Ice, Ice Baby

by idontlikebroccoli

Summary:

“That was puberty!” Sirius snapped, his voice rising in panic. “This is different!”
Remus couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out more as a soft chuckle. “You named your fantasy hockey team ‘James Body Shot Potter’ for three years running.”
Sirius flushed a shade of red that could rival his hair, his mouth opening and closing like he was a fish out of water. “REMUS!” he hissed, a horrified look on his face. “This isn’t funny! I wrote fanfiction about him!”

OR

Remus and Sirius' Gay Awakening has become a new Assistant Coach for their College Hockey team

Notes:

I love age gap wolfstarbucks

Chapter 1: The One With the Support Beam

The locker room was a chaotic mess, as usual. Skates were strewn across the floor, sticks leaned haphazardly against walls, and someone had left their bag on the bench for the third day in a row, spilling granola bars everywhere. Frank Longbottom stepped into the midst of it all, clipboard in hand, looking as calm as ever.
“Alright, listen up,” Frank called, and despite the noise, the team gradually quieted down. It was clear they were used to Frank's low-key authority. He had a way of getting their attention without raising his voice.
“Big news today,” Frank continued, rocking on his heels. “We’ve got a guest coming in to help with coaching for the rest of the season. So I expect everyone to be on your best behavior.”

The players exchanged confused looks, trying to figure out who would be intruding on their already dysfunctional dynamic.
“Who?” asked Remus Lupin, pausing mid-stick tape, his brow furrowed.
“Someone who knows a thing or two about the game,” Frank said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “And I’m not just talking about a former player or a wannabe coach.”
Sirius Black, always quick to crack a joke, slung his stick over his shoulder. “Ooh, this is getting good. Let me guess—is it some washed-up ex-player who’s trying to relive their glory days?”

Frank rolled his eyes. “It’s not someone you’d expect.”
“Then why bother telling us?” Regulus Black muttered from the back, clearly uninterested. “Unless it’s an actual big deal, this is just wasting our time.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Frank said, a teasing glint in his eye. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on each of the players in turn. “Just be on your best behavior. This guy’s—well, he’s kind of a big deal. Like, real big.”
The team collectively raised their eyebrows at that. There was a shift in the atmosphere, as everyone began speculating in low voices.
“No way,” Evan Rosier said, leaning against the wall. “Who is it?”
Frank just gave them a sly smile. “I’ll let him introduce himself.”
The door to the locker room swung open with an almost exaggerated force, as if the person on the other side couldn’t wait to make an entrance.
And boy, did he ever.

James Potter bounded into the room like a golden retriever, his energy practically spilling out of him. His unruly dark hair bounced with every step as he flashed an impossibly bright grin, eyes wide with excitement. It was like he had been given an infinite supply of sugar and enthusiasm, and there was no stopping him. The room seemed to hold its breath as James’s presence seemed to expand and fill every corner.

He stopped abruptly near the center of the room, and everyone froze as his gaze darted around like he was trying to make the most of every second he had with them. Without warning, he grabbed onto one of the support beams with both hands, practically hugging it, before he leaned in and kissed it—full on the side of the beam.
“Bless you,” James muttered under his breath with an exaggerated sincerity, pulling back and looking at the beam like it was his best friend.

There was a stunned silence in the room before James, apparently satisfied with his display, turned to face the rest of the team, still grinning.
“Chicos,” he said enthusiastically, his voice rising with excitement. “A support system is necessary, for a building, and for a team!”
The rest of the room blinked in confusion, all of them trying to process what had just happened. Sirius Black, normally quick with a sarcastic remark, simply stood frozen. His mouth opened and closed, clearly trying to process what he had just witnessed. And in that exact moment, he took a step backward, his foot catching on the bottom of a locker, sending a loud clang echoing through the room as he stumbled into it.

“Oh no,” Remus Lupin muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
“What?” Sirius whispered, still in shock.
“You’re doing the face,” Remus said flatly.
“I’m not doing the face,” Sirius shot back quickly, but his wide eyes told another story.
Remus crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “You’re doing the face you did when we watched his Gatorade commercial in eighth grade. You had to go lie down afterward.”

“That was puberty!” Sirius snapped, his voice rising in panic. “This is different!”
Remus couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out more as a soft chuckle. “You named your fantasy hockey team ‘James Body Shot Potter’ for three years running.”
Sirius flushed a shade of red that could rival his hair, his mouth opening and closing like he was a fish out of water. “REMUS!” he hissed, a horrified look on his face. “This isn’t funny! I wrote fanfiction about him!”

“I know,” Remus said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, giving Sirius an almost pitying look. “I sat next to you in biology. I read it.”
Sirius slapped a hand over his face, mortified. “God, I’m gonna die.”
Remus just shrugged. “At least it’s not like you never got over it. You’ve just been in denial for, what, eleven years?”
“I’m not in denial!” Sirius shot back quickly, his tone bordering on frantic.

Meanwhile, James was absolutely buzzing with energy, totally oblivious to the private conversation happening in the corner. He bounded over to Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr., who were sitting close to each other, obviously a little tense. It didn’t take James long to clock the way they kept glancing at each other and the slight shift in posture whenever their hands brushed. His sharp eyes caught the little details, but instead of making it awkward, he just leaned over casually with a broad smile.
“So,” James said brightly, his voice taking on an almost teasing tone, “you two are an item, huh?”
Evan and Barty exchanged a quick look, trying to mask their surprise with practiced indifference.

“Yeah,” Barty replied, his tone casual. “What gave it away?”
James grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Just a little vibe, y’know? It’s cool. A team works better when the players can count on each other. That’s how I see it.”
“Well, at least one of us is paying attention,” Evan muttered, though his lips curled into a faint smile.
James gave them both a thumbs-up, then turned to the rest of the team. His eyes landed on Regulus Black next, who was still standing by the lockers, trying to pretend he wasn’t interested.

“So,” James started, his voice light and casual, “who’s this mystery man? The quiet one, huh?”
Regulus didn’t flinch, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes as he looked back at James.
“I’m just trying to get through practice without being suffocated by that,” he said, jerking his thumb toward Barty and Evan, who were now muttering to each other.
James threw his head back with a laugh. “I get it. Too much love in the air. But hey, you’ve gotta appreciate it. Camaraderie, my friend. A team is like family.”
Sirius, still recovering from his previous emotional rollercoaster, couldn’t stop himself from muttering under his breath. “He’s got a point. This guy is like... ADHD on speed.”

“You think?” Remus said dryly, his eyes flicking toward James as he continued to bounce between players.
Sirius glanced over at Remus, unable to mask the admiration in his eyes. “I can’t even talk to him. He’s like a fucking force of nature.”
“Don’t worry,” Remus said, giving Sirius a soft elbow to the ribs. “You’ll manage. Just... try not to faint when he talks to you.”
But James, ever the observant one, had already noticed their little exchange. His eyes locked on Sirius with an intensity that made his heart race. A mischievous grin tugged at his lips as he casually strolled over to Sirius, leaning down with a wink.
“Hey, you okay there, buddy?” he asked, voice warm and teasing. “You’re looking a little pale. I mean, I know I’ve got that effect on people, but you don’t need to pass out on me just yet.”

Sirius opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just stared, eyes wide. Remus, from the other side of the room, couldn’t suppress the small laugh that escaped.
“You’re a fan, aren’t you?” James added, still grinning like he was having the time of his life.
Sirius’s face turned several shades of red in the span of a few seconds. “I—uh—no!” he stammered, shaking his head like he was trying to clear the haze. “I’m—uh—just, uh, I—”

“You’re doing the face again,” Remus called across the room, clearly entertained.
Sirius turned to glare at him. “Remus, shut up.”
James raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “The face, huh? Is there a story behind this?”
Remus simply smiled. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll find out soon enough.”
And as the chaos of their first meeting continued to unfold, the energy in the locker room crackled, everyone caught somewhere between trying to wrap their heads around James’s infectious energy and trying to keep up with the undeniable pull of his presence.
It was only the beginning.

The rink was cold, the air sharp and crisp as it always was before practice. The team skated around in tight circles, some of them warming up, others just trying to get the feel of their blades on the ice. James, as expected, was already flying across the rink, grinning like a madman, his skates carving sharp turns as he weaved through the team like he’d been doing it his whole life. He was practically glowing, his golden retriever energy even more contagious here, with the wind whipping through his hair and the ice beneath his feet.

Sirius and Remus, however, were not in sync with the same level of enthusiasm. They were still standing near the boards, each on edge in their own way. Remus was watching James with a bemused smile, while Sirius was skating aimlessly in small circles, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t about to faint.

“Come on, you’ve got to admit, he’s kind of...” Remus trailed off, smirking, his voice full of barely concealed teasing.

Sirius shot him a dark look. “I know what you’re doing, and I’m not falling for it.”

“You’re trying so hard to impress him,” Remus said, eyes glinting mischievously as he skated closer to Sirius, casually leaning on his stick like it was a crutch.

“I am not trying to impress him,” Sirius shot back, his voice tight. “I’m just trying to—”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Trying to what? Not act like a total idiot in front of him?”

Sirius’s face flushed, but he refused to break his gaze from James, who had now looped around and was skating circles around the goalpost. He looked like he belonged in a movie.

“I’m not trying to impress him,” Sirius repeated, though he was failing to convince anyone, least of all Remus.

Remus snickered. “I remember the snowstorm smut fics you wrote in eighth grade.”

Sirius’s eyes went wide. “Remus, shut up.”

“Oh, I’m going to remind you of them,” Remus said gleefully. “'His tongue was soft against my—'”

“REMUS!” Sirius hissed, his voice strangled with horror. He reached out to try and shove his friend, but Remus was quick, dancing just out of reach as Sirius turned redder than a tomato.

“'His tongue was soft against my lips as we kissed in the snow, our bodies tangled in the soft, wet blanket of the storm...’” Remus continued, his voice deepening in an exaggerated reading tone, clearly loving every second of this.

Sirius, mortified, shoved his hands over his face, muttering, “I was 13, Remus! I was 13!”

“Oh, I know. I read every word,” Remus teased, his voice thick with mock sincerity. “And I remember when you made the excuse that it was ‘just a phase’ and ‘all that snow stuff was just for atmosphere.’ You even tried to justify the smut to me!”

Sirius groaned loudly, a mix of embarrassment and frustration, and desperately tried to shake off the mental image of his younger self writing ridiculous fanfiction. “Shut. Up. Right. Now.”

“'The snow was falling hard now, blanketing us in pure, white—'”

“Remus!” Sirius whined in absolute agony, his face red as a beet.

But before Remus could continue his impersonation of an angsty teenage Sirius Potter, James zoomed by, skating in tight, fast circles around the two of them. He was grinning, his cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Hey!” James called out, suddenly skating to a halt in front of them, his blue eyes shining brightly. “You two are acting way too serious for this. What's going on over here? Are you two... dating or something?”

Sirius froze, his stomach lurching as the question hit him like a ton of bricks. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

“I—uh—” He looked over at Remus, his brain racing for a good response, but Remus just shrugged, his smirk still in place.

“Oh, no,” Remus said, leaning casually on his stick as if he hadn’t just been tormenting Sirius. “Sirius is just a little shy. But he likes you, though. A lot.”

Sirius shot him a glare, but Remus was completely unfazed, clearly enjoying the chaos he was causing.

“I—” Sirius stammered, still unable to formulate a proper response. His mind was working a thousand miles per minute. Did James think they were a couple? Did James notice the way Sirius had been unable to stop staring at him for the past hour?

“You’re doing it again,” Remus muttered under his breath.

“I’m not doing it again!” Sirius snapped.

James, oblivious to their internal turmoil, gave a curious tilt of his head. “Wait, so, you’re not dating?” he asked, looking between the two of them, clearly amused.

“No,” Remus said with a dramatic sigh, still thoroughly entertained by the awkward energy between Sirius and James. “Sirius just can’t admit it yet.”

“I—what?” Sirius sputtered, his words failing him once again. “Remus, for the love of god, stop talking.”

James laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Well, alright then,” he said with a shrug. “You two seem like you’ve got some... chemistry between you.”

“James,” Remus said, eyes glinting with a wicked sense of humor, “If we had chemistry, I’d be lying on the ice right now.”

James’s grin grew even wider, completely missing the subtle underlying tension. “You guys are a lot of fun,” he said, “but, uh, you might want to work on that. You know, the communication thing. On the ice, I mean.”

Sirius opened his mouth to argue but quickly shut it when Remus elbowed him in the ribs, giving him a pointed look. He hated that his best friend was right. And even worse, James was right too.

James’s attention flitted to something else, and he was off again, zipping across the ice like he was born for it. He was a blur of motion, all smiles and unrelenting positivity, and every time he passed by, it felt like the air around them shifted.

Sirius exhaled sharply, looking at Remus. “I cannot talk to him. He’s... he’s like a... whirlwind.”

Remus just smiled knowingly. “Welcome to the real world, Sirius. You’re in love with a tornado.”

Sirius didn’t even have the energy to argue anymore.
The ice was alive with the sound of skates slicing through it, but in Remus’s mind, he could only hear one thing: the storm.

He had promised himself that he wouldn’t do it. He told himself to keep it together, to focus on the practice and not let his mind wander. But Sirius’s mortification, the way his face had turned fifty shades of red earlier, was too good to resist.

So, as practice went on, Remus couldn’t help himself. He skated with the team, his stick tapping lightly against the ice, but his mind was far, far away.

And, of course, his mouth followed.

“He wrapped his hand around my waist, pulling me closer... closer to the storm.”

Sirius’s head whipped around, eyes wide with disbelief. “Remus, stop. I swear to God, if you say one more—”

“He nibbled my ear, the warmth of his breath mingling with the cold air around us, sending shivers down my spine...” Remus continued, blissfully ignoring Sirius's rising panic.

Sirius groaned loudly, almost losing his balance on the ice. He skated a few steps too fast, then jerked himself back upright. “Remus, seriously—”

Remus gave him a wicked grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, but this one’s a classic,” he said softly, just as Sirius looked like he was about to strangle him with his hockey stick. “The storm inside of me raged on, crashing against the walls of my chest, threatening to break free…”

Sirius’s face had gone from red to an alarming shade of purple now, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. “REMUS!”

“I’m not done!” Remus said sweetly, skating backward, dodging Sirius’s flailing attempts to grab him.

“His lips were soft against mine, and I could feel his heartbeat thudding in time with my own…”

Sirius’s skate caught the edge of the rink, and he stumbled forward, landing hard on his knee with a loud thud. The team skated past him, none the wiser to the dramatic scene unfolding between the two of them.

Remus skated closer, still quoting from the fanfiction, the words practically rolling off his tongue. “His lips—”

Sirius stood up slowly, face set in a tight grimace, and with a deep breath, he finally managed to find his voice. “I swear to god... when we get in the locker room, I am throwing you in a cold shower.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the coach, who was talking to Regulus and Barty at the far end of the rink. “I don’t think that’s what you’ll be throwing me into, Sirius,” Remus teased.

The two of them skated a few more laps, Remus continuing to torment Sirius with little snippets from the fanfiction, all while James zipped around the ice like a golden blur, utterly oblivious to the chaos he was inspiring.

Finally, when the practice whistle blew, signaling the end of the session, the players slowly made their way off the ice. Sirius, in particular, was moving stiffly, clearly trying to shake off the embarrassment, while Remus was practically glowing with glee.

“Alright, guys!” Frank Longbottom called out, his voice loud and clear over the rink, drawing the attention of the team. “That’s it for today. I expect you all to be in the locker room in ten, ready to talk strategy.”

The players skated off toward the locker room in a flurry, with James being the first one to bound off the ice. He was practically jumping with excitement, still grinning from ear to ear, and anyone who didn’t know him would assume he’d just won a gold medal.

Sirius, still trying to ignore the lingering mortification, grumbled under his breath. “I’m going to be hearing those lines in my nightmares for weeks.”

Remus just chuckled, his arms crossed as he followed him off the ice. “Just admit it. You’re in love with him.”

Sirius didn’t answer at first, his mind racing in a whirl of confusion, but when he opened his mouth to protest, Remus beat him to it.

“I mean,” Remus said, his voice slightly quieter, a bit more serious, “it’s kind of obvious. You can’t hide it forever.”

Sirius’s eyes darted away, and for a split second, his mouth hung open, but no words came out.

Remus knew him well enough to tell when he was getting overwhelmed, so he decided to let the subject drop—at least for now.

As they entered the locker room, the sounds of the team settling in filled the space. Some were already peeling off their gear and chatting with each other, but when James entered, the energy in the room shifted again. He was all vibes, full of enthusiasm, and practically glowing with energy as he bounded into the room.

“I gotta tell you, this team is amazing!” James said, barely containing his excitement as he plopped down in front of his locker. “I’ve never seen so much talent, so much raw energy, and we are going to do so much damage this season, I can already tell!”

Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance, both of them still reeling from the earlier chaos on the ice. But Sirius wasn’t looking at James in the way he should have been. He was looking at Remus, whose expression had softened into something almost wistful.

“Not that I’m saying you’re doing all the damage, James,” Remus added with a grin, fully aware that the attention had turned to him now. “But Sirius here has a hell of a shot.”

Sirius groaned loudly. “Don’t you dare.”

James tilted his head, grinning. “I’ll be the judge of that! But you guys gotta tell me more about your game. You’re not gonna hold out on me, are you?”

Sirius forced a smile. “Nope. Nothing to hold out on. We’re just trying to stay focused. That’s all.”

“Well, just make sure to keep that energy on the ice, alright? Because if there’s one thing I know... it’s how to get a team fired up.” James gave him a wink, then turned to Remus. “And you, man? You’re gonna be a force to be reckoned with.”

Remus nodded, though he couldn’t hide the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“You’re a fan of the team already, huh?” Sirius teased.

“Well, I am a fan of talent,” James quipped, giving them both a smirk. He then hopped off the bench and headed for his locker. “You guys better be ready for this. Things are about to get wild.”

And as the locker room hummed with the usual sounds of post-practice chatter and laughter, Sirius stood there, silently wrestling with the knowledge that he was, indeed, already in it. The storm inside of him wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter 2: The One With The Night Skate

Summary:

James nudged Sirius in the side, keeping his voice light. "Still, good to know you were a fan."

Sirius glared at him. "If you tell anyone..."

Remus only laughed harder.

Notes:

TW: Possible Eating disorder disscussion

The team had been off the ice for twenty minutes, and somehow James Potter was still radiating enough energy to power a small city.

The locker room had slowly emptied out, players filtering into the lounge area where Coach Longbottom had laid out post-practice snacks—granola bars, protein shakes, bananas, a giant tub of peanut butter, and even some of those sketchy-tasting protein cookies that no one actually liked but everyone pretended to eat because they looked serious.

James was bouncing from conversation to conversation, asking Regulus about his skating style (“You remind me of that Czech guy I played with in Montreal—absolute menace on the corners”), throwing a friendly arm around Barty’s shoulders (and whispering “power couple” when Evan came over with his arm around Barty’s waist), and fist-bumping every poor soul who made the mistake of making eye contact.

Remus, leaning back in one of the worn couches, was watching Sirius with a look that might have been subtle on anyone but Remus Lupin. Sirius was standing stiffly near the food table, hovering close but not grabbing anything, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

“Mate,” James called, suddenly materializing at Sirius’s side like a human golden retriever with a mouthful of compliments, “aren’t you gonna grab something? These shakes are, like, halfway decent.”

Sirius shook his head quickly, still smiling, still cool, like it was nothing. “Nah. I’m good.”

James tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a little. “C’mon. Practice was intense. You gotta refuel.”

Sirius hesitated. “It’s not in my meal plan.”

Remus’s head snapped up.

James blinked. “Your what?”

“My—uh. Meal plan.” Sirius shrugged, suddenly very interested in the stitching on his jersey. “I’ve got a macro thing going. Timing and ratios and, y’know. Structure. It’s just not a snack day.”

James gave him a weird look. “Snack day?”

Sirius nodded like that ended the conversation.

It didn’t.

James leaned against the table, propping one elbow up beside a tub of peanut butter. “I mean, hey, I get it. When I was playing juniors, I had a nutritionist who tried to ban me from bread. Bread, mate. Said it was ‘performance poison.’ I cried actual tears in the Panera parking lot.”

Sirius huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, well. I’m not crying.”

James’s smile didn’t fade, but it softened around the edges. “Still, you sure? I mean—your body’s working overtime out there. If it’s about health, great. If it’s about pressure...” He lowered his voice just a little. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You’re good. Like, really good.”

Sirius felt something flicker in his chest—some mix of pride, shame, heat, and a dangerous edge of longing. He cleared his throat.

“I’m fine. I swear.” Then he grabbed a banana just to prove a point, peeled it, and took a bite like it was a dare.

James didn’t look convinced, but he let it go.

Instead, he turned to Remus, who was watching this entire exchange like he was going to file it away for later and weaponize it with surgical precision. “You gonna psychoanalyze me too, Remus?”

Remus smirked. “Only if you ask nicely.”

“I always ask nicely,” James grinned, spinning on his heel and heading toward Regulus again, but not before he gave Sirius’s shoulder a squeeze on the way past.

Sirius stood still for a long moment, holding that half-eaten banana like it was a grenade.

Remus wandered over.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Sirius muttered.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Remus said lightly. “Not a word.”

Sirius gave him a look.

Remus grinned, folding his arms. “Although now that you mention it... ‘It’s not in my meal plan’? Really?”

“It wasn’t.”

“And now you’re eating a banana like it personally wronged you.”

Sirius sighed.

Remus’s voice dropped a little. “He noticed.”

“I know.”

“Do you notice?”

Sirius’s jaw clenched. “Remus. It’s not a big deal. I’m just... I’m staying focused. Dialed in. I’m trying to be good.”

Remus softened, just slightly. “You are good.”

They were quiet for a moment.

Then, Remus said, in an all-too-innocent voice, “You know, in the smut, he fed you chocolate chips by hand after the blizzard. You didn’t seem that picky about snacks then.”

Sirius groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “Remus.”

“‘He tasted of sugar and frost and longing.’ I remember that line. It was actually kind of poetic.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

Before Sirius could answer, James called from the hallway, “C’mon boys! Coach says we’ve got film review in five!”

Sirius gave Remus a tired glare and trudged after the voice like a man marching toward the gallows.

Remus followed, smug as hell, whispering under his breath, “...and as he licked the whipped cream from my jaw, I knew the real storm had only just begun—”

Sirius slapped the back of his head on the way out.

James, waiting in the hallway, caught the tail end of that and turned around, raising a brow. “You two have to be dating, aren’t you?” James pauses “I know I already asked, but like, the chemistry?”

Remus snorts. “Absolutely Not”

James blinked. “Oh.”

Sirius choked.

James just laughed, and turned on his heel like he hadn’t just caused an existential crisis with a single sentence.

The film room was freezing. Probably some kind of psychological tactic Coach Longbottom had cooked up to keep them alert—or just the fact that the heating system was older than any of them and made noises like a dying walrus when it did work. Still, it didn’t stop James Potter from lounging back into his swivel chair like it was a beach lounger, legs spread, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, already halfway into a rant about cross-ice coverage and second period turnovers.

He looked stupidly good doing it, too. Sirius was trying so hard not to notice. Which meant, of course, he noticed everything. The way James's curls had dried a little fluffy from his post-practice shower. The scuffed knuckles on his hand as he gestured to the screen. The way his laugh was slightly too loud and genuine in a way Sirius didn’t trust.

Remus sat beside Sirius, chewing on an energy bar and very obviously watching him watch James. Sirius elbowed him once. Remus just took a bite and smiled, obnoxiously innocent.

James tapped at his laptop. “Okay, so here—pause it—this is you, Sirius. You’ve got the puck, you’ve got speed, but what’s missing?”

Sirius blinked. “Uh… a passing lane?”

“Yes! Yes, good instincts.” James spun slightly in his chair, turning fully toward Sirius, lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “You’ve got the edge control of a pro, seriously. Like, I’m not just blowing smoke up your ass—”

Remus coughed.

James grinned. “—but you gotta trust your team more. You’re not out there alone. You and Remus, you’ve got chemistry. Use it. You're both brilliant. Like, scary brilliant.”

Sirius blinked at him. It was getting very hard to focus on anything beyond the fact that James Potter just said the words edge control and brilliant and ass in a three-sentence span while looking directly at him.

Remus muttered, “Still think I should’ve printed those fics out and mailed them to him.”

Sirius kicked him under the table.

A few minutes later, James handed out shakes again—just some simple protein drink he’d grabbed from the fridge, chucking them one by one to the boys. Regulus caught his with one hand and barely acknowledged it. Evan tossed his to Barty, who winked. Remus caught his, raised it in mock-toast, and popped the cap.

James held out one for Sirius.

Sirius shook his head. “I’m okay.”

James frowned. “Still? You haven’t eaten since this morning.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mate, you’re not fine, you’re just upright.” James leaned on the back of Sirius’s chair, casual but close, his voice lower now. “You ran drills for two hours. You need to refuel.”

“I told you. It’s not in my plan.”

James didn’t move. “Who made the plan?”

Sirius looked away. “I did.”

“Hmm.” James straightened but didn’t go far. “Do me a favor?”

Sirius didn’t answer.

James crouched next to him, suddenly not so golden-retriever. Still warm, still bright, but serious. “I’ve been doing this a long time. I’ve seen how guys break themselves trying to be perfect. I’ve seen what happens when ‘discipline’ turns into punishment.”

“I’m not punishing myself,” Sirius said too fast.

James nodded slowly. “Okay. Then let’s call it something else. But if this plan of yours is making you ignore your own body? That’s not a system. That’s a cage.”

Sirius stared at the floor.

A long pause passed between them.

Then James smiled again, softly this time. “If it’s about control… I get it. But food isn’t the enemy. I promise.”

Sirius’s throat felt tight. “I’ll think about it.”

James stood, ruffling his hair before Sirius could duck. “Good lad.”

Sirius scowled and smoothed his hair down like he wasn’t secretly glowing from the contact.

Across the room, Remus watched the whole thing, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Later, after the film had ended and most of the guys had trickled out to shower or text their girlfriends or both, Sirius stayed behind. He poked at the unopened shake James had left on the table next to him.

He didn’t drink it.

But he didn’t throw it out either.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

The rink at midnight was a different world.

No lights except the low ones buzzing above the ice. No teammates yelling over drills, no coaches barking out corrections. Just the sound of blades slicing clean through frost and breath fogging up the chilled air. Sirius liked it best like this. Quiet. Controlled. No one watching him.

Except Remus, who skated lazily in backward loops and threw out commentary like a bored sports announcer.

“Number 7 Black goes for another lap—he’s pushing, folks, he’s hungry, desperate, dramatic—”

“Shut up,” Sirius muttered, powering forward, low to the ice.

“Shut up,” Remus repeated in a posh voice, “the words of a true artist. You know, James Body Shot Potter would probably be impressed by your—”

“Do not bring him up,” Sirius groaned, gliding into another tight turn. “It’s midnight. He’s probably asleep in some hotel suite, dreaming of Stanley Cups and Gatorade ads.”

Remus smirked. “You dreamt about him last week. You literally said his name out loud in your sleep.”

“That was taken out of context.”

But then—click. A soft mechanical sound echoed from above the bleachers.

Both boys turned just as the door near the side stairwell creaked open.

James Potter stepped onto the catwalk above the stands in joggers, a baggy hoodie, and bedhead that looked too good to be real. He blinked like the lights had surprised him, then grinned and jogged down the stairs.

“I get an alert when someone enters the rink,” he called out, hopping the last two steps. “Didn’t think Frank would come back just to be all grumpy, so—”

He gestured around as he crossed the threshold to the edge of the rink.

“—here I am. Rink guardian. Protector of late-night chaos.”

Sirius, breathless but steady, skated a tight circle around him. “You don’t sleep?”

“Not really,” James said, stepping out of his slides and carefully moving onto the rink in socks. “You two clearly don’t either.”

Remus gave a mock bow. “Insomnia Club, now accepting applications.”

Sirius barely glanced at him. He was in it now—second wind, body warm, heart pumping in a frantic rhythm that felt good. Better than food. Better than thinking. He dug in hard, sprinting up the ice again.

James watched silently.

Remus dropped into a crouch, skating easily with a casual grace, not pushing himself, just… being. Sirius was trying to outskate something. Maybe everything. Shoulders tight, turns sharper than needed. His strides were fast—too fast for this late—but they kept him upright.

Until they didn’t.

He lost balance right after a tight pivot and went sprawling, full force, into the boards with a crack of impact and a thud that echoed across the empty arena.

“Sirius!” Remus called, skidding to a stop.

James was already moving, socks slipping slightly on the ice but balance perfect, crossing over to him in three strides. He knelt beside Sirius, gently helping him sit up.

“You alright, mate?”

“Fine,” Sirius rasped. His breath was ragged. “Just winded.”

James took one look at him—glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, body limp like a marionette with cut strings—and asked flatly, “Have you eaten?”

“Sure.”

“What did you eat?”

Sirius looked away.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” James muttered, wrapping a steady arm around his shoulders. “You’re running yourself into the ground.”

“I like running into the ground,” Sirius mumbled.

“You faceplanted into boards, not the ground,” Remus offered, helpfully.

“Remus,” Sirius hissed.

James stood and pulled Sirius up with him in one smooth motion, an arm firm around his back like he’d done this a thousand times.

“Come on. You’re coming with me.”

“What?” Sirius blinked.

“You. And you,” James added, pointing at Remus. “I don’t trust either of you to eat like normal humans. You’re coming to my place, and I’m feeding you.”

Remus blinked. “You’re cooking?”

“Yes.”

“I—do you know how to cook?” Remus asked, suspicious.

James raised a brow. “My mum taught me. I can make more than protein shakes and grilled cheese, thank you very much.”

Sirius mumbled, “We could just go to the dining hall tomorrow—”

“Shut up and let me be nurturing, Sirius.”

And that was that.

Twenty minutes later, they were standing in James’s apartment kitchen, blinking at the sudden warmth and the low hum of a late-night playlist playing from his phone. The place was clean but messy in the way someone lives alone and doesn’t mind a sock or two on the floor. The fridge was plastered in magnets—half of them from hockey cities, half from God-knows-where.

James bustled around in his sweatpants, barefoot, humming under his breath in Spanish as he pulled out eggs, toast, turkey bacon, and a frying pan.

Remus sat on a stool, curious. “So. Why’re you being so nice?”

James glanced up, eyes warm. “Because someone needs to be.”

Sirius stayed by the door for a second longer than necessary, frozen by something he didn’t quite understand.

Then he moved to the counter. And for the first time in a long time, he let himself be fed.

James’s apartment was cozy, in that lived-in, post-hockey-practice kind of way that made it feel personal. There were jerseys strewn over the back of chairs, books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, and a kitchen that smelled far too good for someone who still looked like they had zero chill at 2 a.m.

Sirius found himself at the counter, trying to stay out of the way while James shuffled around like it was just any other day. But something kept pulling his gaze back to the walls. The damn posters.

Everywhere.

Every inch of wall space was covered with glossy, oversized images of James Potter. Some were from games, some from ad campaigns, and one had an old-school, grainy shot of him in a Team Canada uniform, his face halfway hidden by a helmet, but still unmistakably him.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

James had talked about being “that kid” who grew up idolizing hockey legends, but this? This was something else. He wasn’t just a player—he was the player. The one kids worshipped from the comfort of their bedrooms, the one whose face appeared in the locker rooms of arenas, whose name graced every sports section Sirius had ever read.

And suddenly, Sirius felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Sirius looked at one of the posters—James, mid-stride on the ice, hair flying out from underneath his helmet, intense as hell—and then glanced over to see James humming as he flipped pancakes, somehow oblivious to the fact that he was standing in front of a literal shrine to himself.

Sirius gulped and felt his face heat up.

Remus, who had been leaning against the counter while scrolling through his phone, raised an eyebrow as he watched his friend’s expression. There was something a little too knowing in his smile. But he didn’t say anything.

Sirius couldn't help it. It burst out of him like a dam breaking.

“I—I—had all of those in my room. When I was 13,” he blurted out.

The second the words left his mouth, he flushed bright red. Sirius cursed mentally, cursing even louder as he immediately turned to face the counter, hoping the floor would just swallow him whole.

Remus let out a snicker, biting down on his lip as he tried to hold back a laugh. But his eyes glinted with too much knowing amusement, and Sirius could practically feel him savoring the moment.

James, meanwhile, glanced up from the frying pan with a smirk that made Sirius wish he could disappear.

“You did?” James asked, his tone a mix of disbelief and amusement. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “And I bet you had, like, a whole shrine, didn’t you? Posters on your ceiling? Maybe a nightlight with my face?”

Sirius could feel the heat rising in his neck. “I—No, I didn’t—shut up,” he stammered, doing his best to control the heat in his face. "It was just... just one on the wall, okay?"

Remus, who had been mostly quiet, now couldn't hold back his chuckles. "Sirius Black, stanning James Potter since the early teens," he teased, leaning forward to give his friend a pat on the shoulder.

Sirius glared at him, his face still completely red. “Don’t you dare. Not. A word.”

James grinned, leaning closer with a glint in his eyes. "So, what, you had like a... a mini shrine to me next to your bed? Were you writing fan mail?"

Sirius groaned, pulling at his hair. "I was 13, okay?! I'm not the same person anymore. It was just a phase! A stupid, embarrassing phase!" He shot a quick glance at Remus, who was still biting his lip to hold in laughter, before turning his attention back to James. “And—you... You never had some weird hero worship as a kid?”

James blinked, eyes wide, and for a moment, he seemed genuinely taken aback. “Of course I did,” he said, surprising Sirius a little. “I mean, I idolized Wayne Gretzky like any other Canadian kid. I had his poster up in my room until I moved out for training camp. But..." He paused, looking at Sirius thoughtfully. “I didn’t think anyone else actually cared this much.”

“I didn’t care this much!” Sirius countered, a bit too defensively. "I just had it up, because—because I—look, shut up."

James chuckled and turned back to the pancakes, clearly trying to keep his amusement under wraps. "You’re a good sport, mate. I respect that."

Sirius looked down at the counter and tried not to let his face burn any further. “This is just a bad idea, isn’t it?” he muttered under his breath.

Remus, who had been silently enjoying the exchange, piped up. “Hey, don’t worry, Sirius. If it makes you feel any better, James had a whole team poster of himself at age 13.” He looked directly at James, who just shrugged and smirked back. “I’m guessing you didn’t have a phase, huh?”

James looked a little guilty now. “Maybe I had a few posters...”

Sirius rolled his eyes, finally breathing again. “I’m gonna need a drink. And some food.”

James’s grin turned playful as he finished up making pancakes and set them down in front of both of them. “You’ll get both, just as soon as I can feed you. You're a wreck. All that energy spent on poster worship...”

Sirius shot him an unamused look, but there was no malice behind it. He’d spent years letting James Potter live rent-free in his head, and now he couldn’t even avoid the fact that James was… well, real. The fact that he was standing in front of him, still somehow way too easy to talk to, made all that previous adoration feel ridiculous—and yet… strangely endearing.

"Yeah, okay," Sirius muttered, lifting his fork. "But I'm not telling you anything more about my childhood."

James laughed and swiped a plate for himself, sitting down at the counter with them. "Good. Keep your secrets, then."

James nudged Sirius in the side, keeping his voice light. "Still, good to know you were a fan."

Sirius glared at him. "If you tell anyone..."

Remus only laughed harder.

Chapter 3: The One With The Toddler

Summary:

The sound of a faint cry came from somewhere in the distance, barely audible at first. Remus tilted his head, unsure if he was hearing things. But then it came again, louder this time, a soft wail that seemed to echo through the apartment.

Sirius froze mid-bite, eyes darting to the hallway that led further into the apartment. “Is that—?”

Before anyone could ask another question, James’s expression shifted, and his posture immediately became alert. Without a word, he pushed off from the counter, and in a split second, he was off, heading toward the source of the crying sound.

Notes:

I actually have like 5 more chapters planned and written. And some angst.

mwahahahahaha

The conversation died down for a few moments as the three of them continued eating. The atmosphere in the kitchen was casual, almost easy, despite the slightly awkward moments earlier. Sirius was still trying to pretend like he wasn’t dying of embarrassment over his childhood fandom, but it was hard to maintain that when James kept giving him those knowing looks.

Remus, on the other hand, had found a quiet amusement in the whole situation. It was endearing in a way. Seeing Sirius flustered was rare, and seeing James interact with him like they were old friends made Remus realize just how natural their chemistry was. Maybe things wouldn’t be as awkward between them as Sirius feared.

“Do you have any more posters I should know about?” Remus asked, a sly smile curling up on his lips. “I’m starting to think we need to have a gallery tour.”

Sirius glared, but this time with a little less heat. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

James just chuckled from where he was leaning against the counter, popping a piece of fruit into his mouth. “Hey, I’m not judging. I had my own poster moments. We all have our embarrassing things.”

The sound of a faint cry came from somewhere in the distance, barely audible at first. Remus tilted his head, unsure if he was hearing things. But then it came again, louder this time, a soft wail that seemed to echo through the apartment.

Sirius froze mid-bite, eyes darting to the hallway that led further into the apartment. “Is that—?”

Before anyone could ask another question, James’s expression shifted, and his posture immediately became alert. Without a word, he pushed off from the counter, and in a split second, he was off, heading toward the source of the crying sound.

Remus and Sirius exchanged a look, both confused. But before either of them could ask where James had gone, the door to the next room opened, and James came back, looking slightly flustered but trying to mask it with a sheepish smile.

In his arms, James was holding a little bundle—barely two years old, with messy dark hair and wide, tearful eyes. The toddler was snuggling into James’s chest, his tiny arms clinging to the fabric of James’s shirt as he hiccupped between sobs.

James looked down at the boy with a soft, almost apologetic expression, his hand gently stroking the toddler’s back. “Sorry about that,” he muttered, clearly unsure of how to explain. “This little guy... Well, he’s my son. Harry.”

Sirius blinked, completely taken aback. “Your son?”

James nodded, though there was a small, almost embarrassed smile on his lips. He rocked the boy back and forth slightly, the little one’s sobs slowing as he buried his face into James’s chest, his small hands grasping tighter at James’s shirt.

"How long...?" Remus started, unsure of what to ask next.

James took a deep breath, his gaze briefly flickering toward the floor. “I tried to keep him under wraps from the press. The whole thing’s kind of... messy. His mom and I had a one-night stand, and then one day, she just dropped him off on my doorstep.” He chuckled bitterly. “She never said a word, just left him there. And I’ve been raising him ever since.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged an incredulous look, but neither of them knew what to say. James had always seemed so carefree, so in control of everything, and now there was this... this little piece of him that no one knew about. His son.

"Wait," Sirius spoke up, his voice hesitant, unsure. “So... you’re not married?”

James shook his head, still holding Harry close. The toddler had finally calmed down, though he still clung to James like he was the only thing in the world that made sense. "No," James said, his voice quieter now. "It was a bad one-night stand... and it didn’t go anywhere. The press still doesn’t know about him. I’m trying to keep him out of the limelight as much as I can.”

Sirius didn’t know what to say. He had always thought James was just this carefree, wild guy who had everything together, never a care in the world. And now, here he was, holding a child—his child—looking so... vulnerable.

"I didn’t mean to drop that on you guys, but..." James trailed off, glancing down at Harry, who was now gazing up at him with wide eyes, fingers still tightly gripping his shirt. "It’s just been me and him for the most part. I’m... still figuring it all out."

Remus, who had been quietly processing the situation, stood up from the counter, his voice soft but understanding. “You’re doing great,” he said with a small smile. "It’s not easy, I can imagine."

James’s lips quirked into a smile, grateful for the kind words. “Thanks. I don’t know how people manage to raise kids and still keep their sanity, honestly.”

Sirius, still looking a little shell-shocked, finally found his voice. “So... he’s staying with you now? Here?”

James nodded. “Yeah. He’s usually pretty good, but he’s a bit of a handful sometimes. I guess he’s not used to being away from home for too long.”

The toddler, seemingly sensing the momentary calm in the room, lifted his head and sniffled. His eyes were still wide, but he gave James a tired little smile. James gently kissed his forehead. "You okay, buddy?"

Harry just snuggled back into James’s chest with a small yawn, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to fight sleep.

Remus, sensing the situation, gave a small nod. "Hey, don’t worry about us. You take care of him. We can talk later.”

James looked between them, his eyes grateful but tired. “You guys are alright with this?”

Sirius, who was still processing it all but could see how much James cared for the kid, nodded slowly. “Yeah, of course. Just didn’t expect to find out that you were a dad, that’s all.”

James gave a small chuckle, adjusting the toddler in his arms. “Guess that’s one way to keep things interesting.”

As Harry drifted off into a peaceful sleep, James moved toward the couch, settling down with him in his arms. “Thanks for not freaking out. I wasn’t exactly planning to have this conversation so soon.”

Remus smiled softly. “It’s fine. We get it.”

Sirius, still a little in awe, nodded. “Yeah. Kids... they change everything, huh?”

James’s eyes softened as he looked down at his son. "Yeah," he said quietly, more to himself than to them. "They really do."

The room went dead quiet. It wasn’t that the air was thick with tension—no, it was more like the moment was suspended in time. Sirius and Remus were staring at James, their eyes wide, their cheeks flushed, and their mouths slightly open in the kind of stunned silence that made James's brain immediately start scrambling for the right words.

Sirius blinked a few times, then, unable to help himself, he blurted out, “I thought you were gay?”

Remus’s eyes flickered toward Sirius, and his entire face turned a shade of pink that bordered on bright red. Sirius, realizing what he’d said, immediately followed up with, “I mean, not that it matters, I just—I didn’t know.”

The two of them continued to stare at James, their expressions expectant, but their ears now visibly flushed. James felt his own cheeks warm up in response to their wide-eyed stares.

“Oh, um...” James stammered, his brain trying to catch up. “Well, I’m bisexual, actually.”

The words tumbled out before he could fully process the awkwardness of the moment. His gaze flicked between the two of them, and it was clear that neither Sirius nor Remus knew what to do with the information. They both looked like they were desperately trying to hide the fact that they were thinking about the implications of what James had just said.

Remus, who had started to open his mouth, paused and then quickly shut it, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. He muttered, “Sorry. We didn’t mean to... It’s just, you never... mentioned it before.”

James shifted uncomfortably on the couch, his fingers gently brushing against Harry’s hair as the toddler slept in his arms. “It’s fine, seriously. It’s just... not something I’ve felt the need to advertise, y’know? I don’t really care what people think about my sexuality.”

Sirius nodded quickly, his face still pink. “Right. Sorry, I was just... surprised. You kind of gave off this... I don’t know, kind of a guy who only likes guys vibe?”

James raised an eyebrow. “I gave off a vibe?” he repeated, trying to keep his voice light despite the increasing awkwardness in the room.

“Not like that,” Sirius said quickly, holding up his hands in defense. “I just—uh—I don’t know. You’re like, really attractive, and, well, that usually isn’t the case for people who are bi, I guess.” His voice trailed off into a flustered mumble.

Remus shot Sirius a look. “Sirius...”

But Sirius, oblivious to the warning signs, just continued. “No, no, I mean, I’m not saying you have to be attracted to both genders or anything, but—”

Remus groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “You’re digging yourself a hole, Padfoot. Stop talking.”

James chuckled softly, feeling a little less awkward now that it seemed like the conversation had taken on a more familiar tone. “Honestly, it’s fine,” he said. “I’m not offended. You guys don’t have to apologize.”

Sirius’s face was still pink, and he shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah, but it’s just that... well... I’ve known you for a while now, and I just... never thought about it, you know? Didn’t expect that sort of reveal. It’s not like I thought you were straight, just—um...”

“Just thought I was exclusively gay?” James finished for him, his voice teasing now, trying to defuse the situation.

“Yeah! Exactly,” Sirius replied, suddenly a little too eager, his voice sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

Remus sighed, clearly trying not to laugh. “We’re idiots,” he muttered under his breath.

James shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “Well, it happens. It’s not like I’m going to make some huge declaration about it every time I meet someone new.” He paused for a beat, then added with a wink, “You’re still safe, though, Sirius. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Sirius, who had been looking at James with a mixture of awe and slight panic, suddenly snorted. “Oh, thanks. I feel so much safer now.”

Remus rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, we didn’t mean to put you on the spot. It’s just... well, we’re not exactly known for our social grace.”

James looked down at Harry, who was now peacefully asleep in his arms, his tiny chest rising and falling with soft breaths. He smiled a little, looking back up at Sirius and Remus. “Look, I get it. I wasn’t planning on dropping that bomb, but it’s not a huge deal. I don’t expect you two to have a meltdown over it.”

Sirius seemed to finally relax a little, his cheeks still pink, but his smile less strained now. “Yeah, well, if it helps, I’m not exactly the most graceful person in the world, either.” He waved a hand vaguely. “You get used to it.”

James chuckled softly. “I’m sure you are a smooth operator, Padfoot.”

Remus elbowed Sirius lightly, an amused glint in his eyes. “We all have our moments, don’t we?”

James leaned back into the couch, adjusting his position so Harry was more comfortable. “Yeah, we all do.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, the awkwardness seemed to lift. It was as if they had all crossed an invisible threshold of understanding—one that had come with its own set of surprises but also a sense of unspoken camaraderie. Sirius and Remus seemed to settle into it, both more relaxed now, and James felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to shift between them.

Harry stirred slightly in James’s arms, his small hands flexing before curling back into James’s shirt. James let out a quiet, almost involuntary laugh at how small and fragile the toddler seemed, despite the world that was constantly moving around them.

“Is he going to be okay?” Remus asked quietly, his gaze softening as he looked at the little boy.

James nodded. “Yeah. He’s just had a long day. He’ll be fine in a bit. I’m used to it.”

Sirius, still a little flushed but no longer nervous, looked at James with something like awe. “You’re really... good with him. You don’t see that much, you know? Guys like you—famous athletes—they usually have other people handle that stuff. But you, you’re doing it all yourself.”

James smiled, his expression warm. “I don’t know how to do anything else. He’s my kid, and that’s just... that’s how it is. He needs me.”

There was a quiet moment where the three of them simply sat in the soft glow of the apartment, listening to Harry’s peaceful breaths and the quiet rhythm of life unfolding in unexpected ways. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it was real. And somehow, that was all they needed in that moment.

They stayed like that for a while—James with Harry curled against his chest, Sirius and Remus seated nearby, no one in a rush to break the moment. The tension had melted away, replaced by something lighter. Not quite ease, not yet, but something gentler. The quiet hum of James’s apartment filled the space: the soft ticking of a clock, the occasional creak of the heating, and Harry’s slow, even breaths.

Then James looked down and smiled, one of those full-body smiles that lit up his entire face. He gently rocked the toddler and murmured something low and soft in Spanish.

“Mi niño hermoso... ¿ya dormiste suficiente, eh?” His voice was warm, laced with something so tender that it caught in Sirius’s throat.

Harry stirred, squirming a little, and blinked up at James with bleary eyes. He made a noise that was halfway between a question and a whine.

“Sí, sí, ya lo sé,” James cooed. “Es tarde, pero estás con papi, no pasa nada.”

Sirius and Remus watched in silence as James cradled the sleepy child, switching between English and Spanish like it was second nature. Harry blinked at them both, then burbled something that sounded vaguely like “da” and “agua” and then a slurred “star,” pointing vaguely toward the ceiling.

“He’s... bilingual?” Remus asked softly.

James nodded proudly, brushing some of Harry’s hair back. “Yeah. I mean, I’m trying. My mamá’s Spanish, so it’s important to me that he grows up hearing it. I know it’s early, but he picks things up fast. He calls the moon luna and then turns around and says ‘sky’ in the same breath. It’s wild.”

Sirius looked completely disarmed. “That’s actually—kind of amazing.”

Harry blinked owlishly at him, then held out a chubby fist as if offering it. Sirius hesitated, then gently fist-bumped him, earning a sleepy giggle.

James grinned at the sight. “He likes you.”

Remus smirked. “Of course he does. Sirius has the emotional maturity of a toddler.”

“Hey!” Sirius glared at him, but his cheeks were pink again, and his smile was real this time.

James chuckled, adjusting Harry so he sat more upright on his lap. “You two are hilarious. Honestly, it’s kind of refreshing.”

Remus tilted his head. “Is your team not like this?”

James snorted. “God, no. The guys I usually play with are either too macho to joke or too busy competing over who can bench the most. You’d think we were all vying for a prize in toxic masculinity.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Our team’s not exactly a utopia, either. You’ve seen Regulus. He spends half his energy being dramatic and the other half fighting with Evan and Barty.”

“Yeah,” James said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the deal with those three, anyway?”

Remus leaned back on his hands. “Regulus and Barty used to date, like, back in high school. It ended badly. Then Barty started dating Evan, and now Regulus is constantly looking for a fight. And Evan’s too much of a little shit to let it go.”

James shook his head, amused. “That makes so much sense. They were circling each other like sharks in practice.”

“And Regulus talks like he’s starring in a soap opera,” Sirius added, grinning. “Everything’s ‘you betrayed me’ or ‘I don’t need anyone.’ Total diva.”

“I like him,” James said with a soft laugh. “But he’s definitely the dramatic twin.”

Sirius’s expression turned playful. “What does that make me?”

James looked over, and his smile turned into something slightly softer. “I dunno. You seem more like the... tortured artist type.”

Sirius immediately groaned. “Oh no. Don’t say that.”

“What?” James said, grinning. “You’ve got the hair, the cheekbones, the thousand-yard stare…”

“I do not have a thousand-yard stare!”

“You absolutely do,” Remus chimed in, clearly enjoying himself.

“Betrayed by my only friend,” Sirius muttered.

Remus rolled his eyes. “You have so many friends. You’re the most popular guy on the team.”

“By force of will,” Sirius said, dramatically flipping imaginary hair. “I intimidate people into liking me.”

Harry giggled again at the gesture, clapping his hands once, then tucking them under his chin like he was mimicking the adults.

“Oh my god, he’s copying you,” Remus said with a laugh.

“I’m a role model,” Sirius said proudly.

James gave him a look. “I don’t know if that’s the takeaway here.”

“Hey,” Sirius said, grinning. “He liked me enough to fist-bump me. That’s sacred.”

James looked at Sirius a beat too long, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Yeah. It is.”

Something unspoken passed between them—just a flicker, but it left Sirius blinking and looking away, his ears tinged pink again.

James turned back to Remus. “And you? You’ve been weirdly quiet.”

Remus gave a lazy shrug. “I’m observant. Besides, Sirius takes up enough attention for the both of us.”

James smirked. “I get that vibe.”

They sat like that for a while longer, trading stories about the team, laughing about Frank’s obsession with scheduling drills at 6 a.m., and speculating on whether Barty had actually stolen Regulus’s pre-game hair gel.

James never stopped rocking Harry gently, his hand instinctively stroking the boy’s back, his voice occasionally dipping into more Spanish murmurs. Every so often, Harry would mumble something like “estrellas” or “da-dy,” and each time, James would answer back with a softness that felt deeply private.

Sirius couldn’t stop watching him.

Not in a creepy way—at least, he hoped not. But he was mesmerized. James Potter, real-life golden retriever, NHL superstar, apparent single dad, fluent Spanish speaker, was nothing like Sirius had ever expected.

He was... better.

More human. Messier. Tender.

And he was sitting here with them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sirius caught Remus watching James too, his expression hard to read but undeniably fond. When their eyes met, Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” he mouthed.

Remus smiled faintly. “Probably.”

James looked between them. “What?”

“Nothing,” they said at the same time.

James narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious, but let it go.

Eventually, Harry started to drift again, little body growing heavier in James’s arms. The late hour caught up with all three of them.

“I should probably get this one to bed,” James said softly.

“We should go anyway,” Remus said, standing and stretching. “Thanks... for everything.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “This was... weird. But good.”

James chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As they headed toward the door, James gave them a lopsided smile. “Hey... anytime you two want to come by. You’re welcome here.”

Sirius paused at the threshold. “You mean that?”

James nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Remus nudged Sirius gently. “C’mon. Let’s go before you start asking to move in.”

But Sirius just looked at James one more time, then smiled. “’Night, Potter.”

James gave a little salute. “’Night, Black. Night, Lupin.”

The door closed behind them, and they stepped out into the chilly night, the air crisp with early frost.

“So,” Remus said as they walked.

Sirius shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “So.”

“You’re doomed.”

“Yep.”

“You’re already in love with him.”

“Yep.”

Remus grinned. “Me too, He’s hot, nice and everything”

 

Sirius Grinned back “You know what my favorite number is?”

 

Remus rolled his eyes “Three?”

 

“Oh Absolutely”

They both laughed, walking side by side into the cold.

Chapter 4: The One With The Fight

Summary:

Sirius’s ears turned pink.
After a moment, Remus added, voice a bit wry, “Also, you’re totally lying to yourself about the age thing. You called him ‘Daddy’ by accident in practice last week.”
“I choked! On water!”
“You said ‘thanks, Daddy.’ And then dropped your stick.”
“STOP BRINGING THAT UP.”

Notes:

TW: Past Trauma, Past Child Abuse

Practice the next day started like a car crash in slow motion. The kind where you could see everything happening but were powerless to stop it.

It was 6:45 a.m. The ice was still freshly resurfaced, Frank had barely grumbled out a “warm up,” and yet tension was already buzzing across the rink like static electricity.

Sirius stepped onto the ice with a yawn, shoulder-bumping Remus beside him. “Okay, what are the odds we make it through today without bloodshed?”

Remus didn’t even blink. “Zero.”

And sure enough—

Barty Crouch Jr. skated past them at full speed, snatching Evan Rosier’s stick right out of his hand with a dramatic twirl. “Oops,” he said innocently, flipping the stick behind his back and tossing it back to Evan with a wink. “You dropped this, babe.”

Evan cackled, clearly delighted, and tugged Barty toward him by the collar of his jersey. “You’re such a menace.”

Sirius watched with mild horror as they kissed—openly kissed, mid-ice, with tongues and everything—before Remus physically turned his face away like he’d just witnessed a war crime.

“Too early for tongue,” Sirius muttered.

From across the rink, Regulus’s voice sliced through the air. “Are you kidding me?!”

Sirius winced. “Aaaand cue the dramatics.”

Regulus, decked out in a perfectly coordinated practice kit that was somehow cleaner than anyone else's, skated over like he was preparing to deliver a Shakespearean monologue.

“Do you have to do that here?” he snapped, his lip curling. “Some of us are trying to practice.”

Barty leaned his head on Evan’s shoulder like a cat and grinned. “What, you jealous? Miss me, princess?”

Regulus’s eye twitched. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why?” Evan said, eyes sharp. “He did when you were screwing.”

Sirius physically recoiled. “Jesus Christ, Evan.”

“Language,” James muttered beside him, skating up just as Regulus’s entire face turned a shade of red that could only be described as nuclear cherry rage.

Regulus whirled on Evan, shoulders stiff. “You know what? I don’t even care. You two can dry-hump on the ice for all I care—just don’t drag me into it like I haven’t moved on.”

“Oh?” Barty said, leaning forward. “Moved on to who, exactly? That shy Russian exchange student you blush at during strength training?”

“His name is Dmitri, and he deadlifts better than you,” Regulus snapped.

“That is objectively false,” Evan muttered, but Regulus had already glided off with all the elegance of a Victorian ghost.

James pinched the bridge of his nose. “I feel like I walked into a CW show.”

“Try coaching them full-time,” Frank said, skating past with a coffee in hand and a dead stare. “I had to sit through three of them fighting in the group chat last night. One of them used a Buzzfeed quiz as evidence of emotional manipulation.”

“Please tell me it was Barty,” Sirius said.

“Oh it was absolutely Barty,” Remus said, stretching his arms. “He sent a screenshot of his result saying ‘you’re emotionally distant because you’re afraid of love’ and said it was ‘clearly about Regulus.’”

James coughed into his glove, trying not to laugh. “I love this team. I hate this team.”

As practice officially began, drills kicked off with an edge. Passes were too hard, hits came a little too rough, and the chirping—god, the chirping—was relentless.

“Eyes up, drama llama!” someone yelled as Regulus nearly got clocked with a puck.

“Oh my god,” Sirius whispered to Remus, “we’re going to have an actual homicide.”

Remus just nodded, eyes still fixed on the puck. “I’m betting on Barty to go first. Or to get jumped. Could go either way.”

Meanwhile, James skated in tighter circles around the team, calling out strategies, keeping his tone level—but Sirius caught the way his eyes flicked constantly back to Regulus and Barty, like a coach waiting to intercept a brawl.

Eventually, Frank blew the whistle. “Enough! Scrimmage lines. I don’t care who you hate today, you’re working together.”

Sirius got stuck on a line with Evan, Barty, and Regulus.

“Oh this is cruel,” he muttered.

James skated past him, low enough to murmur, “Think of it as a character-building exercise.”

“I will punch someone,” Sirius said.

James grinned. “I’m counting on it.”

The next few minutes felt like time had stopped, suspended in a sharp breath of fury.

The ruckus in the locker room started as a low growl, and then a loud snap of words. Regulus, normally calm and cool under pressure, had a sneer on his face as he stepped toward Barty.

“You really are a fucking piece of work, aren’t you?” Regulus spat, his voice sharp with bitterness and pain.

Barty, smirking, glanced over to Evan, who was leaning casually against a locker, arms crossed. “I don’t know, Reg. I’m doing pretty great for myself, don’t you think?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t feel guilty for what you did,” Regulus shot back, his hand gripping his hockey stick as he glared at Barty. “You couldn’t even apologize—nothing. You just ran off to him.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, maybe he’s better than you, Reg.”

Barty looked over at Evan with a playful smirk. “Probably. I mean, Evan actually knows how to make me laugh.”

Regulus’s lips parted in disbelief, and then—it happened.

Without warning, Regulus lunged forward, shoving Barty against the lockers. The impact sent a loud crack through the room, and before anyone could react, the two were on the ground, wrestling fiercely.

“You never laughed like that with me,” Regulus snarled, his hands gripping Barty’s shirt as he tried to keep him pinned to the floor. His chest heaved with rage, and his fists swung wildly.

Evan, who had been standing there with a cold, calculating look in his eyes, couldn’t hold back anymore. He dropped his stance and threw himself at Regulus with a loud grunt.

“Probably because he didn’t like you, it’s why he’s dating me now instead.” Evan snapped, his voice dripping with venom.

The words cut through the air like a whip, and in an instant, it was as though the entire room had erupted into chaos.

The sounds of fists meeting flesh, the screech of metal skates scraping across the ice, the sharp gasps of pain, it was all too familiar to Sirius. The fight was brutal, no holds barred, and it took him only a moment to realize what was happening.

Regulus was still on top of Barty, but Evan was kneeing him in the ribs, and Barty was pulling at Regulus’s hair like a wild animal. There was blood.

And then the noise hit Sirius like a slap to the face—the sound of a broken nose, of skin being ripped open, of punches landing in places they weren’t supposed to.

“Stop!” Sirius screamed, his voice cracking with a mix of anger and fear. His chest tightened, his heart racing as the sickening thuds of fists echoed in his ears.

But no one listened.

A sharp yelp rang out as Regulus’s lip split open, and Barty’s eyebrow was sliced, the gash starting to pool with blood.

Sirius felt his stomach churn. The sound—the violence—the chaos—it wasn’t just a fight. It wasn’t just hockey players losing control. No, it felt too real, too familiar.

His breathing came in ragged gasps as he took a step forward, hands shaking at his sides. The world was closing in on him. The sight of blood, the harsh sounds—it felt like his past was coming back, like a nightmare replaying in his head.

“Sirius, no!” Remus’s voice broke through the haze, firm and grounding, but it barely registered.

It was only when Remus grabbed his arm and pulled him backwards, gently but firmly, that Sirius stumbled and blinked, realizing where he was. The images were still dancing before his eyes.

“Sirius,” Remus whispered, his voice almost too soft. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Sirius couldn’t look away from the fight, from the bloodied faces and the way the two men were still going at it with savage intensity. His heart was hammering in his chest, his head spinning.

But when Remus’s hand clasped his, pulling him away from the chaos, he let himself be led out of the locker room and down the hall.

His body trembled, and he couldn’t stop it. The heat rising in his throat felt like it was suffocating him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry.

He wasn’t sure how long they walked in silence. Remus had his arm around him, but Sirius barely registered the comfort. His thoughts were stuck in a whirlwind of flashbacks—his parents yelling, fighting, breaking things. Breaking him.

When they reached the quiet hallway, away from the racket of the rink, Remus stopped walking. He turned Sirius around gently, his eyes full of concern.

“Sirius,” Remus said softly, “are you okay?”

Sirius could only shake his head. His lip trembled, and he stared at the ground, trying not to let the tears fall. The memories, the pain, the sounds of fists hitting flesh—it was all too much.

And then the door to the locker room swung open, and James came rushing down the hall toward them.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, his face pale. The concern in his voice was palpable. But then his eyes flicked to Sirius’s trembling form, and his jaw clenched. He didn’t need to ask again.

James reached out a hand, gently cupping Sirius’s shoulder. His touch was grounding, steady.

“Are you hurt?” James asked quietly, his gaze flicking to Remus and then back to Sirius. “I… I get it. I do.”

Sirius shook his head again, his breath ragged. He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to let the words out, but they came anyway. “It sounded like my parents. The yelling,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “They used to like to break bones as a punishment. Toes, fingers, small things. It…” He choked, his throat tight with emotion. “I don’t—I just don’t want to hear it again. I can’t—I can't do that again.”

James’s face went white. He immediately pulled Sirius into a tight hug, one hand rubbing his back, as if trying to steady him. His voice was quiet but filled with something that made Sirius feel, for the first time in a long time, like he could breathe.

“I’m so sorry,” James said softly. “That’s not okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Remus stayed silent, his face pale as he watched the two of them. He gave James a silent nod, offering his own quiet support in the background.

The weight of everything, of the fight, of his past, hung heavy in the air. But for once, Sirius didn’t feel alone.

 

James didn’t pull away from Sirius right away. He kept his arms firmly around him, rubbing his back in slow, calming circles. It was the kind of touch that made Sirius feel like he wasn’t broken, like there was still some part of him that wasn’t shattered beyond repair.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you like that again,” James muttered, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “I don’t care who they are or what they think. You’re not gonna go through that. Not with us around.”

Sirius was trembling against him, still trying to steady his breath. He knew James was serious, knew that the older man would follow through, but something inside of him twisted with doubt. He hadn’t let anyone be that close in a long time. The fear of getting hurt again was always there, lurking beneath the surface. But right now, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

His chest tightened when Remus stepped closer, his face filled with concern but also understanding. Remus didn’t need to say anything to make Sirius feel seen. He just knew.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Remus asked gently, his voice still quiet, like he was afraid that raising it would shatter whatever fragile peace was left between them.

Sirius nodded slowly, feeling the weight of Remus’s words. He didn’t know if he was okay, but right now, with James’s arms around him and Remus standing close, it felt like he was at least *getting there*.

“I’m… I’m better now,” Sirius whispered, his voice thick. “Thanks.”

James finally let go, but his hand remained on Sirius’s shoulder for a moment longer, a silent promise. “We’ve got your back. Both of us.”

Sirius met James’s gaze, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel so lost. Maybe it was the comfort of their presence, or maybe it was the way they were both offering something he hadn’t dared to hope for—trust. But in this moment, with everything that had happened, he knew he wasn’t alone.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about your parents like that,” Remus said softly, his voice a touch hesitant, almost as if he was testing the waters.

Sirius swallowed hard, not knowing how to respond. He’d never spoken about his parents in any depth to anyone—not like this. They were a part of him he usually kept hidden, tucked away behind layers of deflection and sarcasm. But with the fight still fresh in his mind, with the remnants of blood on the ice, it felt impossible to pretend it didn’t affect him.

“They were… they weren’t good people, Remus,” Sirius said, his voice rough as he finally broke the silence. “I tried so hard to make them proud. But nothing was ever enough. I… I wasn’t enough.”

Remus stepped forward, his expression softening. “Sirius,” he said gently, “You are enough. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Not anymore.”

Sirius didn’t know what to say to that. His chest tightened, emotions swirling inside him like a storm. The way Remus looked at him, like he actually believed it, made something in him twist painfully. It was like for the first time, he felt like he *could* be enough, even if he didn’t fully believe it himself.

“Thanks,” Sirius whispered, his voice thick again. He wasn’t used to being so open, so vulnerable. But somehow, with Remus and James around, it didn’t feel like such a burden.

James gave him a soft smile. “Anytime, mate. You know where to find us.”

Remus nodded in agreement. “We’ve got your back, Sirius.”

The weight of everything that had happened today settled a little more comfortably now, and while Sirius didn’t have all the answers, he knew he wasn’t facing it alone. The team drama, the personal turmoil—it would still be there tomorrow. But right now, he had James and Remus, and that felt like something worth holding on to.

“Alright,” James said, breaking the silence. “Enough of the heavy stuff. You guys hungry?”

Sirius chuckled, a sound that was small and unsure but felt good to let out. “For food? Always.”

“Good,” James said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Let’s head back to my place, then. I’m cooking.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You cook?”

James shot him a teasing look. “I’ll have you know, I’m *excellent* in the kitchen.”

Sirius gave a snort of laughter. “You? I don’t believe it.”

“Well, you’ll see,” James said with a wink. “Prepare yourselves for the best meal you’ve had in ages.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance, both of them skeptical but willing to give it a try. As they made their way back toward James’s apartment, the weight of the previous hours seemed to lift just a little bit more. The air between them felt lighter, warmer—almost hopeful.

And for the first time in what felt like a long time, Sirius allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

The next day at practice, the rink was tense from the moment they stepped onto the ice. No one could quite explain it—there was no obvious spark, no official trigger—but something was brewing between Remus and Sirius.

James could feel it in the way Remus kept clenching his jaw and how Sirius didn’t look at anyone, especially not Remus or James. He kept skating harder than necessary, slapping pucks against the boards, snapping his head around too fast when Frank called out drills. James was already watching him with worry, but when Sirius clipped Remus during a scrimmage—a little too hard to be accidental—it all blew up.

“Are you kidding me?!” Remus shouted, slamming his stick down so hard it echoed across the rink.

Sirius stopped skating, chest heaving, cheeks flushed from more than just the cold. “It was a legal hit.”

“You’ve been glaring at me since you got here,” Remus snapped. “Just say whatever your problem is!”

“My problem?” Sirius barked, skating toward him and tossing off his gloves. “You’re my problem, Remus!”

James froze by the boards. He’d been about to skate over, but something about the crack in Sirius’s voice rooted him in place.

“Oh, brilliant,” Remus snapped, whipping his helmet off and throwing it to the ice. “Because I’m the one who dragged you out last night, because I was worried you’d starve yourself into a coma.”

“I didn’t ask you to babysit me!” Sirius yelled. “You always act like you know what’s best for me!”

“Because I do!” Remus shouted back. “I’ve known you for years, Sirius, and every time someone cares about you, you push them away and bury your feelings under jokes and snark until you explode like this! You nearly blacked out in practice last week and you still haven’t told Frank!”

“I told you,” Sirius snapped, voice breaking.

James took a half step forward, lifting a hand. “Guys—”

“Stay out of it!” Sirius screamed, turning so sharply his skates screeched against the ice. His voice cracked, sharp and full of something that made James recoil like he’d been slapped. Sirius had barely strung two full sentences together around him before that night in the apartment, and now—screaming at him, eyes wild and wet—it was like watching a dam burst.

Remus blinked, stunned by the outburst too. “You didn’t mean that,” he said carefully.

“I—” Sirius shook his head. “I can’t do this with you always looking at me like you pity me, or—like you’re waiting for me to fall apart.”

“I am waiting,” Remus bit out. “Because you are falling apart.”

And then it all shattered. Helmets and sticks forgotten, they were on each other—shoving, half-grappling, screaming over one another. James couldn’t even make out the words anymore. He just saw Sirius’s face crumple, Remus’s hands tightening around his arms like he was trying to keep him from floating away.

“Because I’m scared,” Sirius cried suddenly, voice hoarse. “Because I don’t know what I’m doing, Remus. I don’t know how to fix any of this.”

“I know,” Remus whispered, forehead pressing to his. “I know.”

Sirius folded into him then, his legs giving out slightly as Remus wrapped his arms around him and held him up. The rink went silent but for Sirius’s rough, stuttering sobs. His gloves had fallen somewhere, hands pressed into Remus’s back, clutching tight like he might drown without the contact.

James stood helpless by the blue line, watching the two of them shake and cry in the middle of the ice. There was something raw and holy about it—like watching two people bleed and stitch themselves together in real time.

And as he watched Sirius’s hair fall over Remus’s shoulder, and Remus whisper something so soft James couldn’t hear it, he felt something shift deep in his chest.

They were gorgeous. Not just beautiful—though, god, they were that too—but achingly gorgeous. Something about the way Sirius’s jaw tensed when he cried, the way Remus’s eyes were glassy but determined, the way they held each other like they were the last safe place on earth. James felt it in his throat, this horrible and wonderful realization.

He was falling for both of them.

Because Sirius, trembling and furious and honest, was like fire on the edge of control—and Remus, quietly steadfast and bleeding love, was the balm to every wound James had never spoken aloud.

He didn’t know how it would happen. Didn’t know if it even could happen. But he knew one thing as he watched them fall apart and put each other back together on that rink:

He was completely, utterly screwed.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be the best thing that ever happened to him.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

James tried to act like everything was normal, tried to run drills, shout out plays, crack jokes with Frank, but it was impossible to ignore the shift in the air. Sirius and Remus—usually joined at the hip, usually so in sync on the ice it was like they shared a brain—barely said a word to him. Or to each other, for that matter.
When James called on them, they gave short, clipped answers.

“Remus, can you run that power play again?”
“Sure,” Remus said without looking up, cheeks visibly flushed beneath his helmet.
“Sirius, can you show Evan the forecheck setup?”

A nod. A quiet, “Yeah.” Ears pink, shoulders tense.
And that was it. They skated harder than usual. Sirius snapped his stick on the boards in frustration after missing a shot. Remus nearly picked a fight with Barty after a bad pass. James didn’t know how to fix it—only that he wanted to.
Badly.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

Sirius lay flat on his bed, legs dangling off the end, arms flopped over his face like a corpse. “I’m in hell.”
Remus was curled up on the bean bag by the radiator, sipping from a mug of something that was probably just warm milk. “You’re being dramatic.”
Sirius peeked from under his arm. “Am I, though? Because the man I’ve been in love with since I was thirteen keeps looking at me with his stupid golden retriever eyes, and I want to die.”

Remus flushed and looked away. “Yeah, well. Join the club.”
Sirius dropped his arm completely. “Wait. What?”
Remus sipped his drink. “You heard me.”
“You like him?”

“I think I might be in love with him,” Remus said softly, the words falling out like he hadn’t meant to say them at all. “Or—on my way, at least.”
Sirius sat up slowly, heart pounding. “But—he’s James Potter.”
“I know.”
“He’s got posters. And commercials. And abs.”

“I know.”
They stared at each other, the air thick with something unspoken for a long, long moment. Then:
“This is a disaster,” Sirius muttered.
“Yup.”

“I mean, we’re best friends. We’ve always been best friends. How did this even happen?”
Remus gave him a look. “You wrote fanfiction about him in eighth grade, Sirius.”
“That’s unrelated.”
Remus raised his eyebrows.

Sirius groaned and flopped back down. “Okay, partially related.”
There was silence for a bit, filled only by the hum of the heater and the faint buzz of the fluorescent light above. And then:
“What do we do?” Sirius asked. “I mean, we both—like him. And we’re still friends. Right?”

Remus looked down into his mug. “I think we always will be.”
Sirius turned his head, voice quiet. “Even if he likes one of us back?”
Remus hesitated. Then: “Yeah. Even then.”

The silence stretched again. It was the kind of quiet you could only have with someone who knew everything about you—except for maybe this one new, raw thing.
Sirius huffed. “He probably doesn’t even like either of us like that.”

Remus didn’t answer at first. Then he said, cautiously, “He looked devastated when you told him to stay out of our fight.”
Sirius remembered that moment. The way James had flinched like he’d been hit. The way he’d looked at him, not angry—just hurt.
His chest ached. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.”
They sat in that quiet, heavy thing for a while. But for the first time since their fight, they were together again in it.
And maybe, they’d figure the rest out too.
A thin beam of streetlamp light crept in through the gap in the curtains, striping across the ceiling. Neither of them could sleep.
Remus had migrated from the bean bag to Sirius’s bed, sitting cross-legged near the headboard, hands pulling at the frayed sleeve of his hoodie. Sirius lay beside him, staring at the ceiling like it had all the answers.

“I mean,” Remus said finally, voice hushed in the way it always got when the rest of the dorm was quiet, “he’s kind, and funny, and brilliant with Harry. And he makes those ridiculous jokes in Spanglish. And—he’s really good at listening. Like, actually listening.”

“God,” Sirius groaned into his pillow. “Why does he have to be good too?”
“And hot,” Remus added, throwing his head back dramatically.
“Do not get me started,” Sirius mumbled, cheeks already heating. “His arms. His thighs. His dad energy.”
Remus made a strangled noise.

Then it went quiet again.
“But he’s old,” Remus said softly.
Sirius tilted his head, meeting Remus’s eyes in the semi-dark. “He’s not old, he’s just… older.”
Remus gave him a look. “He’s 29.”

“So? That’s only ten years.”
“Ten years.”
“I’ve had sweaters older than that.”
Remus laughed quietly despite himself. “Yeah, because you refuse to throw anything away.”
Sirius shrugged one shoulder. “I’m just saying—it’s not that weird.”

“You’re nineteen, Sirius.”
“So? He makes me feel like I’m not. Like I’m not just… some stupid kid. Like he sees me.”
Remus was quiet again. Then he whispered, “Yeah. Me too.”
Sirius sat up a little. “Do you think it’s crazy? That we both feel this way?”

Remus sighed, leaning back on his hands. “It’s not like we planned it. He’s just…” His voice dropped. “He’s really special.”
They sat with that truth for a moment.
“I don’t want this to mess us up,” Sirius said after a while. “You and me.”

“It won’t.”
“You say that, but what if—”
“It won’t,” Remus repeated, more firmly this time. “No matter what happens with him. We’ll be okay.”
Sirius blinked hard, then gave him a lopsided smile. “You always sound so sure.”
“Only when it’s about you.”

Sirius’s ears turned pink.
After a moment, Remus added, voice a bit wry, “Also, you’re totally lying to yourself about the age thing. You called him ‘Daddy’ by accident in practice last week.”
“I choked! On water!”
“You said ‘thanks, Daddy.’ And then dropped your stick.”
“STOP BRINGING THAT UP.”

Remus just laughed until he fell sideways onto the mattress, both of them wheezing.
In that moment, it felt like maybe they could survive this—the crush, the confusion, the way James Potter had crash-landed into their lives like a golden retriever with a kid and a smile that ruined everything

Chapter 5: The One With The Hate Crime

Notes:

I'm Sorry.

TW: Homophobia, Assault, Talk of Possible Eating Disorder, homophobic Slurs

Remus should’ve gone home hours ago.

He hadn’t meant to stay at the bar so long—had only gone in the first place because Sirius had insisted on dragging him out. “We need fun,” Sirius had said. “Just us, like old times. Before hockey and Harry and feelings for annoyingly perfect ex-NHL players took over our brains.”
And they had had fun. For a while. Sirius had danced like a maniac, flirted with every bartender in sight, laughed too loud and thrown an arm around Remus’s shoulders like they were kids again.

But Remus had gone home early, stomach tight with guilt and worry and want. He hadn’t heard from Sirius in over an hour. Texts unanswered. Location sharing disabled.
And then he got the call.

“Moons,” Sirius had whispered, voice thin and ragged. “I—I need you. Corner of Ninth and Leland.”
By the time Remus got there, Sirius was crumpled on the sidewalk behind a dumpster, blood dripping down the side of his face. His jacket was torn, his lip was split, and one of his eyes was already swelling shut. He looked dazed and broken in a way that made Remus’s heart nearly stop.
“Oh my God, Sirius—”

“They called me a faggot,” Sirius said blankly. “Said—said I was asking for it. That I needed to learn my place.”
Remus’s hands were shaking as he helped him stand, supporting most of his weight. “We’re going to the hospital—”
“No hospitals. No—I can’t.” Sirius groaned, sagging against him. “I don’t want the press involved. My family—Moons, please.”

Remus didn’t know what to do. He was nineteen. He’d never seen someone he loved this broken before.
And so he did the only thing he could think of.
James’s apartment – 1:41 a.m.
The knock on the door was frantic and uneven. James had just gotten Harry to sleep and was halfway through wiping down the kitchen counter when he opened the door.

Remus was standing there, pale and wide-eyed, practically holding Sirius upright.
“Coach,” he said hoarsely, “I—I need help.”
James’s heart slammed into his ribs.
He took one look at Sirius—bloodied, swaying, not quite conscious—and didn’t ask a single question.

“Come in. Get him on the couch.”
Remus guided Sirius inside. James rushed ahead, pushing back pillows, yanking the coffee table out of the way. As soon as Sirius was down, James knelt in front of him.
“What the fuck happened?”

“Jumped,” Remus said. “He was jumped. Said it was homophobic. I—he didn’t want a hospital. I didn’t know where else to go.”
James’s face was stone. “You did the right thing.”
He disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a first aid kit, a bowl of warm water, and a washcloth. Remus sat by Sirius’s head, holding his hand while James worked in silence, hands gentle but sure.
“Have you eaten?” James asked quietly, eyes flicking up to Sirius’s.

Sirius let out a breathy, painful laugh. “Always with the eating…”
James didn’t smile.
“You’re bleeding. You’re shaking. Your ribs might be cracked. And you’re still deflecting. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
Sirius’s eyes fluttered, and for a second, he looked more like a scared little boy than the confident, sharp-mouthed winger James saw on the ice.
“They said—stuff,” Sirius muttered. “They called me disgusting.”
James’s expression turned molten. “You’re not.”

Sirius flinched.
Remus squeezed his hand. “You’re not,” he echoed. “You’re brave. And brilliant. And fucking beautiful, Sirius.”
Something cracked in Sirius then. He closed his eyes, and tears slipped out even as James gently wiped the blood from his brow.
“I don’t know where to put all this,” Sirius whispered.

James looked up at both of them—Remus pale and fierce, Sirius trembling and bloodied—and something settled in his chest.
“Then stay here tonight,” James said softly. “Both of you. As long as you need.”
Neither of them argued.
And for the first time since the screaming match, since the avoidance, since the blurry confusion of their feelings, the three of them breathed the same air again—quiet, heavy, together.

Sirius was finally asleep, his body curled in tightly on the end of the couch, one hand fisted in the hem of James’s hoodie like it anchored him. His bruised face had softened in sleep, the tension in his jaw gone slack for the first time since they found him.
James hovered a moment, watching him, making sure his breathing was even before he stepped back into the kitchen, where Remus sat at the little table, nursing a cup of lukewarm tea.

James pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, exhaling slowly.
“You’ve both been ignoring me,” he said gently. “At practice, I mean. These last few days. Before all of this.”
Remus blinked down at his tea, then looked up, surprised by the directness. “We haven’t been ignoring—”
James tilted his head, calling his bluff. “Remus.”

Remus hesitated. Then, softly, because Sirius was sleeping: “We have a history of getting attached to people we can’t have.”
James furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
He wasn't fishing, not exactly. But something had been blooming behind his ribs since the first time Sirius stumbled over his own name trying to talk to him, and Remus elbowed him in the ribs for being ridiculous.

Remus glanced over at Sirius’s sleeping form. His voice was quiet. Careful.
“You were kind of… both of our gay awakenings. When we were kids.”
James blinked. “Wait, what?”

Remus gave a small, breathy laugh. “Posters. Commercials. Fantasy hockey leagues. Sirius wrote fanfiction.”
“I knew it,” James muttered, stunned. “I clocked him as a fan immediately.”
Remus nodded, smile bittersweet. “It was all a bit funny. Until it wasn’t.”
James sat still.

Remus went on, “When he snapped at you during that fight… it wrecked him. He’d never talked to you like that before. Not even normal sentences, really. You were always this… idea in his head. Larger than life. The guy who made him realize he liked boys. A poster, a jersey, a fantasy.”
James swallowed, lips parting.

“And now,” Remus said, watching Sirius sleep, “you’re real. A person. A person who looked after him when he couldn’t even look after himself.”
James looked down at his hands.
There was so much weight in what Remus had said—and not in a way that scared him. If anything, it made something settle deep in his chest. Sirius wasn’t fragile. But he was vulnerable. They both were. And James, for once, wasn’t performing for the press or scoring in front of a crowd. He was just here. Shirtless in the kitchen, with an exhausted kid asleep in the next room, and another one on his couch, finally safe.
Remus broke the silence. “He thinks he ruined it.”

James looked up.
“Whatever it was between you,” Remus said. “Whatever was growing.”
James stared at him. Then, finally: “He didn’t.”
There was a long pause.

Then, from the couch, in a hoarse, barely-there voice: “You talk a lot about me for someone who thinks I’m asleep.”
Both Remus and James turned.
Sirius cracked open one eye, swollen and rimmed in purple, and gave the smallest, crooked grin either of them had seen since the night in James’s apartment.
James was out of his chair in a second. “You need food. Or electrolytes. Or—you shouldn’t be upright.”
“Coach,” Sirius rasped, smirking faintly. “Shut up for once.”

Remus laughed.
James just stared between them, something warm and strange curling behind his ribs.
He’d been a lot of things in his life. A player. A performer. A name in lights.
But right now? He felt like someone who mattered

The apartment had gone quiet again. The hum of the refrigerator, the soft rattle of the heater kicking on. James hadn’t moved from his spot leaning against the counter, arms crossed. Remus was still half-laughing, half-watching Sirius with something tender on his face that hadn’t been there in years. Sirius had dropped his eyes, pink blooming on his bruised cheeks, embarrassed but not pulling away from them anymore.

Then—

Tiny, uneven footsteps.

A door creaked open down the hallway, and a voice, soft and groggy, called out:

“Papá…”

James turned instantly. “Harry?”

From the hall emerged a tangle of bed hair and fleece pajamas with firetrucks on them. Harry stood with one hand rubbing his eye, a small stuffed lion dragging behind him.

“Papá, I woke up,” he mumbled, and then he spotted the shape on the couch. His eyes widened.

Sirius blinked at him, dazed and unsure. He looked like he was trying to sit up properly but failed somewhere around the core-muscle portion of that plan.

Harry padded forward.

“¿Quién es?” he asked quietly, tilting his head at Sirius.

James smiled. “Uno de los chicos de mi equipo,¿Estuvo aquí antes, la noche en que papá preparó huevos tarde y tuviste una pesadilla? Está un poco lastimado.” One of the guys on my team, was he here earlier, the night Dad made eggs late and you had a nightmare? He's a little hurt.

Harry frowned very seriously, small eyebrows scrunching. Then he walked straight up to Sirius, who stared at him like he had no idea what to do with something that small and pure and real.

Harry tugged gently at the edge of the blanket around Sirius.

“¿Tienes boo-boos?”

Sirius blinked. “Uh… yeah. A few.”

Harry looked up at his father for confirmation. James nodded, eyes soft.

Then Harry looked back to Sirius, all big eyes and gravity, and asked:

“¿Puedo besarlo mejor?” Can I Kiss it Better?

Sirius opened his mouth but no sound came out. Remus made a small, choked noise and looked away, eyes shining.

James answered for him, voice thick: “Sí, puedes.”

Harry leaned in with infinite care and kissed Sirius’s temple—right below the bruise—and then his cheek. Gentle, toddler-light kisses. Then, without asking, he clambered onto the couch and wriggled in next to him, curling under his arm and laying his head on Sirius’s chest like he did this all the time.

Sirius made a sound like someone had knocked the air from his lungs.

“‘Rry,” Harry mumbled, already closing his eyes again. “Want boo-boos go away…”

Sirius blinked down at him, his hand hovering in the air for a second, unsure, before he let it rest carefully against Harry’s back. His fingers shook, but he didn’t move them.

“Me too,” Sirius whispered. “Me too, kid.”

James sat slowly at the edge of the couch. Remus pulled over a blanket and draped it over all three of them. No one said anything.

The room was dim, quiet, warm.

And for the first time in a long time, Sirius let someone hold him while he slept.

The room had settled into a hum of soft breaths. Harry was a small, warm weight curled into Sirius’s side, his tiny hand clutching the fabric of Sirius’s sweatshirt in his sleep. Sirius, for once, wasn’t tense. Not all the way. His bruised face had relaxed into something unguarded, almost boyish in sleep, his lashes dark against his cheeks, his fingers still curled protectively around Harry’s back.

Remus sat cross-legged on the rug, arms resting on his knees. James was still on the edge of the couch, leaning slightly forward, forearms on his thighs, watching Sirius like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“He’s… good with him,” James said softly, tilting his head just slightly toward Harry.

Remus nodded. “Yeah. He’s always been good with kids. Even when we were kids.”

James smiled faintly. “He didn’t freak out when Harry climbed into his ribs. That’s rare.”

“Well,” Remus smirked, “that might be the mild head trauma. You sort of lose the capacity for shame after a few cracked ribs.”

James laughed under his breath. “Should I get a notebook? These are real coaching insights.”

Remus looked up at him with a crooked grin. “Don’t strain your old man back getting it.”

James turned to him, mock-offended. “I’m not even thirty.”

“Exactly,” Remus said, deadpan. “Basically prehistoric.”

James narrowed his eyes. “You’re literally nineteen.”

Remus shrugged, all faux-innocence. “Yeah, but in hockey years, that makes you basically fossilized.”

“You did not just say that.”

“I did.”

“I’m in peak condition.”

“You took a nap after skating for ten minutes yesterday.”

“That was strategic rest!”

Remus snorted. “Sure, grandpa.”

James let out a soft, delighted groan and tipped his head back, smiling like someone who hadn’t had this kind of laughter in a long time. Remus was still grinning when he said:

“We used to joke about you all the time, you know.”

James blinked back down at him.

“In school,” Remus added, a little quieter. “When Sirius and I were like thirteen. You were kind of… everything. You were the first real non straight player we’d ever seen who wasn’t afraid of it, you had a reputation, and that’s why Sirius was convinced you were gay. You were loud and ridiculous and good.”

James’s ears flushed.

Remus smirked again. “And shirtless a lot.”

James put a hand over his face. “God.”

“We both had posters.”

“I gathered.”

Remus’s grin turned warm, almost bashful. “But he really idolized you. Sirius. I think it sort of short-circuited his brain when he realized you were also a person.”

James looked back toward the couch, where Sirius was still curled around Harry, soft snores escaping him.

“Yeah,” James said quietly. “I noticed. He talks to everyone but me.”

“He used to write smutty fanfiction about you,” Remus said cheerfully.

“Remus.”

“What? It’s true. I had to sit next to him in bio while he wrote, and he had no poker face.”

James let out a long, quiet breath of laughter, covering his face again. “Oh my god.”

Remus chuckled too, then softened again, voice low. “It’s been hard for him. Letting you be a person. And not just… you know. The poster.”

James looked back at him, eyes a little distant. “Yeah. I know how that feels.”

They sat like that for a while. In the low light. The quiet. Sirius breathing, Harry snuggled close. James and Remus, shoulder to shoulder now, watching the people they cared about most just rest.

It felt like peace.

And maybe, a little bit, the beginning of something else too.

Chapter 6: The One With The Talk

Notes:

Sirius pushes himself too hard :(

Little bit angsty

The rink was cold, louder than usual. The slap of sticks and the hiss of skates echoed sharp against the boards, sharper still against everything left unsaid.

Sirius was back on the ice, wrapped tightly in extra padding and a compression sleeve under his jersey, his black eye still stark and swollen, lip split at the corner. But his posture was stiff. Not his usual cocky glide—more cautious, measured, like he didn’t trust his body not to betray him.

James noticed it immediately.

From the other side of the rink, he tracked Sirius like a hawk, pretending to check drills, calling out encouragement to the team, but his eyes never really left.

Remus was skating just behind Sirius, a shadow, sticking close. He didn’t say much, but every time Sirius winced, Remus shifted slightly toward him like he might catch him before he fell.

Barty and Evan were practicing slap shots at the far end of the rink, pretending they hadn’t caused a bloody public breakdown two days ago, while Regulus shot death stares at both of them from the bench.

James finally blew the whistle.

"Bring it in!" he barked, louder than necessary.

Everyone slowed and gathered, some still panting, wiping sweat from their brows. Sirius drifted to the back of the huddle, eyes down.

“Listen,” James said, voice firm. “You want to act like drama club, I’ll sign you all up for theater. But if you’re here, you’re on this team, and I expect you to treat each other like it. That means no fighting, no cold-shouldering, no sneaking jabs on the ice or off.”

No one looked directly at him, except Sirius, who briefly glanced up—and James caught it. The flush in Sirius’s ears. The shame. The way he shifted his weight like his skates were burning.

“We all go through shit,” James continued, softer now. “But we do it together. Got it?”

Murmured “yeahs” and “got it, Coach” rippled through the group.

James let them go back to drills, then skated closer to Sirius while everyone dispersed.

“You okay?” he asked lowly, so no one else could hear.

Sirius didn’t meet his eyes. “Fine.”

“You were holding your side after that last stop. I can tell you’re hurting.”

“I’m not sitting out.”

“I didn’t say you had to,” James said, voice gentler now. “Just… don’t kill yourself trying to prove something.”

Sirius didn’t answer. Just skated off to rejoin the line.

James lingered a few seconds longer than he should have, watching the slope of Sirius’s shoulders, the tension he carried like a second jersey.

Remus skated up beside James a moment later, breathless from drills.

“He’s pushing too hard again,” James muttered.

“I know,” Remus said quietly. Then, glancing at James, “He’s scared. Of being seen as weak. Of needing things.”

James looked at him. “And you?”

Remus gave a half-shrug, eyes distant. “I’ve been scared for him since we were fifteen.”

They both turned to watch Sirius intercept a puck with something reckless in the way he moved.

The clatter of skates on concrete echoed off the walls as the team filed out, loud with laughter and towels slung around their necks. It had been a rough practice, but they were mostly unscathed—except Sirius, who moved slowly, like his body wasn’t quite his anymore.

James watched from the far end of the room, tying a knot in his skate bag. Sirius was pale. Too pale. The yellow-purple bruises on his side had deepened since yesterday. He’d taken another hit during drills and winced so sharply James nearly stopped practice then and there.

“Pads off,” James called gently, nodding at him. “You did good today.”

Sirius gave a tired, crooked smile, like it took effort, and then—

He staggered.

Remus was across the room pulling off his sweater when he heard the thud.

“Sirius?”

Sirius lay crumpled on the floor between the benches, his skin ashen, eyes fluttering, breath shallow. Remus was on him in a second, kneeling, shaking his shoulder.

“Sirius—Padfoot—hey, hey, come on—”

“Shit,” James cursed, already yanking out his phone. “Call the medics—now.”

 

The hospital room was cold, sterile, and far too quiet.

James stood stiffly by the window, arms crossed over his chest. Remus sat beside the hospital bed, his hands clutched tightly around Sirius’s limp fingers.

The doctor’s words still echoed in both of their ears:

“His appendix ruptured—likely a few days ago. The trauma from the assault likely triggered it. He’s been running drills, skating, while septic. He’s lucky to be alive.”

James hadn’t let it show then—but he was scared. Terrified.

Remus was worse.

He hadn’t spoken since they arrived—just sat there, shaking slightly, breathing through clenched teeth. But when the doctor left and the door clicked softly shut, the silence broke.

Remus let out a low, shaky breath.

Then another.

Then his whole body folded like paper, his head pressed against Sirius’s arm as the tears started falling.

“I can’t—I can’t live without him,” he whispered, like it was a secret, like it hurt too much to say. “He drives me insane. But I can’t—he’s been my person since we were kids and I—James, I can’t—”

James turned away from the window and came to kneel beside him, carefully, not touching—just there.

Remus looked up through blurred eyes. “Why didn’t we notice? He was—he was skating on a burst appendix and bruised ribs and nothing in his stomach and we were joking about posters—”

“Because he’s good at hiding it,” James said softly, eyes flicking toward Sirius’s still form. “Because he didn’t want anyone to see.”

Remus leaned his forehead against James’s shoulder, finally letting the weight drop, and James reached up, gently steadying him there.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Remus choked.

“He will,” James murmured, voice a little hoarse. “He has to be.”

They sat like that in silence, the beeping of machines the only sound in the room. And Sirius lay there between them, quiet and breathing, as if the world had paused for just a moment, waiting for him to wake up.

The heart monitor beeped softly in the low light, the only sound in the stillness of the room. Remus was curled uncomfortably in the stiff hospital chair, one arm folded over his chest, the other resting on the edge of the bed, just barely brushing Sirius’s arm. James sat perched in the windowsill, hoodie up, cradling a cooling coffee, eyes trained on the bed.

Then, a small groan.

Sirius blinked up at the ceiling like he didn’t recognize it.

“Remus?”

Remus bolted upright. “Sirius?”

Sirius turned his head, eyes glassy, brows furrowed in confusion. “Where... ‘m I?”

James slid off the sill. “Hospital. You had surgery, remember? You passed out at practice.”

Sirius blinked slowly. “Did I die?”

“No, Pads. You’re just high,” Remus said gently, brushing Sirius’s fringe from his forehead. “Very, very high.”

Sirius looked down, moved the blanket—and suddenly gasped like he’d been stabbed anew.

“No.”

Remus flinched. “What? What is it—”

“They shaved me.”

Remus froze. James looked confused.

“My stomach!” Sirius cried, squinting downward in horror. “They SHAVED OFF MY HAPPY TRAIL.”

Remus snorted.

“This is serious, Remus!” Sirius wailed. “I’m not hot anymore!”

James pressed a fist to his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

Sirius was already crying. Big, wobbly, pain-med-fueled tears.

“I worked so hard for that aesthetic. You know how many crop tops I wore? It was a brand, Remus!”

“You’re still hot,” Remus said, trying to soothe him, though he was shaking with silent laughter.

“No I’m not,” Sirius sniffled. “I’m smooth. Like a dolphin. A sad, pathetic, broken dolphin who can’t even play hockey.”

“Pads, you just had emergency surgery. You had a burst appendix. You are the opposite of pathetic,” James said, pulling the blanket back up over him.

Sirius hiccuped. “You’re just saying that because you’re nice. And have stupid arms.”

James blinked. “Sorry?”

“I said your arms are stupid. They’re too... big. And comforting.” He sniffled again. “You smell like cinnamon toast.”

Remus wheezed quietly beside him.

James cleared his throat. “Alright. Time to sleep, Romeo.”

Sirius frowned deeply, blinking up at both of them with damp lashes. “Are you sure I’m not dead?”

Remus reached out and took his hand. “You’re not dead.”

“Okay. But if I was... this would be nice. You and James. Here.”

James’s smile was quiet. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Sirius gave a small, drowsy nod, then frowned again. “I want my happy trail back.”

“You’ll grow it,” Remus said soothingly, brushing his hand down Sirius’s hair. “Stronger than ever.”

“M’gonna hold a vigil,” Sirius mumbled. “For my little tummy hairs.”

James quietly chuckled, and Remus finally let himself rest his head against the side of the bed, their fingers still intertwined.

“I hate this,” Remus whispered after a moment, voice raw. “I hate seeing him like this.”

“I know,” James said, his voice barely audible.

But they stayed there. All night. Just to make sure he wasn’t alone.

The sun was a weak smear behind the hospital blinds when Sirius groaned and cracked one eye open.

His mouth was dry. His head was foggy. Something ached—not just in his side but in his soul—and when he shifted, he felt the strange tug of gauze over his lower stomach.

“Remus,” he croaked.

Remus stirred instantly, lifting his head from the edge of the hospital bed where he’d fallen asleep. “Hey. You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” Sirius muttered, squinting. “What happened? Why’s my mouth taste like… cotton?”

“You were drugged up. Strong stuff. After your surgery.”

Sirius blinked. “Surgery?”

“You had a burst appendix, Pads.”

“Oh. Cool.” Pause. “Wait. WHAT?”

James walked in at that exact moment holding three coffees. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty. You screamed about your happy trail for twenty minutes last night.”

Sirius stared at him.

“Begged Remus to hold a vigil,” James added, handing him a cup.

Remus coughed to cover his laugh.

“No,” Sirius whispered in horror.

“Oh yes,” Remus said sweetly. “You cried. Said you weren’t hot anymore. Called James ‘comforting’ and said he smelled like cinnamon toast.”

Sirius looked like he wanted to slide under the hospital bed and never come back out.

“Oh my God.”

“You also called yourself a ‘sad dolphin,’” James said, sipping his coffee. “Very poetic.”

Sirius pressed a hand to his face. “Please kill me.”

“Nah,” James said cheerfully. “You’ve already had a near-death experience this week. You’re done.”

Remus chuckled. “You’re okay now. That's what matters.”

Sirius peeked at him between his fingers. “Did I say anything else?”

Remus smiled, a little too fond. “Nothing you wouldn’t have said sober.”

Sirius groaned.

James ruffled his hair gently. “We’ll let you pretend it didn’t happen. This time.”

Sirius scowled at him, then blinked. “Wait… did you stay here all night?”

Remus nodded. “Of course.”

James shrugged. “We weren’t going to leave you.”

Something in Sirius’s face shifted—softened. He looked away, suddenly quiet.

James caught the expression and looked at Remus, who just gave him a small, knowing smile.

“I don’t remember everything,” Sirius muttered, “but I remember feeling safe.”

“You were,” James said.

And Sirius nodded, still flushed, but smiling.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

The rink was quiet after practice, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead as James shut the door behind him. Frank was seated behind his desk, sipping a steaming mug of tea, looking tired in the way only coaches ever seemed to.

James gave a half-smile. “You wanted to talk?”

Frank gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.”

James raised a brow, but obeyed. His stomach was already tight.

Frank let a moment of silence stretch out before speaking. “James, you’re a good guy.”

James blinked. “Okay?”

“And you’re a fantastic coach. The boys respect you. Hell, they idolize you.”

James frowned. “Frank, if this is about—”

“It’s about Remus and Sirius.”

James flinched, just slightly.

“I’ve seen the way they look at you,” Frank continued quietly. “And I’ve seen the way you look at them.”

“I haven’t—”

“I know you haven’t,” Frank cut in firmly. “I know you haven’t done anything. You’ve been careful. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t already dangerous.”

James leaned back in the chair, guilt prickling under his skin like heat rash.

“They’re nineteen, James,” Frank said. “You’re almost thirty. That’s a decade.”

“I know how old I am, Frank.”

Frank didn’t flinch. “Do you know how hard it was for either of them to even speak to you at the start? Sirius used to stammer so bad he’d turn red just trying to say ‘Coach.’ Remus had to do all the talking for him.”

James rubbed a hand across his mouth. “They’re adults. They’re in college. I haven’t taken advantage of—”

“They’d let you,” Frank said, voice low. “That’s the point. They’d gladly say yes. You were their hero, James. Their gay awakening. They had posters of you on their bedroom walls, for God’s sake.”

James swallowed hard.

“I’m not saying you meant for it to happen. But you can’t pretend the power imbalance doesn’t exist. You’re not just their coach. You’re their fantasy. That’s not fair to them.”

James stared at the floor. His chest ached.

Frank’s voice gentled. “You’re a good man. That’s why I’m telling you this. Because I know you care about them. And I know you’d never want to hurt them.”

James closed his eyes. “They feel like… mine, Frank. I care about them so much I don’t know what to do with it.”

Frank nodded. “Then be the adult. Be the one who waits. If it’s real, if it’s worth anything, it’ll still be there when the season’s over. When they’re not your players anymore.”

James nodded slowly, jaw tight.

“I know,” he said, voice rough. “You’re right.”

Frank stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know I am.”

🏒₊˚⊹♡

The chill in the rink was sharp, but it wasn’t just the ice that made Sirius shiver.

Wrapped in a hoodie two sizes too big, Sirius sat slumped on the bench, a tangle of crutches and gauze-wrapped limbs. His appendix scar still ached with every twist of his body, but he’d begged Remus to let him come. Begged. Said he was bored, that he missed the guys, that it’d be “fun” to watch drills for two hours.

Remus had given in — reluctantly — but had hovered like a mother hen ever since.

Sirius had expected James to be happy to see him. Or at least crack a grin in his direction.

But James hadn’t so much as looked at him.

“Back to positions!” James barked across the ice, blowing his whistle. He was a streak of motion and authority, his curls tied back, face unreadable. “You two, switch sides. Evans, I want that stick tighter on the ice.”

Not once did his gaze flick to the bench.

Sirius hunched deeper into his hoodie.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” he muttered to Remus, who stood beside him, arms crossed.

Remus didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight. “He’s… being professional.”

Sirius snorted bitterly. “Yeah, well, he was plenty professional while spoon-feeding me soup three days ago.”

Remus flinched slightly.

On the ice, James clapped a hand on Regulus’s shoulder and laughed — short, cold. “Better. Do it again.”

Sirius stared. He wasn’t sure why the laugh cut through him like it did. Maybe because James had always looked at him like he was delicate and bright. Like something special.

Now he looked like a stranger.

“You know what I think?” Sirius said, too sharp. “I think Frank said something to him. I think he ruined it.”

Remus exhaled slowly. “Maybe Frank just reminded him you’re a teenager with stitches and a healing organ and a crush the size of Canada.”

“Remus.”

“I’m just saying.”

Sirius leaned his head back against the wall, suddenly dizzy. “It’s like I’m invisible again.”

“You’re not,” Remus said. “He looks at you. Just not when you’re watching.”

Sirius stayed quiet. On the ice, James blew the whistle again and shouted something. He didn’t look toward the bench once.

Remus gently nudged Sirius’s foot with his own. “You should be resting.”

“I am resting. I’m sitting like an injured little housewife while the love of my life pretends I don’t exist.”

Remus sighed and slumped down next to him.

Sirius rested his head on Remus’s shoulder. Quietly, he added, “Do you think he regrets it? Letting us get close?”

Remus didn’t answer.

But Sirius didn’t need him to.

Sirius had been quiet for the first half of practice.

Too quiet.

Remus should’ve known something was brewing. Sirius wasn’t made for silence — he was all fire and teeth, big gestures and big feelings. So when Remus turned away for one second to grab a Gatorade, and turned back to see Sirius on the ice, he dropped the bottle with a clatter.

“Sirius,” he hissed, scrambling toward the boards. “What the hell are you doing?”

Sirius didn’t answer. His hoodie was gone, replaced with a loose practice jersey over his pads. His helmet sat crooked on his head. He looked pale. Not just I’ve-been-sick pale, but blood-drained, waxy.

But he skated.

A little wobbly, but fast. Determined.

He shot down the ice once, then again, eyes flicking toward James after every turn.

James didn’t look. Not even once.

“Are you insane?” Remus called, stepping out onto the ice himself now. “You’re supposed to be recovering, you absolute idiot!”

Sirius didn’t respond. He was breathing hard. Too hard. Remus noticed it then — the red.

First a little bloom of it, leaking through Sirius’s white jersey just above the waist. Then more. A spreading, soaking stain.

“Oh my god—”

Sirius stumbled mid-lap, legs giving out, and collapsed hard onto the ice with a groan.

“SIRIUS!”

Remus was beside him in seconds, sliding to his knees. There was blood, so much of it, seeping through the fabric of his undershirt, staining his pads, dripping to the ice.

“Shit, shit—don’t move—don’t move—”

The whistle blew.

Finally.

James was shouting. Players scrambled.

But it was Remus who snapped to his feet first. He turned, eyes wild, storming straight toward James like he was ready to hit something.

James had already knelt by Sirius, panic on his face.

“Don’t,” Remus said, voice low and shaking. “Don’t even fucking touch him right now.”

James blinked, stunned. “Remus—”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?” Remus screamed, loud enough to silence the rink. “You let him moon over you like a lovesick puppy. And then you give him attention — everything he’s dreamed about since he was eleven — and then rip it away like it was nothing?!”

James flinched. The rest of the team stood frozen.

Remus’s fists were clenched at his sides. His voice broke. “You don’t get to do that. Not to him. Not when he already thinks he’s unlovable. Not when he’s spent his whole life being tossed aside like trash.”

James opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Sirius groaned behind them.

Remus’s eyes went back to the ice, to the boy bleeding and shaking and trying to stay conscious.

“Call an ambulance,” he said. “Now.”

🏒₊˚⊹♡

The fluorescent lights made everything too bright, too sharp.

James sat against the wall in the hallway, his hands covered in dried blood — Sirius’s blood — still shaking from the adrenaline. Remus was pacing across from him, arms wrapped tightly around himself, face drawn and pale. He hadn’t spoken since they’d arrived.

Behind the closed curtain, Sirius had been crying out in pain as they removed his pads and jersey. He had gone quiet after a while. Too quiet.

And then—

"Coach?" came a soft, broken voice from behind the curtain. Then, louder: "James?"

James shot up.

The nurse saw him and nodded. “You can come in now. He’s asking for you.”

Remus hesitated, looked like he wanted to argue. But instead, he turned away and scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

James stepped inside slowly.

Sirius lay curled on the hospital bed, covered in warm blankets. His face was pale and wet, his eyes red-rimmed and glossy. The bruising on his torso was worse now — purple-black stretches across his ribs and stomach, raw, angry wounds wrapped in gauze. His hands were trembling where they gripped the sheet.

“Hey,” James said softly. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“I’m not okay,” Sirius whispered.

James moved closer.

Sirius turned his face into the pillow, his voice muffled. “I was pretending. For days. Pretending it didn’t hurt. That I wasn’t scared. That I wasn’t falling apart.”

James’s heart cracked.

“I wanted you to look at me again,” Sirius whispered. “You didn’t. You didn’t even look. So I thought maybe if I skated, if I pushed hard enough, you would. And it hurt so bad, James. It’s been hurting so bad and I didn’t say anything because I wanted you to look at me.”

James stepped forward, gently placing a hand on the edge of the bed.

“I see you, Sirius,” he said softly, trying not to choke on the guilt in his throat. “I always saw you.”

“You stopped talking to me,” Sirius said. “You acted like I was just… nothing. And I know it’s not your fault. I know I made everything messy. But I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

His whole body was trembling now. Silent tears slid down his cheeks.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered. “Everything hurts. My body hurts. My head. My heart. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

James knelt by the bed, eye level with him. “You don’t have to fix it alone.”

Sirius looked at him, eyes glassy, and nodded slightly, exhausted and open in a way James had never seen before.

“I was so scared,” he whispered. “I thought I was dying.”

James swallowed, hard. “Me too.”

And then Sirius reached for him — shakily, blindly — and James caught his hand in his own, threading their fingers together carefully, like he was afraid to hurt him more.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said again. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

James gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to do anything except let us help you.”

There was a soft rustling behind him — Remus stepping inside the room, quietly, holding a fresh cup of water with a straw. His face was blotchy from crying, but calm now.

Sirius smiled faintly when he saw him. “Hi, Moons.”

Remus blinked fast and came to the other side of the bed, handing over the water.

“I missed you,” Sirius whispered.

Remus let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. “I missed you too, Pads.”

And for a little while, no one said anything else.

James sat back in the hospital chair, his head resting on one fist, watching Sirius blink lazily up at the ceiling tiles.

There was a pause. Then:

"Why were you ignoring me?" Sirius asked, voice thin and loose with the drugs.

James looked up.

Sirius turned his head slowly, expression soft and open in a way he never allowed himself to be while conscious and guarded. His pupils were blown, lips chapped. The bruises across his collarbone had already started to yellow. He looked wrecked. He looked real.

James sighed, carefully. “Sirius... I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

Sirius blinked.

“But James,” he slurred, voice dipping in and out of clarity, “we can be friends.”

James winced. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Sirius—”

“I miss talking to you,” Sirius said suddenly, and it hit James like a shot to the chest. “I miss you acting happy at practice. I miss the dumb golden retriever who slips into Spanish when he gets excited.” Sirius smiled faintly. “I miss Harry. I miss all of it. And it hurts in here.” He lightly thumped his fist against his own chest. “Not the bruises. The rest.”

James closed his eyes.

“Okay, Sirius,” he said quietly. “We’ll be friends.”

Sirius beamed, a bit loopy and sleepy. “Really?”

“Really.”

There was a pause, and then Sirius asked, almost shyly:

“Can I still see Harry?”

James opened his eyes. “Of course you can.”

“Are you planning to go public with him soon?”

James huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah, I was thinking about it. The season’s almost over. They’ll find out eventually.”

Sirius nodded sagely, eyelids drooping. “Okay. Good. He’d hate being a secret.”

“He would.”

Sirius tugged the blanket tighter under his chin. “You’re gonna be a good dad.”

James’s throat caught.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

Sirius yawned, then wrinkled his nose. “So am I suspended?”

“You’re not playing for a month.”

Sirius let out a dramatic gasp. “That’s so mean.”

“Doctor’s orders.”

“Still mean.”

James smiled. “Too bad.”

Sirius pouted. “Can I still come to practice?”

“Yes, but only to watch. You sit your ass on that bench, Black.”

“Yessir.”

“And if you so much as touch a skate, I’m calling your nurse.”

Sirius nodded seriously. “I promise. I just wanna be there.”

James’s smile faded to something more gentle, more sad.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Because we want you there too.”

Sirius, already halfway asleep again, whispered, “'kay… coach…”

And James sat beside him, watching him drift off, the echoes of his words still curling in the quiet hospital room like breath on glass.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

ch
The next day, Sirius was discharged from the hospital with strict instructions to rest for the next month. It was hard for him to sit still; he felt restless, like the rink was calling him, and though he was still a bit groggy from the meds, his need to be near the ice was stronger than his exhaustion.

The moment the car pulled up to the rink, Sirius was already pulling at his jacket, trying to get out despite Remus’s protests. “Sirius, you should be resting!”

But Sirius just waved him off, and with an exaggerated sigh, Remus couldn’t help but relent. “Alright, but just sit there. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Sirius smirked, only half-listening, and trudged to the rink entrance. He just wanted to see the team again, to be part of it — even if he was stuck on the sidelines for the time being.

When he walked into the rink, his eyes immediately found the bench area. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he didn’t expect James to be there. But there he was, grinning widely as he bent down to whisper something to Harry, who was cradled in his arms.

“Si’Wus!!!” Harry cried out in excitement, as soon as he spotted Sirius.

Sirius’s face lit up. He hadn’t seen Harry in days, and the sight of the little toddler calling out his name made his heart squeeze.

James, who had been watching Sirius’s arrival with a careful eye, smiled, setting Harry down onto the floor. The little boy stumbled forward, his arms outstretched toward Sirius. “Si'Wus, come play!” Harry demanded, his words still a little garbled in the most adorable way.

Sirius chuckled, kneeling down as best as he could. “Hey, little man. I missed you.” He opened his arms, and Harry ran into them with a delighted squeal.

James chuckled at the sight, then caught Frank’s eye from across the rink. Frank raised an eyebrow, a look of mild concern on his face. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes spoke volumes — he knew James had been under a lot of scrutiny already, and now, bringing Harry here? It was sure to cause a stir.

James simply gave him a small, almost apologetic shrug, choosing to ignore it for the moment. “Hey, Frank!” he called out casually, trying to act like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Just making sure Sirius has company. He’s been in the hospital for days. I thought he could use a little distraction.”

Frank didn’t respond, but his gaze lingered on James a little longer than usual before he returned to managing the rest of the team.

Sirius, still sitting on the bench, looked up at James with a small smile, cradling Harry in his lap. “Thanks for bringing him. It’s good to see him again.”

James nodded, stepping closer to the bench, his eyes flicking to the ice where the team was starting to warm up. He could hear their chatter and the scrape of skates against ice. It was a familiar, comforting sound, one he couldn’t quite shake. “Yeah, I thought it might make your day. Besides, Harry really missed you.”

Sirius looked at the toddler snuggled in his arms, a soft smile curling on his lips. “I can tell. He’s the best.”

James couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him as he watched them. Seeing Sirius so soft, so gentle with Harry, made something stir inside him. His thoughts paused just as he was about to speak, and for a moment, all he could focus on was the little family they had quietly become, in a way that felt entirely unspoken but real.

Frank shot one more quick look in their direction before turning away, muttering something under his breath. James could tell Frank was worried about the potential fallout — but James couldn’t bring himself to care. The moment felt too precious. He knew the team dynamics would be rocky for a while, but Harry was here, and that’s all that mattered in that moment.

“James…” Sirius’s voice was quiet, but it pulled James out of his thoughts. He turned to see the soft look in Sirius’s eyes. “You’ve been a good friend to me, you know that?”

James felt his heart skip a beat. “Sirius, I—”

Sirius held up a hand, cutting him off. “You’ve made me feel like I matter, even when I thought I didn’t. I needed that.”

James swallowed thickly, emotions bubbling up he didn’t quite know how to handle. It wasn’t the first time someone had thanked him, but it felt different with Sirius. Real. True.

Before he could say anything back, Harry interrupted again with a loud giggle, bouncing in Sirius's lap. “Si’Wus, let’s play hockey!”

Sirius grinned. “I think someone’s got a little future player on their hands.”

James laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s already better than me.”

Sirius chuckled, the warmth in his chest spreading. “Well, I’m not playing today, but I’ll watch. Maybe you’ll teach him to skate, huh?”

“Maybe I will,” James said with a smile. “You just focus on getting better. You’re not going anywhere yet.”

Sirius smiled back, his eyes softening as he looked at James. Harry snuggled closer to him, nuzzling into his chest, the soft sound of his breathing filling the space between them.

In that moment, everything felt like it was falling into place.

The whistle blew, and practice wound down, the clatter of skates slowing as the team circled to a stop. Sirius, still on the bench, was gently bouncing Harry in his arms, smiling tiredly but more alive than he’d looked in days. James stood just beside them, arms folded, trying not to look like he was eavesdropping on a conversation he was very much a part of.
Remus had come down from the stands after scribbling in his notebook — probably charting drills or secretly doodling Sirius’s hair again — and was now standing behind the bench with his usual quiet alertness.
The others filtered toward them, one by one.
Evan was first, towel slung over his neck, raising an eyebrow. “Wait. Potter has a kid?”
Barty appeared right behind him, wide-eyed. “God, it’s adorable,” he said, reaching out for Harry. “Can I hold him?”
Before anyone could answer, Regulus shoved in between them with his usual sneer. “It’s a he, Bartemius.”
Barty didn’t miss a beat. “Shut the fuck up, Regulus.”
Evan gasped, smacking Barty on the arm. “Guys, don’t say fuck in front of the baby!”
Harry, now perched happily in Barty’s arms, blinked at all of them, head wobbling slightly as he giggled. “Fuh–fuh…” he tried to repeat.
“Don’t you dare,” James muttered with a grin, pointing a warning finger.
But Harry ignored them all, staring up at Barty with serious eyes and then turning toward Sirius and Remus. With the innocent confidence of a toddler, he declared, “My daddy talks about Rem y Si’wus all the time.”
There was a pause. Barty froze mid-bounce. Evan blinked. Regulus looked like he’d been slapped.
James groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Harry…”
But Harry, proud of himself, beamed and clung to Barty like he’d just revealed something very important. “He says Si’wus is funny and Rem is the smart one!”
Sirius flushed so red that even the bruises couldn’t hide it. He looked down at his lap, then peeked at James through his lashes, muttering, “I—uh—I mean—he probably didn’t mean—”
Remus, on the other hand, didn’t say a word. Just turned his face away slightly, jaw clenched, ears bright pink.
James cleared his throat. “Okay. Time to distract the toddler before he outs my entire emotional history.”
But Harry was already giggling, burying his face in Barty’s chest. “He says Si’wus is beauti—”
“Alright!” James interrupted, snatching Harry from Barty as quickly as humanly possible. “Snack time! Anyone want goldfish crackers?!”
Barty whistled low. “Dude.”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “This is a disaster.”
Evan was already cooing at Harry again. “Wait, what else did Daddy say?”
James groaned. “Practice is over. Everyone out.”
But even as they filed away, half-laughing, half-lingering, Sirius was staring at Harry, eyes soft, while Remus just stood beside them in stunned silence.
James held Harry tighter, looking back at them both.
“I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” he said quietly.
And Sirius, barely above a whisper, replied, “Yeah. But I think we already knew.”

Chapter 7: The One With The Goldfish

Summary:

"BATTY, EV, AND REG'LUS WERE CUDDLING!" Harry announced loudly, his voice clear across the room, causing several heads to snap toward him.

He paused, and then, in true toddler style, smirked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “SIN ROPA,” he added, throwing in the Spanish for extra dramatic flair.

Notes:

PLEASE NOTE THE RATING CHANGE. This story does have smut in it. As always YOU DO NOT have to read it. It is signaled with this signaling the beggining and ending of the smut ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

James had just sat Harry on his hip, his callused fingers splayed over the toddler’s back, when he noticed Remus and Sirius making absolutely panicked eye contact behind them.

Harry tugged on James’s collar urgently, cupping a sticky hand around his mouth as if delivering a classified message.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy—”

James grinned, already tired from practice but never too tired for this. “What’s up, niño hermoso?”

Harry beamed, clearly thrilled at being called that. “I need you. Uppies.”

“You are up,” James teased, bouncing him gently. “But okay, love. What do you need?”

Harry pressed his cheek to James’s temple, then whispered loudly, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

Sirius, still sore and sitting on the bench, immediately sat bolt upright. “Harry—”

Remus made a strangled sound next to him. “Maybe not—maybe don’t—”

But it was too late.

Harry, completely undeterred by the panicking adults, whispered very solemnly:

“Si’wus and Rem were talking about you.”

James blinked. “They were?”

Harry nodded like he was divulging nuclear secrets. “They said what you were saying about them, that you were beautiful—hermoso—and had really nice hair, pelo, and that you were so happy, and you don’t act happy as much anymore. And you aren’t so… so en-ener… emocionado.”

James’s mouth parted slightly.

Harry went on, tiny hands now playing with the laces of James’s hoodie. “And that makes them sad. Mala.” He squinted, trying to remember. “And they said you kissed a beam.”

“A… beam?” James echoed.

Harry nodded vigorously. “You kissed it, and it was very dramatic. And they like when you slip into Spanish. You only do that when you’re happy, Remus said.”

Behind them, Remus had one hand over his face, groaning softly.

Sirius looked like he might actually die of embarrassment.

James… was still holding Harry, mouth twitching slightly at the corners.

He looked over Harry’s curls and met Remus’s eyes. Remus dropped his hand slowly and gave a tiny, sheepish shrug.

Then James turned his head and caught Sirius’s eye, and Sirius winced like he’d been hit by a truck made entirely of feelings.

James just held Harry tighter and murmured, “Thanks for telling me, mi sol.”

Harry squirmed, satisfied. “Can I have snack now?”

“Absolutely. You’ve earned it.”

He set Harry down carefully and watched as he toddled toward Remus, already babbling about galletas and something about Sirius’s boo-boos.

James stayed still for a moment, then finally looked back at them.

“So,” he said, voice just a little rough. “Kissing beams, huh?”

Remus groaned again.

Sirius buried his face in his hands.

James smiled, very softly, and added, “For the record… you’re both very right about the hair thing.”

Later that evening, after practice had ended and everyone had scattered to their respective places, James headed home, his mind still tangled up with everything that had happened during the day.

The car ride was quiet, with Harry in his booster seat in the back, occasionally chattering about something that only made sense in his toddler language—his small hands holding up his toy car and making revving sounds.

James couldn’t help but smile at the little moments, the peace of it all. But his thoughts kept circling back to Remus and Sirius, to what Harry had said—that you kissed a beam, and they like when you slip into Spanish—and the way both of them seemed to avoid him in the days before. Remus’s awkward silence, Sirius’s distant glances.

When they arrived back at the apartment, James unbuckled Harry from his seat and lifted him out, holding him against his side. As he fumbled for his keys, Harry babbled excitedly, wiggling to get down.

“Alright, kiddo,” James said, grinning. “Let’s get you in for your snack and storytime before bed, yeah?”

Harry squirmed out of his arms and bolted for the door. “I go first!” he called, his little legs moving as fast as they could.

James followed him inside, shaking his head in amusement. Harry ran straight for his toys, calling for James to join him.

But as James watched him, the smile slowly faded from his face as his thoughts settled back on Sirius and Remus.

It wasn’t just the kiss or the beam. It was how Sirius had looked at him, the way Remus had quietly confessed that they missed him.

James knew he was older. He knew exactly what Frank meant. And, honestly, part of him agreed. They were younger—so much younger. But the way they looked at him, the way they cared about him? He couldn’t just ignore it.

“Daddy!” Harry squealed, interrupting his thoughts.

James shook himself out of the haze, looking down at his son. Harry was holding out a plastic dinosaur for him to play with, a wide grin on his face.

“Coming, Nino hermoso,” James said, sitting down beside him.

For the rest of the evening, he let the worries fade into the background. They played, they ate, and eventually, Harry fell asleep in his arms after a bedtime story. James carried him to his crib and tucked him in, brushing his fingers over his son’s soft hair.

As he turned to leave the room, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, eyes scanning the screen for the message.

It was from Remus.

“Are you free tonight?”

James paused for a moment, feeling his heart rate pick up slightly. His fingers hovered over the keys as he thought about what to say.

He hadn’t been sure how to approach things with them since everything had come out in the open. But Harry’s innocent words kept echoing in his mind.

Finally, he typed back.

“Yeah. I’m free. Are you both okay?”

A few seconds later, Remus replied.

“We’re fine. Can we come by?”

James hesitated for a moment before replying.

“Of course. I’ll be here.”

A knot tightened in his chest, but there was something else there too. Something hopeful.

As he sat down on the couch, waiting for them to arrive, James realized something important—he wasn’t just scared of the situation anymore. He wasn’t scared of how he felt about them, either.

And, when they arrived, he would have the conversation he knew they needed to have. About everything.

For now, though, he’d let Harry’s giggles and their quiet night together soothe him.
The knock on the door startled James, pulling him out of his thoughts. He stood up quickly, his hand still gripping his phone, and made his way over to the door. When he opened it, Remus and Sirius were standing there, both looking a bit more put-together than they had been the past few days. But there was still something tense between them, a quiet distance that James couldn’t quite ignore.

Sirius nodded toward James, his gaze flickering briefly to the apartment before he looked back at James. "We need to talk to you about Regulus, Evan, and Barty."

James blinked, a little surprised by the directness of the statement. "Okay, come in," he said, stepping aside to let them in. He closed the door behind them and turned to face them both, his brows furrowing slightly.

Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance, and it didn’t escape James’s notice that they were still standing somewhat apart. Remus was the first to speak, his voice low but serious. "It's getting out of hand. The situation with Regulus, Evan, and Barty—it’s creating tension among the team, and we need to address it before it goes any further."

Sirius nodded in agreement, his arms crossed over his chest. "It’s becoming more than just petty drama. Regulus is already struggling with his feelings for Barty, and now Evan’s… well, he’s trying to one-up Barty all the time, but it’s not helping anything. The tension’s spilling over into practice, and it's affecting everyone, not just them."

James was silent for a moment, absorbing their words. He had seen the occasional flare-up between Regulus and Evan, but he hadn't realized how deep it had gotten. And with Barty in the mix? It sounded like a recipe for disaster.

"We need a solution," Remus continued. "And we need it fast. It’s distracting everyone, including us. Practice has been… well, a mess lately, and we can’t let it affect our performance. Not when the season’s still ahead of us."

James nodded, his mind starting to whirl with ideas. He hadn’t thought about just how much this conflict could affect the team dynamic. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that if they didn’t do something, it could completely derail the entire season.

"I get it," James said, his voice calm but resolute. "I’ll call a team meeting. We’ll get this out in the open and figure it out. No more avoiding it. This needs to stop now before it gets worse."

Remus looked relieved at his response, but Sirius was quieter, his jaw clenched as he nodded. James could tell that Sirius wasn’t entirely happy about the situation, but there was something else in his eyes—maybe frustration, maybe exhaustion—but whatever it was, it seemed to weigh heavily on him.

"Thanks, James," Remus said, his tone softening a little. "We needed to talk about this with you. And… we appreciate it."

James smiled slightly, though his mind was still processing everything. "Of course. I’ve got your back, both of you." He glanced at Sirius, who met his gaze for a moment before looking away. "We’re a team, and we need to act like one."

Sirius gave a short, tight nod, clearly still holding onto some lingering tension, but James knew they were all in this together.

"We’ll handle it," James said, his voice steady. "Now, let’s focus on what needs to be done. Let’s get through this and move forward."

With that, the three of them fell into a more comfortable silence, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air. James was beginning to feel the weight of leadership settling on his shoulders, but for the first time in a while, he was starting to feel like he was ready to handle it. He wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

"We’ll make it through," James said, his tone more determined than before. "And we’ll come out stronger."

Sirius and Remus both looked at him, and for a brief moment, their distance seemed to close. It wasn’t a perfect moment, but it was a start.

The next day at practice, James was back to his usual ADHD-infused, golden retriever self. He bounded across the rink, cracking jokes and encouraging the team with an energy that was almost infectious. His usual buoyant personality returned, and it was clear he was doing everything he could to keep the mood light and focused, despite the simmering tension between certain players.

"Come on, guys! We need those passes crisper! Think about the puck like a delicious sandwich—don't let it fall apart!" James called, grinning from ear to ear as he jogged along the ice, a stark contrast to the more serious vibe that had taken hold of practice lately.

Remus and Sirius, still sticking to their more professional demeanor, were quietly doing their own drills, but their eyes occasionally flicked to James. It wasn’t that they were ignoring him, but their posture had changed. The warmth that had once existed between them and James, especially in those more casual moments, had been tempered by the events of the past week. They were still adjusting, and it showed. But James didn’t seem to mind. His focus was on the team and keeping the mood light.

Regulus, Barty, and Evan, however, were a different story. The three of them were locked in a constant state of tension, their tempers flaring at the slightest provocation. Regulus was sharp-tongued, snapping at Barty, who, in turn, was just as quick to shoot back. Evan, always the mediator in these situations, was getting increasingly frustrated, his patience wearing thin.

"Potter, what the hell is wrong with these idiots?" Barty muttered to James, who was skating by and attempting to coach them through some drills. "Can’t even get through a single pass without yelling at each other."

James rolled his eyes but kept his voice light. "They’re working through some issues. I’ll talk to them after practice, don’t worry."

Evan shot a glare at Barty, his eyebrows furrowed. "Don’t tell me you’re getting all preachy now, Potter. You’re as clueless as usual."

"Maybe I should have taken a job with the circus instead," James quipped, not missing a beat. He flashed a grin, trying to lighten the mood, but Regulus snapped back at him immediately.

"You wouldn’t know a real problem if it hit you in the face, Potter."

James blinked, caught off guard by the harshness in Regulus’s tone. "Whoa, easy there, Reg," he said, holding up his hands in a mock surrender. "I’m just trying to keep things together."

Sirius, who had been watching the scene from the bench where he had been assigned to rest due to his ongoing recovery, stiffened visibly at the verbal spat between the three players. He clenched his jaw, his eyes dark with frustration as he observed Regulus, Barty, and Evan essentially tearing each other apart.

"James," Remus said quietly, skating up beside him with a concerned look in his eyes, "maybe it’s time to step in."

James nodded, his grin dropping as he took in the volatile situation. He knew he couldn’t let things spiral further, but he was also keenly aware of how touchy everyone was after the recent incidents. The tension between Regulus, Barty, and Evan had been building for days, and it was clear that it wasn’t just a team issue anymore—it was personal.

"I’ll handle it," James said, his voice firm, though he was still trying to maintain his usual lightheartedness.

He skated toward the trio, hoping that his charm would be enough to at least diffuse the immediate confrontation. "Alright, boys," James said with a cocky grin, "how about we dial down the yelling for a second? We’re supposed to be teammates, not enemies. Let’s remember that, yeah?"

But as usual, the situation didn’t go as planned. Regulus rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, "I don’t need you playing therapist, Potter."

"Maybe you should," Evan retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Seems like you’ve got a lot to work out."

Sirius, still on the bench, felt the urge to get up, to step in, but the remnants of his injuries—still tender and painful—kept him frozen in place. His anger flared, but he stayed still, biting his lip and glaring at the rink. Every part of him wanted to yell, to jump in, but he knew he couldn’t yet. Not while he was benched. Not while he was still healing.

Remus, however, could see how much it was eating at Sirius. He placed a hand on his shoulder, a quiet gesture, but one that seemed to help him center himself a little.

"Let it go, Sirius," Remus said softly. "We’ll handle it later. Right now, we need to focus on getting through this practice."

But Sirius just nodded absently, his gaze still locked on the three players. "I hate this," he muttered under his breath.

The practice continued, the tension in the air thick and unrelenting, but despite the conflicts and the simmering emotions, James continued to push through with the same energy, trying to keep things moving forward. He was determined to keep the team on track, even if it meant playing the role of the clown to distract everyone from the chaos unfolding just beneath the surface.

As practice finally came to an end, James skated over to the trio of bickering players, his eyes narrowed in warning. "Alright, enough," he said, his tone no longer playful. "I’m calling a meeting. You three—figure it out. We can’t keep doing this. Not with everything on the line."

Regulus, Barty, and Evan exchanged glances, and for a brief moment, it seemed like there might be a glimmer of understanding in their eyes. But the air was still thick with hostility, and James knew that he would have to address it all, sooner rather than later.

Sirius watched silently from the bench, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. And for a moment, James couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze, the silent judgment. But he didn’t let it stop him. He couldn’t.

"We’re a team," James muttered to himself, as if reminding himself more than anything. "And we’ll get through this. Together."

As the last player left the rink, the locker room grew quiet. The clatter of sticks and skates faded into the background as Regulus, Barty, and Evan remained, tensions still palpable in the air. James had left earlier, his stern words echoing in their minds, but nothing had been resolved.

Regulus, already dressed, stood near his locker, his eyes narrowed with frustration. Barty and Evan were a few steps away, still in their gear, but clearly ready to continue their earlier argument.

"You’ve got a serious problem with me, don’t you, Barty?" Regulus muttered, his voice cold and biting.

Barty snorted, turning to face him. "Don’t act like you’re innocent, Reg. You’ve been on my case for weeks. You’re just jealous."

"Jealous?" Regulus laughed darkly, stepping closer. "Of you? Please. I couldn’t care less. I just want you to stop pretending like we’re friends."

Evan, who had been silently watching the exchange, finally stepped forward. "Oh, this is rich," he scoffed. "Regulus, you think you’re so much better than us, don’t you?"

"Better than you?" Regulus shot back, stepping into Evan’s space. "I don’t think that. I know that."

The heated words bounced off the locker room walls, and it felt like the air was charged with electricity. The tension between the three of them, always simmering under the surface, had finally reached a breaking point.

"You’re both fucking insufferable," Barty spat, his eyes flicking between Evan and Regulus. "Always acting like everything’s a goddamn competition."

"I’m not the one who’s been acting like a fucking child," Regulus sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Maybe if you two weren’t so obsessed with each other, we’d actually get somewhere."

That’s when it happened—almost in sync. Both Barty and Evan, frustrated and fed up, moved in. Barty grabbed Regulus by the collar, and Evan immediately pressed against him, forcing him into the lockers. It was sudden, and without thinking, their lips met in a fierce, almost violent kiss. The world seemed to freeze for a moment, the clash of emotions overwhelming them all.

At first, it was hard to tell who had initiated what. The anger, the pain, the years of unresolved tension built up until it exploded into something raw. Barty’s grip tightened on Regulus, his hand at the back of his head, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Evan, equally desperate, slid his hands along Regulus’s sides, shoving him further into the lockers as if to prove some point that they were beyond talking now.

The heated clash of lips didn’t last long before Barty pulled away just enough to catch his breath. "You really think I can’t handle you, Reg?" he breathed, his words sharp and seething with barely restrained passion.

Regulus smirked, eyes wild with frustration. "Try me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The challenge was clear, and before anyone could react, Evan kissed him again—this time, gentler, more urgent. The kind of kiss that was filled with an intensity that came from something much deeper than just anger.

Barty stepped back slightly, watching the two of them now, his expression unreadable. He crossed his arms, his chest heaving with shallow breaths as he tried to regain control of the situation.

This was no longer just an argument. It was something far more complicated—something they couldn’t just walk away from.

The sounds of their heated kiss echoed in the otherwise silent locker room, mixed with the soft clinking of locker doors and the rustling of uniforms. The trio was caught in a whirlwind of emotions, and it was unclear if they were fighting to win or to give in.

The air between them was charged with an unspoken agreement—there would be no going back from this. The moment had passed the point of no return, and whatever happened next, they would have to face the consequences together.

But for now, all that existed was the heat of their breath, the clash of their lips, and the silent acknowledgment that this was far more than they had ever expected.

The intensity between them escalated quickly, the initial shock of their confrontation melting into something primal and urgent. Evan's hands roamed Regulus's body, tracing the contours of his muscles through his thin shirt, while Barty watched, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Regulus, caught between them, felt a surge of power and desire. He reached up, grabbing Evan by the back of the neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss, his tongue exploring Evan's mouth with a hunger that matched their earlier anger.

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Barty, not wanting to be left out, moved in closer, his hands joining Evan's in their exploration. He gripped Regulus's hips, pulling him tightly against him, so Regulus could feel the hardness pressing against his thigh. Regulus let out a low groan, a sound that was part frustration, part pleasure. He broke the kiss with Evan just long enough to turn his head and capture Barty's lips, his teeth nipping at Barty's lower lip before sucking it gently into his mouth.

Evan, not one to be sidelined, began to unbutton Regulus's shirt, his fingers deft and sure despite the urgency of the moment. He pushed the fabric aside, his palms pressing against Regulus's bare chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. Regulus shivered at the touch, his body responding to the dual stimulation. He reached down, his hands finding the waistbands of both Barty and Evan's pants, and began to push them down, wanting to feel more, to give in to the raw need that was consuming them all.

Barty kicked off his pants, his boxers following suit, his erection springing free. He reached for Regulus, his hands gripping his ass, lifting him slightly as he ground against him. Regulus moaned, the sound muffled by Evan's mouth, which was now trailing kisses down his neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Evan's hands were busy, unbuckling Regulus's belt, pushing his pants down to his thighs, his cock straining against his boxers.

Regulus reached down, his hand wrapping around Evan's length, stroking him slowly, feeling the velvety smoothness of his skin. Evan let out a hiss of pleasure, his hips bucking into Regulus's touch. Barty, not to be outdone, reached between them, his hand joining Regulus's, both of them stroking Evan in tandem, their movements synchronized in a way that spoke of a deeper understanding, a shared need.

The locker room filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing, the wet slaps of their kisses, and the occasional moan of pleasure. Regulus, sandwiched between them, felt a surge of dominance. He pushed Barty back slightly, turning his attention fully to Evan. He dropped to his knees, his eyes never leaving Evan's as he took him into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive head.

Barty watched, his own hand wrapping around his length, stroking himself in time with Regulus's movements. Evan's head fell back, a low groan escaping his lips as Regulus took him deeper, his hand cupping Evan's balls, rolling them gently in his palm. The sight was too much for Barty, who stepped forward, his hand tangling in Regulus's hair, guiding his movements, urging him on.

Evan's hips began to move, his body taking over, fucking Regulus's mouth with abandon. Regulus welcomed it, his own cock aching with need, pre-cum leaking from the tip. He reached down, stroking himself in time with Evan's thrusts, the dual sensation driving him wild.

Barty, seeing the need in Regulus's eyes, dropped to his knees behind him, his hands gripping Regulus's hips, his tongue tracing the crack of his ass. Regulus moaned around Evan's cock, the vibration sending shivers down Evan's spine. Barty's tongue circled his hole, teasing, tasting, before pushing inside, fucking him with his tongue in a way that left them both desperate for more.

The room was a symphony of pleasure, the sounds of their bodies coming together, the wetness of their mouths, the harshness of their breaths. Regulus pulled away from Evan, turning to kiss Barty, tasting himself on Barty's lips, the realization sending a fresh wave of desire through him.

He stood, pulling both of them up with him, his body pressing against theirs, his cock leaking against their stomachs. "I want you both," he said, his voice hoarse with need. "I want to feel you both inside me."

Evan and Barty exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. They moved as one, guiding Regulus to the bench, laying him down gently, their bodies covering his, their mouths exploring every inch of his skin. Hands roamed, touching, teasing, driving Regulus to the brink of madness.

Evan positioned himself at Regulus's entrance, his cock slick with lube, his eyes locked on Regulus's as he pushed inside, inch by inch, the stretch and burn a pleasure all its own. Regulus moaned, his head throwing back, his body arching off the bench, urging Evan deeper.

Barty, not wanting to be left out, straddled Regulus's chest, his cock pressing against Regulus's lips. Regulus opened willingly, taking Barty into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head, tasting the salty pre-cum that leaked from the tip.

The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure, the slapping of skin, the wet sucks and moans, the harsh breaths of men pushed to the brink. Evan began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm, his body angled so that he could watch Barty fuck Regulus's mouth.

Regulus was sandwiched between them, his body on fire, his mind a blur of pleasure. He reached down, his hand wrapping around his own cock, stroking in time with Evan's thrusts, the sensation of being filled, of pleasing them both, driving him wild.

Barty's hands were in Regulus's hair, guiding his movements, his hips moving in sync with Evan's, their bodies a tangle of limbs, a dance of pleasure. The room spun, the world narrowed to the three of them, to the sensations that coursed through their bodies, to the need that consumed them.

Evan's movements became erratic, his body tensing, his breath coming in short gasps. "I'm close," he ground out, his voice hoarse with effort. Regulus moaned around Barty's cock, the vibration sending Barty over the edge. He came with a shout, his body convulsing as he spilled into Regulus's mouth, his hot seed coating Regulus's tongue.

The taste of Barty, the feel of Evan inside him, the scent of their sweat and desire, it was all too much. Regulus's body tensed, his own release ripping through him, his cock pulsing in his hand, his body arching off the bench as he came undone.

Evan, feeling Regulus's release, let out a low groan, his body stilling as he found his own pleasure, his seed spilling into Regulus, marking him, claiming him.

They collapsed in a heap, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The room was silent, the only sound the beating of their hearts, the soft sighs of pleasure, the occasional shiver as their bodies came down from the high.

Regulus, sandwiched between them, felt a sense of contentment, of satisfaction. He had pushed them, and they had pushed back, and in the end, they had all found what they needed. The locker room, once a place of tension and anger, was now a sanctuary of pleasure, a testament to the raw, primal need that bound them together.

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The next morning, The locker room door swung open with a loud bang, and the sound of squeaky sneakers echoed off the tiled walls.

"Morning, boys!" James called out, golden-retriever energy at full tilt as he strode in, Harry balanced on one hip and clutching a juice box. "Frank said y’all needed more protein bars in here—oh."

He froze mid-step.

In the middle of the room, tangled up in a pile of limbs, blankets, and definitely not enough clothing, were Regulus, Evan, and Barty. One of Regulus’s legs was slung over Barty’s hip, Evan’s arm was tossed haphazardly across both of them, and all three had the dazed, blinking expressions of people who had clearly forgotten where they were… or what time it was.

James’s eyes went wide as he registered hickeys, smeared eyeliner, and Regulus blinking up at him in horror with a very impressive bite mark on his collarbone.

“…When I said to relieve your tension,” James deadpanned, “this was not what I meant.”

“¡Papá!” Harry shouted cheerily. “Are they doing cuddles?”

James, now backpedaling rapidly, slapped a hand over Harry’s eyes like it was muscle memory. “Nope, absolutely not, these are not approved team cuddles, this is—this is a disciplinary meeting waiting to happen—Regulus.”

Regulus groaned and rolled over to hide his face. “Please, just kill me.”

Barty was already sitting up, trying and failing to get his shirt back on while elbowing Evan in the ribs. “Can we not do the lecture right now?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” James said, backing out of the room while still covering Harry’s eyes. “It’s coming. In like—ten minutes. When I bleach my brain. Frank is going to have an aneurysm.”

Evan, face buried in a pillow, mumbled, “Worth it.”

Moments later, the rest of the team trickled in, chatting and carrying their gear, unaware of the chaos that had just unfolded.

James, still holding Harry’s eyes covered, ushered him past the now-slightly-more-dressed trio of Regulus, Evan, and Barty, who were doing their best to look nonchalant. But the smirks, flushed faces, and disheveled clothes weren't fooling anyone.

As the last few players filed in, Harry, ever the enthusiast, pulled out of James's grip with a dramatic flourish. He wasn’t one to waste a perfect moment.

"BATTY, EV, AND REG'LUS WERE CUDDLING!" Harry announced loudly, his voice clear across the room, causing several heads to snap toward him.

He paused, and then, in true toddler style, smirked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “SIN ROPA,” he added, throwing in the Spanish for extra dramatic flair.

The locker room went completely still for a beat. Then, all at once, a chorus of laughter, teasing, and incredulous remarks filled the air.

Barty’s head snapped up, eyes wide, his usual cocky demeanor shattered in an instant. "What—Harry, don’t—"

Evan sat up, rubbing his temples, clearly fighting back an eye roll. "Are you—" He glanced over at Barty. "Reg, you really didn’t—"

Regulus, still half-buried under a towel and looking like he wanted to disappear into the floor, groaned. "I swear to Merlin, if one more person says anything…"

James, now fully aware of the situation, walked in with a playful grin. "Guys, please, keep it PG in here," he teased, though he was clearly trying to hold back a smile. "Not sure the team’s ready for that level of... intimacy."

The rest of the team, now fully aware of what had gone down, couldn’t help but chuckle. Sirius, leaning against a locker on the opposite side of the room, was doing his best to stay composed, but even he couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“I’m just gonna go,” Regulus muttered, slowly getting to his feet, clearly mortified. “Before I die from embarrassment.”

“Too late,” Barty quipped under his breath, rubbing his sore neck. “I think that’s already happened.”

Remus, sitting on a bench and quietly observing the scene, gave a soft chuckle, muttering, “This is going to be a very interesting practice.”

Harry, still standing with his hands on his hips, added in a sing-song voice, “Can I tell you more? More things about them?”

The room erupted into more laughter, some players high-fiving Harry for his excellent timing.

James shook his head, still grinning. “Alright, alright, enough. We’re here to practice, not gossip. But, uh, Reg, Evan, Barty… you all might want to have a chat with Frank after practice. He looks like he might have something to say.”

Regulus groaned, sliding back onto a bench. “Fantastic. Can’t wait.”

Chapter 8: The One Where Everything Goes Wrong

Summary:

Harry’s eyes twinkled. “Do you remember—recordar—what I told you Si’wus and Rem were talking about?”

James blinked. “Uh… yeah, I think so…”

Sirius cleared his throat, cheeks pink. “Harry, maybe not—”

But Harry had no intention of being stopped.

Notes:

It will get worse, but then better!

James had one hand resting lightly on Harry’s small back as they walked down the corridor together, the boy nestled between the three of them like he belonged there—which, in a way, he did. Sirius was moving slower than usual, still favoring his side and bruised ribs, while Remus hovered close to catch him if he stumbled.

The hallway was quiet, the muffled noise of the team’s laughter fading behind them. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. For once, there was no tension, just a lull of comfortable silence as the four of them ambled down toward the exit.

Harry craned his head back to look up at James, his little fingers tightening in the fabric of James’s sweatshirt. “Papa?”

James glanced down, smiling softly. “Yeah, mi amor?”

Harry’s eyes twinkled. “Do you remember—recordar—what I told you Si’wus and Rem were talking about?”

James blinked. “Uh… yeah, I think so…”

Sirius cleared his throat, cheeks pink. “Harry, maybe not—”

But Harry had no intention of being stopped.

He looked between all three of them and nodded solemnly. “You were hermoso. And they said they missed how happy you were. Emocionado. And they liked when you kissed the beam and danced with me. And…” He paused for dramatic effect. “They said your pelo is very nice.”

Remus pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes crinkling in barely concealed embarrassment.

James felt his ears flush instantly. He looked between the two young men, who both seemed far more interested in the tile floor than making eye contact.

“Oh,” James said, voice caught somewhere between flustered and soft. “Did they now?”

Sirius, still red-faced, muttered under his breath, “Traitor.”

“Don’t blame him,” Remus said with a dry chuckle. “He’s just very… honest.”

Harry beamed, clearly proud of himself.

James bent down a little, brushing a hand through Harry’s messy curls. “Well, I remember, cariño. And I remember what you said too. About them being sad when I wasn’t myself.”

He stood up again, looking at Sirius and Remus. “I’m trying to be myself again. I promise.”

There was a beat of silence before Sirius quietly added, “We like who you are when you’re not trying to be anything else, you know. The golden retriever thing, the Spanglish, the dancing—even the singing off-key.”

Remus snorted. “Especially the singing off-key. It’s awful. But… kind of charming.”

James looked at both of them for a long second, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in his chest. Not romantic—at least not right now—but deeply affectionate. Something gentle. Something real.

“Okay,” he said softly, nodding. “Then I’ll keep being him.”

Harry raised both arms, clearly satisfied. “Can we get snackies now?”

James laughed, relief washing over the moment. “Yes, pequeño. Let’s go get snackies.”

Sirius was already pulling out his wallet like he was preparing for war. “Only if you let me pay. It’s my thank you for the trauma of the last twenty-four hours.”

Remus rolled his eyes fondly, slipping an arm under Sirius’s to help him walk. “Deal. But I’m picking the coffee.”

“Gross.”

James just shook his head, trailing behind them with Harry perched on his hip, feeling—for the first time in a long time—like things might be okay.

The team had finally cleared out, their laughter and shouted goodbyes echoing faintly down the hallway. James was kneeling to zip up Harry’s little coat when he heard the low, familiar voice behind him.

“James.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Frank stood by the door to the coaches’ office, arms crossed, brows lowered in that particular way that always made James feel seventeen again.

James sighed, then looked at Harry. “You go wait by the vending machine, okay, niño? Just one snack, yeah?”

Harry nodded solemnly, scurried off down the hall, and immediately began negotiating with the vending machine like it owed him money.

James straightened. “What now?” he asked, trying for a light tone.

Frank didn’t smile.

He jerked his head toward the office. “Come on.”

Inside the cramped office, Frank shut the door behind them. James leaned against the desk, arms folded, already bracing for impact.

“Look,” James said, “If this is about Barty, Regulus, and Evan—”

“It’s not,” Frank said. “Well, it is. But that’s not why I pulled you in here.”

James raised an eyebrow.

Frank looked tired. Not angry. Just… worn down.

“You’re not doing a good job pretending to keep your distance from them.”

James blinked. “I’ve been professional—”

Frank cut him off with a look.

“I’ve been trying to be professional,” James corrected, jaw tight.

Frank stepped forward, arms still crossed. “You’re good with them. That’s not what I’m saying. Hell, you’re a better coach than most guys twice your age. The team loves you. But this—” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway, the rink, maybe the whole world. “This is a line you don’t want to cross.”

James stiffened. “Frank, I haven’t done anything. I haven’t touched them. Sirius was injured, for fuck’s sake, what was I supposed to do? Throw him out on the curb?”

“No,” Frank said. “But you need to stop thinking that being the good guy is enough to keep this from getting complicated.”

James stared at him.

“They’re nineteen,” Frank said again, voice gentler this time. “And you—you helped them figure things out. That means something, James. More than you think.”

“I never meant for it to mean anything,” James said quietly.

“But it does.” Frank stepped back, finally letting his arms drop. “You walk into the room and Sirius lights up like a damn Christmas tree. Remus too, only quieter. They’re kids who’ve barely figured out who they are, and you’re—well, you’re James fucking Potter. You’re their idol. That kind of power, even if you’re not abusing it, is dangerous.”

James swallowed thickly. “So what do I do? Cut them off? Be cold forever?”

“No,” Frank said. “Just be honest. With them, with yourself. And if you’re not ready to set a boundary, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

James looked up sharply, hurt flashing across his face. “You want me to quit?”

Frank shook his head. “I want you to think about whether you’re helping them grow or keeping them stuck.”

There was a long silence.

Then Frank added, quieter, “And I want you to be sure that if either of them told you they loved you tomorrow, you’d be man enough to say ‘no.’”

James didn’t answer.

Frank sighed. “Think about it.”

And then he left James alone in the office, heart thudding, mouth dry, and head full of questions he didn’t want to answer.

The rink felt wrong without James.

No booming laugh bouncing off the rafters. No overly enthusiastic clapping. No whistles that made half the team flinch. It was like someone had turned the volume down on the whole building. The team noticed too, but no one said anything.

Remus and Sirius didn’t even speak until practice ended. And even then, the silence between them said everything.

They didn’t go home.

They didn’t even speak about it.

They just went — to James’ apartment.

Sirius knocked lightly. A pause. Then the lock clicked.

The door creaked open just enough for a messy head of curls and big green eyes to peer up at them.

Harry blinked. “Hi.”

“Hi, bug,” Remus said softly, crouching down to his level. “Is your dad home?”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Mi papa is too sad right now.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance. Remus gently asked, “What do you mean, bug?”

“He’s having an episode,” Harry whispered like it was a secret. “He just gets very sad and very happy sometimes.”

Sirius crouched down too, his voice soft. “Can we come in?”

Harry stepped aside with a quiet nod. “Only if you’re gentle.”

They padded in, Sirius clutching his coat tighter, Remus brushing curls from Harry’s forehead.

James was on the couch.

Still in his sweatpants from the night before. Unshaven. Eyes red. He didn’t move when the door shut. Just stared ahead, face blank and faraway.

Sirius moved to speak, but James beat him to it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracked from disuse. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Remus stepped forward, quiet. “We wanted to check on you.”

“I told Frank I wasn’t coming today,” James muttered. “He told me to take time to think. So I did.”

Harry climbed up onto the couch next to him and curled under James’s arm. James instinctively wrapped it around his son, but still didn’t look at Sirius or Remus.

“I’ve been taking advantage of you,” he said finally. “Letting you close to Harry. Letting you too close to me.”

His voice broke slightly, but he pushed through it. “That’s on me.”

Remus felt like he’d been punched.

James finally looked up at Sirius, who hadn’t moved since he came in.

“Sirius,” James said, quiet but firm. “You have to stop.”

Sirius flinched. “Stop what?”

“Stop hoping. Stop waiting for me to act like I did that night in the kitchen, or in the hospital, or during practice before all this. Stop thinking this is something it can’t be.”

“But it was—”

“It can’t be.” James’s voice was almost sharp now. “I’m your coach. You’re nineteen. And I’ve already let you get closer than I should have.”

There was silence.

James looked away, kissing Harry’s head.

“I care about both of you. So much it scares the hell out of me. But that’s not enough. It doesn’t make it right.”

Remus spoke finally, quiet and bitter. “Then why let us in at all?”

James didn’t answer.

Sirius stared at the floor. “So what now?”

James’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Now we go back to what we were supposed to be.”

No one said anything.

Harry looked up at them both and whispered, “Don’t be mad at Papa. He’s just sad sometimes.”

The walk back was silent.

Sirius didn’t say a word. His hands were shoved in his coat pockets, jaw tight, and the only sound between them was the crunch of gravel under their shoes and the occasional gust of wind. Remus kept glancing at him, but didn’t press. Not yet.

They reached the dorm.

Sirius closed the door behind them with more force than necessary and immediately peeled off his coat, letting it fall to the ground. He stood there in the middle of the room for a moment, chest rising and falling, like he couldn’t decide what to do with himself.

Remus moved carefully, as if approaching a spooked animal. “Sirius…”

“I’m so stupid.”

“Sirius.”

“I knew,” Sirius snapped suddenly, whirling on him. “I knew it was too good to be real. I knew he was older, I knew he was our coach, I knew it was probably just some stupid phase for him—”

“Sirius—”

“I knew he’d wake up one day and feel wrong about it, and I still let myself—God, I still let myself fall for him like a fucking idiot!”

His voice cracked at the end, and Remus watched his face crumble.

Sirius dropped onto his bed, knees up, arms crossed tight over them like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I’m not mad at him,” he mumbled after a minute, voice thick. “That’s the worst part. I’m mad at me. For wanting him to love me back. Like really love me. Not the kind of love that ends with ‘you have to stop.’”

Remus sat beside him, quiet.

Sirius sniffed, then buried his face in his arms. “He didn’t even say goodbye. He just—he kissed Harry and looked away. Like we were something he needed to forget.”

Remus was silent for a moment, then said softly, “I don’t think he wants to forget us.”

Sirius didn’t lift his head. “Yeah? Then why’d he say it?”

“Because he thinks it’s right. Because Frank got in his head. Because he’s scared. Because maybe—maybe if he doesn’t push us away, he’s afraid he won’t be able to keep things professional.”

Sirius didn’t respond.

Remus placed a hand on his back.

“I miss him already,” Sirius whispered, voice wrecked. “I miss him so bad it makes me sick.”

“I know,” Remus said, and he really did. “Me too.”

They sat there, curled into each other in the quiet dark, the unspoken ache between them too heavy to fix with words.

 

It was late. Too late. The kind of late that made the room feel heavier, like even time had grown tired.

Remus was changing into pajamas when he heard the soft shuffle behind him. He turned—and Sirius was right there, close, too close, eyes glassy, lip trembling like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or kiss him.

“Sirius,” Remus said gently, not moving away. “What are you—?”

Sirius leaned in.

Remus caught him by the wrists before their mouths could touch.

“I just—” Sirius choked out. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“I know,” Remus said, voice soft. “But this isn’t the way.”

Sirius blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. “Please—Remus, I just want to forget how much it hurts. Just for a little while.”

Remus held his gaze. There was so much desperation in Sirius’ face. So much pain. And so much of it wrapped up in someone who wasn’t him.

“No,” Remus said quietly. “I’m not doing this.”

Sirius froze, eyes wide, breath caught.

“You don’t want me,” Remus added, kind but firm. “Not really. You want him. And I’m not letting you use me as a substitute for the person who just shattered you. I won’t do that to myself.”

“Remus—” Sirius’ voice cracked. “I’m not—I’m not using you.”

“You are.” Remus let go of his wrists, stepping back, keeping his voice steady even as his heart pounded. “You think I don’t know how this goes? You think I haven’t watched you fall apart for everyone else while I sat in the corner dying from jealousy?”

Sirius flinched, but Remus didn’t stop.

“I’ve watched you love people who break you, time after time, while I—” His throat tightened. “While I loved you quietly. For years. While I stayed, and held you up, and hoped one day maybe—maybe—you’d look at me the way you look at him.”

Sirius looked broken. Just stood there, like a cracked vase, unsure if he should fall apart or apologize.

“Please,” Remus whispered, voice cracking. “Don’t hurt me. Not like this.”

There was silence for a long time. Then Sirius just… crumpled. Not physically, but emotionally—like the fire had finally gone out of him. He nodded slowly, stepped back, and sat down on his bed without a word, eyes wet, hands trembling in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know,” Remus said, turning away before Sirius could see his own tears. “I just wish it was enough.”

The rink was too quiet.

Not in the way it got during drills, or during a focus-heavy scrimmage. This was the kind of quiet that buzzed beneath your skin—awkward and taut, like the whole team was waiting for something to snap.

Sirius sat hunched on the bench, in a hoodie too big for him and a scowl that looked carved into his face. He stared out at the ice, not watching, not moving, barely even blinking. His stick rested by his feet, untouched. He wasn’t cleared to play. He wasn’t talking to anyone.

Across the ice, James called out the next drill, but his voice lacked its usual energy. The warmth, the enthusiasm—it was buried under something colder. He didn’t crack a single joke. He didn’t slip into Spanish. He didn’t even look toward the bench where Sirius sat.

Remus skated stiffly through the laps, posture rigid. He avoided looking at Sirius, avoided looking at James too. Every time he turned past the bench, his eyes flickered briefly—but he never let them stay. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful.

And then there were Regulus, Evan, and Barty.

They hadn’t said a word to each other all practice. Not once. The day before, they’d been all over each other—literally. And now?

Stone silence.

Evan skated drills with his eyes on the ice and his shoulders high like armor. Barty kept making little digs under his breath—snarky comments that no one acknowledged. Regulus was doing everything perfectly, mechanically, like if he focused hard enough, he could pretend none of it had happened.

None of them would admit it out loud, but their chemistry on the ice had flatlined. No passes. No setups. No communication. Just tension, and it was bleeding into the rest of the team.

Frank barked something sharp when Barty missed an easy handoff from Evan and snapped his stick against the boards in frustration.

James barely reacted.

The moment practice ended, no one lingered. Usually, the team would joke around, sling towels at each other, lounge on the benches like exhausted puppies. But today, people cleared off fast, muttering excuses, heading for the locker room without looking back.

Sirius didn’t move. Just sat on the bench long after the last skate blade left the ice. Alone.

Chapter 9: The One With The Gay Awakening

The dorm was dim—only the desk lamp was on, casting a pool of yellow light between the two beds. Remus was sitting at his desk, flipping a textbook open but not really reading. The pages stayed blurry, the words sliding past his eyes as his thoughts spiraled.

Behind him, Sirius paced. Socks scuffing the worn floor. Hands running through his hair again and again. He’d been doing it for minutes, opening his mouth like he wanted to say something and then shutting it again.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, he blurted, “James wasn’t my real gay awakening.”

Remus turned halfway in his chair. “…What?”

Sirius was standing there, flushed, eyes too bright. His voice tumbled out in a rush. “I mean—yes, okay, when I was younger I had the posters and the fantasies and the whole stupid thing, but it wasn’t real, not like—like this. You were. It was you. You with your rolled up sleeves and your stupid veiny arms and your glasses sliding down your nose and your freckles and your—your V line, Merlin, the V line—”

Remus blinked, stunned, heat creeping up his neck. “Sirius…”

“I used to pretend I was asleep just so I could feel your head on my shoulder when we watched movies. And when we had to share rooms for away games, I’d sneak glances at you changing and feel like I was going to explode. And you—you were just being nice, and smart, and kind, and perfect, and I was falling for you so stupidly hard and trying not to make it weird.”

Sirius's voice cracked. “And yeah, I’ll probably always have some kind of…something for James, because he was this shiny, golden thing that helped me figure out what I was. But you, Remus—you did more. You were there. You’ve always been there. I love you more than—”

Remus stood, closing the distance in three quiet steps, and kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed or messy, not like their usual bickering, not like the chaos that followed them on and off the ice. It was gentle. Sure. Remus’ hand cupped the side of Sirius’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheek as he pressed their lips together in soft silence.

When they pulled apart, Sirius was breathless, blinking like he couldn’t believe it had actually happened.

Remus looked at him carefully. “You talk so much when you’re scared.”

Sirius gave a shaky laugh. “You kissed me.”

“You were being annoying.”

“I was confessing my love!”

Remus smiled, resting his forehead to Sirius’s. “I know. And I love you too.”

They stood there, in the warm glow of the desk lamp, the tension between them finally dissolved, breathing in sync, hearts slowing down.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, the silence wasn’t heavy.

It was peaceful.

The rink felt warmer than usual.

Not physically—if anything, the cold bit harder this morning—but there was a shift. A hum. Something new pulsing beneath the normal rhythms of drills and puck slaps and Frank barking corrections.

James skated lazy circles at the far end of the rink, pretending to go over line rotations with a clipboard he hadn’t written anything on in ten minutes. His eyes kept flicking to the bench. Again. And again.

Something was different.

Something was definitely different.

Remus, stoic, focused, smart-arse Remus, was seated next to Sirius on the bench. That wasn’t new. What was new was the fact that Sirius was leaning on Remus’ shoulder—like it was muscle memory, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And even more than that, Remus didn’t just let him. He shifted, murmured something low, and then tugged Sirius—gently, like it was nothing—onto his lap.

James skidded to a stop mid-drill.

Sirius settled there without complaint, fitting easily on Remus’ thigh, like he’d done it a hundred times before. One of Remus’s arms circled loosely around his waist, and Sirius leaned in further, almost nuzzling into his neck, legs swinging slightly like a kid on a barstool. His hoodie pooled around both of them. Remus was enormous next to Sirius, his build long and broad and solid. Sirius looked like he belonged there.

And James...

James wasn’t sure which one he was jealous of.

He told himself it was because of the focus. Yeah. They should be focusing. This was practice. This wasn’t cuddle hour. This wasn’t the time to have—whatever that was. That wasn’t what this team needed.

But that wasn’t it.

Not really.

Because the way Sirius smiled—soft, brighter than he’d smiled in weeks—the way Remus looked down at him like he was something precious, the way they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t even known was missing—

It made something hot and aching curl up in James’s stomach.

He looked away. Sharply. Blew his whistle too loud. Called for a new drill no one was ready for.

Across the rink, Sirius giggled—giggled—at something Remus whispered, and James glanced back just in time to see Remus nudge Sirius’s chin with a knuckle like he couldn’t help himself.

Frank skated by and muttered under his breath, “They dating now?”

James didn’t respond.

He didn’t know what to say.

All he knew was that his chest was tight, and he didn’t know if he wanted to be the one sitting on Remus’s lap… or the one holding Sirius close.

And either way, it made it very, very hard to breathe.

Practice didn’t go well.

James barked drills louder than usual. Made them repeat transitions that were already clean. Called out minor errors with the edge of a bite in his tone, something almost snapping beneath his usually warm voice.

He wasn’t even pretending to be golden retriever-ish today. No Spanish. No jokes. Just clipped commands and the sound of his skates slicing hard across the ice.

Remus and Sirius noticed.

Of course they did.

Remus raised an eyebrow the third time James made them repeat a neutral zone regroup that they’d executed perfectly. Sirius, still benched, frowned from the sideline, wrapped in Remus’s hoodie, a blue Gatorade clutched in both hands like it was a security blanket.

James didn’t look over. Not once.

But he felt it.

Every time Remus leaned in to say something quietly to Sirius.

Every time Sirius tilted his head back with that soft laugh, the one James had only really heard that one time in his apartment, when Sirius was loopy on pain meds and talking about his shaved happy trail like it was the worst tragedy imaginable.

That laugh used to be for me, James thought before he could stop himself, and then felt sick for even thinking it.

They weren’t his.

They were 19. They were close. And he was their coach.

But still.

He noticed how Sirius waited for Remus to peel off his gloves before letting him warm his hands between them.

He noticed how Remus stood in front of Sirius on the bench like a bodyguard when a puck went rogue and nearly hit the boards.

He noticed everything.

And he hated that he cared so much.

Later, after practice — locker room.

James was pretending to fix the whiteboard when he heard the laughter behind him.

Soft. Close. Private.

He turned. Sirius was perched on the bench again, still not cleared to play, and Remus was towel-drying his curls—ruffling them too much on purpose, making Sirius swat at him. Their knees touched. Their smiles were something close to sacred.

And then Sirius pulled Remus’s hand into his lap without a second thought, idly playing with his fingers.

James dropped the marker.

The clatter was loud. It echoed.

They looked up.

James’s face was unreadable. For once, utterly unreadable.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” he said tightly. Then turned. Left.

No beam kisses. No warm “hasta luego.” No soft look for Sirius. Nothing.

Sirius blinked. “…Is he mad at us?”

Remus frowned after him. “I don’t know. I think he’s… confused.”

Sirius bit his lip. “Do you think he…?”

“I think,” Remus said slowly, “he doesn’t know what he feels. Not yet.”

Sirius leaned back against the wall and tugged Remus closer until Remus was standing between his knees. “Well, I know how I feel.”

Remus’s expression softened.

“I’m still scared, though,” Sirius added. “Like—he was our everything growing up. The posters, the highlight reels, the interviews, the Spanish. James Potter. He was perfect in our heads. And now he’s here, and real, and sometimes I feel like I’m 13 again, but this time he knows my name and I don’t know what to do with that.”

Remus reached down and brushed Sirius’s cheek with the back of his fingers.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

Sirius looked up at him. “But we want to. Right?”

Remus hesitated… and then nodded.

They sat there, quiet again. And somewhere outside the rink, James was pacing around his apartment, running his hands through his hair, whispering to himself in Spanish and trying very hard not to say their names out loud.

It was late. The moon was high, casting soft light over the quiet streets as Remus and Sirius walked side by side, keeping a leisurely pace. They hadn’t planned on anything big—just some light exercise, trying to ease the tension from the practice that morning.

Sirius was still quieter than usual, his shoulders hunched, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, his expression distant. Remus glanced over every so often, watching him with a soft, protective gaze.

“You okay?” Remus asked quietly, his voice a little more tender than usual.

“Yeah,” Sirius muttered, glancing at him and offering a small smile. “Just… still trying to get used to all of it.”

Remus nodded. He knew the feeling. Things had been shifting so fast lately, and it wasn’t just the team’s dynamics that had them on edge. It was the unspoken tension between them, the frustration with James, and the exhaustion that came from trying to process everything at once.

But as they walked a little further, a shift happened. The atmosphere seemed to thicken, and before either of them could react, two figures stepped into their path. Both were tall, big, and clearly built—strangers, their faces twisted with malicious sneers.

“Hey, you two,” one of them said, voice thick with disdain. “What are you two doing out here together? You think you’re all high and mighty, huh?”

Sirius froze, his stomach dropping. He’d seen that look before. The kind of look that didn’t need words to make a person feel small, helpless, weak.

Remus instinctively stepped in front of Sirius, his body going rigid.

“Don’t make trouble,” Remus said in a low, warning tone. “Just leave us alone.”

But the bigger of the two men snickered, his eyes scanning Sirius from head to toe. “Look at this one,” he said, pointing at Sirius, then sneering at Remus. “Little fag boy thinks he’s something, huh? You’re the weaker one, aren’t you?”

Before Remus could react, the man lunged forward, shoving Sirius back against the cold brick wall of the alley. Sirius stumbled, the air knocked out of him, and he gasped, his heart racing as his old wounds flared up—the memory of being beaten—and his body froze in fear.

“Don’t touch me,” Sirius choked out, his voice shaking with panic.

But the man didn’t stop. His hand reached for Sirius’s jacket, trying to drag him further into the alley.

And that’s when James arrived.

In an instant, the shadow of his presence loomed over them. He didn’t need words; he just moved, grabbing the larger man by the shoulder and throwing him back with a force that made the ground beneath them shake.

“Enough!” James’s voice was sharp, his anger cutting through the tension like a knife. “You pick on someone else. Right. Fucking. Now.”

The man who had shoved Sirius hesitated, then turned, and both of them retreated into the shadows with a quick glance back. They hadn’t expected James, and they weren’t ready to fight him—not with the force of his presence.

Sirius slid down the wall, his body trembling. His heart thudded against his ribs, his breath shallow and rapid as he hugged his knees to his chest.

“Don’t touch me, James,” Sirius hissed, voice hoarse with fear. “Don’t touch me.”

“Sirius—” James’s voice was softer, hurt, but there was hesitation in his steps. He took a cautious step forward, but Remus was already there, stepping between them.

Remus’s gaze was sharp, firm, his stance protective. He reached down to Sirius and gently helped him to his feet, avoiding James’s eyes entirely.

“He’s mine now, not yours,” Remus said quietly, his voice low but resolute.

James’s expression faltered, and for a moment, he looked like he’d been slapped. His mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out.

Sirius’s eyes were wide, fear still dancing in the depths of them. He wouldn’t meet James’s gaze.

“I—” James started, but stopped, voice thick. “I just wanted to help—”

“Not like this,” Remus interrupted, his voice cutting through the air like steel. He placed his hand firmly on Sirius’s shoulder, holding him close. “Not like this. You can’t just swoop in and pretend like you can fix everything. We’re not your broken project, James.”

James stood there for a long moment, the words sinking in, his eyes flicking between Remus and Sirius. And then, slowly, he turned, his shoulders tense, his posture deflated as he walked away—each step heavier than the last.

Sirius stayed quiet as James left, his chest still heaving with shaky breaths. Remus stayed close, his hand never leaving his shoulder.

“Sirius…” Remus murmured, looking at him. “You’re okay.”

Sirius just nodded slowly, but the fear still lingered in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispered, barely audible, voice thick with the weight of his emotions. “I just… I don’t know how to feel anymore.”

Remus looked down at him, conflicted, his heart aching. “You don’t have to know right now. But you are safe. With me. Always.”

Sirius nodded again, but his fingers tightened around Remus’s sleeve, his body still trembling.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t alone.

It was quiet in their dorm that night.

The soft hum of the mini fridge, the faint creak of old heating pipes—those were the only sounds filling the space between Sirius and Remus as they lay side by side on Remus’s bed. Neither of them had turned off the lamp. Neither of them had said a word in over twenty minutes.

Sirius’s head was resting on Remus’s shoulder. Not romantically, not exactly. Just… because he needed to. Because Remus was solid and warm and real and safe.

Sirius shifted a little. “You awake?”

Remus didn’t move, but his voice was quiet. “Yeah.”

Sirius paused, then said, almost too softly, “We should talk about James.”

Remus didn’t answer right away. His chest rose and fell slowly, and Sirius could feel the tension there—like he’d been bracing for those words.

“Yeah,” Remus said finally. “We should.”

Sirius pulled back a little so they could look at each other. His face was tired, still a little bruised from everything. “I’m not trying to mess things up,” he whispered.

“I know,” Remus said.

“I love you,” Sirius said. “I don’t want you to think I don’t. What I said, the other night, about you being—about everything I feel for you… that’s real.”

“I know that too,” Remus said, eyes gentle.

Sirius chewed at his lower lip. “But I also don’t think the feelings for James are going away. I don’t think either of us can pretend that they’re not there. And that scares me.”

Remus gave a dry little laugh. “You think I don’t know? You think I didn’t see the way you looked at him in that first practice? The way you forgot how to breathe when he kissed a damn support beam?”

Sirius huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t so sad. “I didn’t breathe for three days.”

Remus’s smile faded. “He was mine too, you know. In a way. When we were kids. He was… perfect. Loud and good and full of life. He made being different look easy.”

Sirius nodded. “He made being loved look easy.”

Silence stretched again, until Remus said, “Do you think he ever really knew? How we felt?”

Sirius let out a breath. “No. I think he’s just… like that. Kind. Loud. Intense. He means everything all the time. But he doesn’t see the way people… ache for him.”

Remus reached up and rubbed at his face. “He shouldn’t have let us get that close. To him. To Harry. It wasn’t fair.”

“No,” Sirius agreed. “But I think he was lonely too.”

They sat in that for a moment, heavy and silent.

Sirius asked, “Do you think you’re in love with him?”

Remus blinked, like the question startled him.

Then he said, “Yes.”

It was a whisper, but it landed like a thunderclap.

“I think I always have been,” Remus added. “But it’s not the same as you. I think I know I’ll never be enough for him. He lives in this world that I can’t keep up with. You—maybe you could. I think he lights you up.”

Sirius shook his head, eyes brimming. “No. Remus. He’s a spark. You’re a home.”

Remus swallowed hard. “You don’t have to choose, you know. Not tonight. Maybe not for a long time. But if you ever—do—just promise me you’ll be honest. With yourself. With him. With me.”

Sirius nodded. “I promise.”

Remus gently pulled Sirius back into him again, both of them curled up on the bed, their bodies quiet but their minds still spinning.

And neither of them said it aloud—but they both knew the truth.

They were in love with James Potter.

But they were also in love with each other.

And the heart didn’t come with a guidebook.

Just each other.

The rink was colder than usual. Or maybe it just felt that way because James hadn’t smiled in twenty minutes.

Sirius sat stiffly on the bench, arms crossed tight over his chest, eyes locked on the ice like it was the only thing in the world. He didn’t glance at James once during practice. Not when James gave pointers, not when he complimented Regulus’s clean pass, and definitely not when Harry ran in from the stands, bouncing on his little feet with excitement.

James clocked it immediately.

Harry was in brand-new footie pajamas, navy blue with bright little police cars and stop signs on them, clutching his stuffed dinosaur under one arm as he trotted over to the bench.

"Si’wus!" Harry beamed, arms wide open.

Sirius didn’t even flinch.

Harry reached the bench, lifting his arms, eyes shining. “Cuddles?”

Sirius shifted slightly, without looking down. “Buddy... no cuddles today.”

The words were flat. Cold. Mechanical.

Harry’s little face crumpled. He looked up at Sirius with confusion first, like maybe he hadn’t heard right. Then it melted into hurt. Real, deep, raw toddler pain that made his bottom lip wobble.

"You don’t want cuddles?" he whispered.

Sirius still didn’t look at him. “Not today, Harry.”

He didn’t call him bug.

He didn’t comment on the pajamas.

He didn’t even smile.

Harry sniffled. “Okay,” he whispered, so small. “Okay.”

And then he burst into tears, dropping his dinosaur and backing up from the bench.

James skated to the side, panic rising in his chest. “Harry, hey—what’s wrong?”

He scooped his son up, holding him close as the boy sobbed into his neck. “What happened, bug?”

“He—he didn’t want me,” Harry hiccupped, fists clutching James’s hoodie. “He didn’t say anything. He didn’t like my jammies. He didn’t—he didn’t want cuddles. I was bein’ good.”

James turned his head slowly, eyes flashing as they landed on Sirius.

“What the hell was that?” he said, ice behind the words.

Sirius didn’t turn. “Professionalism.”

“He’s four, Sirius.”

And Remus, who’d been skating drills with Regulus, skidded to a halt at the boards.

“James,” Remus said firmly. “You wanted this. You wanted distance. Professionalism. That’s exactly what he’s giving you.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it—”

“No, you don’t get to backpedal now,” Remus cut in, jaw tight, tone sharp. “You shut us out. You said we got too close. That you were taking advantage of us. And Sirius listened. He backed off. He’s benched, he’s bleeding half the time, and he’s doing everything he can to pretend like he doesn’t miss you. Like he doesn’t miss Harry.”

James’s chest heaved. “So the answer is to punish my kid?”

Remus stepped closer to the boards, voice lower now. “He wasn’t trying to punish anyone. He’s grieving. Over you. Over the idea of you. Over the version of you he thought he could love. And maybe he was wrong. Maybe we both were. But he’s trying to protect himself.”

Harry sniffled again and turned in James’s arms, resting his cheek on his father’s shoulder and quietly whimpering, “I miss Si’wus.”

James pressed a kiss to his son’s head, but he didn’t respond.

On the bench, Sirius’s hands were clenched in fists. His knuckles were white.

And he still wouldn’t look up.

The clang of Sirius’s water bottle hitting the ice echoed across the rink like a gunshot.

He shoved past the bench, past the stunned players still scattered across the ice, and stormed through the open gate. His skates clacked furiously against the rubber mat as he ripped off his gloves, his helmet, his jersey, hurling each one to the ground like it burned him.

James followed, jaw tight, holding Harry a little closer.

“Sirius—”

Sirius spun around in the tunnel, eyes wild and glassy with rage. “No.”

The single word was like a slap.

“You don’t get to be mad at me.”

The hallway went silent.

“You don’t get to act like I’m the villain here when you’re the one who pulled the plug. You’re the one who decided that suddenly it was all too close, too inappropriate, too messy—” His voice cracked on the word, and he threw his chest protector to the floor with a loud thud. “And I listened! I gave you exactly what you asked for!”

James’s face was frozen, unreadable. He looked down briefly at Harry, who was now quiet in his arms, thumb in his mouth.

Sirius’s voice dropped. Bitter. Sharp. “But if you’re still gonna be coach, if this is how it’s gonna be—if I’m just some guy on your team you can shame into silence—” His voice broke again, breath heaving.

“I quit.”

James opened his mouth. Closed it.

That was it. No other words.

Sirius stormed through the tunnel, shoving the locker room door open so hard it hit the wall with a crack. A moment later, the sound of a duffel bag being yanked from the bench, a pair of skates thudding into it, then the door slamming shut.

Remus didn’t move from the ice. He was just watching the tunnel.

James was standing still.

And Harry, very quietly, said into James’ neck: “I don’t want Si’wus to go away.”

James shut his eyes.

So did Remus.

And from behind the closed locker room door, no one could hear Sirius breathing like he was underwater, trying not to break in half.

Chapter 10: The One With The Knock

Summary:

REmus was Never one to give up

Notes:

I TOLD YOU

The moment the locker room door slammed, Remus dropped his stick on the ice.

He didn’t look at James. Not once.

He skated off, movements tight and controlled—controlled in the way only someone who’s spent most of his life barely holding it together can manage. The door banged behind him, and within seconds he was through the tunnel and into the changing hallway, where the tension from the rink still hung like smoke.

He found Sirius in the locker room, hunched over the bench, breathing hard, knuckles white on the strap of his duffel bag.

“I meant it,” Sirius said without turning. “Don’t try to stop me.”

“I’m not,” Remus said quietly.

That made Sirius pause. He looked up, and something in him cracked a little when he saw Remus—still in his pads, still sweating from drills, but eyes soft and steady.

“You’re not?” Sirius asked, voice small.

Remus crossed the room and crouched in front of him, placing his hands gently on Sirius’s knees. “No. I’m not going to stop you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m on your side.”

Sirius’s lip trembled. “Even after I snapped at Harry?”

Remus looked down. “That wasn’t your best moment.”

“I know.”

“But you were doing what James asked. What he demanded, really. And that doesn’t make it okay, but it does make it understandable.”

Sirius stared at him, blinking fast. “I told him I quit.”

“I know. I heard you.”

There was a pause. A long one.

“I meant it, Remus.”

“I know.”

“And I—God—I love Harry. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep loving James from a distance while he swings between treating me like I’m some fragile child and acting like I don’t exist.”

“I know.”

Sirius buried his face in his hands. “I hate that I still want him.”

Remus moved closer, pulling Sirius’ hands gently away and resting their foreheads together. “I know that too.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sirius whispered.

“You won’t.”

Sirius blinked. “I already did.”

Remus smiled, just a little. “Then let me be stubborn and forgive you.”

And Sirius laughed—a short, wet, broken thing—and kissed him, because he didn’t know how else to say thank you.

Outside, the rink was silent.

James sat on the bleachers with Harry asleep in his lap, his fingers absently stroking his son’s curls.

He was still waiting for the moment when it wouldn’t feel like he was the one who let everything shatter.

But the silence stayed.

And no one came back through the door.

—TWO WEEKS LATER—

 

The team felt it before they even realized what was wrong.

Sirius Black wasn’t on the bench.

Remus Lupin was missing another practice.

James tried not to look over at the empty spots every ten minutes. He failed, every time.

It wasn’t just that they weren’t there—it was the weight of their absence. The team was off. The flow was clunky. Even Barty, Evan, and Regulus had mostly stopped sniping at each other, which made things somehow worse, like they’d all collectively decided that whatever grudge they had couldn’t match the bigger silence on the ice.

And Sirius—Sirius was sinking.

Not in a dramatic, eyes-on-me way.

In the quiet kind of drowning that no one noticed until it was too late.

He stopped answering texts. He wouldn’t come to the rink. Wouldn’t talk about hockey at all. Remus tried—God, he tried—but Sirius didn’t want to lace up, didn’t want to eat, didn’t want to sleep. He barely wanted to touch Remus, which was the worst part, because Sirius had always been all hands and elbows and affection.

Now he just lay curled up on Remus’ bed, hoodie pulled over his head, facing the wall.

Sometimes, Remus would come home from class and Sirius would be exactly where he’d left him, hours earlier. Still, silent.

The doctors had cleared him physically. But mentally?

He was on his own ice now. And it was thin.

 

James stood in the middle of the rink, blowing his whistle pointlessly, like that might bring things back to normal.

It didn’t.

It wasn’t that the players were bad. They were fine. But there was a sort of hollowed-out feeling to the drills. An ache in the space where energy used to be.

And he couldn’t stop wondering if it was his fault.

Because Remus wasn’t there either. Again. No explanation. Just another absence. Another cold spot on the bench where he used to sit tall and steady.

 

Remus came home to find Sirius on the bathroom floor.

He wasn’t unconscious—just there, back against the tub, eyes red, hoodie sleeves stretched over his hands, a bowl of dry cereal untouched beside him.

“Sirius.”

He blinked slowly, not lifting his head. “Hey.”

Remus dropped to his knees. “Hey, baby.”

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

Sirius shrugged. “Existing like this.”

“Don’t.” Remus’s voice cracked. “Don’t say that.”

Sirius let out a shaky breath and rubbed his eyes. “It’s just… without hockey, I don’t know who I am. And every time I think about going back, I see him. And it’s like—my body won’t move. Like he stole the one thing I had left.”

Remus cupped Sirius’s cheek. “He didn’t steal anything. He’s just… confused. And scared.”

Sirius scoffed. “He’s thirty. I’m nineteen. Why am I the one drowning?”

Remus didn’t answer. He just leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Sirius, pulling him close until Sirius was pressed into his chest, breathing in soft, uneven gasps.

Back at his apartment, James stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner he wasn’t hungry for. Harry sat on the counter, babbling to a stuffed animal in broken Spanish and English.

“¿Papá?” he said suddenly. “Where is Si’wus?”

James stopped chopping.

He stared at the cutting board for a moment. Then he said, softly, “He’s taking a break.”

“Why?”

James couldn’t answer.

And Harry, looking up at him with wide eyes, whispered, “I think he misses you.”

James blinked hard, turning back to the vegetables.

“Yeah,” he said. “I miss him too.”

Remus had never been one to back down.

The door to James's apartment rattled under the force of Remus’s knock. His fists were clenched, the edge of his frustration sharper than it had ever been before. He wasn’t just angry. He was scared. For Sirius. For himself. For all of them.

When James finally opened the door, Remus didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“You need to fix this.”

James’s brow furrowed, a tired sigh escaping his lips. “Remus, I—”

“Don’t give me that professional crap.” Remus’s voice cracked, raw from weeks of tension that had been building inside him. “I love him. He’s my boyfriend, and you’re breaking him.”

James stood there, frozen, his face pale under the harsh lights. “Remus, I didn’t mean for—”

“And you’re lying to yourself if you think you’re not responsible for this.” Remus’s eyes were blazing with emotion now, his fists trembling by his sides. “I didn’t know where he was for the past two weeks, James. He’s barely left his room. He’s barely eaten. He’s falling apart, and it’s your fault. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Remus, I didn’t mean to—”

“You know we’re both in love with you,” Remus cut him off sharply, voice wavering with something James couldn’t quite place—was it pain? Anger? “We’ve been trying to make it work. But we’re not pretending anymore. Stop pretending you don’t know what’s happening. Just stop. You’re not some hero for keeping us at arm’s length. You’re not doing this for anyone but yourself.”

James’s breath caught in his throat, his hand still resting on the doorframe, suddenly feeling like it might break under the weight of everything Remus had just said. His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

“You made him quit the sport he loved most of all,” Remus continued, voice now a quiet accusation. “The one thing he had left to feel anything. To get his energy out. To be with his brother. And you think you’re so good at team conflict, then why have Regulus, Barty, and Evan not spoken for weeks since they hooked up, huh? Why are you the only one who thinks everything is fine?”

James’s face flushed, the words stinging harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know how to explain it. He didn’t know how to apologize for any of it.

Remus took a step closer, still staring him down. “You’re an expert at holding people at a distance, James, but you’ve taken this too far. You know he’s hurting. You know it’s because of you. So stop pretending like you’re in control, because you’re not. You’ve broken him, and I’m done waiting around for you to figure it out. I’m done letting you take everything from him.”

There was a beat of silence. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, making it hard to breathe.

Finally, James spoke, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Remus’s gaze softened just the slightest, but he wasn’t backing down. “Then fix it.”

James closed his eyes, swallowing hard, feeling like the weight of the world had just slammed into him all at once.

“I—” He stopped, took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

Remus stood there, staring at him for a long moment, before he stepped back, his voice soft but still firm. “You don’t get to not fix it. Because if you don’t, you’ll lose us. Both of us.”

Remus turned to leave, but he paused before he walked out the door, turning back to James, his voice quieter now. “Don’t make me have to choose between you and him.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

It was nearly midnight when James knocked.

Remus was the one who answered, his face stony, arms crossed over his chest like he was preparing to be hurt again. But when he saw James standing there in the dim hallway light, dressed down in a hoodie and jeans, hair messy from running his hands through it too many times, his expression faltered.

James looked wrecked. Not in the dramatic, camera-ready way. Just tired. And scared. Like someone who knew they’d done real damage.

“I need to talk to him,” James said quietly.

Remus hesitated, then gave a small nod. “He’s in bed. Don’t make it worse.”

James stepped in, heart pounding. The dorm was quiet, save for the soft hum of a fan and the rustle of blankets from behind a half-closed door. He made his way toward it slowly, like the air itself might shatter.

The door creaked open, and there was Sirius — curled up, wrapped in too many blankets, his black hair messy and falling into his face. He looked small. His laptop sat closed on the edge of the bed. A cup of untouched tea on the nightstand had gone cold. He didn’t look up.

“Go away, Remus,” Sirius mumbled, his voice raspy.

“It’s not Remus.”

Sirius froze.

James stepped in, gently shutting the door behind him. He didn’t come closer. Just stood there, wringing his hands, watching Sirius try to pretend he wasn’t wiping his face.

“What do you want,” Sirius said, flatly, not looking at him.

“I came to say I’m sorry,” James said, softly. “For all of it.”

Sirius stayed quiet, biting his lip.

“I didn’t think I was hurting you like this. I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do.” James exhaled, trying to find his footing. “But Remus was right. I was trying to protect me. I didn’t want to be the bad guy, so I just… left you hanging. And I’m sorry.”

Sirius didn’t respond. James stepped a little closer.

“I never meant to make you feel disposable. Or ashamed. Or like Harry didn’t love you. That part—” James’s voice cracked. “That broke me.”

Sirius finally turned to look at him, his eyes red-rimmed and wet.

“You broke me,” he whispered. “You made me think I wasn’t good enough again.”

James swallowed, hard. “You’re more than good enough, Sirius. You’re—you’re a mess, and loud, and stubborn, and so damn brilliant I can barely think straight when you’re talking. And I miss you.”

Sirius sat up slowly, his hands shaking as he pushed his hair back. “Why now?”

“Because I didn’t know how bad I’d fucked it up until you were gone,” James said, stepping forward. “And because I realized I was being a coward.”

Sirius blinked, tears spilling freely now. “I thought you didn’t want me. I thought I was just some sad little kid with a crush, and you were humoring me.”

James shook his head. “No. No, Sirius. I was terrified of wanting you too much.”

A pause.

Then Sirius whispered, “You kissed a support beam.”

James laughed, broken and soft. “Yeah. I do weird things when I’m happy. I was happy that day. Because I saw you.”

Silence stretched between them.

“I don’t know what happens now,” James said, quietly. “I don’t know if I’m too late. But I had to say it.”

Sirius opened his arms.

And James went to him.

They didn’t kiss. Not yet. Not when there was so much hurt still healing. But James pulled Sirius into his chest, and Sirius held on like he’d been drowning.

Behind the door, Remus leaned back against the wall, listening, eyes shining.

He didn’t know where this would lead. But for the first time in weeks, it felt like something might be okay again.

James didn’t want to move.

Sirius had buried himself in his chest, his breathing uneven, fingers clenched in the front of James’ hoodie like he was afraid James might disappear again. James had one hand curled around the back of Sirius’ neck, thumb brushing absently through the soft, tangled strands of his hair, the other hand resting protectively over Sirius’ trembling ribs.

The door creaked.

Neither of them looked up.

But James felt a weight shift beside him as the bed dipped slightly. A moment later, Remus’ arms slid around both of them, quiet and sure.

Sirius let out a shaky exhale, as if the last tension in his spine had finally given out.

Remus pressed his forehead lightly to James’ shoulder. “He still hasn’t eaten much,” he murmured. “I’ve been trying. He only nibbled toast today.”

James looked down at Sirius. “Bug,” he whispered, the nickname slipping out like instinct.

Sirius let out a little groan into his hoodie. “Stop calling me that. I’m not Harry.”

“No, you’re my bug,” James said, eyes warm. “Annoying. Stubborn. Always crawling into places you shouldn’t be.”

Remus chuckled softly, but it cracked in the middle — a quiet echo of everything they’d been carrying.

Sirius peeked up at both of them, pink-eyed and exhausted. “You’re not allowed to be nice to me. I yelled at you. I told you I quit.”

“You can yell again tomorrow,” James said gently. “Right now we’re just… here.”

The three of them lay tangled together in the too-small bed — Sirius in the middle, still wearing one of Remus’ sweatshirts, James somehow still in his shoes from when he’d stormed out of his apartment to come here.

It didn’t matter.

Sirius shifted slightly and buried his face in Remus’ collarbone now, and Remus kissed the top of his head. James felt Sirius’ foot knock gently against his ankle under the blanket.

“I missed you,” Sirius murmured into Remus’ chest.

“I never left,” Remus whispered back.

Sirius turned slightly, cheek now against Remus, facing James. “I missed you too.”

James swallowed, hard. “I know.”

There was a long silence, warm and heavy. Harry’s name never came up — not yet — but it hung there, gentle and glowing in all their minds. The way Sirius’ smile had changed when Harry was around. The way James looked softer, younger, when Harry curled up beside him. The way Remus held the little boy’s hand without even thinking.

“We’re a mess,” Sirius said finally, eyes half-lidded.

“We’re your mess,” Remus replied.

James gave a crooked grin. “And I think I’ve decided I like messes.”

None of them moved for a while.

Eventually, Sirius fell asleep, breathing finally slow and even, nose pressed into the curve of Remus’ neck.

James watched them both for a long time, a faint ache in his chest that he still couldn’t name — but that felt, at last, like it was beginning to heal.

James shifted beneath the blanket, barely breathing as Sirius snuffled in his sleep against Remus’ chest. Remus, eyes still closed but not truly asleep, cracked one open to look at him.

“Where are you going?” he whispered.

James hesitated at the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand through his hair, looking a little wild. “I just—” His voice faltered. “I forgot. I brought Harry with me. He fell asleep in the car and I didn’t want to wake him but—he shouldn’t be out there.”

Remus blinked. “Wait. You left him in the car?”

“It was warm! Windows cracked! I locked it! I panicked, Remus—Sirius yelled at me and then he cried and I didn’t know what to do—” He was already slipping his shoes back on.

Remus waved a lazy hand. “Go. Before child services comes.”

James bolted.

Five minutes later, the dorm door creaked open again, and James padded in holding a tiny, blanket-swaddled Harry against his chest. The toddler was completely out—cheek squished against James’ shoulder, fists curled into his shirt. His curls were damp from sweat, his socks mismatched, and he made a tiny whimpering sound as the shift in temperature hit him.

“Shh, shh, mi amor,” James whispered, bouncing a little. “Todo está bien. You’re okay.”

Sirius stirred at the noise and blinked bleary-eyed at the figure in the doorway.

Then his eyes landed on Harry, and something cracked open in his chest.

James walked over slowly and carefully knelt by the bed. “I know it’s late. I just thought maybe he’d want—”

“Si’wus,” Harry mumbled, barely awake, and reached one hand lazily toward him.

Sirius immediately reached back.

Harry curled his tiny hand into Sirius’ hoodie sleeve and held it there, not even opening his eyes again, just instinctively grasping.

James gently laid Harry down between them. He nestled into Sirius’ side without hesitation, flopping like a sleepy puppy. Sirius looked stunned, and Remus reached out to gently brush some of Harry’s curls back from his forehead.

For a few moments, the only sound was the soft breathing of the boy curled between them.

“He asked for you earlier,” James said softly, sitting down on the floor, his arms resting on the bed. “Wanted to know if Si’wus was okay.”

Sirius was crying again. Quietly this time. His hand still holding Harry’s.

“I told him you’d be back,” James added. “He said if you weren’t, he’d go get you himself.”

Remus gave a watery laugh.

Sirius whispered, “I’m sorry I wasn’t myself with him.”

“You don’t have to be perfect to be his favorite,” James murmured.

They all sat there like that — a little broken, a little found again — as Harry slept between them.

And for the first time in weeks, the silence didn’t feel painful.

It felt like coming home.

Chapter 11: The One Where They Talk About It

Summary:

Evan smirked, his hands tangling in Regulus' hair as he pulled him back into a fierce kiss. "I believe you were about to show me who's boss."

Barty moved in closer, his body pressing against theirs, his hands roaming over their chests, his touch sending shivers down their spines. "And I believe I was about to show you both."

The room filled with their aggressive, competitive kisses and growls once more, the interruption from James only serving to fuel their fire. They were determined to prove themselves to each other, their bodies a tangled mess of desire and dominance as they picked up where they left off, their passion more intense than ever.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the string of fairy lights Remus had stuck up weeks ago, casting a soft glow over the scene. Harry was still asleep, sprawled across the middle of the bed like a tiny king in a sea of tangled limbs. Remus sat up gently, brushing hair out of Harry’s face, and Sirius rubbed his thumb along the toddler’s hand, still clasped in his hoodie.

James sat on the edge of the bed, watching them both with something soft and wrecked in his eyes.

“James?” Sirius said quietly.

He glanced up, and Sirius was already looking at him — not fragile, not furious. Just raw. Real. And scared.

“Yeah?” James replied.

Sirius licked his lips, voice hesitant. “Do you think… do you think I could rejoin the team?”

James blinked. “What?”

“I know I said I quit. I meant it. Then. But I… I need it. And I miss it. I miss being part of something. With you. With them. I’m not asking to be a starter. Just… to be back.”

James stared at him for a long moment, then gave a breathy little laugh. “Frank never took your jersey off the bench, you know.”

Sirius’ breath caught.

“He said he was keeping it warm,” James went on. “That you’d be back. And…” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “And now you’re cleared to play again.”

Sirius swallowed. “So?”

“So?” James looked up, his eyes full of something complicated and aching. “Yes, Sirius.”

And Sirius laughed, choked and brilliant and overjoyed, and lunged across Harry to kiss Remus with a grin stretched across his face.

Remus caught him easily, both of them laughing against each other’s lips. It was clumsy, affectionate, completely unguarded — a kiss of celebration and relief, their hands tangling in each other’s clothes, their joy echoing in the quiet room.

And then, with Remus still holding him, Sirius leaned in and kissed James.

James froze — not from surprise, but from the sudden intensity of it, the way Sirius cupped his cheek like he meant it. Like James was theirs, not just someone they danced around. The kiss was soft, almost reverent, and when Sirius pulled back, James looked a little dazed.

And then Remus kissed him too.

Not with hesitation — not anymore. He kissed James the way he’d wanted to for years, the way he’d imagined doing in quiet moments and buried in dreams. Sirius held both of them, an arm around each, and for a moment, the only thing anchoring them all was this. The weight of finally letting go, of not running anymore.

When they broke apart, breathless and quiet, Harry mumbled sleepily, “Why’re you all smilin’?”

James leaned down and kissed the top of his head.

“Because we’re a team again, bug.”

 

Practice was normal.

Too normal.

Sirius was back on the ice, skating drills like he’d never missed a beat. Remus shadowed him protectively but didn’t hover, just sent him small, fond glances when he thought no one was looking. James, meanwhile, had his golden retriever energy turned way down, sticking to the script, coaching with precision and professionalism, like the past few weeks hadn’t nearly torn him in half.

No one said anything. No one dared.

They weren’t stupid. Everyone felt something was different — James’ eyes lingered too long on Sirius during warmups. Remus adjusted James’ collar absentmindedly before dryland and didn’t even seem to notice. Sirius sat next to James during the film review and accidentally stole his protein bar and James let him.

But no one asked. The team had enough drama of its own.

Like the kind that was being forcibly dragged into the locker room right now.

Frank, ever the composed and grumpy enforcer of order, stood with arms crossed at the door as Regulus, Evan, and Barty sulked into the changing room with all the energy of prisoners being led to execution.

“I don’t care what happened or didn’t happen,” Frank said flatly. “Fix it. I want one practice without screaming or long smoldering glares or whatever this triangle of tension is. Talk. Or I’ll bench all three of you.”

Then he shut the door and left them in silence.

The moment was thick. No eye contact. Regulus sat on one bench, Evan across the room, and Barty just paced in the middle like a panther.

Finally, Regulus snapped. “This is insufferable.”

“Oh, now it’s insufferable?” Evan rolled his eyes. “You’ve been giving me murder eyes for a month.”

“You slept with my ex, Rosier.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Barty cut in with venom, “I seem to remember someone else being involved in that night, too. Maybe someone with perfect cheekbones and a superiority complex?”

Regulus’s nostrils flared. “I was drunk.”

Evan snorted. “You were the one who said ‘We might as well just get it out of our systems’, so don’t pretend like—”

“You never laughed like that with me,” Regulus said, suddenly, low and sharp.

Silence.

Evan’s face hardened. “Probably because he didn’t like you. It’s why he’s dating me now instead.”

That did it.

One second they were standing, the next they were on the ground, full-on wrestling, fists swinging, limbs tangled, yells echoing off the lockers. It wasn’t coordinated — it was ugly. Desperate. More about hurt than anger, about things they hadn’t said and feelings they hadn’t wanted to admit.

A nose cracked. An eyebrow split. Someone bit someone else’s shoulder. It was chaos. And honestly, it was kind of overdue.

When they finally stopped, panting and bleeding and sprawled out in a tangled heap, Barty groaned from where he was on the floor with Regulus’ knee digging into his ribs. “This is so dumb.”

“You think?” Evan muttered, trying to mop blood from his lip with his sleeve.

Regulus flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “We hooked up one time. One time. And now we’re all cursed.”

“We hooked up one time because none of us could say we actually liked each other,” Barty said, softer now. “And maybe we shouldn’t have.”

Evan looked away.

There was a beat.

Then Regulus mumbled, “I don’t not like you guys.”

Barty exhaled a weak laugh. “Wow. That was almost human.”

“I think I might’ve broken my knuckle on your jaw,” Evan added.

“You deserved it,” Regulus muttered, but without venom this time.

They didn’t hug. No one apologized. But they lay there together, bloodied and bruised, in the heavy quiet.

Somehow… it was a start.

As the three of them lay there, the initial adrenaline fading, the reality of their situation began to sink in. The locker room, once a place of camaraderie and banter, now felt like a confessional, a space where raw emotions were laid bare.

Evan was the first to break the silence, his voice a low rumble. "You know, I've never been good at this emotional shit. But I can't keep dancing around it. Regulus, you're an asshole, but you're our asshole."

Regulus turned his head to look at Evan, a faint smirk on his swollen lips. "And you're a bleeding heart, Rosier. But you're our bleeding heart."

Barty, still trapped under Regulus' knee, let out a pained chuckle. "And I'm the crazy one, right? The one who can't keep his hands to himself."

Regulus rolled his eyes but didn't deny it. "You're all kinds of crazy, Crouch. But you're our crazy."

Evan propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at the other two. "So, what now? We just... forget about it?"

Barty shook his head. "No. We acknowledge it. We fucked up. We all did. But we can't keep pretending it didn't happen."

Regulus sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Fine. I'll start. Evan, I was a dick. I was jealous, and I took it out on you. And Barty... I was a dick to you too. I was scared, and I pushed you away."

Evan raised an eyebrow. "Scared? Of what?"

Regulus hesitated before admitting, "Of caring about someone more than I care about myself."

The room fell silent again, the weight of Regulus' confession hanging in the air. Barty was the first to respond, his voice barely above a whisper. "I care about you, Regulus. Both of you. More than I should, probably. But I can't help it."

Evan nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Same here. I never thought I'd say this, but... I'm in this mess with you guys. All the way."

Regulus looked at each of them, his expression serious. "Then we figure it out. Together. No more secrets, no more hidden glances, no more pretending."

Barty grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, what you're saying is, it's time to get really messy?"

Evan laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the locker room. "Yeah, Crouch. It's time to get messy."

As they untangled themselves and stood up, the atmosphere in the room had shifted. The tension was still there, but it was different now—charged with a new energy, a mix of vulnerability and determination.

They helped each other up, brushing off the dirt and blood, their movements slower and more deliberate. Regulus pulled Evan into a tight hug, their breaths syncing as they held each other. Barty watched them, a soft smile on his face, before joining in, his arms wrapping around both of them.

In that moment, they were more than just teammates. They were a tangled web of emotions, a mess of desires and fears, but they were in it together. And for now, that was enough.

The locker room was a whirlwind of aggressive passion as the three of them collided in a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses. Regulus and Evan were locked in a fierce embrace, their mouths crashing together with a hunger that bordered on violent. Barty wasn't left out, his hands roaming over their bodies, pulling them closer, his touch as demanding as his kisses.

The room was filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing, the occasional growl, and the sharp smacks of skin on skin as they marked each other with bruises and scratches. Their bodies were slick with sweat, their movements aggressive and competitive as they each fought for dominance.

Just as things were reaching a boiling point, the locker room door creaked open. James poked his head in, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. Regulus and Evan were so entangled that they didn't notice him at first, but Barty looked up, his breath ragged, a wild look in his eyes.

"So, you talked about it?" James said, a hint of a smirk on his face as he took in the sight of their heaving chests and flushed skin. He didn't wait for an answer, simply nodded and pulled the door shut behind him, leaving them to their passionate, aggressive tangle.

The moment the door clicked shut, the three of them looked at each other, a mix of embarrassment and renewed desire flashing in their eyes. Regulus was the first to break the silence, a smirk playing on his swollen lips. "Well, that was unexpected."

Evan chuckled, a low, rough sound. "Yeah, but it's not like he didn't know something was up."

Barty nodded, his hands still gripping their hips, his body pressed against theirs. "True. But now we know he knows we know."

They shared a laugh, the tension in the room shifting from aggressive desire to a more playful, competitive energy. Regulus leaned in, his voice a low growl. "So, where were we?"

Evan smirked, his hands tangling in Regulus' hair as he pulled him back into a fierce kiss. "I believe you were about to show me who's boss."

Barty moved in closer, his body pressing against theirs, his hands roaming over their chests, his touch sending shivers down their spines. "And I believe I was about to show you both."

The room filled with their aggressive, competitive kisses and growls once more, the interruption from James only serving to fuel their fire. They were determined to prove themselves to each other, their bodies a tangled mess of desire and dominance as they picked up where they left off, their passion more intense than ever.

Chapter 12: The One With Frank

Summary:

“Frank?” James said, voice rough. “What—what time is it?”

“Time for you to not be doing this on a couch I’m pretty sure your son eats cereal on.”

The front door creaked open.

Frank had knocked — twice, in fact — but after a minute of no answer and the knowledge that James never locked the door if Harry wasn’t home, he’d let himself in. He had something to tell him, something about the league and schedules and a referee situation, and he was ready to drop it off and go. But as soon as he stepped into the living room, he froze.

On the couch, all three of them were asleep or close to it — tangled up in a way that was far too telling.

Remus was stretched out across James’ lap, long legs taking up most of the cushions, his face slack with sleep. Sirius was curled against James’ side, his head buried in James’ neck, one arm flung across James’ chest. James looked half-asleep too, his hands in their hair, his sweatshirt rumpled, and a kind of peace on his face Frank hadn’t seen in weeks.

Frank blinked. Took one step back. Then one forward again. Nope. Still the same.

He cleared his throat loudly.

All three jumped.

Remus jolted upright, Sirius nearly fell off the couch, and James startled so hard his hand smacked his own knee.

“Frank?” James said, voice rough. “What—what time is it?”

“Time for you to not be doing this on a couch I’m pretty sure your son eats cereal on.”

Sirius flushed. Remus rubbed his face. James groaned and covered his eyes.

“Frank—”

“No. No, no, no. Don’t even start,” Frank said, holding up a hand and sighing. “I came here to talk to you about the scrimmage next week, but now I have to mentally bleach my eyes first.”

“We weren’t doing anything,” Remus said quietly.

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re nesting.”

James rubbed his forehead. “Frank, please don’t make this weird.”

“I’m not making it weird. You three made it weird. I’m just observing the weirdness.” He looked at them for a long moment. “Look. I don’t care who you’re all kissing, as long as you don’t bring it into the locker room, or let it wreck this team. Especially not now.”

“It won’t,” Sirius said immediately, voice hoarse but clear.

Frank’s eyes softened, just slightly. “Then make sure it doesn’t.”

There was a beat of silence. Remus looked down. James swallowed and nodded.

“I get it,” he said.

Frank sighed again, already halfway back toward the door. “Good. Now untangle yourselves and act like adults. Or at least pretend when you’re on the ice.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Sirius flopped back against the couch and groaned into James’ side.

“Well. That wasn’t embarrassing at all.”

James chuckled, still red in the face. “Could’ve been worse.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“Harry could’ve walked in.”

They all froze for a second.

“…Fair,” Remus said finally.

They didn’t move for another few minutes.

Notes:

I know it's a short chapter and i'm so sorry, but if you have any ideas on how to let this story keep going, and give me more inspiration, i would adore that. I love your comments and they make my day <3

Chapter 13: The one with the Dorm

Notes:

I was so desperate to get a new chapter out I uploaded it on my phone. The paragraphs and everything are a bit wonky. So I’ll edit those later. I’ll be on summer break though. So I won’t be updating as frequently. Love you guys :)

The dorm was quiet. Not dark — the streetlight spilled a sliver of gold through the half-closed blinds — but quiet in that sleepy, waiting way it got before bed.

Remus was brushing his teeth in the bathroom. The faucet squeaked. Water gurgled down the drain.

Sirius sat on the edge of his bed, one knee bouncing, fingers twisting the hem of his shirt, and he just… thought.

He thought about the first time James ruffled his hair — not on the ice, not like a coach, but like a person, like a friend. After his first real game, when he was flushed and high on adrenaline, James had reached over, grinning like a proud idiot, and said, “You’re a fucking rocket out there, Black.” Sirius had nearly short-circuited. He remembered how his face burned, how he pretended to be annoyed, but then replayed it over and over again that night until sleep took him.

He thought about the time Remus had fallen asleep on his shoulder on the bus. He remembered being terrified to move, afraid to wake him, afraid to ruin it. He remembered the exact weight of Remus’ head against him, the warmth of it, the way it made his chest ache in that awful, wonderful, hungry way.

He remembered James holding Harry one-handed while tying his skate with the other, smiling like the entire world was exactly as it should be.

He remembered Remus growling at someone who’d made a snide comment about Sirius’ eyeliner. “Say it again,” Remus had said, low and dangerous, “and I’ll knock your fucking teeth in.”

He remembered brushing up against James during drills and James giggling — actually giggling — like it was the funniest thing in the world to get checked by someone ten years younger than him.

He remembered Remus tying his hoodie strings for him, gentle and careful and infuriatingly soft.

He remembered Harry crawling into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, babbling in Spanglish about police car pajamas and dinosaurs.

He remembered James slipping into Spanish when he was tired, or excited, or both — and how Sirius would pretend he didn’t understand most of it, just to make James explain it again.

He remembered Remus calling James guapo one night by accident. How they both turned red, and Sirius just watched, feeling something inside him unravel.

He remembered the night James was hurting — really hurting — and Sirius had walked into the locker room and just held him, without saying a word.

He remembered how Remus had found them like that and didn’t look jealous. Just… grateful. Like maybe he’d been waiting for someone to hold James like that, too.

He remembered the kiss.

God, he remembered the kiss.

Remus’ lips had tasted like mint. James’ like honey and salt. The way their hands found each other’s faces like they were afraid it was a dream. The way Sirius had whispered, “Is this real?” and both of them had said yes in that exact same breath.

He remembered the heat of it. The slow, careful way it built. Not messy. Not rushed. Just — finally.

Like gravity.

Like all three of them had been falling toward that moment since the very beginning, and they hadn’t even known it.

“Ready for bed?” Remus asked softly from the doorway, hair damp from washing, eyes tired but warm.

Sirius looked up at him, and then to the narrow dorm bed that barely fit one person.
“Do you mind—”

Remus was already moving.

They curled together like muscle memory, Sirius’ cheek pressed to Remus’ chest, Remus’ hand carding through his hair.

Sirius closed his eyes and let himself be held.
He didn’t say anything else.
He didn’t have to.

Sirius lay there for a while, curled into the steady thrum of Remus’ chest, quiet. He traced slow, absent circles into the fabric of Remus’ sleep shirt, and his voice came out low when it finally did.

“I think I knew before I let myself know.”

Remus hummed in acknowledgment. “About James?”

Sirius shrugged, cheek brushing against him. “About… you. Both of you. But mostly you.” He paused. “I just didn’t know what to do with it.”

There was a silence, but it wasn’t a bad one. Just full. Sirius could hear Remus’ heart. He pressed closer to it.

“I think I started falling for you the first time you made me a cup of tea and then insulted me immediately after.”

Remus huffed a laugh through his nose. “You told me I made it wrong.”

“It was wrong.”

“You like half a sugar and a splash of milk. I gave you exactly that.”

“You used almond milk.”

Remus snorted. “You’re such a brat.”

Sirius smiled. “Yeah. I know. You like that about me.”

“Unfortunately.”

They were quiet again. Then Sirius said, “You remember the day we all stayed in James’ apartment and watched that stupid dinosaur movie Harry picked?”

“I remember you and James fell asleep halfway through, drooling on either side of me.”

“I remember the way you looked between us like you couldn’t believe it was real.”

Remus didn’t say anything to that, but his hand kept stroking softly through Sirius’ hair.

Sirius whispered, “I think I fell in love with him when I saw him hold Harry like he was made of gold.”

Remus finally said, “I know.” And it wasn’t bitter. It wasn’t even sad. It just was.

Sirius turned his face into Remus’ collarbone. “But I fell in love with you long before that. I just didn’t realize what it was.”

Remus swallowed. “When?”

“Your first year on the team. You used to do this thing when you were frustrated where you’d sit on the bench and pull your hair out of your ponytail and swear under your breath. And I’d just—watch. I never said anything. But I always watched.”

“You’ve always been watching,” Remus said gently.

“I couldn’t help it.” Sirius’ voice got smaller. “You were the only thing that made it feel like I wasn’t crazy.”

Remus kissed his hair. “You’re not crazy.”

“I didn’t think either of you would ever look at me like that.”

“We always did.”

There was a long pause. Sirius blinked slowly, heavy with tiredness but unwilling to let the silence take over completely.

“I love you,” he mumbled.

Remus didn’t even hesitate. “I love you too.”

Sirius nestled in tighter. Then added softly, “And I love him.”

“I know,” Remus said again.

“I think he loves us too.”

Remus took a breath. “I think he’s scared to.”

“He doesn’t have to be.”

Remus tilted his head down and rested his chin lightly against Sirius’ head. “Then we’ll show him. Slowly. Gently.”

Sirius was quiet again, comforted now. His hand came to rest over Remus’ heart, and he whispered, “We’re gonna be okay, right?”

Remus nodded, his voice like warm wool. “Yeah. We’re gonna be okay.”

Sirius let out a long sigh, warm breath fanning over Remus’ collarbone. “Can we talk about the fact that Frank saw us all wrapped around each other like horny teenagers?”

Remus groaned. “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” Sirius said, voice muffled in Remus’ chest. “Because I haven’t been that embarrassed since I accidentally moaned your name in the locker room my first year.”

Remus laughed, full and startled. “Wait — you what?”

“Not important.”

“Extremely important.”

“I was dreaming,” Sirius mumbled. “Shut up.”

Remus was still laughing, and Sirius smacked his chest lightly.

“Anyway,” Sirius said, pointedly changing the subject. “Frank. Poor, poor Frank.”

“He didn’t even say anything.”

“No, but he made this noise like he’d walked in on his parents roleplaying as firemen and nurses. I think I saw his soul leave his body.”

Remus was trying not to laugh again, but Sirius was in full dramatic mode now, eyes wide and animated.

“James looked like a golden retriever caught stealing a roast off the counter. And I swear to god, Harry looked right at us, then at Frank, and just said—‘They’re cuddling sin ropa.’ Like he was filing a report.”

Remus chuckled. “In his police car pajamas, no less.”

“He betrayed us in theme.”

They dissolved into giggles for a moment, their laughter half-muffled by the blankets and the closeness. But once the laughter died down, the silence returned, softer this time, warmer.

Remus tucked some of Sirius’ hair behind his ear. “You think Frank’s gonna say anything?”

“I think he’ll pretend it never happened,” Sirius replied. “Out of respect. Or trauma.”

“I mean… it’s not like we’ve defined anything yet. Us three.”

Sirius gave a tiny shrug. “I don’t think it needs a name right now.”

“Still,” Remus said, quieter now, “it’s not just us anymore. I mean… it is. But it’s not. And people are going to notice.”

“I don’t care,” Sirius said simply. “If it means I get to kiss you and James without sneaking around like some forbidden hallway rendezvous, they can notice all they want.”

Remus looked at him for a long moment, then kissed the top of his head. “Me too,” he said. “I just hope James is ready for all of it.”

Sirius gave a little sigh. “He will be.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Sirius murmured, letting his eyes fall shut. “Because we’ll be there when he is.”

Sirius shifted a little, sighing. “God. And then there’s them.”

Remus blinked sleepily. “Barty, Evan, and your darling brother?”

“Don’t say darling brother. That’s horrifying.”

Remus smirked into Sirius’ hair. “Fine. Your menace of a brother, who clearly has no idea what the hell he’s doing with either of them.”

Sirius groaned. “None of them do. It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion, except the car is horny and repressed and fully capable of speaking but chooses not to.”

“Do you think they’re still not talking?”

“Oh, definitely,” Sirius said. “I walked past them the other day — Regulus and Evan were icing their wrists in the trainer’s office, and Barty came in, saw them, and turned around and left. Like a literal cartoon.”

Remus winced. “That’s… not good.”

“They’re all obsessed with each other. It’s so obvious. Regulus looks like he’s planning a murder every time Evan laughs at something Barty says. And Evan keeps doing this thing where he says, ‘I don’t care,’ but then looks like he’s about to cry whenever Regulus is cold to him.”

Remus hummed. “And Barty?”

Sirius shrugged. “Honestly? He’s the only one who seems to know what he wants. He just… wants both of them. At once. Which, like, relatable, but maybe not the best solution to a three-way heartbreak.”

“They need to talk,” Remus said simply.

Sirius turned his face into Remus’ shoulder again. “They need therapy, Moons.”

“You all do,” Remus teased gently.

“Rude. True, but rude.”

There was a silence, then Sirius added, “It’s weird, you know? How much it used to bother me — watching Regulus with them. I used to think he was going to get everything I wanted. Like he’d beat me to it.”

Remus tilted his head. “Everything?”

“You. James. Team respect. I dunno. Just… all of it.”

Remus’s voice was soft. “Do you still feel like that?”

Sirius was quiet. Then, finally, he whispered, “No. Not anymore.”
He reached for Remus’ hand under the covers and tangled their fingers together.
“I have you. And James. And even when it’s a mess, it’s ours, you know?”

Remus pressed a kiss to Sirius’ forehead. “Yeah. I know.”

They lay in silence again, listening to the hum of the radiator and the faint noise of wind against the window. After a while, Sirius mumbled:

“Do you think they’ll figure it out? Reg, Barty, Evan?”

“I think they will,” Remus said. “Eventually.”

“And until then?”

Remus kissed the top of his head again and whispered, “We’ll be here. Rooting for the disaster trio from the safety of our own complicated throuple.”

Sirius snorted. “God, I hate how much sense that makes.”

“You love it.”

“Yeah,” Sirius whispered. “I really do.”

The room was quiet except for their soft breaths mingling in the dim light. Sirius shifted closer, fingers threading through Remus’ hair as their eyes met—dark, searching, full of everything unsaid. Slowly, Sirius leaned in, lips brushing gently over Remus’ before pressing deeper, melting into the kiss with a warmth that chased away the chill of the night.

Remus responded instantly, his hands moving to cradle Sirius’ face, pulling him closer, matching the kiss’s tenderness and fire. Their mouths moved together, exploring, sighing, a rhythm born from years of unspoken longing finally finding release. Sirius’s soft whimpers blended with Remus’s low growls, their connection deepening with every heartbeat.

When they finally broke apart, breaths heavy and eyes shining, Sirius rested his forehead against Remus’s.

“Next time,” Sirius murmured with a mischievous smile, “we need James to join in.”

Remus chuckled, brushing a gentle thumb along Sirius’s cheek. “I guess I don’t mind sharing you.”

Sirius grinned, a spark lighting in his eyes. “Good. Because neither of you gets to have me all to yourself.

Chapter 14: The One With The Interrogation

Notes:

I'm going to be gone for six weeks, so here's some angst, you're welcome

It started with a photo. Just one.

James hadn’t even noticed the camera at the time, which made it worse. He was coming out of the rink after an early morning skate with the team, Harry tucked against his hip, still in his pajamas and blinking sleepily in the morning sun. It had been a soft moment—Harry murmuring something about pancakes, James smiling, cradling the back of his head.

And it was everywhere by noon.

Every sports site. Every gossip blog. Every fan account. Headlines screaming about the "NHL's Golden Boy Secretly Raising a Toddler," the "James Potter Love Child Mystery," and the "Scandal Hidden Behind College Rinks."

James hadn’t planned to hide Harry forever. But he also hadn’t planned to be exposed like this—not while he was still figuring out how to be a dad, not while still navigating the minefield of coaching, rebuilding his reputation, and maintaining the carefully curated professional boundary with his team.

Frank pulled him into his office the moment the story broke.

"They’re asking for statements, James. You didn’t even tell the school."

James just sat there, numb. "I didn’t know how. I didn’t want it to be about him."

Frank's face softened slightly. "You know I love that kid. But you need to be smart about this. They’re going to start digging. And if they find more..."

James didn’t reply. He barely made it through the meeting. Barely made it home. And once he did, he didn’t leave for two days.

Practice carried on without him.

Remus ran the drills. Sirius sat on the bench, watching the door. And watching it. And watching it.

By the third day of James not showing up, Sirius was quiet. Brooding. He didn’t skate. He didn’t joke. He barely looked at Remus.

"Sirius," Remus tried gently, catching him alone outside the locker room. "He’s going through something. You know that."

Sirius turned sharply. "I know? Do you think I don’t know? Do you think I haven’t been thinking about it every second since that damn photo got out?"

Remus blinked, stunned. "I didn’t mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?" Sirius snapped. "Because it sounds like you're defending him. Like you're saying we should just wait and play nice while he locks us out again."

Remus took a breath, calm but firm. "I’m saying we can be patient. He's a single dad who's scared. This isn't just about us."

Sirius shook his head, eyes glassy. "You always take his side."

"That’s not fair," Remus whispered.

"None of this is fair," Sirius bit out. "We put our hearts in his hands. And the second it got messy, he shut the door. Again."

And Remus, who had always been so steady, so quiet in his heartbreak, couldn’t find anything to say.

Because Sirius was right.

Because James was gone.

Because Harry had been made into a headline.

And because the silence James left behind was louder than anything they'd ever said aloud.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

It was a few days later when things truly unraveled. Tensions were running high across the team, emotions bubbling just below the surface.

Regulus and Sirius had been circling each other all week, barely holding it together. It only took one misstep in the locker room.

"Didn’t realize you were playing the pity card now," Regulus muttered under his breath as Sirius limped to the bench after trying to push himself on the ice again.

Sirius turned slowly. "What did you just say?"

Regulus stood, arms folded. "You heard me. All of this moping, all of this drama. If you can't handle being left behind, maybe don't get involved with men who are already broken."

Remus stepped between them, but Sirius shoved past.

"You think I wanted this? You think I asked for any of this? He left, Regulus! He walked out on all of us."

Regulus sneered. "He walked out because of you. Because of all the feelings you couldn’t keep to yourself."

"Fuck you!"

"He has a kid, Sirius! What did you think this was going to be? A love story? You and Remus and your perfect little throuple and Harry in a bowtie at your wedding? Grow up."

Sirius shoved him.

And then there were fists.

Remus tried to pull them apart, but it was too late. They were both bleeding by the time Frank and Evan rushed in. Shouting. Blood on the tile. No one knew who started it. Everyone knew what it was about.

James still hadn’t come back.

And everything was falling apart.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

The next day, things were quiet. Unnaturally so.

Everyone could feel it the second they entered the rink: something was coming.

Mid-practice, Frank blew his whistle hard and gestured toward the locker room hallway.

Two men in administration badges were waiting.

"We’re here to investigate a claim," one said simply.

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. But everyone was watching Sirius, and Remus, and Regulus.

The admin continued, voice measured. "There have been concerns raised about inappropriate conduct involving a coach and multiple players. This is a formal inquiry."

Frank looked like he was barely holding himself together.

Regulus glanced at Sirius, his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable.

Sirius didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Remus's hand was already on his arm.

Everything they had been trying to hide, to protect, was about to be torn open.

And James... still hadn’t come back.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

By noon, the three of them had been separated and pulled into cold, narrow offices one by one.

They were asked direct questions. About James. About each other. About relationships, behavior, favoritism.

Remus answered calmly, never once hesitating.

Sirius kept his jaw clenched the whole time.

Regulus—pristine, collected—was quietly seething.

None of them saw each other until well after dark, when Frank gathered them in the rink, the lights dimmed, the bleachers echoing.

"No decisions have been made yet," Frank said. "But you need to know—this is serious. If anyone else comes forward, if the press gets wind of this... it won’t matter what the truth is."

He looked at each of them. "Clean it up. Whatever’s going on between you, fix it. Before it ruins you."

Silence.

Then Regulus, with venom in his voice: "Maybe it already has."

Remus exhaled slowly. Sirius just stared at the ice.

The team was unraveling. James was gone. And everything was on the verge of collapse.

And tomorrow… the headlines might not just be about Harry.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

James came back the next morning.

He walked into the rink with Harry asleep on his shoulder, exhaustion in his eyes, determination in his step. He stopped cold when he saw the two admin officials standing near the locker rooms.

Frank looked up from his clipboard and sighed. "James. We need to talk."

James gently passed Harry to Frank, who softened immediately and took the boy in his arms.

"What happened?"

"An inquiry. You’re part of it."

James blinked. "Me?"

"Yes. You, Sirius, Remus, and Regulus. And... we’re going to need to speak with Harry too"

"He's four."

"And he’s named in a claim. Something about him being exposed to unprofessional behavior."

“Why is Regulus involved?” James asks

“They assume he knows something since he’s Sirius’ brother”

James went pale. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Watch your tone, Coach."

James was pulled into a sterile office first. Then Sirius. Then Remus. Then Regulus. Questions sharp as razors. About who was in whose apartment, about coaching ethics, about Harry's presence at practice, about what he had seen.

They even brought Harry in, gently, sitting him in a soft chair with a woman who spoke softly and asked about what he’d seen. Who he played with. If anyone ever made him uncomfortable. If anyone ever touched him wrong. Harry just blinked, clutching his stuffed bear, and said, "Rem and Si’wus are nice. They make me snacks."

James sat outside the office, his hands clenched so tightly they shook.

This was no longer just about his mistakes.

This was about his son.

This was about everything.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

James’ Interview

James sat stiffly at the metal table, his usual golden retriever warmth replaced by taut nerves. His coaching jacket felt heavier than usual, as if the weight of the entire team pressed down on him.

Across from him, the interviewer’s gaze was sharp and direct.

“Coach Potter, we will focus this interview strictly on your interactions with players Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Are you currently in a romantic or inappropriate relationship with either player?”

James met the eyes looking for a crack in his armor and answered evenly, “No. I’m their coach and nothing more.”

The room was silent for a moment before the interviewer continued, voice cool and deliberate.

“Have you ever crossed professional boundaries with Mr. Black or Mr. Lupin, whether intentionally or not?”

James’s jaw clenched. “No. I treat them both fairly and professionally. My focus is coaching and supporting their growth on and off the ice.”

“Some have noted an unusually close relationship between you and the players, particularly during team events and practices where your son is present. Can you comment on that?”

James hesitated, fingers curling into fists. “Harry’s part of my life. As a single parent, sometimes I have no choice but to bring him to practices. But I make sure it never interferes with the team’s professionalism.”

The interviewer’s expression remained unreadable. “Do you believe this has affected team dynamics?”

James sighed quietly. “I can’t control how others perceive it. I try to maintain clear boundaries.”

The questions kept coming, probing late-night texts, off-ice interactions, and favoritism rumors. James answered each with precision, but the exhaustion was visible in his eyes by the end.

Sirius’ Interview

Sirius sat with arms crossed, jaw tight, tension radiating off him like heat. The sterile room felt suffocating.

“Mr. Black, please describe your relationship with Remus Lupin.”

Sirius glanced away briefly, then met the interviewer’s gaze. “We’re dating. We’ve been together for a while now.”

“And your relationship with Coach Potter?”

Sirius’s lip curled slightly. “He’s our coach. Nothing else.”

“Have there been any inappropriate advances or conduct by Coach Potter?”

“None. Zero.” His voice hardened. “James is professional. More professional than anyone else on the team.”

The interviewer pressed on, “There have been rumors suggesting otherwise. That you have complex feelings for Coach Potter. Is that true?”

Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “Rumors aren’t truth. Remus and I have our own relationship. We keep things separate.”

“Do you feel pressure to hide your relationship with Mr. Lupin or your interactions with the coach?”

Sirius hesitated, then said quietly, “We wanted privacy. That’s all.”

The interviewer leaned in. “Do you think the presence of your relationship and the coach’s involvement have complicated the team atmosphere?”

Sirius looked away. “It’s complicated. But we’re trying to stay focused on hockey.”

Remus’ Interview

Remus’s hands rested calmly on the table, but his voice held a quiet strength.

“Mr. Lupin, describe your relationship with Sirius Black and James Potter.”

“I’m in a relationship with Sirius,” Remus said clearly. “James is our coach and nothing more.”

“Have you ever felt uncomfortable with Coach Potter’s behavior?”

“No. He’s been professional. Sometimes distant, but never inappropriate.”

The interviewer’s tone softened. “How have you been affected by the recent scandals and tension?”

Remus paused, choosing words carefully. “It’s been painful. We’re under scrutiny, and the team is fractured. But Sirius and I support each other through it.”

“Do you think this situation has impacted the team’s performance?”

“Yes. And it’s not just the scandals. Personal grievances have created divisions.”

Harry’s Interview

The toddler sat on a woman’s lap, eyes bright and innocent.

“Harry, who do you like to spend time with?”

His small voice chimed, “Remus and Si’wus.”

“Do you feel safe and happy?”

“Sí. Feliz.” His broken mix of Spanish and English tugged at the heart of everyone in the room.

“Has anyone ever made you feel scared or uncomfortable?”

He shook his head fiercely. “No no no.”

Regulus’ Interview

Regulus sat immaculate, cold, but beneath the calm exterior, the storm roiled. The room felt smaller as the interviewer slid a file toward him.

“Regulus Black, are you responsible for filing the formal complaint regarding conduct within the team?”

Regulus’s fingers tapped lightly on the table. He hesitated, eyes flickering as if weighing the consequences.

“Are you refusing to answer?” the interviewer pressed.

Regulus’s voice was low, controlled, but edged with bitterness.

“I… I filed the claim.”

The room seemed to freeze.

“Why?” the interviewer asked quietly.

Regulus’s gaze sharpened. “Because the team was unraveling. Because personal relationships crossed lines that endangered everyone’s focus and professionalism. Because no one else acted.”

“Were there personal motivations behind your decision?”

He sighed, voice dropping. “Perhaps. But when things became destructive, something had to be done.”

The interviewer’s eyes narrowed. “Do you regret it?”

Regulus’s lip curled into a bitter smile. “Regret? No. But the fallout... yes. This team was my life, and now it feels like it’s falling apart.”

Silence stretched. The weight of his confession settled heavily over all who would hear it.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

The locker room felt heavier than usual — thick with tension, a brittle quiet hanging over everyone. Sirius sat on a bench, trying to focus on lacing his skates, but his fingers trembled as if they were tied to his racing thoughts.

Remus stood nearby, watching him with concern, but Sirius barely noticed.

The news had leaked earlier in hushed whispers, and now it was confirmed: Regulus was the one who filed the complaint.

At first, Sirius refused to believe it. Regulus — the prissy, sharp-tongued ex-boyfriend of Barty, the one who always seemed so poised and untouchable — was behind the entire investigation? The team’s unraveling? The scrutiny? The harsh questions? The painful fractures?

It didn’t make sense.

But the truth couldn’t be ignored.

Sirius finally found Regulus alone by the water fountain, eyes cold and unreadable.

Sirius’s voice cracked with anger, disbelief, and betrayal all at once.

“You. You’re the one who started this? The claim? The investigation?”

Regulus didn’t flinch. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a weary hardness.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Why?” Sirius’s words were sharper than intended. “Why would you do this to us? To me? To Remus? To James?”

Regulus looked away, jaw tight.

“Because you all crossed lines. Because this wasn’t about love or feelings anymore — it was about chaos, distraction, breaking the team. I tried to protect what was left.”

Sirius laughed bitterly.

“Protect? You destroyed everything. You tore us apart.”

Regulus’s gaze snapped back, icy and unyielding.

“You don’t understand what it means to hold a team together. To have discipline. You think this is easy for me?”

“I don’t care.”

“I filed the claim because no one else would,” Regulus admitted, voice low but resolute. “Because if you and Remus and Potter want to keep living in your fantasy, then you need to understand the consequences.”

Sirius’s hands balled into fists. “So you didn’t do this because you care about the team... but because you hate me. Because you’re still bitter about what Barty did.”

Regulus’s face twisted for a split second, then he nodded.

“Yes.”

The weight of the confession settled like a stone in Sirius’s chest.

“You used this whole investigation as revenge,” Sirius said quietly. “To punish me.”

Regulus met his gaze, unapologetic.

“I did what I thought was necessary.”

Sirius turned sharply, not trusting himself to say more. He stormed off, heart pounding — rage, hurt, and disbelief clashing in his chest.

Later, Remus found Sirius alone on the stands, head in his hands.

“You found out,” Remus said softly.

Sirius nodded, voice raw. “It was Regulus. He betrayed us.”

Remus’s eyes darkened with a mix of pain and understanding.

“We have to figure out what to do next.”

Sirius looked up, eyes burning with hurt and fierce determination.

“Yeah. Because this... this isn’t over.”

The locker room felt like a battlefield the next day. The revelation that Regulus had filed the complaint spread like wildfire, and with it came the inevitable division.

The team split silently, unspoken but unmistakable.

On one side were Sirius and Remus, united by their shared hurt and the protective bubble they built around each other.

On the other, Regulus, Barty, and Evan—once inseparable, now tangled in a web of guilt, anger, and mistrust.

Regulus stood apart, cool and distant, though the tightness around his eyes betrayed the tension beneath. Barty hovered close, casting worried glances between Regulus and Evan. Evan, usually calm, was uncharacteristically snappy and tense, trying to hold their fragile dynamic together.

The morning skate was stiff, cold. Practice lacked its usual rhythm. Sirius and Remus moved fluidly together on the ice, communicating silently like they had become each other's anchor. But their connection also made the distance from Regulus’s side more glaring.

During a water break, Evan finally spoke up, voice low but strained.

“Regulus... maybe we need to talk. About all this.”

Barty nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, this—whatever it is—is tearing us apart.”

Regulus’s jaw clenched. “I did what I thought was right. It wasn’t personal.”

Evan’s eyes flashed. “But it was personal. And it’s hurting all of us.”

Barty sighed. “We’re supposed to be a team. A throuple. Not... this mess.”

Regulus looked away, silence hanging heavy.

Meanwhile, Sirius and Remus were grappling with their own side of the fracture.

Remus’s voice was quiet but fierce as he turned to Sirius.

“We’re the ones who got hurt first. He—Regulus—betrayed us.”

Sirius nodded, eyes dark. “And now we’re supposed to act like everything’s normal? Like we don’t see the way he’s with Barty and Evan?”

Remus squeezed Sirius’s hand. “We don’t have to act normal. We just have to survive.”

James watched from the sidelines, frustration and helplessness twisting in his gut. The team’s chemistry—once a strength—had become their biggest obstacle.

He knew the longer this went on, the harder it would be to pull them back together.

The next locker room encounter was inevitable.

Regulus and Sirius crossed paths near the lockers, and the air crackled with everything unsaid.

Sirius stopped, voice sharp.

“How do you look them in the eye, Regulus? After everything?”

Regulus’s reply was icy. “I don’t look for forgiveness, Sirius.”

“You should. You tore us apart.”

Barty stepped in quickly, placing a hand on Regulus’s arm.

“Enough.”

The tension was palpable.

The team was broken, their once close-knit bond unraveling thread by thread.

And as the season pressed on, everyone wondered: Could they ever be whole again?

The dorm room was dim, soft light spilling from a desk lamp as Remus and Sirius sat on their beds, the silence between them thick but comfortable.

Remus exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “At least Regulus, Barty, and Evan have finally come to terms with everything. They’re talking — even if it’s messy, it’s something.”

Sirius nodded slowly, eyes distant. “Yeah… they’re trying, somehow. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress.”

They both paused, the weight of their own situation settling around them.

Sirius glanced sideways at Remus, cheeks faintly flushed.

“We haven’t even had, y’know, full-on sex with him yet,” he blurted, voice small but teasing.

Remus blinked, eyebrows rising.

Sirius shrugged, a nervous grin creeping onto his face.

“We haven’t crossed that line. So… we can’t get in trouble, right?”

Remus chuckled, shaking his head softly.

“God, Sirius. You’re impossible.”

Sirius smirked, leaning back.

“But seriously… maybe that’s why things feel so… tangled. We don’t know the rules yet.”

Remus’s gaze softened.

“Maybe we’ll figure them out. Together.”

And for a moment, in the quiet dorm room, the chaos outside felt a little less overwhelming.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

The tension in the rink was suffocating when the team was called together. Frank stood at the front, flanked by the administration officials who had conducted the investigation. The room was thick with silence — no one dared breathe too loudly.

Frank cleared his throat. “The investigation is complete. We’ve reviewed all statements, interviewed every involved party, and examined the evidence thoroughly.”

He looked around the room, his eyes resting on James, Sirius, Remus, and Regulus.

“First, the good news: No rules regarding player conduct or coach-player relationships have been conclusively broken.”

A small, tentative sigh rippled through the room.

“But,” Frank continued, “there is undeniable evidence of conflicts of interest, unprofessional behavior, and a toxic atmosphere that has been allowed to fester.”

Regulus shifted in his seat. Sirius’s jaw tightened. James kept his gaze fixed forward, expression unreadable.

“The administration is placing the team under probation for the remainder of the season. Any further incidents will result in severe disciplinary action, including possible suspension or disbanding of the team.”

Frank’s voice dropped. “The throuple dynamic, while not explicitly violating policies, has been deemed inappropriate given the coach-player and player-player relationships involved. It has caused division and distress among team members.”

James’s shoulders tensed. Sirius looked at Remus, who squeezed his hand quietly.

“The complaint filed by Regulus has been acknowledged as a catalyst, but it’s clear the situation is complex and involves emotional entanglements and poor communication across the board.”

Frank met Regulus’s eyes. “Regulus, the claim you filed was taken seriously. However, the administration encourages all parties to work towards reconciliation.”

Regulus’s face was pale but stoic.

Finally, Frank addressed the group.

“This probationary period is your chance to prove you can move past this and focus on the team and your shared goals. I expect professionalism, respect, and commitment — starting now.”

The room was heavy with unspoken tension.

Sirius broke the silence first, voice low but steady.

“We’ll do our best.”

Remus nodded.

James exhaled sharply, the weight of responsibility settling heavily.

And somewhere in the mix — the fragile hope that they might still pull themselves together before everything fell apart.

Chapter 15: The One Where Sirius Breaks

Notes:

Hey friends! Soooo… I know I disappeared for eight weeks. Eight whole weeks! That’s basically an eternity in fic-time (and definitely enough time to forget what you were even writing about). I blame it on life, the universe, and probably a rogue flock of pigeons that blocked my Wi-Fi or something equally dramatic. But hey — I’m back! Refreshed, caffeinated, and ready to dive right back into this rollercoaster of a story.

In all seriousness: This chapter touches on some very heavy topics, including detailed descriptions of abuse and mental health struggles. If that’s something you’re sensitive to, please take care of yourselves and read with caution. Your wellbeing matters most.

Now, back to the fun stuff — or at least what I wish was just fun. Because here we are, in what I optimistically called a “happy fic,” but honestly, this might just be the angstiest thing I’ve ever written. There’s more emotional turmoil here than a soap opera marathon, and I’m pretty sure someone just signed up for a lifetime supply of tissues.

Thanks for sticking around, for reading, and for all the support. Now buckle up, because this ride is far from over!

— Me, still trying to figure out how to write a happy ending

The locker room was heavy with tension. The announcement of the probation had barely sunk in before the storm ignited.

Regulus’s eyes were sharp, voice cold and clipped as he confronted Sirius.

“You think this is my fault? You think I wanted to ruin you? To keep you from being happy?”

Sirius’s laugh was bitter, sharp. “You never wanted me happy, Regulus. Never.”

Regulus’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, is it not? You blamed me. After everything. You blamed me for running away.”

Sirius’s voice broke, rising with years of buried pain. “You don’t get to say that.”

The room fell silent, the team watching, breath caught.

Sirius’s eyes glistened, raw and furious. “Our parents—they broke us. You knew what they did to me. The way they punished me.” His voice dropped to a haunted whisper. “They’d snap my fingers until they bled. Twist my toes, one by one, like I was a broken doll. They’d slap me so hard the marks stayed for days, and when I cried, they called me weak.”

Remus shifted uncomfortably; even James looked away, heart clenched.

Sirius’s hands trembled, voice tighter. “The nights I wasn’t in my bed… when Dad sent me away. To a friend’s house. Said it was for my own good. Said I had to learn to obey. I was… raped. And when I finally ran, when I escaped, you turned on me.”

Regulus’s face twisted in shame and anger. “I was scared. I thought if you left, it would all come crashing down on me.”

Sirius laughed again, but it was hollow. “So you blamed me. For surviving. For not being broken like you wanted.”

Barty swallowed hard. Evan’s face was pale, eyes wide. Frank looked away, jaw clenched.

Remus’s voice was barely a whisper, full of grief. “I had no idea.”

James’s throat tightened. The bubbly, snarky Sirius everyone knew was barely a shield over the shattered boy.

Sirius’s voice cracked. “I hid it. Pretended to be this… this firecracker. Because if I let them see the broken parts, there’d be nothing left.”

Regulus’s voice was hoarse. “I never meant for this to be how it came out.”

“But it is,” Sirius spat. “And you still don’t see how much damage you did.”

The room was still. The weight of their past hung between them, raw and aching.

And the team, once so full of energy and life, now faced the stark reality of just how deep the scars ran — scars they’d never suspected beneath Sirius’s bright smile.

Sirius’s chest heaved, eyes blazing with anger and hurt as he jabbed a finger toward Regulus. “Why, Regulus? Why did you file that complaint? Was it to punish me? To hurt Remus? To keep us apart? You never wanted me to be happy — and now you’re trying to ruin everything.”

Regulus’s face tightened, his own fury rising. “You think I did this just to be cruel? You think I want to destroy you? I filed it because I was tired — so tired of watching you spiral, dragging Remus and James into it. Because your feelings are reckless, and you don’t think about the consequences.”

Sirius’s laugh was sharp and bitter, full of scorn. “Reckless? You’re the one who’s reckless. You want to control everything — the team, us, even our past. You think you can just erase what’s between us by calling some stupid complaint?”

Regulus’s voice cracked with pain. “You left! You ran away from everything — from me, from our family, from what we had! And I was left to pick up the pieces.”

“I left because I couldn’t take it anymore!” Sirius shouted back. “Because Dad sent me off to be raped! Because Mom and Dad broke me every way they could — and you blamed me for running away? For trying to survive?”

The rest of the team shifted uncomfortably, faces pale as the full weight of the siblings’ abuse poured out between them.

Regulus’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I blamed you because I was scared. Because I didn’t know how to be your brother when you were gone. I was angry. But that complaint? It was supposed to be a wake-up call.”

Sirius shook his head bitterly. “A wake-up call? It felt like a betrayal.”

Regulus’s voice dropped, hoarse. “Maybe it was. But sometimes the people we hurt the most are the ones we care about.”

Sirius’s voice cracked, the fight draining out of him for a moment. “I just wanted to be happy. Wanted to be free.”

Regulus’s arms dropped to his sides. “Me too.”

The room held its breath, stunned by the painful honesty laid bare — two broken brothers finally, painfully, reaching for some kind of understanding.

The air between Sirius and Regulus was electric—crackling with years of buried pain, betrayal, and fractured brotherhood. Every word exchanged was a razor, slicing through the fragile walls they’d built.

Sirius’s breath hitched, his chest trembling with the weight of memories that clawed at him relentlessly—the cold nights when his parents’ hands weren’t gentle, the whispered threats, the bruises hidden beneath layers of clothing. The searing shame of being sent away to someone who promised protection but delivered horrors instead. And Regulus, standing there now, was the closest living connection to all that torment.

His vision narrowed, heart pounding a frantic rhythm. Suddenly, his fist shot out like a bullet—connecting with Regulus’s jaw with a sickening crack.

Regulus’s head snapped to the side, lips bleeding, eyes wide with disbelief.

But Sirius didn’t stop.

The fury that had been simmering for years exploded. His next punch landed on Regulus’s cheekbone, sharp and merciless. Then another—raw, desperate, chaotic—like he was trying to beat out the ghosts that haunted him.

“Stop it, Sirius!” Remus’s voice cracked through the haze, but the words barely reached him.

Regulus stumbled, trying to shield himself, but Sirius’s blows rained down like a storm. Each hit was a fragment of anguish—each strike a manifestation of a shattered soul spiraling out of control.

Sirius’s own body shook violently, tears streaming down his face as sobs tore through him. His breath came in ragged gasps, his mind a cyclone of guilt and rage.

And then, suddenly, he crumpled—collapse into Remus’s waiting arms like a child desperate for sanctuary.

Remus held him tightly, feeling the tremors ripple through Sirius’s body. His voice was low and soothing, an anchor in the chaos. “It’s okay,. I’m here. You’re safe now.”

Sirius buried his face in Remus’s chest, choking on words he couldn’t form. “I—I didn’t mean to... I can’t control it. I’m so sorry…”

Remus’s fingers traced gentle circles on his back, steady and patient. “I know. It’s the disorder. It’s part of you, but it’s not who you are.”

The sharp sting of shame in Sirius’s eyes was almost unbearable. “I’m broken... I’m the one who’s broken.”

“No,” Remus whispered fiercely, lifting his chin. “You’re fighting. You’re surviving. And I’m not letting go of you.”

Slowly, with Remus’s support, Sirius’s ragged breathing steadied. The storm inside him began to calm, replaced by a deep exhaustion that seeped into his bones.

Remus led him away from the chaotic scene to a quiet, dimly lit room. The walls were bare, but the silence was a balm—space for Sirius to breathe without judgment, without prying eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, Remus returned to the locker room. The team was waiting, their faces a mixture of concern, confusion, and tentative understanding.

Frank’s gaze was heavy with sympathy as Remus began, voice steady but urgent. “Sirius has intermittent explosive disorder. It’s why sometimes his emotions become too much to contain. It’s not an excuse, but it explains the outbursts.”

James stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d noticed the signs before but never understood the full extent. This... this changes everything.”

Barty and Evan exchanged uneasy glances, the tension between them momentarily forgotten.

Regulus, nursing his bruised face, avoided eye contact, his jaw clenched tight.

Remus took a deep breath and continued. “We’re a team. That means we hold each other up—not just on the ice but in the hardest moments.”

The room seemed to exhale collectively, the heavy weight of the confrontation lifting just slightly.

But beneath it all, a fragile truth remained: Sirius’s fight was far from over. The road ahead was uncertain and fraught with challenges.

Yet for the first time in a long time, he wouldn’t be walking it alone.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the city outside. James had barely said a word after helping Sirius settle onto the couch, his face pale and drawn. Remus stood nearby, arms crossed, watching Sirius like a hawk, but careful not to crowd him.

Sirius stared down at his hands, fingers twitching nervously. The glow of the warm lamp softened the sharp lines of exhaustion and pain etched into his face, but it couldn’t hide the storm raging inside him.

James broke the silence gently. “You don’t have to do this alone, Sirius.”

Sirius looked up, eyes glassy but resolute. “That’s just it. I don’t want to do it at all. I want to step away. From everything.”

Remus’s voice was soft but steady. “From us?”

Sirius swallowed hard. His voice cracked when he answered. “From you. From James. From Harry.”

James’s heart clenched. “Why? Because you think you’re a danger?”

Sirius nodded, biting his lip so hard it trembled. “I’ve seen what I can do. The way I lose control. The way I hurt people—even the ones I love most. I can’t keep risking that, not with you, not with him.”

Remus’s hands twitched at his sides, words caught somewhere between fierce protection and desperate pleading. “You’re not alone in this. We’re a team. Harry’s not just James’s son. He’s ours too, and you—”

Sirius shook his head violently, tears spilling free now. “No. No, Remus. You don’t get it. I’m broken. I’m scared. I’m scared I’ll break Harry’s heart, or worse.”

James swallowed the lump in his throat. “We love you, Sirius. We want to be there for you.”

“Love isn’t enough,” Sirius whispered, voice raw. “I’m scared I’ll mess everything up. So I’m leaving. For your sake, for Harry’s. I won’t be near him anymore. I can’t be.”

Remus stepped forward, voice breaking. “We don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m already gone,” Sirius said, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

The room felt impossibly heavy, thick with grief and shattered hopes. James reached out, but Sirius flinched, the fear and shame etched deep in his eyes.

“I have to do this,” Sirius said firmly, standing shakily. “Goodbye, James. Remus.”

James’s voice cracked as he tried to reach him one last time. “Please, Sirius”

But Sirius was already heading for the door.

Just as the apartment fell into a stunned silence, the sound of tiny footsteps echoed from the hallway.

“Si’wus! Si’wus!”

Harry appeared in the doorway, his little face scrunched in tears, voice cracking as he ran forward.

“Mi Si’wus, no se vaya, por favor! No quiero estar solo!”

James and Remus exchanged a look, their eyes shining wet with tears.

James’s voice broke as he knelt down to Harry. “Buddy, it’s going to be okay. We just… we lost him for now.”

Remus’s shoulders shook with silent sobs as Harry crawled into his lap, still crying out for “Si’wus.”

The three of them—James, Remus, and Harry—sat there, the weight of Sirius’s absence pressing down on them like a storm.

They’d lost Sirius.

And the silence that followed was deafening.

🏒₊˚⊹♡

The apartment was dimly lit, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside and the occasional shuffle of feet. Barty sat on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Evan paced near the kitchen, hands clenched at his sides. Regulus stood near the window, staring out but not really seeing.

The silence between them was heavy, filled with unsaid things.

Finally, Barty broke it. “So you really filed it, Reg? The complaint?”

Regulus’s jaw tightened. “Yes. Someone had to.”

Evan stopped pacing, voice low but sharp. “You made it worse. None of this would’ve exploded if you hadn’t.”

Regulus’s eyes flashed with anger. “You think I wanted any of this? You think I wanted to tear us apart?”

“No,” Evan said bitterly. “But you didn’t think about how this would hurt the rest of us. About what it would do to the team. To Barty and me.”

Barty looked up, voice trembling. “I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be angry at anymore.”

Regulus laughed, but it wasn’t happy. “Maybe you should be angry at yourself. You and Barty were the ones who came between me and Sirius. You took him away.”

Evan’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Regulus’s voice cracked, words laced with years of pain. “You don’t know what it was like. Growing up with him. Always trying to keep him safe from everything, including himself. You think I wanted to lose him? To have him turn on me like this?”

Barty’s face crumpled. “We’re all hurting, Reg. You think this is easy for me? Watching you and Sirius fall apart, while I’m stuck in the middle?”

Regulus’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You have no idea what I lived through. The bruises Dad left weren’t just on the outside. He broke my fingers when I messed up, my toes when I couldn’t keep quiet. He sent Sirius away to that... that monster. And when Sirius ran, I blamed him for leaving me alone.”

Evan took a step forward, voice softer now. “Reg, we didn’t know. None of us.”

Barty wiped a tear from his cheek, voice shaky. “I hate that this came between us. I hate that we’re tearing each other apart when we should be holding together.”

Regulus finally let the walls come down, voice breaking. “I’m scared. Scared I’ll lose everything—again.”

The three of them sank into silence, the weight of their shared pain hanging heavy in the room.

Evan whispered, “We need to find a way back. For all of us.”

Barty nodded, eyes red but determined. “We have to.”

Regulus looked at them, a flicker of hope shining through the hurt. “Maybe we can.”

Chapter 16

Harry didn’t understand.

One moment, Si’wus was there. His Si’wus, who always spun him in circles, who called him “niño hermoso,” who let him sit on the bench during practice and made silly faces when James wasn’t looking. His Si’wus, who smelled like leather and shampoo and laughed so big that it filled the whole room.

And then—gone.

Harry sat in James’s lap, sobbing so hard it hurt, his little fists curling in his dad’s shirt. “No, no, no,” he cried, voice cracking, words breaking between English and Spanish the way they always did when he was upset. “Quiero Si’wus. I want Si’wus. Where is he?”

James pressed his face into Harry’s curls, his voice tight and low. “I know, bug. I know you do.” His hand rubbed soothing circles on Harry’s back, but Harry could feel how his papa’s chest shook, too.

Remus was beside them on the couch, silent, stroking Harry’s hair and James’s hair at the same time, as if holding them both together with nothing more than his touch. His eyes were red, his jaw set, but his hand never faltered.

Harry’s tears smeared down James’s shirt, soaking the fabric until it clung to him. He hiccupped. “Did… did I do something bad?” His voice was so small it barely reached the room.

James’s arms tightened, almost desperate. “Never. You never do anything bad, Harry. You’re perfect. This isn’t your fault. Do you hear me?”

Harry sniffled, confused. “Then why… why he go?”

Remus’s voice cracked when he finally spoke. “Because sometimes people get scared, Harry. Even grown-ups. Especially grown-ups.”

Harry’s little head turned toward him, eyes wide and wet. “But Si’wus said he my friend. Friends don’t leave.”

And that—those four words—broke James. His golden retriever smile, his boundless sunshine, cracked clean through, leaving only a man who was trying not to cry in front of his son. His voice was rough, jagged. “He loves you, Harry. He does. More than you can know.”

Harry’s lip wobbled. “Then he come back?”

No one answered.

Remus shut his eyes, fingers tightening just slightly in Harry’s hair, his other hand brushing across James’s temple. James kissed Harry’s damp curls, swallowing hard, his silence louder than any words could be.

Harry, tired from crying, curled up tighter in James’s lap, clinging as though he could keep everyone from leaving if he just held on tight enough.

He fell asleep like that—hiccupping, shuddering—while James and Remus sat there, broken open, unable to promise him that everything would be okay.

Because for the first time, neither of them believed it.

Harry didn’t understand.

One moment, Si’wus was there. His Si’wus, who always spun him in circles, who called him “niño hermoso,” who let him sit on the bench during practice and made silly faces when James wasn’t looking. His Si’wus, who smelled like leather and shampoo and laughed so big that it filled the whole room.

And then—gone.

Harry sat in James’s lap, sobbing so hard it hurt, his little fists curling in his dad’s shirt. “No, no, no,” he cried, voice cracking, words breaking between English and Spanish the way they always did when he was upset. “Quiero Si’wus. I want Si’wus. Where is he?”

James pressed his face into Harry’s curls, his voice tight and low. “I know, bug. I know you do.” His hand rubbed soothing circles on Harry’s back, but Harry could feel how his papa’s chest shook, too.

Remus was beside them on the couch, silent, stroking Harry’s hair and James’s hair at the same time, as if holding them both together with nothing more than his touch. His eyes were red, his jaw set, but his hand never faltered.

Harry’s tears smeared down James’s shirt, soaking the fabric until it clung to him. He hiccupped. “Did… did I do something bad?” His voice was so small it barely reached the room.

James’s arms tightened, almost desperate. “Never. You never do anything bad, Harry. You’re perfect. This isn’t your fault. Do you hear me?”

Harry sniffled, confused. “Then why… why he go?”

Remus’s voice cracked when he finally spoke. “Because sometimes people get scared, Harry. Even grown-ups. Especially grown-ups.”

Harry’s little head turned toward him, eyes wide and wet. “But Si’wus said he my friend. Friends don’t leave.”

And that—those four words—broke James. His golden retriever smile, his boundless sunshine, cracked clean through, leaving only a man who was trying not to cry in front of his son. His voice was rough, jagged. “He loves you, Harry. He does. More than you can know.”

Harry’s lip wobbled. “Then he come back?”

No one answered.

Remus shut his eyes, fingers tightening just slightly in Harry’s hair, his other hand brushing across James’s temple. James kissed Harry’s damp curls, swallowing hard, his silence louder than any words could be.

Harry, tired from crying, curled up tighter in James’s lap, clinging as though he could keep everyone from leaving if he just held on tight enough.

He fell asleep like that—hiccupping, shuddering—while James and Remus sat there, broken open, unable to promise him that everything would be okay.

Because for the first time, neither of them believed it.

The house felt wrong without Sirius.

Too quiet, even with Harry’s soft little snores against James’s chest. The sound usually melted him, turned his bones to honey, but now it only reminded him of the way Sirius used to joke that Harry snored like a motorbike. How Sirius would press a finger to his lips and whisper, shhh, we’ve got a baby dragon in the house.

James’s hand kept moving—back and forth over Harry’s back—not because Harry needed it anymore, but because James needed it. Needed something to do with his hands, something to keep from unraveling.

Remus hadn’t moved either. His palm still ghosted through James’s hair, though his own eyes were fixed somewhere far away, on a crack in the wall or maybe on something only he could see. His thumb rubbed circles at James’s temple, grounding, steadying.

Finally, James whispered, low enough that only Remus could hear:
“He thinks Sirius doesn’t love him.”

Remus’s hand stilled for just a moment before continuing, softer now. “He’s a child. Of course he thinks that. He only knows what he sees.”

James’s jaw clenched. He pressed another kiss to Harry’s curls, his chest burning. “I can’t—Merlin, Moony, I can’t watch him cry like that again. Not over Sirius. Not over us.”

Something flickered across Remus’s face, sharp and aching. He leaned his head against James’s shoulder, so close their hair tangled together. “Then we don’t let him. We don’t let this break him. We… we hold the line, James. Until Sirius finds his way back—or until we can learn to live without him.”

The words should have sounded resolute. But Remus’s voice trembled, cracked on without him, and James knew—just as Harry had known—that none of them truly believed Sirius was gone for good.

Because he was theirs.
And how do you learn to live without a piece of yourself?

James tipped his head against Remus’s, closing his eyes. “I don’t know if I can forgive him,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “But I can’t stop waiting for him either.”

Remus exhaled, shaky. “Yeah. Me too.”

Between them, Harry stirred, murmuring something in half-dream. James and Remus both froze, instinctively protective. His little fist clutched tighter at James’s shirt, and then relaxed again.

The silence returned, thick and heavy. But this time, with Harry safe in James’s arms and Remus’s touch steady in his hair, it didn’t feel like it would swallow them whole.

Just… stretch.
And stretch.
Until maybe one day Sirius came back and filled it again.

Remus didn’t knock.

He didn’t care that it was nearly midnight, didn’t care that the neighbors might complain, didn’t care that Sirius might slam the door in his face. He pounded once—hard—before shoving the door open with a spell, his wand still buzzing hot in his hand.

Sirius jerked upright from the couch, startled, hair wild, a half-empty glass of firewhisky dangling from his fingers. “Moons? What the hell—”

“You’re a coward.”

The words hit sharper than any hex. Remus’s voice was low but shaking, fury trembling in every syllable. He kicked the door shut behind him and advanced, brown eyes burning.

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it again, his jaw tightening. “I don’t—”

“No.” Remus’s hand sliced the air, cutting him off. “You don’t get to talk. You don’t get to vanish from our lives—from Harry’s life—and then sit here like some tragic hero drowning himself in whisky.” His voice broke on the name. “Do you know what he said tonight?”

Sirius’s throat bobbed, but he stayed silent.

“He said friends don’t leave.”

Sirius flinched. Hard. His glass rattled against the table as he set it down too quickly, eyes darting anywhere but Remus.

“Do you understand what you’ve done to him? To James?” Remus’s voice rose now, the fury snapping sharp. “You broke that child’s heart. You shattered James—James, who would burn the bloody world down for you—and for what? Because you were scared? Because you thought running would hurt less than staying?”

Sirius finally looked at him then, eyes raw, haunted. “Don’t—” His voice was rough. “Don’t you think I know what I’ve done? Don’t you think I hate myself for it?”

Remus’s laugh was bitter, hollow. “Self-loathing doesn’t make you noble, Padfoot. It just makes you pathetic.”

The silence that followed cracked between them like glass. Sirius sat there, shoulders hunched, staring at his hands as though they held answers. Remus stood, chest heaving, every muscle in him pulled taut with anger and heartbreak.

Finally, Sirius whispered, “I thought leaving would protect him. Protect you. James.”

Remus’s voice softened—not gentler, but sharper, cutting through the lie. “That’s not protection. That’s abandonment.”

Sirius’s breath stuttered.

Remus leaned forward, eyes blazing. “You want to be brave? Then stop running. Come home.”

Sirius’s jaw snapped shut. For a moment, he looked like he might break—might give in, might collapse into Remus’s arms the way he used to when the world got too heavy. But instead, he stood, stormy and unsteady, and stalked toward the door.

“Get out.”

Remus didn’t move. “Padfoot—”

“Get out!” Sirius’s voice cracked, loud enough that it scraped the walls. His hand shook as he pointed at the door, all fury and grief and desperation wrapped into one. “If you stay here, Moons, I’ll—I’ll—” His throat closed on the words.

Remus’s rage curdled into something colder, sharper. He grabbed the doorknob himself, yanking it open with a final slam of magic. His voice was steady now, terrifying in its quietness.
“You want me gone? Fine. But don’t you dare think that’s brave, Sirius. It’s just cowardice dressed up like sacrifice.”

The door slammed behind him so hard the frame rattled. Sirius flinched, then slid down against it, breathing ragged, firewhisky burning at the back of his throat.

The next day at practice, Remus knew before he even saw him.

The locker room door banged open and Sirius swaggered in, sunglasses still on despite the dim lights, reeking of alcohol so strong it clung to the air. His grin was wide, manic, the kind of grin Remus had prayed he’d never see again.

“Guess who’s back, lads?” Sirius’s voice boomed across the rink, too loud, too sharp. “Miss me?”

James froze mid-lace-up, his hand tightening around his skate. Across the bench, a few of the players exchanged uneasy glances.

But Remus—Remus didn’t need the smell, didn’t need the stumble in Sirius’s step, didn’t need the too-bright eyes. He knew. He’d known this man through every high and every crash, through every bottle drained and every promise broken. He knew the tilt of Sirius’s smile when it was drowning in chemicals instead of joy.

His stomach sank.

“No,” he whispered under his breath, the word for himself alone.

Sirius caught his gaze across the room and his grin faltered, just for a second, as though he knew Remus could see right through him. As though Remus always could.

And Remus’s chest ached with the weight of it—because this wasn’t just Sirius falling. This was Sirius unraveling.

The whistle blew, and the team began to skate warm-up laps. The scrape of blades echoed across the rink, but Remus’s focus stayed pinned on Sirius.

He wasn’t skating like himself. Sirius was fast, reckless, always had been—but this was different. His edges were sloppy, his turns too wide. Once, he clipped the boards and laughed like it was funny, like he hadn’t almost gone down hard.

James’s eyes tracked him with a mix of worry and anger, his jaw tight enough to crack.

Frank leaned over the bench toward Remus, his voice low. “You seeing what I’m seeing?”

Remus’s stomach clenched. “Yeah.”

“Thought he was clean,” Frank muttered, frowning. “He’s not, is he?”

Remus pressed his lips together. It wasn’t his story to tell—but Frank wasn’t wrong. And Sirius’s flushed face, the way his hands shook slightly when he adjusted his stick, the too-loud laugh at nothing at all—it was screaming at Remus.

He’d seen it before. He’d lived it before.

The first time Sirius had started using—years ago, in the dark nights after he’d left home—Remus had been the one sitting on the bathroom floor with him, keeping him from choking on his own vomit. He’d been the one who stayed up all night listening to Sirius swear he’d quit, over and over, until the words lost meaning.

And now—Merlin help him—he was watching it happen again.

Frank’s voice cut through his thoughts. “We need to do something. He’s not safe out there.”

Remus swallowed hard, his fingers tightening on the clipboard in his hands until the edge dug into his skin. He wanted to storm onto the ice, grab Sirius by the shoulders, shake him until the bravado cracked. But he couldn’t—not with Harry in the stands, not with James watching, not with Sirius hiding behind that damn grin.

Instead, Remus said tightly, “Keep an eye on him. If he slips, you pull him off the ice.”

Frank gave him a long look, then nodded.

But when Remus’s eyes found Sirius again—wild, bright, skating like he had something to prove—Remus knew this wasn’t going to end quietly.

This was only the beginning.

It happened fast.

One second Sirius was streaking down the ice, stick flashing as he tried to show off with a spin move that didn’t need to be there. The next—his edge caught wrong. His skate carved too deep into the ice, and his body twisted sideways.

He hit the rink hard.

The sound echoed—helmet against ice, the scrape of skates as players jerked to a stop, the hollow thud of a body not braced for impact.

“Padfoot!” James’s voice cut through the air, sharp and terrified. He dropped his stick and was at Sirius’s side in seconds, sliding across the ice on his knees.

Remus was already moving down from the bench, his chest tight, clipboard forgotten. Frank blew the whistle, the shrill sound bouncing off the walls.

Sirius groaned, trying to push himself up, but his arms shook, unsteady. His laugh came out slurred, too loud. “’M fine. Just kissed the ice, yeah?”

But Remus was already there, crouching at the boards, eyes locked on him. And he knew. He knew it wasn’t just a bad fall, wasn’t just fatigue. Sirius’s pupils were blown wide, his cheeks flushed too deep, his body moving wrong.

James grabbed his arm, steadying him. His voice was low, urgent. “You’re not fine. You’re drunk.”

The words hit the ice like a slap. The players went silent, watching, unease spreading like cracks in glass.

Sirius froze, then tried to twist out of James’s grip, but his legs wobbled. His bravado faltered, just for a second—long enough for Remus to see the boy he used to sit with on those bathroom floors, the boy who used to swear he’d never end up here again.

Remus’s chest ached, fury and heartbreak tangling in his throat.

Frank skated up, voice firm but not unkind. “Practice is over. Everyone, off the ice.”

The team scattered, muttering, throwing uneasy looks back at their star player who suddenly didn’t look untouchable at all.

Sirius sagged against James, his grin plastered back on but cracked at the edges. “C’mon, Prongs. Don’t make a scene.”

But it was already too late.

And Remus, standing at the boards with his hands curled into fists, knew this was the moment they couldn’t ignore anymore.

Notes:

Thank you for reading this first chapter, let me know if I should continue this one