just had a tornado blow through...(we're okay, it's kinda normal here). but could we get another blackout/big storm fic? (if you're up for it?)
Glad you're alright! We've got a big storm here tonight as well <3 Have some Lions working through life to distract. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove!
TW mild/ medium relationship issues, Sirius' bad habits, and previous people not being very nice to Leo
There was something in the water. Remus was sure of it.
“Put—stop it! Put it down!”
Maybe carbon monoxide was leaking into the rink. Plus all of their houses and apartments.
“I told you, it’s not about the rutabaga.”
Or, fuck it, Mercury was in the microwave again. In the Gatorade? Something like that. He wondered if Marlene would know.
Arthur knocked on the doorframe and the mass of grumbling died down; the air still tasted like sour sweat and irritation and Remus wrinkled his nose at the mats. After a cursory look around the room, Arthur raised a brow and gestured with his clipboard. “Y’know, I’ve got a lot of notes—a lot of notes—but none of you look like you can handle them right now, so we’re doing the short version. Cap, come see me. Lupin, Moody’s waiting for you, don’t give me that face. Olli, figure your shit out. Kuns…Kuns.” He shook his head. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Tremzy, stop being mean, and Harz, stop being stupid. Bliz, Layla gets the honor of having you this afternoon. Do your cooldowns without biting each others’ heads off, please, and then go home and sleep this off. Goodnight.”
“Night, Coach,” came the mumbled chorus.
Remus chewed the inside of his lip while he stripped his shin pads off. Sirius was already halfway out the door, still in his under armor—the rush of endorphins that usually accompanied the sight of his gorgeous fiancé was notably absent. He closed his eyes and took a breath. Recenter. It was a rough day, rough week, rough whatever. It would be best to just let it go now.
A hand clapped his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus!”
“Woah, hey, easy.” Talker held both hands low, palms down between their stalls. “Just saying hi.”
“What—” Breathe. Recenter. Remus blinked a few times to clear his head. “Fuck, no, you’re good. Sorry. Hi. Sorry.”
Talker’s gaze turned dark with worry. “You okay?”
“Just…in my head.” It was a shit answer, but his vague wave seemed to get the point across. Talker nodded slowly. His hands remained on his own side. “You?”
“Been better, been worse.” He tipped his head back and forth, making his small earring swing. A gift from Noelle, if Remus remembered correctly. He watched it catch the fluorescent light for a few seconds before Talker spoke again. “Weird energy in here.”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” Remus turned back to his pads with a humorless laugh. “No kidding. We should crack a window or something.”
Talker hummed, tucking his hands beneath himself. One knee bounced incessantly and Remus tried not to let it bother him. “Reminds me of the you-know-whats.”
Remus’ hands itched to knock on wood. “Yep.”
“But we’re not there. Yet,” Talker added after a pause.
“Nope.”
“Cap’s being…interesting.”
“Tell me about it,” Remus muttered.
Something like relief rippled over Talker’s expression. “So it’s not us.”
“When is it ever?” Remus offered a wry smile. “He gets like this. You know that. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”
Talker’s shoulder relaxed against his own, warm and solid. “Yeah, I guess.”
“It’s really not you, man.”
“I know.”
“T.” Remus waited until he looked over, and ducked his head slightly. “It’s not you.”
The kicked-puppy look in Talker’s eye made his chest hurt. Remus knew he had a tendency to put it all on himself—to think he was solely responsible for maintaining the team’s happiness. They were friends for a reason, after all. A missed pass wasn’t the end of the world, but…god, in the NHL? It sure felt like it.
Leo blew past them, not quite stomping, but certainly not pleased. Remus followed his path and found Logan staring at the floor with the same mournful gaze that plagued half the room. His stomach twisted. For a group of guys with everything in the world, they were a bunch of fucking messes, sometimes.
He patted Talker once on the shoulder before standing; he didn’t bother with shoes. It was a quick enough trip to get by in his socks. Moody’s office door was already open when he arrived, and he had barely raised his hand to knock on the frame when a grunt invited him inside.
The door closed with a faint noise. Silence thickened the air, save for the scribble of Moody’s pen. “Coach said you wanted to see me?” Remus prompted awkwardly. He didn’t like this stiffness. They had never been like that before.
Moody clicked his pen shut and leaned back in his chair with a long sigh, rocking back and forth. “Layla says you’re favoring your bad side.”
Tattletale. Remus bit the instinctive thought back. That wasn’t fair. “Probably.” Moody raised an unamused brow at him. “Yeah,” he admitted, scuffing his foot on the floor. “Yeah, I think so, too.”
“Why?”
“ ‘Cause.”
“The league doesn’t like it when I’m not nice to you boys.” Moody fixed him in place with a look. “But you’re not a snitch, so cough it up, you little shit.”
A scowl tried to claw its way onto Remus’ face, but he kept himself steady. Moody had done too much for him and saved him from too many bad places to be iced out. He kicked at a dust bunny. “Nine years.”
“Since…?”
“Since.”
“Ah.”
He sniffed, dry-eyed and nauseated. “Next Monday. Nine years. I still remember the day and time it happened.”
“We’re not playing Vegas next week.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Moody went quiet, and stayed that way for a long time. His chair creaked as he rocked in slow, maddening patterns. He’d have his leg off, tucked beneath his desk; he rarely left it on when he didn’t need to. Something about sweat. Itching. The works, he’d grumble if Remus asked. The ‘World’s Best Grandpa’ mug—a gag gift from last year’s Secret Santa—sat undisturbed on his desk, filled to bursting. Pens, pencils, a spoon, a screwdriver, an inexplicable parrot feather, all interspersed with his steadily-growing collection of flags.
Remus remembered the day the first one had appeared. A simple rainbow with a wooden stick, no bigger than a postcard. Moody hadn’t said a thing, but he knew it was for him. It wasn’t the only one anymore. The sight of it still made his throat tight.
“Come see me if you need to,” Moody said at last. He tapped his pen on his stack of papers, then nodded. “For the record, I’m not worried. Out of my office.”
“Have a good night, Moody.” Thunder rolled overhead as he turned to the door. “Get home safe, okay?”
He got another grunt in the affirmative and turned the doorknob, hoping the squeaky top hinge would muffle his sigh. The door swung open, Remus walked face-first into Sirius’ chest, and everything went black as night.
--
“I don’t know why you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Don’t pull that bullshit.”
“My feelings aren’t bullshit.”
“Mon dieu—”
“I’m serious, I’m not angry.” Leo shut the drawer a little harder than necessary. The salt shaker rattled on the counter.
“Then what are you?” Logan demanded, keeping his voice low.
“I’m—” He pressed his lips together and tilted his face up to the ceiling. Upset. Hurt. Stressed. Frustrated. Angry. “I don’t know.”
“I already apologized for the rhubarb—”
“Rutabaga.”
“Jesus, Leo.” Logan’s tone was sharp; he flinched. Okay, maybe he deserved that one. He heard Logan’s unsteady exhale and felt a gentle touch on his arm. “I’m sorry. I should have listened better, or texted you when I wasn’t sure.”
And there it was again, that burning flare of annoyance. Leo shrugged him off and turned to the coffee maker. Someone had left their disposable cup in the machine the last time it was used. The sight made him want to take the entire thing and slam it on the floor.
“Leo?”
“I don’t want you to text me when you aren’t sure.” His voice came out shaky and he silently cursed himself. At least his hands didn’t tremble while he swapped the cups. “I—Logan, I shouldn’t have to be your food dictionary.”
“Hey.”
Leo bit the inside of his cheek at the genuine hurt in Logan’s voice and dug through the mug cupboard. “Look, it’s fine, just…look it up if you’re not sure. It’s not like I hide my cookbooks.”
Or, better yet, be a capable adult. Logan’s sneakers shuffled on the linoleum. Where was his goddamn mug? “D’accord,” he finally said. “Yeah, I’ll—I can do that.”
Was it bad that Leo wanted him to push harder? Maybe he was just jonesing for a fight, but Logan’s instant buckling made him feel even worse. They had been waspish with each other earlier, enough that Finn outright refused to be in the same room until they figured themselves out—perhaps Logan had worn out his ability to argue for the day.
Leo snorted humorlessly. That would be a first.
Pastel yellow caught his peripheral vision. He clenched his hands on the edge of the countertop and took a deep, fortifying breath. Throwing a mug at a wall would get him fired. Throwing things at Logan would never be something he did, in this life or the next, no matter how angry he may or may not be.
Leo plucked the Me-Wow! mug from it’s place—dirty—in the sink—also dirty—by its tail-shaped handle and dropped it in the trash, then walked out of the kitchen, leaving Logan and his coffee behind. Thunder rumbled overhead and guilt bubbled up. He shouldn’t leave like that, not when the storm was only going to get worse. Logan didn’t do well alone and upset. He had almost certainly left his headphones at home, too. Leo was never the one to leave but he just couldn’t take it—
He made it ten feet down the hall before the lights went out and silence doused the building.
Fuck.
--
James was not live, laugh, loving in these conditions. First of all, his best friend/ best man/ adopted brother was imploding with self-loathing for approximately the seventh time this week. Second, his wife’s best friend/ best man/ adopted brother was a nervous wreck despite his best attempts to keep himself together. And third, two of the rookies had worked themselves into a tiff that made Finn look like that.
Finn watched Logan leave after Leo in utter misery. Poor kid belonged in an ASPCA commercial.
In truth, James didn’t know what went wrong, exactly. Sirius had these cycles—he’d ride high and be so firm in himself, in what he loved and worked for, then crash so hard James expected it to leave visible wounds. It was far more frequent in the early days. Since Remus entered the picture, Sirius hadn’t spiraled more than a handful of times. It was like he needed a pressure-release valve to make sure all those internal works didn’t melt or rust over. Remus was better at getting Sirius to talk than just about anyone. It was shitty that Remus’ wan smiles and sickly pallor had to align with the exact time Sirius most needed someone who wouldn’t put up with his nonsense.
James did his best, but he wanted them to be happy more than anything. More often than not, it meant he didn’t push nearly enough. They all had bad habits.
He knew Coach would bring it up today. Sirius’ dark mood had set them all on edge, caught in that place between wanting to prove themselves and wanting to stay out of the way. Whatever was happening between Leo and Logan had brought the scrap of good mood to rock-bottom. There was only so much slack James could pick up without exhausting himself, and he was already at the end of his rope.
Talker was still fussing with his sock tape when James looked over. The stickiness was dead from his rhythmic wrapping and unwrapping, but he didn’t seem to care. James nudged his toe with the front of his skate. “ ‘Sup?”
Talker half-shrugged. “Not much.”
“You were good in the scrimmage today.”
His hands stuttered on the roll before evening out again. “You, too.”
James scooted over into Remus’ stall and lowered his head, turning slightly away from the center of the room for an iota of privacy. “You wanna talk about it? If this is about the pass—”
“Noelle can’t make it for my birthday.”
Oh. Oh. James’ heart sank. “Aw, buddy.”
“They’re in the playoffs and someone rescheduled.” His lips pressed together in a tight line. “It’s dumb, I just…”
“Miss her,” James finished when he trailed off.
Talker nodded. “Distance sucks.”
“I know.”
James tried not to be offended by Talker’s immediate skepticism. “You do?”
“Lily stayed in Boston for three years before transferring up here.” Worst three years of my life. “She wanted her BS in chemistry. I wasn’t going to be the schmuck to hold her back. We called, and FaceTimed, and texted when she was at school, but it—”
“Wasn’t the same,” they said in unison.
The ball of tape fell pathetically next to the trash bin. “I want to hug her,” Talker said. “It sounds so stupid, but I want to hug her. And—I don’t know, it’s been rainy today. She likes it when it rains.”
“Yeah.” James leaned over to bump his shoulder. “I hear if you cross your fingers and jump in a circle three times, your wishes come true.”
Talker was halfway through a laugh when the lights went out.
--
Oh my god, I went blind. The thought was wild and harebrained and ridiculous. So, precisely how Remus was feeling in every other aspect of his life.
“Oh.” Sirius sounded surprised. His hands were firm on Remus’ upper arms. “Bonjour.”
Remus blinked a few times to let his vision adjust to the sudden darkness. The remnants of the team’s shouts of surprise echoed briefly before going quiet. “Uh, hi,” he managed. Sirius was nothing more than a blob of shadow, but he felt along his arms and chest until he found a shoulder to pat. “Sorry. Power’s out?”
“Looks like it.”
“Huh. Did you…did you need something?”
Sirius shifted from foot to foot. “Uh. No, not really.”
Liar, but okay. Remus patted him again, and let his hand linger. The rink felt different like this. Low murmuring had started up again in the locker room, but everything else was grave-quiet without the familiar buzz of electricity. It felt like the heartbeat had stopped. Like they had paused in time. “We should—should we go back to the locker room?”
Sirius’ hands pulsed where he held Remus. “Sure,” he said with the reluctance of someone being asked to walk headfirst into the ocean.
Lightning cracked outside and Remus caught a glimpse of Sirius worrying at the inside of his lip in the brief light. “We can stay here,” he offered after a moment. “Or, like…go somewhere else for a bit.”
“Can we?”
The relief in Sirius’ voice ached. They had been so pent-up lately, neither willing to break the ice first but both suffering from their shared bad moods. Remus knew he had been more lost in his thoughts than down on Earth for days, and Sirius was being so…so Sirius. But not his Sirius. The Sirius that was twitchy, the Sirius that tossed and turned all night. The Sirius that barely finished his dinner.
Remus rolled the sleeve of Sirius’ shirt between his thumb and pointer finger, and pulled him in for a hug. His stiffness dissolved in an instant.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Sirius’ collarbone. He smelled good when Remus took a deep inhale, laundry soap and cologne. His arms were strong and solid around Remus’ back—he felt a few deep breaths come and go under his palms and inclined his head to let Sirius’ bury his face in his neck. His hair was damp from his post-practice rinse. It tickled Remus’ nose along the wings he liked to play with when Sirius was sleepy and cuddly. He sighed again. “Sirius, I’m so sorry.”
“I wasn’t there for you this week.” Sirius’ breath warmed his neck. His hold on Remus tightened. “You don’t need to be sorry, loup.”
“Okay,” Remus said softly. “But I am.”
“If you’re sorry, then I’m—” Sirius broke off with a tired laugh and nuzzled further into his neck. “I don’t know. Throwing myself at your feet and begging for forgiveness.”
Remus snorted at that mental image, but held him closer anyway. “It’s okay. I know you don’t like feeling like this.”
“I don’t,” Sirius agreed. “Doesn’t mean I should stop paying attention to you.”
“I’ve been doing the same to you,” he reminded him gently.
“You had a reason.”
“And you didn’t?”
Sirius fell quiet. His fingertips slipped along the divot of Remus’ spine while his palm warmed the small of his back; Remus felt a bit silly, standing there in his socks in the dark, but it didn’t really matter when he could feel Sirius’ heart beginning to even out at last. Someone padded out of the locker room and down the hall. Red hair stood out for a half-second when lightning struck again and his worry eased. If Finn was going to check on his boys, everything would sort itself out.
“I hate that this still happens.” Sirius’ voice barely cleared a whisper. “It sneaks up on me, and then I can’t sleep and I’m not hungry—or, I am, I just can’t—and I don’t know when it will stop.”
“I know, baby.”
“I want to sleep next to you and not be thinking about the next game, Re.”
Remus slipped his hands beneath Sirius’ arms and pressed their bodies together like he could press reassurance into him. If he could take that burden, he would. If he could fix it, he would. If he had the right words to tell Sirius that he didn’t care whether he was perfect or a wreck, he would. He pushed his nose under the soft spot of Sirius’ jaw and kissed him there. “I love you.”
A small sound stuck in Sirius’ throat.
“Je t’aime,” he repeated with another kiss. Just because he could.
The rise and fall of Sirius’ shoulders was steady now. “Je t’aime aussi. Whatever you need for this week, I’m here, okay? I’m in your nook.”
“My…nook?”
“Your—” Sirius huffed a laugh. “I’m on your side. Whatever the saying is.”
“In my corner?” Remus suggested around a smile. Sirius grumbled something vaguely agreeable and swatted at him, but never loosened their hug for a second.
--
Leo was holding him, and he wasn’t even angry anymore. Not like he had been. Thunder rattled a distant window and Logan’s grip twisted in the front of his shirt. “I’m fine,” he said.
Leo kissed his temple. “Yeah.”
They lapsed back into silence. He was usually so good at problem-solving, but every time he tried to speak, his tongue got stuck on the words. The anger had burnt itself out. The frustration and annoyance were still there, alongside the hurt. He wished Finn was there. Finn always knew what words to use.
“I’m sorry,” Leo said haltingly. Logan shifted in his arms. “I was shitty to you. Earlier, I mean. I should have talked to you.”
Logan didn’t answer. Somehow, that was the worst outcome. Leo knew how to match him in a verbal fight.
Lightning flashed. Logan flinched. Leo held him like he alone could stop the light from taking his boyfriend by surprise. That was it, wasn’t it? Even pissed off, he’d still hold Logan rather than leaving him in the dark with a thunderstorm.
They didn’t speak, just swayed in place. Footsteps echoed down the hall, growing closer each second before coming to a halt in the doorway. “Babes?”
“Here,” they chorused softly.
“Um.” Finn audibly hesitated. “Okay, give me a landmark. I’m so blind right now.”
“By the countertop,” Leo offered. Logan burrowed deeper into his chest. He was fever-hot the way he got when he was upset. Finn’s noise of sympathy when he found them and felt it somehow made it worse. “Hey, Fish.”
“Hey.” Leo heard the sound of a soft kiss. “Lo, you good?”
“Ouais,” came the murmured answer.
They lapsed into silence for the length of another roll of thunder. “And you…” Finn faltered. “You figured yourselves out?”
Leo looked away despite the darkness. They remained silent.
“Right,” Finn sighed.
“I don’t know what I did,” Logan blurted. “You said this wasn’t about the rutabaga, but it is, and you said you’re not angry, but you are, and I’m confused. And I’m really sorry for whatever I did to upset you, Peanut. I’m being so honest right now.”
“That’s the problem,” Leo said helplessly.
Logan clutched at his shirt, as if the answers were hidden in the fabric. “What?” he asked. “What is the problem? Stop doing that, I told you, I’m confused. Are you angry?”
“A little,” Leo choked out. Ugh, honesty was sawdust in his mouth.
“Is it about the rutabaga?”
“No.”
Logan made a frustrated noise, but Finn cut him off before he could continue. “What is it about, sweetheart?” he asked, so gentle it burned.
Leo let out a long breath, unwinding one arm from Logan’s waist to wrap it around Finn instead. He was nice and cool from his shower. They had all been running too hot lately.
“I’m not your mom, Lo,” he began. “We’re all grown-ups here. You know what food looks like. You know how to google things.” He felt the feelings ramp up again and rather than swallowing them back, let them siphon out on an exhale. Everything inside him was a miserable, knotted mess. “You don’t need me to come to the store with you all the time, and it pisses me off when you keep asking because I’m—'better at it’, or whatever. It’s not my job to shop for you. I’m sick and tired of it.”
Logan’s chest caved against his own. He mumbled something under his breath and Leo closed his eyes.
“I can’t hear you when you do that, c’mon, please—"
“I said, it’s not because I need you to shop for me.” Logan’s voice shook slightly, but not with anger.
“Then why would you ask me to walk to the store with you for the ‘right garlic’?” he sighed.
Logan raised his head, leaving a cold spot on the left side of Leo’s chest. “Because I want to spend time with you.”
That—was not the answer he had been expecting. You’re better at it, Logan would say. You know the foods better than I do. The realization came in waves; he had been teasing. Joking. Making it a bit. And Leo thought he was dead serious the whole damn time. All the frustration he had built up around himself cam down with a rush and a clatter. His heart made a break for hell with a pit stop at his stomach. He stared into the dark nothingness of the rink break room and tried to remember how to breathe.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“I…” He broke off. Words had gotten him into this mess. Were they both that terrible at communicating properly? Finn bumped his arm and he took the hint (for once), wrapping Logan in a hug. By some miracle, Logan hugged him back. “That is the sweetest fucking thing, and I’m so sorry,” he managed, hoarse. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Logan, that was such a fucked-up thing for me to think.”
“I do actually like you, you know,” Logan said, muffled in his shoulder.
The remnants of Leo’s heart went for another spin through the shredder. “No, I know, I know, I’m so sorry. I like you, too.” He pressed a hard kiss to Logan’s temple and squeezed him tighter. “I like you so much. So much.”
“And I know what kind of garlic you like.”
Tears made Leo’s eyes sting and he violently wished them back. He had no right to cry over this. None at all. “Of course you do.”
Logan scratched lightly between his shoulder blades. “I don’t want to think about the type of people that made you think I’d do that, though. But if you want to give me names and addresses…”
Leo laughed weakly and felt Finn huff against him. “No, none of that,” Leo said with a kiss to Logan’s messy curls. He kissed his cheek, too, and his lips for good measure. Slow and easy, the way they both liked it. He wanted to make sure Logan was paying attention. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You did nothing wrong. I love you so, so much and I never should have thought that about you.”
In the hallway, the whir of generators kicked up. Soft light cast Logan in gold and dull shadows, just enough to make out the conflicted look on his face. His thumb was rough against Leo’s jaw. “I wish you thought better of yourself,” he said quietly. “You’re fun to be around, even walking to the store.”
I wish I had thought better of you. Leo pulled him close without a word and caught Finn’s gaze over Logan’s shoulder. His expression told him everything he needed to know, and he shut his eyes as Finn’s arms came around them both. A kiss lingered just above his ear. Leo kind of wanted to cry all over again.
--
The generators were a masterpiece of mechanics. The emergency switch flipped the moment the building lost power from the main grid, pooling energy around the rink itself to keep the ice solid. The rest of the lights would come on within fifteen to twenty minutes, beginning with the stadium seats and ending with the more fringe areas, like locker room and kitchens. They were top of the line, the best you could buy for a massive space that relied heavily on electricity to keep it functional.
They were no match for the Lions.
Ice cream, popsicles, and enough beer to cover the team twice over were liberated from the various refrigerators in less than five minutes. The team gathered on the floor of the locker room with iPhone flashlights and glowsticks (also ‘borrowed’ from the adjacent rooms) to enjoy their haul in peace and to play stupid, silly games like middle schoolers at a sleepover. They played games for a living, for crying out loud. Their favorite game. Why on earth would they take it too seriously when an opportunity like this presented itself?
Equal cheers and groans went up when the lights came back on. Moody was the first to leave, having only stuck around that long because the space outside his office door was occupied with an apparently necessary conversation. Arthur was next. The general consensus among the players was that the weather was simply too bad to risk driving. For their safety, they should stay and enjoy their goodies.
The morning security shift found them right where Arthur left them, puppy-piled by their stalls and surrounded by joyous havoc.
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