

Regulus froze.

His breath hitched, his fingers still curled around the handle—

But he didn’t open the door.

James swallowed.

Slowly—so slowly—he moved his hand back, placing it safely in his lap, like nothing had happened.

“We won’t get in trouble,” James promised, voice softer now. “I promise.”

Regulus stared at him.

James forced himself to hold the gaze, even though he felt like he was drowning in it.

Because Regulus Black had the most devastating eyes James had ever seen.

They were haunting. Not just because of the color—smoke and steel and ice—but because of the depth.

Because they were so guarded, so carefully measured, and yet, somehow, James could still see every unspoken thought flickering through them.

He was undeniably beautiful.

And James had always been weak.

Regulus finally exhaled, releasing the door handle. “Okay.”

James let out a breath, his plan finally in motion.

Regulus was still looking at him, gaze unwavering.

James had to look away.

Had to force his eyes forward and put the car in drive—

Because if he looked at Regulus for one more second, he was going to do something really, really fucking stupid.

Like kiss him.

Again.

He gritted his teeth, focusing on the road, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

Because this wasn’t fair. James knew his future, which means he knows that Regulus can’t be in it.

Not in the way James wants him to be.

And yet—

Here he was.

Driving him to the rink.

To the one place where he knew he wouldn’t be able to pretend.

Did he even care about their pair that much? 

He couldnt even remember now. All he knows is that he has an addiction, keeping those eyes on him was a vice, and he wasnt ready to be clean.

Their car ride was quiet, but not in a way that felt uncomfortable. The silence stretched between them like something well-worn, familiar, something that neither of them felt the need to fill. James had always liked that about Regulus—how he never spoke just to speak, never felt the need to puncture the quiet unless he had something worth saying. And when he finally did, just as they rolled up to the university rink, James felt it like a hook behind his ribs.

“Really? You’re taking me skating?”

James glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, trying to keep his face neutral. He reached back, pulling the spare skates from behind his seat and offering them to Regulus with a little shrug, like it was no big deal. Like he hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes in the car convincing himself that this wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had.

Regulus took the skates, examining them with an arched brow. “Careful, James. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this almost looks like a date.”

James hated the way his heart stuttered, how his pulse kicked up at the teasing lilt in Regulus’ voice. He forced a scoff, rolling his eyes even as he felt warmth creep up his neck. “I just wanted to see if you’ve still got it.”

Regulus snorted, unimpressed, and popped the car door open. “Please. I could skate circles around you back then, and I’m sure I can now.” He slid out of the car with an infuriating amount of grace, and before James could react, he was already striding toward the rink with that familiar air of effortless confidence.

James barely resisted the urge to groan. Instead, he scrambled to catch up without making it look like he was scrambling. He must have looked ridiculous, trailing after him like Reg had him on a leash, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Regulus tossed a glance over his shoulder, eyes glinting. “Try to keep up, Potter.”

James barked out a laugh, shaking his head. Same old Regulus. If there was anything he regretted about the way he hurt Reg before, and there are a lot, it was that he might have dulled some of that fire. But apparently not—Regulus still knew exactly how to push him, how to get under his skin in a way that made James feel like he was seventeen again, desperate for his attention.

By the time they reached the rink doors, James had recovered enough to pull the spare key from his pocket, flashing it with a self-satisfied grin. “Coach gave me a spare in case I needed extra ice time. I think this counts.”

Regulus hummed, unimpressed. “Oh, James, you’re so dedicated,” he mocked, voice dripping with amusement. “Your coach must be so proud.”

James’ face burned. Not because of the teasing, not really. But because all he could think about was how much he wanted to hear Regulus say Oh, James in an entirely different context. Which was not a train of thought he needed to be having right now. Or ever.

He shoved the key into the lock, trying to banish every inappropriate thought from his head. “He is proud of me,” James shot back, grateful that Regulus couldn’t see the way his face was probably still red. “And anyway, you’re being too competitive. We’re not here to race.”

Regulus made a disgruntled sound, folding his arms. “Then what are we here for?”

James hesitated, just for a second. Be cool, Potter. “This is about us finding rhythm,” he said finally, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “We used to have great…” He trailed off, his brain suddenly short-circuiting. Fuck. Not that train of thought. Abort, abort.

Regulus blinked at him, waiting. “Great what?”

James swallowed. “I don’t know. Something.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes, lips pressing together in obvious annoyance. “I don’t know, something?” he echoed, skepticism creeping into his voice. “You dragged me out here in the middle of the night and you don’t even know why?”

James exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. God, he’s so fucking annoying. And gorgeous. And completely right.

He stepped inside before Regulus could push him any further, letting the cold air hit his face, hoping it might wake him the hell up. “Just get in here,” he muttered, “and put your damn skates on.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but he followed.

James swallowed, forcing himself to focus on unlacing his sneakers and pulling on his skates rather than on the way Regulus was looking at him—head tilted, sharp eyes scrutinizing, waiting for James to slip up and say something he couldn’t take back. We used to have great something. Jesus, could he be more pathetic?

Regulus hummed under his breath, the sound cutting through the empty rink like a blade, and James didn’t dare look up. Not when Regulus was already lacing up, fingers deft and practiced, the faintest smirk on his lips like he knew exactly what kind of disaster was unfolding in James’ head.

It wasn’t fair. Regulus had always had that effect on him—pulling him in like gravity, making him want things he shouldn’t. And standing here now, in the cold, dimly lit rink, surrounded by memories of the past, it was too easy to slip.

James finally stood, testing his balance on the skates before stepping onto the ice. Regulus was already there, gliding backward effortlessly, watching James like he was waiting for something.

“C’mon, Jamie,” Regulus called, his voice echoing in the empty rink. “Show me what you’ve got.”

James took a breath and pushed forward, his body remembering the motions before his mind could catch up. He skated toward Regulus, who turned fluidly and picked up speed, and for a few minutes, they just moved. No words, no thinking—just the sound of their skates on the ice, the way they instinctively found a rhythm between them, just like they always had.

James didn’t realize how close they’d gotten until Regulus stopped suddenly, causing James to nearly crash into him. Their breath mingled in the cold air, close enough that they could feel it. Regulus’ eyes flickered with want, something sharp and knowing.

“You’re distracted,” Regulus murmured with a slight smirk.

James swallowed hard. “What?”

“You were so locked in on me.” Regulus tilted his head, gaze burning. “Back then too. You always had tunnel vision, like you were afraid of what would happen if you looked away.”

James felt his heart slam against his ribs, pulse erratic. “That’s not true.”

Regulus lifted a brow. “Isn’t it?”

James didn’t have an answer. Because Regulus was right. He always had been.

Regulus gave a quiet, sardonic laugh at James’ silence, then pushed off again, gliding across the ice with a grace that made James ache. His lines were clean, turns precise, edges sharp and confident. For a moment, it didn’t even look like he was skating—more like he was dancing, floating, a streak of controlled elegance carving patterns into the ice. James watched, awestruck, as Regulus executed a perfect spin at center rink, arms tucked in tight, body aligned like muscle memory had never left him.

James let out a low whistle despite himself. “Christ, Reg… you ever think you missed your calling? Should’ve been a figure skater.”

Regulus coasted to a stop, breath puffing visibly in the chilled air. He looked over his shoulder, amusement curling at his lips. “My dad would’ve killed me,” he said simply, voice casual, but something tight behind it. “Too gay.”

James blinked. “What?”

Regulus shrugged, eyes fixed on the ice in front of him, the tip of one skate tracing idle lines. “You know. Sparkly costumes, music, artistry. It wasn’t… masculine enough.” He made a face, like the words tasted bitter. “He thought hockey was ‘respectable.’ Rough. Noble.” He scoffed. “Whatever that means.”

There was a pause. James felt the air shift. The ice wasn’t the only thing cracking.

“I loved skating,” Regulus said quietly, almost like he was telling a secret. “Still do. But I didn’t really get to choose how I loved it, you know?” He glanced up then, eyes finding James’. “You ever feel like that?”

James opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. “Yeah,” he said finally, voice low. “All the time.”

Regulus smiled, small and crooked. “Bet your mom would've cheered if you'd worn sequins.”

James laughed under his breath. “She begged me to try figure skating when I was a kid. Said hockey was going to ruin my face. Guess she had a point.”

Regulus let out a snort, pushing off again and circling James in a slow, smooth arc. “She was right. Your face is tragic.”

James grinned, warmth crawling up his neck. “You had a crush on my tragic face in Juniors.”

Regulus’ entire body stiffened. For a split second, he lost his rhythm—his next stride faltered, just barely, but James caught it.

Regulus exhaled sharply through his nose.”You’re a dick. Why do you even keep bringing this up?”

James arched a brow, pushing off to match Regulus’ pace. “C’mon, Reg, I’m not trying to be mean.”

Regulus gave him a dry look. “Well you were.”

James frowned. “Okay, maybe I was. But I didn’t—” He hesitated. “I never meant to—”

Regulus sighed, skating ahead of him, like he could put actual distance between them. “It doesn’t matter, James.”

James clenched his jaw. “It does.”

Regulus stopped short, spinning to face him on the ice, blades slicing a sharp crescent beneath him. “Ok,” he said, quiet but firm. “It mattered then, James. And it mattered a few weeks ago too. Don’t act like it didn’t.”

James’s breath caught, the cold air suddenly feeling too thin. Regulus’ eyes were bright and steady—cutting, like always—but there was something else there now. Hurt, maybe. Hope. James didn’t know which terrified him more.

“I’m sorry, I never should have done that.” James said, the words scraping his throat on the way out.

 “Who are you trying to convince?” Regulus exasperated. 

“That night was a mistake.” He hated how rehearsed it sounded, like he was parroting a line to a referee or a coach, not standing in front of the only person who’d ever actually gotten to him.

“Yeah. You did.” Regulus’s voice was brittle. “Right after you kissed me like you meant it, after you told me you're attracted to me.” He was getting angrier, impossibly closer. “Oh, how about before you told me you're ‘not like me’.” His jaw clenched.  “When you looked me in the face and tried to make me hate you.” 

He cast his eyes downward, a moments rest before he spit out  the final blow, fire in those smokey eyes. “And you couldn’t even do that.” 

James looked away, down at the ice, hands curled into fists at his sides. “Because it’s easier,” he admitted. “You hating me. It’s easier than…” He trailed off, unsure how to say the rest. Than wanting you and knowing I can’t have you. Than pretending I could ever survive this career if I let myself want everything I actually want.

Regulus watched him. The silence stretched.

“Ok… But then you beg me to row with you again? You take me skating?” 

Regulus let out a sharp breath, skating another closer until James could see every flicker of emotion in his storm-grey eyes. Hurt. Anger. Hope. All of it.

“I just wish you'd make up your mind,” he said, voice rough. “Because I can’t keep doing this, James. I can’t keep letting you pull me back in just so you can shove me away again.”

James swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Regulus huffed a humorless laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“And you know what the saddest part is?” Regulus asked, voice tight.  “When I used to think you were homophobic.” He laughed, bitter and quiet. “Back in juniors, I thought you’d hate me if you knew. So I kept my mouth shut. I swallowed it down. All of it. And all that time, you were just scared.”

James flinched. “I’m still scared.”

Regulus didn’t move. “Then why bring me here?”

James shook his head, a helpless sort of motion. “Because I miss skating with you. I miss... us. I wanted to feel our chemistry again in the safest way I know how. I wanted to see if we still had it”

Regulus exhaled, tired. “We do.”

Those two words hung in the air between them, heavy as anything James had ever carried.

“I can’t be out in the NHL, Reg. You know that,” James said quietly, like it might make the truth hurt less. “You’ve seen the locker rooms. You know how it is. It even infected me. I clearly wasn’t nice in juniors.”

Regulus gave a tired smile, tinged with heartbreak. “I’m not asking you to come out, James. I’m just tired of pretending like none of it meant anything.”

James wanted to move. To reach out. To apologize, or kiss him again, or skate away and never look back—anything but stand here frozen. “It meant everything to me,” he said, his voice cracking on the words. “That night. You. It meant everything. And clearly I’m messed up, but something won’t let me walk away, I’m trapped.”

Regulus’s eyes searched his, and for once, James didn’t look away.

“I don’t know what you want me to do with that,” Regulus said. “If you’re going to keep running.”

“I don’t want to run,” James admitted. “But it feels impossible to stay.”

Regulus skated backward slowly, gaze still locked on James. “Then figure it out. Before you lose, maybe the only person who sees all of you.”

And with that, he turned and launched into another lap, each stride fluid and purposeful, like skating was the only thing keeping him from shattering.

James stayed rooted where he was, watching him move across the ice like he belonged there, like he always had. And all James could think was:

God, he’s beautiful. God, I ruined this.

And still—he didn’t leave.