#ice skating oneshot

[hongjoongspoetry]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart Masterpost

⛸️ Summary: You and Mingi have been at each other's neck for the past year. The latter finds big enjoyment in spurring you on while you just want to make it to graduating without being charged with murder. Things take an interesting turn when your crush and fellow figure skater shows interest in you resulting in a fistfight, two love confessions and multiple heartbreaks.

⛸️ Pairing(s): Hockey Player!Mingi x Figure Skater!Reader, Figure Skater!Hyunjin x Figure Skater!Reader

⛸️ Genres/Tropes: College AU, non-idol AU, rivals to lovers but it's more like one-sided resentment, hockey AU, figure skating AU, angst, fluff, suggestive

⛸️ Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), explicit language, alcohol consumption, chaotic friendship, a lot of side characters, party scenes, arguments, mature content, more tags are to come with each chapter so read those carefully!

⛸️ Current wordcount: 58.2K

⛸️ Author's note: Ignore the fact that this was supposed to be an oneshot and not a mini-series. Anyhow, I'm really proud of this work as it is something I've been writing for a really long time (since October 2023) but I'm also very nervous to share it with you guys, so if you like (or dislike) it, please, do tell me! The parts are all around 13-16K words, except for the finale, which I still haven't started writing 😭

I also want to say a big thank you to @/zchnlswrld for beta reading and giving me love and encouragement through the journey! You’re very much appreciated 🩷

AO3 Masterlist Moodboard Click on me!

01 — I'm Just Dreaming of Tearing You Apart

02 — The Autumn Within Me Is Grieving

03 — You Know You’re on My Mind

04 — Know It’s for the Better

05 — Be Still My Foolish Heart (TBD)

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2024 - All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed

[wonbriiize]

pairing; anton x reader

genre; fluff, friends to lovers

warning; a little bit of cursing

note; i thought i should try to write about another member in riize than just wonbin, so here is my first anton story !! hope u guys like it :)

bound to happen

in which you go ice skating with your friends but it’s your first time so you’re struggling and falling a lot. one of your friends (anton) can‘t see you hurting yourself because it pains him, so he rushes over to help you…

“hey, don‘t leave me here alone,” you scream over to your friends who left you as soon as you all stepped on the ice. “oh, you will be fine,” sungchan screams while starting to skate backwards. of course he is good at ice skating, he is good at everything.

you try to step forward with one foot but your legs are shaking too much and you almost fall. it’s making you angry that you can‘t balance yourself.

people say that ice skating is easy if you can rollerblade, but why is it not working for you then? you loved rollerblading when you were a child. hell, you’d even consider yourself somewhat talented in it. angrily, you start rushing forward because you think that might help you find balance. obviously, it doesn’t. you just end up falling on the ground.

“*y/n*! are you okay? let me help you!” anton skates over to you. he has been observing you the whole time but he thought he should let you try ice skating out by yourself at first instead of directly approaching you to help. but seeing you fall down, it made him feel like he just fell down himself. it hurt him.

“thank you,” anton helps you up and you shake off the snow from your clothes. “no thanks needed. if you want, i can teach you how to ice skate,” anton offers with a shy smile, scratching the back of his head.

he‘s so adorable when he does that, you think.

“i would love that,” you smile at him. “but if you would rather go and have fun you shouldn’t waste your time with me.”

“being with you is never a waste of time,” anton shyly says. you can tell that he’s embarrassed by saying this so you just smile and nod, ignoring all the butterflies he has given you just now.

anton skates in front of you, softly grabs both of your hands and starts pulling you forward. it’s actually working, you’re actually moving. well, anton is pulling you so you’re not actually doing a lot by yourself, but still, at least you’re not falling down.

“wohooo, anton, i see you stepping up your game,” seunghan is skating so fast, he flashes past the two of you followed by sohee who’s grinning like crazy. anton rolls his eyes, acting unbothered but you can see that his cheeks are becoming even more red than they actually are (because of the cold).

after a few minutes of letting yourself get pulled by anton, you stop him. ”okay, i think i‘m ready to try it on my own.” “really? are you sure?” anton looks deep into your eyes and you can tell that he’s actually concerned. it makes you feel warm inside. he cares about me, you think.

“yes, i will give it a try.”

anton softly squeezes your hands before he lets you go. “you got this.”

falling in front of anton would be the most embarrassing thing ever so you’re really trying your hardest.. and it’s actually going well. you lift up your feet, one by one and after a few more minutes, you are actually sliding smoothly over the ice.

“oh my god, i did it!” you couldn’t be happier.

anton catches up with you, also having the biggest smile on his face. “you’re doing so well.”

“i learned from the best,” you say, grabbing after anton’s hand. it shocks him at first because he didn’t expect it, but he‘s fine with it.

anton would never have a problem with holding your hand. it’s what he has always wanted to do. it’s what he keeps wanting to do in the future, too.

“well, you weren’t so bad to begin with, you just needed a little help,” anton gives you an encouraging smile while the two of you slide over the ice together.

your other friends are watching you two intensely, knowing that this was bound to happen sooner or later.

anton and you were bound to happen.

shotaro and wonbin approach you two with the biggest grin on their face.

“so i guess anton finally had the guts to tell you that he likes you,” shotaro wiggles his eyebrows.

wait, what? anton likes me? you are surprised. in the best way possible.

“now we don‘t have to listen to him talk about how he should confess to you every second of the day,” wonbin somewhat sounds thankful to you when he says that.

“anton, why is your face so red? it’s not that cold,” shotaro asks, looking confused.

you look at anton whose face is almost as red as a tomato. you didn’t think that it was possible for a human to turn this red.

“wait a minute,” wonbin‘s eyes widen. it looks like a lightbulb lit up above his head. “he hasn’t told you yet, has he?”

you try not to laugh, because you’re actually finding this whole situation hilarious, knowing that anton probably wants to sink into the ground at this very moment.

“i would have if you two wouldn’t have interrupted us,” anton glares at them. he actually sounds mad. it’s the first time you hear him talk like that because usually he’s very soft-spoken and doesn’t get angry easily.

“holy shit,” shotaro joins wonbin in widening his eyes too. they look at each other, back to anton and you, and then again at each other. “we should go,” wonbin suggests and shotaro nods hysterically. “sorry anton,” they say in unison and seconds later, the two are nowhere to be seen within your sight.

you turn to anton, not letting go of his hand. he lowered his head, avoiding your gaze. you don’t want him to feel awkward so you give him a little squeeze, just like he did to you before.

anton can’t look you in the eyes though, he is totally embarrassed. he had his whole confession planned out in his head after discussing it with shotaro and wonbin for hours.. days even. he keeps asking himself why they’d destroy the plan after helping him come up with it. he knows they had no bad intentions, but still, it annoyed him.

it was actually anton’s idea to go ice skating. he knew that you didn’t know how to do it so he thought that it’s the perfect opportunity to spend more time with you. he strictly told the others that they‘re not allowed to help you because he wants to be the one to do so. he had planned to confess to you at the end of the day but well.. what did eunseok once tell him? plans are meant to go wrong.

“i feel the same way,” you say.

anton raises his head up super fast, not believing what you just said.

“what?”

“well, if what shotaro said is true, then i want you to know that i like you too.”

now, anton is surprised. he had hoped that you’d feel the same way, but actually hearing you say it catches him offguard.

“it’s true,” anton says, smiling at you.

“well, then just ask me out on a date already,” you pout which makes anton laugh.

“*y/n*, would you go out on a date with me?”

to tease him, you let go of his hand and skate away. not fast because you’re still not feeling too safe on the ice, but compared to how you were skating a while ago, you were doing way better.

you turn around to see anton standing at the same spot, looking perplexed, not knowing what to do.

“you have to catch me to get an answer,” you stick out your tongue towards him and start skating even further away.

it doesn’t take anton long to catch up with you though. obviously. he is the better (and much faster) skater between the two of you.

anton pulls you into his arms, his chin resting on your head (since he‘s way taller than you).

“got you,” he whispers. “what’s your answer?” he distances himself a little from you so now he can look down to you.

you decide that after this little chase, he deserves to hear the answer.

“yes, i would love to go on a date with you.”

anton doesn’t let you go. instead, he wraps his arms around you even more and you let him. because you feel safe. because being this close to him makes you feel things you’ve never felt before.

and it also makes you forget that you’re in the middle of the ice rink right now, your knees feeling weak because of anton. you fear that if he lets you go, you will fall down.

“just promise me you won’t let go,” you look up to him, noticing that his face is even more handsome this close up.

antons smile only grows bigger once he sees you looking at him.

“i would never,” he says, pulling you even closer, if that’s possible.

[ericshoney]

Ice Skating ~ Brothers!Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: Your brothers take you ice skating for the first time

Warnings: usual swearing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today Nick, Matt and Chris were taking you ice skating for the first time. You had gone before to watch them play about with Nate, but never stepped foot on the ice. You are now three, meaning you were walking, talking and running around, not really having a care in the world.

Matt was helping you get buckled into the car, as Chris and Nick came out with all their ice skates. Nick then got in the back with you as you smiled.

"You ready kiddo?" He asked.

"Yeah! So excited!" You cheered.

Chris and Matt both got in the car, Matt driving to the ice skating rink. You quietly looked out the window as your brothers talked. When you arrived at the rink, you got excited.

"Someone is excited." Matt said with a smile.

You giggled as Chris opened the door for you, helping you jump out of the car. You grabbed his hand as you walked inside. He helped you put your skates on, letting you hold the side of the rink for support.

"You ready, sweetheart?" Nick asked you, as he, Chris and Matt got on the ice.

"Ready." You said.

He held your hands, helping you balance and get used to the skates. Chris and Matt stood close by in case you were to fall. You kept giggling and smiling as Nick pulled you around slowly.

After getting used to the skates and finding your balance, you slowly let go of Nick's hands. The three watched you slowly skate off, giggling some more.

"She's got the hang of it." Chris said.

Matt and Nick nodded but then you stumbled a bit. You fell on your knees but before they could skate over to you, you were back up skating around again.

"She's indestructible too." Matt said with a laugh.

"Yeah no matter how many times she falls, she gets right back up." Nick said.

"She's a Sturniolo." Chris responded.

The guys smiled and joined you, skating around for a while. You were smiling the whole time as you got the hang of it all, the one fall being the only one you had.

When it was time to leave, Matt helped you untie your skates and get your shoes back on. You were all feeling hungry so you stopped by McDonalds on the way home.

"Thank you." You said softly.

"Your very welcome, petal." Matt said.

"We'll take you again soon, okay?" Chris reassured.

"Yeah and even teach you some hockey skills." Nick added.

"Yay!" You cheered happily, making them chuckle.

You all sat quietly eating your McDonalds before heading home, when you suddenly had a thought.

"Can Trevor ice skate?" You randomly asked.

"Umm." Nick mumbled, looking at Matt and Chris, who just burst out laughing.

[ae-cow]

“Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me.”

Warning: Some inaccuracies about ice skating?? Possible spelling errors and I think that’s all, do tell me. This is a work of fiction with nothing to do with the idol's actual life. I do like some feedback. If you ever feel like "Hey this is very offensive." do tell me.

Pairing: Sunghoon x fem!reader

Summary: Just Sunghoon & you sharing a kiss after winning gold in the Olympics DESPITE breaking up 4 months ago.

Word Count: 316 Words

A/N: Since I saw positive feedback from Anton’s story, I decided to make a second one at 2 AM. I've been seeing edits of the Olympics being in the city of love and I just HAD to. Who's next??

Written: 21 August 2024

Song: The Alchemy by Taylor Swift

Masterlist © ae-cow. Do not claim, steal or repost. All rights reserved

Sunghoon and you broke up nearly 4 months ago. But tell me why are the two of you kissing when you two won gold for Pairs Ice Skating?

People noticed in an interview you both had mentioned that you two broke up but still decided to compete in the Olympics and keep it professional. Leaving Love life and work life separate.

You could say that maybe that tension you had while performing and that moment you had winning gold in the Olympics just causes a hint of exhilaration and kissing a former lover was just the right thing to match such a moment.

-

The final routine is over. The lights dim slightly as the announcer’s voice echoes through the stadium, announcing that you and Sunghoon have won the gold medal. The crowd erupts in applause and cheers, their enthusiasm echoing off the ice.

Breathless and elated, you and Sunghoon stand centre, Your hands are still intertwined from the final pose of your performance. The arena’s cheers are a distant hum as you both bask in the surreal sensation of the moment.

You exchange a look, one filled with a mixture of euphoria and something deeper. Sunghoon’s eyes are locked on yours, reflecting the intensity of the last few minutes on the ice and the unspoken emotions that linger between you.

“Sunghoon… We just- We won gold!” You said, not believing yourself

Slowly, almost instinctively, he takes a step closer. The world around you fades as you both lean in. The kiss is passionate and impromptu, a direct response to the rush of adrenaline and shared victory. It’s a blend of joy and unresolved feelings—a passionate embrace that captures the complexity of your past and the present thrill.

As you pulled away, Sunghoon wiped the tear that trickled down your cheek. The crowd's roar crescendos again, and the cameras flash brightly, capturing the intimate moment. You both smile, a mix of relief and uncertainty in your eyes, knowing that the kiss will spark speculation.

In the post-ceremony interviews, when asked about the kiss, you both offer the cryptic yet honest response: “Maybe we are or maybe we aren’t.” The kiss has become both a celebration of your shared achievement and a tantalizing hint of what might come next.

[glassofspoiledmilk]

Could you possibly write some relationship headcanons for Yuri Plisetsky? Also I'm so glad there's recent writing for him, tysm for your contribution! ToT

Yuri plisetsky relationship headcanons

Dating Yuri plisetsky includes;

when you first start dating, he gets shy and flustered whenever you hold his hand or hug him.

he’s super cuddly

skating dates all the time, he loves to just skate while holding you.

his love language is gift giving, whenever he’s out and sees something that reminds him you you he’ll buy it in a heartbeat.

when he’s away for competitions he’ll FaceTime you whenever he can to tell you how much he misses you (and complain about the other skaters).

he loves it when you play with his hair

he has alot of joke nicknames for you

when he’s tired he likes to lean on your shoulder and go to sleep.

he loves spending time doing stuff with you (movies, skating, baking, shopping)

frequent hugs from behind

gets jealous if another guy looks at you

your best friends with his cats

horror movie dates

not super huge on PDA but likes to hold your hand and put his arm around you in public

loves braiding your hair before going to bed

when your sick he won’t leave your side

he has a travel sized bottle of your perfume/cologne that he brings with him to competitions to remind himself of you

he’s mean to you but in a funny way

during Christmas he’s really bad at secretly trying to figure out what to get you

mall trips all the time

You guys have a ton of matching pyjamas

A/N: thanks for requesting!!

[powerful-niya]

— (вεтωεεη υs.)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚hαppч nαruhínα mσnth єvєrчσnє!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟹𝟷: 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝙶𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 + 𝙲𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗 - (𝙽𝙷𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝟸𝟹)

Link To Oneshot Below ↴

Wattpad | AO3

Pairing˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Naruhina

Synopsis˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡If you had to choose between doing what you love and being with who you love, could you make that choice?

Naruto and Hinata, the top figure skating duo from Japan, have effortlessly conquered every challenge they've encountered on the ice together. But now, they're up against a new challenge—one that's found in their hearts, rather than on the ice.

This challenge is a love unplanned—a love constrained by a strict contract, putting them both in a very difficult position.

Regular Tags˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Caught In The Rain • Competitive Skating • Competitive Sports • Contract • Contractual Obligations • Costumes • Drama • December 28 • December 31 • Figure Skating • Forbidden Love • Friends To Lovers • Heavy Angst • Hurt & Comfort• Ice Skating • Love Confessions • Modern AU • Mutual Pining • Partner Skaters • Pretending • Professional Skaters • Romance • Sports AU • Stolen Glances • Tryst • Unplanned Love • Work Partners to Lovers • 2023. 

NSFW Tags˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Body Worship • Bus Sex • Butt Groping • Celebrity Bus • Cock Worship • Couch Sex • Dirty Talk • Desperation • Desperation Sex • Fantasies & Fantasizing • Flexibility • Longing • Loss of control • Love Making (at first) • Marathon sex • Multiple Orgasms • Overstimulation • Praise Kink • Pussy Worship • Riding • Rough sex (soon after) • Sex in a crisis situation • Size Difference Kink • Spanking • Stripping • Striptease • Stockings • Unprotected Sex  • Vaginal Sex  • 2023. 

Overall Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚17.1K

Tumblr Post: Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚4.3K

Preview ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Pretending can be a tricky game. 

For some people, it's a breeze—they can slip in and out of different personas as easily as flipping a switch, putting on a convincing act at the drop of a hat or a snap of their fingers. 

Some people actually have a closet full of masks for their pretending, ready to wear whichever one fits the moment perfectly to hide behind. They switch between these masks as easily as changing clothes, effortlessly adapting to any situation like it's second nature.

Like if it was nothing, nothing at all. 

For others, pretending is a struggle—a constant effort that takes a lot of trial and error before they finally get the hang of it.

But for Naruto, pretending wasn't just difficult. It wasn't a minor bump in the road he'd get over soon. It wasn't something he'd get used to or get good at with time or a bit more effort.

No. 

He didn't have the luxury of switching between masks or hiding behind them whenever he wanted, like some people. Pretending wasn't a game or something he did for fun—it was a draining, relentless battle that wore him down every single day.

Pretending was, without a doubt, the hardest thing Naruto had ever faced—the toughest challenge he'd ever had to endure.

And he'd faced plenty of challenges.

As one of the top Japanese male ice skaters in the world, he'd been put through the wringer more times than he could count.

Countless hours of grueling practice, intense competitions, and crushing expectations had pushed him to his limits time and time again, demanding that he give nothing less than his absolute best. 

Each session was a test of endurance for him, and every routine was a shot for him to outshine the competition.

After all, Naruto was a pretty driven man, always pushing himself past the limits set by others to prove himself and excel. And on top of the grueling physical demands, he also had to confront the doubts cast on him as a male skater—doubts that seemed to shadow every step he took.

It was tough. 

Really tough. 

Every time he laces up his skates and hits the ice, he's up against a challenge. But it's one he actually enjoys—the ice, the skating, the music, the cheers, the sweat, the exhaustion, and, most of all, proving everyone wrong.

He loves proving all the doubters wrong—naysayers who said he couldn't do it and the debbie downers who whined that ice skating was a women's sport. 

Naruto even gets a kick out of showing up the critics who claimed he was confused about his identity, out of touch with himself, and that ice skating made him less of a man.

Indeed, proving those people wrong by doing what he loved was fun.

Naruto has spent countless hours on the ice—skating was all he'd ever known, the rhythm of the blades, the chill of the rink, and the thrill of the performance were deeply ingrained in him. Every glide and spin had become second nature, an integral part of who he was.

But there was one thing that stood apart from all of that…

Or rather, one person.

Hinata Hyūga. 

His skating partner.

Naruto stood in the designated waiting area near the rink, his eyes fixed on her as she skated across the ice gracefully. He watched Hinata from the sidelines, waiting for his cue, the precise moment when the music would signal him to join Hinata on the rink.

But for now, it was just her. Just Hinata.

And Naruto watched her in awe. 

He was always in awe of her. 

The blonde skater watched almost in a trance as his partner performed with her opening solo for the prestigious "ISU Grand Prix Of Figure Skating" in Hollywood, LA, California. 

The intensity of the competition was palpable, and the stakes had never felt higher.

The entire arena was hushed, with only the soft scraping of her white skates on the ice, the sweeping classical music, and the occasional gasps and murmurs from the crowd breaking the silence. Every spectator, even the judges, held their breath, captivated by Hinata's mesmerizing performance, all eyes glued to the rink.

Naruto's included.

Hinata's costume dress was a breathtaking piece, its fabric fluttering around her like the delicate feathers of a swan gliding through a gentle breeze. The lights from the arena overhead danced off the glittering embellishments of her costume, causing her dress to shimmer and shine. 

Her costume was the perfect fit to the competition theme: Black Swan. 

Hinata's dress was a striking blend of black and white, split down the middle. The left side was a deep, velvety black, adorned with shimmering sequins that caught the arena's light with every move she made. 

The right side of her dress was a pristine, snowy white, contrasting beautifully with the dark side, adorned with tiny sparkles and swirls. 

Her long gloves followed the same theme, one black and one white, each decorated with delicate sparkles that extended from her hands up to her forearms, matching her dress perfectly. Her usually long, midnight blue hair was elegantly styled into a neat bun on the top of her head, completing her flawless look for the competition. 

Naruto wore a matching outfit to hers, of course. 

He wore a one-piece costume that began with a pristine white at the top, gradually transitioning into a deep black down his toned torso and legs, with white swirls accentuating the color shift.

His right sleeve was all white, while his left sleeve was solid black, creating a striking contrast similar to Hinata's costume.

His costume fit the theme, sure, and it matched his partner's costume, but it was nowhere near as spectacular as Hinata's.

No way.

Hinata seemed to nail the theme perfectly, gliding in sync with the music—a classic piece that everyone would surely recognize.

"Swan Lake" by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. 

She surely embodied a swan, her every movement smooth and graceful, just like a swan gliding effortlessly across a lake. The way she floated across the ice, her costume shimmering with each turn, made it look as if she was dancing on air.

Naruto couldn't help but be completely mesmerized by how beautifully Hinata brought the theme to life. 

She was utterly breathtaking.

Graceful yet powerful—that's how Hinata always skated. 

Watching her was like peering straight into her soul with each performance.

She poured everything into her routine. 

She always did. 

From her delicate facial expressions to the emotions that flowed through her movements, and the graceful sweep of her arms as they reached out and then drew back—each performance was a stunning story told through her skating.

This time was no different.

As Hinata performed her solo tonight, she told a powerful story about the strength that comes from being vulnerable. Her movements to the music spoke of the courage it takes to expose one's true self, capturing the delicate balance between strength and authenticity.

It was truly extraordinary.

And on top of that, Hinata made the routine they'd been perfecting for months—through countless rehearsals, late nights, and early mornings—look so damn effortless. 

Hinata glided smoothly from one move to the next, transitioning seamlessly between spins and jumps, just as they had practiced together, just as she had come to memorize down to the finest detail.

Her spins were flawless. 

Naruto watched in awe as she effortlessly transitioned into a fast-paced layback spin, finishing with a graceful camel spin that left delicate circular marks on the ice. 

Her jumps were just as stunning, with perfect double axels and triple lutzes that had her soaring and spinning through the air, leaving the crowd breathless.

She landed on her blades with a satisfying clank each time, back on her feet like a true professional.

Hinata nailed every move flawlessly, putting on a jaw-dropping performance that would definitely set the bar high for the other skaters and likely earn them both some serious points with the judges.

But Naruto wasn't thinking about the competition at all. 

He wasn't thinking about their potential scores. He wasn't concerned about the judges' opinions or even his routine when it was his turn to join Hinata on the ice.

No, he wasn't thinking about any of that.

Naruto's focus was solely on her, the woman dazzling him from the ice, whose lavender eyes occasionally met his own. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Frequently, Hinata glanced at him as she danced across the rink, her lavender eyes seeking him out from the waiting area, hidden from the audience.

Each time their eyes locked—deep blue meeting soft lavender—it felt like the world around them melted further and further into a blur…

…until it was just the two of them. 

The audience's loud wows and awes, the judges' scrutinizing looks, the flashing cameras, the bright arena lights, the announcer's voices, and even the stadium itself—all of it just faded away.

It was only them—just them.

And soon enough, Hinata wasn't skating for the crowd but for…

…him.

It was always like this between them: fleeting, longing but secretive looks where their gazes created warm, private moments just for them. 

Every time they performed together, whenever their hands touched or their bodies brushed close, they were drawn into a private world of their own making. 

Those looks they exchanged, every second of every day, were a silent yearning for something they both desired but couldn't fully embrace—a longing that always seemed just out of reach.

Naruto couldn't ignore what he felt. He couldn't pretend. 

Sure, he could try. 

Sure, he could push his feelings aside. He could convince himself that what he felt was just a passing phase, and that he will just get over it soon. 

Sure, he could try to act like it didn't bother him and play along, but deep down, he knew he'd only be lying to himself.

The feelings he had been struggling with for so long were impossible to ignore now.

A mistake that's come to consume him. 

When Naruto first teamed up with Hinata, he signed a contract that was clear about one thing: no intimate relationships. 

As long as he pursued ice skating professionally with a partner, he wasn't allowed to fall in love or let emotions get in the way of his career.

He knew that.

They both did. 

Naruto always understood what he was signing up for, knew the strict rules, and was clear on what was expected of him.

Because of this, he knew he shouldn't be feeling this way and was fully aware of the risks of letting these emotions take over. He knew exactly how his coach would react if she found out—what she'd do if she discovered his secret.

Their secret. 

Naruto knew the stakes. 

If their secret were ever discovered, it would mean the end of their figure skating careers.

Everything they'd worked so hard for—the endless hours of practice, the sacrifices made, the competitions won, the fame they'd gained, and their very dreams—were at risk of being ruined.

All because love had somehow crept in and gotten in the way.

Suddenly, the music built to a crescendo, growing louder and louder all around, snapping Naruto out of his thoughts.

His cue to take the ice. 

"Damn it," He muttered, shaking his head to snap himself out of it. That was a mistake—a big one. 

He couldn't afford to space out. 

Not here. 

Not now.

He took a deep, steadying breath, pushing aside the swirling thoughts and annoying emotions that clung to him. 

Then he exhaled, letting it all go.

It's showtime. 

Naruto rubbed his hands together to shake off the tension, and took one more calming breath.

"Here goes." He whispered to himself, before finally, darting out onto the ice.

The icy chill of the arena hit Naruto instantly, chilling his face, body, and legs. The cold air blended with the crisp, slippery feel of the ice beneath his skates. 

Naruto could never grow tired of it—the ice. It was a feeling so familiar, as natural as breathing to him at this point. Every time he stepped onto it, it felt like reconnecting with an old friend he always looked forward to seeing again.

And it felt that way now. 

His taut calf muscles tightened with each powerful push he gave his legs, his black skates carving a swift, graceful path across the ice.

The ice hummed a satisfying, almost musical whisper under Naruto's skates, grounding him in the moment. He mentally rehearsed his routine, syncing with it as he joined Hinata on the rink.

Hinata was already in position, gliding effortlessly across the ice toward him. In that moment, Naruto could see nothing but her—her radiant smile, the rosy flush on her cheeks from the cold, and the sparkle in her lavender eyes. 

He met her in the center of the rink with a big grin, and they seamlessly slipped into a synchronized spin. They twirled around each other, close yet so far. 

They didn't touch—just gazed at each other, eyes locked the whole time. 

Blue meeting lavender, once again.

The sight of Naruto and Hinata finally skating together, their chemistry ignited instantly, sending fireworks of excitement across the entire arena. Their connection was evident even on the arena's TVs, causing the crowd to instantly erupt into a frenzy. 

Gasps and cheers merged into a collective roar that filled the entire space.

The announcers, just as thrilled, could barely contain their excitement over the intercom.

"And here he comes, folks—Naruto Uzumaki, joining his partner Hinata Hyūga after her stunning introductory solo!"

"The way they connect is absolutely breathtaking. Just so breathtaking. This is partner skating at its finest, and we are in for a treat tonight, folks!"

Now together, Naruto and Hinata instantly transitioned into their routine, as they'd done it a million times before.

Just for this moment. 

Hinata took the lead, maintaining their synchronized spin as she gracefully lifted one arm to the rhythm of the music, watching as Naruto mirrored her movements flawlessly. His arm swept down and up above his head in a sweeping arc, just like hers, as if she were looking into a mirror.

She moved her other arm the same way, and Naruto followed suit. 

Next, Hinata extended her hand toward him this time, her fingers forming a dramatic claw before slowly curling into a fist as she pulled away, and Naruto mirrored her.

But they never quite touched. 

Each time they reached, they always pulled back. 

Reach. Retreat. Reach. 

Closer and closer, but never quite touching. 

Like a cycle. 

A painful one.

This part of their routine always spoke to them. It shouldn't have—really. It shouldn't have had any impact on them, but..

…it did. 

It perfectly mirrored the feelings they had for each other, always managing to leave a poignant ache in their hearts—a longing for something they both wanted but couldn't have.

No matter how many times they repeated it. 

No matter how many times they practiced it.

The ache remains.

Naruto's eyes revealed such pain, such raw emotion as he watched Hinata glide backward from the center of the rink, moving away from him and further along the ice.

She kept her knees slightly bent, her legs extending and crossing each other like the delicate sway of a ballet's legs. Her skates traced elegant arcs on the ice as she spiraled backward, leaving a long trail behind. 

But even as Hinata drifted away from Naruto, her hand stretched out toward him, her eyes pleading for him to take it. 

Naruto followed her, reaching back.

His arm stretched out through the cold air, determined to bridge the gap between them.

They reached for each other, incorporating a few individual spins where they spun perfectly in sync, even landing together, before turning and reaching out again.

They drew out the moment for dramatic effect, with Hinata gliding smoothly backward and Naruto advancing just enough until their hands finally….

…met.

But when their hands finally touched, it seemed to ignite a powerful rush of warmth that pulsed through their gloves and into their palms like a heartbeat, spreading through their bodies in soothing waves.

The sensation felt incredible—better than anything they had experienced before. 

They had touched countless times, but this..

This was different.

The moment Naruto's large fingers slid between the gaps of Hinata's smaller ones, and curled around her hand, a deep, unparalleled warmth unfurled in both of their hearts. 

The surprising intensity of the warmth made them both gasp softly. Their fingers instinctively tightened around each other, the connection so strong and reassuring that they couldn't bear to let go. 

Not now.

Not so soon. 

Keeping her hand in his, Naruto guided Hinata's arm over her head and twisted her in a graceful spin perfectly in sync with the music. He skated himself over in a smooth glide, positioning himself directly behind her like her shadow. 

Close behind her, he began sliding his hands gently along her arms, and Hinata couldn't hold back the slight moan that escaped her lips. 

Naruto touched her now, and he took it slow.

Along her chest, his gloved fingers brushed the fabric of her costume, feeling the rise and fall of her breath. His hands moved down the gentle curve of her torso, tracing the contours of her muscles, and he felt her body react to his touch almost instantly, with soft shivers and quivers.

Finally, his hands reached her waist, holding her hips firmly yet gently.

Even in the cold of the stadium, with a chill all around them, Hinata felt warm beneath his fingertips.

She was savoring the moment, just as she always did, whenever she was in Naruto's arms.

His touch was always gentle, but now, to Hinata, it felt almost heightened. Every brush of his fingers felt like a trail of fire on her skin, each caress sending electric shivers down her spine.

It was like time slowed to a crawl, and all she could feel was Naruto.

His breath as it brushed against her ears and cheeks, warm and steady. The heat of his toned body as it pressed so close to hers, making her acutely aware of every inch of him...

And his touch...

Hinata always treasured the moments when Naruto touched her. 

Those fleeting instances when his hands met her skin always seem to send a delightful warmth coursing through her body, radiating like a beacon. Whether his strong yet gentle hands glided along her arms, gripped her hips, or lifted her into the air, a soothing, irresistible heat enveloped her whenever he made contact with…her body.

It shouldn't have felt this way, but it did—like a perfect antidote to her touch-starved dreams.

Hinata glanced back at him with a breathless look that made Naruto's heart skip a beat. Her lavender eyes drew him in every time, their expressiveness saying more than words ever could. 

And as he gazed into them now, they seemed to speak to him, whispering…

"Please touch me more, Naruto-kun. Touch me."

It was a gentle, unspoken plea, a tender whisper in her eyes as she looked over her shoulder at him, standing tall behind her.

Naruto bit his lip. 

Truly, he wished he could touch her more. 

Her body always responded so beautifully to his touch, expanding and contracting as if he were the air she breathed, always returning to him with a graceful, magnetic pull. It was intoxicating.

He craved more. He craved—

The blonde skater took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. Again. 

Reluctant as he was, and how good it was to hold Hinata, he knew he had to put an end to it.

After all, this was a serious competition.

With that realization, Naruto broke away from their intimate moment, shaking off the titillating effect of touching Hinata, and his expression turned serious again. He refocused and shifted his attention to the next part of their routine. 

But when he did, it seemed as if time snapped back to its usual pace, flowing normally like it did for everyone else.

Naruto grasped her waist firmly, and as if on cue, Hinata bent her knees, poised and ready, just like he was. 

The split-second cue he had been waiting for.

With a smooth lift, he sent her soaring into the air in a high twist. Her dress billowed out around her in a perfect spiral, drawing gasps from the crowd as it fluttered like a blooming flower.

Naruto watched as she flew high into the air, spinning gracefully. And in that quick moment, he caught a glimpse of her smile. 

There was an unspoken trust in that smile, a deep trust in him. Because she knew that whenever she fell, he'd always be there to catch her.

Just like now. 

As Hinata began her descent, Naruto was ready. He lifted his arms high and, with practiced precision, caught her around the waist.

He felt that familiar rush of relief and joy, knowing Hinata was secure in his hands after her aerial stunt. Safe and sound. 

Naruto held her close for a moment, savoring the warmth of her body against his, before gently lowering her back to the ice.

As they continued skating together, the audience seemed to blur further and further away until it was only the two of them, as if no one else existed. 

They looked into each other's eyes and suddenly...

Time didn't matter.

The competition didn't matter.

The judges or their scores didn't matter.

It was just them.

Just like in all their performances, Naruto and Hinata stunned the crowd with their chemistry. They moved together on the ice with such closeness, showing raw emotion through their every move and expression that the audience could actually feel. 

It left everyone breathless. 

The music was captivating from start to finish, flowing through every part of their routine. Every spin, every lift, and every glide of their skates across the ice, the music was there, as if guiding them. 

Hinata's grace paired perfectly with Naruto's strength, like yin and yang. Their choreography, whether synchronized or solo, blended together on the ice, revealing not just their countless hours of practice but also the deep understanding they shared. 

Their love. 

It was evident, no matter how hard they tried to hide it.

Their synchronicity was almost magical, like they were of one mind, one body, one soul. 

When Hinata jumped, Naruto was right there to catch her. 

When she spun, he spun, matching her moves perfectly. 

Whenever she reached for him, he was always ready to clasp her hand and guide her.

There was no escaping what they felt. 

The longer their performance went on, that feeling between them seemed to intensify.

It was new and exhilarating, different from anything they had felt before in previous performances or practices, as if it began anew the moment they first touched tonight.

Every time their hands touched or their eyes locked, that feeling inside them just kept growing stronger.

But reality would ruin it for them each time, reminding them that no matter how strong their feelings were, they couldn't act on them.

They couldn't.

They shouldn't.

They…

Hinata couldn't take it anymore. 

As their routine continued, she began to feel the full weight of everything. 

The unspoken feelings she'd been holding in, the constant longing to be close to Naruto, and the pressure to maintain their perfect image—it was all starting to overwhelm her.

She'd managed to keep it together for so long, but even she had her limits.

Tonight, she reached her breaking point.

As they approached the end of their performance, instead of the usual thrill that would sweep over her, she was overwhelmed by a deep, profound sadness.

Naruto sensed it immediately. 

He knew her too well not to notice. 

As the music began to wind down and the final chords echoed through the arena, he drew her into a tight embrace at the center of the rink. Their bodies were pressed close, the warmth of their breath mingling with the chilly air. Their faces were so close he could feel her every breath on his skin, and their eyes met, saying everything words couldn't express.

They held their position, panting and sweating, mostly satisfied, until the last notes of the music faded into silence.

But as soon as the music ended, the applause from the crowd surged through the stadium, a thunderous wave of sound that echoed endlessly in their ears.

With that, Naruto and Hinata reluctantly pulled away, masking their true feelings behind the broad smiles they had perfected and displayed time and time again.

They waved to the audience and the flashing cameras, even taking a hand-in-hand bow to mark the end of their performance.

The announcers' voices boomed through the speaker in no time, hyping up their performance with excitement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, what a show! Let's hear it for Japan's premier ice skating duo, Naruto Uzumaki and Hinata Hyūga! 

"Give these two a big round of applause for another unforgettable performance!"

The announcers gave them one last shout-out, showering them with praise and cheers that would've made Hinata feel overjoyed on another day—grateful, accomplished even. 

But not now.

She didn't know what had came over her.

She didn't know why she had done it. 

Yet, she turned to Naruto, her face showing a sadness she couldn't keep hidden anymore. Her eyes, usually so bright and joyful, were now clouded with a deep sorrow that instantly wiped the smile from Naruto's face. 

And before he could even speak, to react even, she spoke to him, whispered to him. 

She whispered one word, and he heard it clearly. 

"Gomennasai."

Hinata let go of his hand and sped off across the ice, leaving him behind before he could say a single word. 

He gasped and reached out toward her retreating figure.

"H-Hinata-chan!" Naruto called out, but she didn't respond. She didn't turn back or slow down; she just kept skating, moving further and further away from him until she vanished through the designated gate leading backstage.

The blonde stood there, frozen, as the cheers of the crowd faded into the background. Yet, even now, he could still feel the warmth of Hinata's touch lingering in his outstretched palm.

Naruto frowned.

'Pretending is difficult for you too, isn't it, Hinata-chan?'

Continue Reading On Wattpad Or AO3.

— (⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆)

[candyriku]

So I've been thinking way too much about my ice skating Soriku AU....

Pose based on this video, I've been watching ice skating videos every night for the last few weeks because I can't stop thinking about Sora and Riku skating together.

[im-sorry-what-ii]

Went ice skating for the first time in a while today and all I'm thinking is icemav ice skating au

[enchantingjacarandas]

Ice Skating

Pairing: Lee Know | Minho / Seungmin

Tags: Established Relationship, Slice of Life, Jealousy, Not K-pop Idols, Arguing, Ice Skating

Other Sites to Read on: Ao3 or Wattpad

Word Count: 1,404

A/N: This was my first fanfic that I ever wrote. Of course I re-edited it before posting, but I thought I would start my Tumblr fanfic journey the same way I as I did, when I first started. Hopefully you'll enjoy!! <3

“Ughh I’m so bored,” Seungmin spoke exasperated. To cure his boredom he decided instead of talking to himself he should try to figure out where his boyfriend was. Searching around the house he finally found Minho sitting in front of the TV watching anime. More specifically, he was watching Yuri on Ice. Then an idea popped into Seungmin's head. 

“We should try that,” he stated, pointing at the television.

“Getting rings together?” Minho was thoroughly confused. Seungmin simply rolled his eyes, his boyfriend always made it so hard to not smack him upside the head.

“No, I mean we should try ice skating, it’s been a while since we did something new for date night.” After he didn’t hear an immediate response he added, “It could be fun.”

“You wanna ice skate?” Minho looked him up and down. His boyfriend was cute yet so naive. 

Seungmin gave an oblivious nod, “I heard there’s one at the mall”.

Minho chuckled saying, “Alright”.

“Come on, this was your idea.” Minho said while watching his boyfriend starting to fall once again. Minho quickly went to his side to save him from getting hurt.

“I know what I said, I just didn’t expect it to be this hard!” Seungmin pouted looking into his hyung's eyes for comfort. Having seen his boyfriend being so sulky made it hard for Minho not to carry him bridal style away from everyone else. To somewhere more private, just the two of them. Minho had almost gotten completely consumed by his daydream, when the sight of Seungmin’s eyes sparkling from the fairy lights around the ice rink started to slowly pull him back to reality. However, on Seungmin’s side of things it seemed that his boyfriend lacked any empathy so he pushed Minho away.

“I know what I said, I just didn’t expect it to be this hard!” Seungmin pouted looking into his hyung's eyes for comfort. Having seen his boyfriend being so sulky made it hard for Minho not to carry him bridal style away from everyone else. To somewhere more private, just the two of them. Minho had almost gotten completely consumed by his daydream, when the sight of Seungmin’s eyes sparkling from the fairy lights around the ice rink started to slowly pull him back to reality. However, on Seungmin’s side of things it seemed that his boyfriend lacked any empathy so he pushed Minho away.

“I’ll figure it out myself. Just keep going around, showing off to everyone!” Seungmin was done with his boyfriend being so perfect at everything meanwhile he looked like an idiot falling down so much. Minho rolled his eyes at Seungim’s statement.

“Are you sure?” Minho leaned in closer, “you know, it’s safer to have me close so you won’t get hurt”. He hoped putting the moves on Seungmin would make him rethink his words.

“What do you know about getting hurt, just go already!” Seungmin was tired of the lecture coming from Minho, and just wanted to be alone to prove him wrong. Minho, not wanting to start a fight in public, decided it was for the best that he just skate somewhere else before his boyfriend would explode at him. He was still ready to tell Seungmin I told you so when he would inevitably fall again.

Seungmin, now that he was alone on the ice, was quickly regretting his words. “Why did I have to push him away? Now I look even more stupid not knowing how to skate all by myself.” He thought. He decided to head towards the wall of the rink so he could have at least some stability to try to improve his skill. Yet, the attempt almost ended with disaster when his skates betrayed him, they started to move faster than his body. He closed his eyes and was prepared to fall flat on the ground, yet he hadn’t hit the ice rink’s floor. 

Feeling arms around him he expected it to be his boyfriend, but was stunned when it was a man he’d never meant before was holding him. Seungmin quickly tried to get up and move away from the stranger, but that only seemed to make things worse. He started to lean away, but his head was heading for the ground once again. The stranger moved to Seungmin’s side to support him, seeing as maybe he had gotten too close for Seungmin’s comfort the first time around.

“Hey, let’s get you to the wall,” said the stranger.

“Ah thanks, I was trying to get here,” Seungmin explained once they had reached the wall. Seungmin decided to take in the ice skating rink’s serene scenery. The moment passed when he saw a pissed off Minho skating towards them. “Uh, you should probably go before my boyfriend gets here.” Seungmin awkwardly laughed, although he was pretty scared of pissed off Minho.

“Oh,” there was disappointment on the stranger’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, but like I said.” Seungmin gestured for him to leave, however the stranger was too slow. Minho quickly put his arm around Seungmin looking that stranger up and down, as if sizing him up.

“Hello, I’m his boyfriend, and you are?” 

“I am… I was just leaving,” the stranger was clearly intimidated by Minho.

“Good.” Minho smiled as the stranger skated away. Then he turned to his boyfriend for an explanation. 

“Listen, it wasn’t like that,” Seungmin sighed and turned his head. “I really did wanna skate on my own, it's only because I couldn’t make it to the ice rink’s wall before slipping. I tried to get away from him…” he trailed off, not really sure what the right answer was.

“You still want to learn to skate on your own?'' Minho furrowed his brows. He let out a sigh and skated away once again before even hearing Seungmin’s answer. 

“No wait!” Seungmin tried to skate after him, but forgot he couldn’t skate and landed right on his butt, maybe even tailbone. He was hurt in more ways than one, he simply put his head down fearing the laughs of others at the ice rink. Just when tears threatened to fall, he saw a hand. A smile brightened his face because his boyfriend didn’t leave him behind. Seungmin took the hand and held tight as his boyfriend pulled him off the rink. Minho found a bench and led Seungmin to sit down, deciding he would untie his boyfriend’s skates.

“Ah!” Seungmin’s butt still hurt from the fall, when tried to sit down he felt a sharp sting. However he would bear the pain because Minho was being kind by taking off his skates for him.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Minho asked.

“Sorta, I’m sure it’s not too bad though.” Seungmin assured his significant other.

“Okay, let’s head home. I think that’s enough of an adventurous date for today,” Minho said. Seungmin thought he was right, for they weren’t exactly getting along before his fall, plus they only had about 10 minutes left on the rental skates.

While Minho returned the skates Seungmin wandered around window shopping while staying within sight of his boyfriend. 

“Do you have any ice packs for injuries, or know where I can get one?” Minho questioned.

“Oh, I think we have something around here, let me check real quick” The clerk then went towards the back of the shop. They soon came back with some ice in a plastic bag, “here you go sir”.

“Thank you!” Minho replied to the clerk as he took the bag from them. Turning around he hastily walked towards Seungmin, swiftly placing the ice on his butt.

“What the-” Seungmin looked down, upon seeing what Minho was doing, he started turning red in the cheeks. “Minho, this is embarrassing.” He pulled Minho to the side out of the shop’s window area and behind a pillar so most people couldn’t see them. 

“Good, then next time don’t push me away and this won’t happen.” Minho smiled mischievously at his partner, still holding the ice pack on his butt.

“Yuck!” Seungmin couldn’t help but to fake gag at the cheesy line. “Come here.” He then leaned in and gave Minho a quick peck on the lips. Glad they were in a somewhat secluded area. Even if Minho said the cheesiest line, Seungmin would always kiss him after.

“But seriously, can we not ice my butt while in the mall?” Seungmin pouted.

“Is that why you kissed me?” Minho considered Seungmin’s question and then replied, “I’m still making you ice it in the car though”.

“Deal.” Seungmin then leaned in for another kiss while Minho eagerly reciprocated. They quickly put their arms around one another. Seungmin attempted to advance the kiss more, when he tried to slip his tongue into the other’s mouth. However, Minho had to stop them, so they wouldn’t get too heated in a public area. After breaking their kiss the next thing Minho did was grab Seungmin’s hand, heading for their car. He couldn’t wait for it to just be the two of them.

➤ Masterlist ❀ Ao3 ❀ Wattpad ❀ Ko-fi

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! <3 This is my first time posting on tumblr and I'm fairly new to the site so, if you have any tips or helpful advice it would be much appreciated. Also if I managed to mess something up please inform me on how I can correct it. I appreciate you taking time out of your day to make it this far. Make sure to stay safe and healthy!!

[iambellarose1816]

Ice 1 - Figure Skater Elsa and Ice Hockey Captain Hans one shot

I figured it was relatable to them

After her figure skating segment was over for the day she changed back into her beige sweater and a pair of jeans.

She sat on the benches and scrolled through her phone only to hear the cheers of the ice hockey players filling up the ice rink.

Her icy blue eyes caught onto a man with auburn hair and a dashing smile on his face. He turned a bit more only for her to get lost in his emerald green eyes.

He caught her gaze as it burned a hole on the side of his face. His signature smirk made her hot and flustered.

He skated over to where she sat and leaned against the glass. "Hey love."

His words were always so reassuring and always made her feel safe. "Hey." She said breathlessly.

He chuckled at her change in voice. She was always so flustered around him even though they've been dating for a year.

"How was practice? Ready for that show next week Friday?" She sighed and shook her head.

"I am just nervous and I don't know what will happen on the ice." He sighed and skated over to the opening of the ice rink so he could hold her close.

She was enveloped in his arms. Happy and content. She breath in his musky scent that always made her feel at ease. She loved it. She loved him.

"I needed this." She whispered. He chuckled and kissed her head. "If you need anything I am always here." He said.

She nodded and smiled up at him. "I love you." That was all the reassurance he needed to know she was his.

"I love you too, Snowflake." With a tender kiss placed on her lips he felt all the tension in her muscles release as he held her close.

"Westergaard! Stop smooching with your girl and get on the damn ice! We need to whip Harvard's ass next week." His coach screamed.

Hans and Elsa chuckled and kissed each other one last time before he went back on the ice.

"I'll be back in a few, Snowflake."

She wondered how she got so lucky to have him in her life.

He was her enemy once upon a time, but when they finally got to know each other they ended up becoming the best of lovers.

[ivlymonii]

Rings, Ice and Everything Nice (FengQing Christmas Oneshot)

Summary:

“Huh?” Feng Xin lifts his head to see Xie Lian standing in front of the kitchen counter, right opposite him. Mu Qing is out at the moment so it’s only the two of them right now.

“You free this Christmas?” Xie Lian repeats, propping his elbow on the counter and resting his chin in his palm. “There’s a Christmas Market in town. San Lang and I were going to go but something sudden came up and now we can’t,'' Xie Lian rubs his neck, embarrassed. ”So we’re asking if anyone would want to go in our place. It’d be awful to waste that ticket.”

“Uh, I think so?” Feng Xin answers. He doesn’t have much to do on the 25th, so he might as well go to that Christmas market, could be fun.

Feng Xin invites Mu Qing out for a day at the Christmas market, it goes... pretty damn well. ___________________________________________________________________

Please note that I type some stuff in Cantonese in this fic and translations will be given after the paragraph.

Notes:

Hello, people. This is my first OFFICIAL fic on AO3, and it's a oneshot about our two favourite rival dumbasses at a Christmas Market. Since Christmas was rolling around and I really wanted to write something, I wrote it.

This was partially inspired by "Perfectly Warm" by thekeyholder on AO3, their oneshot is so good and so cute. Go check it out.

Please note that I did not beta read this and any spelling and grammatical errors shall be fixed when I feel like it... which is never.

And with that being said, I give you: THIS NON BETA READ MONSTROSITY THAT I POSTED A DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS, I MEAN WTF?

Rings, Ice and Everything Nice:

“You free this Christmas?”

“Huh?” Feng Xin lifts his head to see Xie Lian standing in front of the kitchen counter, right opposite him. Mu Qing is out at the moment so it’s only the two of them right now.

“You free this Christmas?” Xie Lian repeats, propping his elbow on the counter and resting his chin in his palm. “There’s a Christmas Market in town. San Lang and I were going to go but something sudden came up and now we can’t,'' Xie Lian rubs his neck, embarrassed. ”So we’re asking if anyone would want to go in our place. It’d be awful to waste that ticket.”

“Uh, I think so?” Feng Xin answers. He doesn’t have much to do on the 25th, so he might as well go to that Christmas market, could be fun.

“Great!” Xie Lian claps his hands together and pulls out his phone. “Thanks so much. Oh, by the way, that ticket is for two, so you might want to get another person to go with you.”

“Oh.” Feng Xin says. He rubs the back of his neck, clearly a bit troubled. Who would bother to come with him to a Christmas market at such a moment's notice? It was already the 23rd, everyone he knew already had plans for Christmas. Who would wanna go with him?

Xie Lian immediately notices that he’s a bit troubled. “What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned for his friend.

“Well, everyone we know already has plans for Christmas, so I don’t know if…” he trails off, deciding not to finish that sentence. Xie Lian seemed so happy to have someone to use those tickets, but if he didn’t have a plus one, then…

Xie Lian catches on immediately.

“Oh,” he says, face slightly falling. But then his face lights up again. “Why don’t you bring Mu Qing then?”

“Huh?” Feng Xin seems bewildered by the suggestion.

“Yeah!” Xie Lian smiles. “It’d be a great opportunity for you two to bond. Plus maybe you can get closer to him…” he adds that last part in a mischievous tone and a wink.

“W-what?” Feng Xin’s face starts becoming warm. Fuck, he caught on.

Xie Lian sighs. “Come on, Feng Xin. I know about your crush on Mu Qing. I just think that you should tell him.”

“What? No the fuck I shouldn’t!” Feng Xin “Also, why would he wanna come? He’d hate to go to the Market with me.”

Xie Lian sighs deeply. “No, he wouldn’t. Believe me. I’d know.”

“But-”

“Feng Xin,” Xie Lian holds up a hand. “I have known you and Mu Qing for most of my life, and I know how he feels about most things. I’m sure he’d want to go to the Christmas market with you.”

“But-”

“End. Of. Discussion.” Xie Lian says sternly, his tone hardens and his eyes narrow slightly. To anyone else, they wouldn’t notice much difference from Regular Xie Lian, but Feng Xin knows to stop arguing when Xie Lian uses that tone.

“Alright, alright. I’ll ask him.” Feng Xin says in defeat.

“Great!” Xie Lian goes back to his regular smiley self. “I’ll give you the ticket via Whatsapp. It’s digital so you just have to show it to the staff at the entrance and you’re good to go.” he picks up his phone and types something. Within seconds, Feng Xin feels a buzz in his pocket and he knows immediately that Xie Lian just sent him the ticket.

“Well,” Xie Lian pockets his phone. “I better get going, San Lang is waiting.” he picks up his bag and opens the front door. “You guys have fun at the Market!” and with that, he steps out and shuts the door.

And now Feng Xin is alone in the kitchen.

“Ugh…” he picks up his phone and dials Mu Qing’s number, his finger hovers over the dial button for a minute. He finally relents and presses the button. Mu Qing answers within seconds.

“This better be good, I won’t be back for another hour.” he hears Mu Qing’s voice ring out from the opposite end.

“Hey, Xie Lian gave me a ticket to the Christmas Market downtown. He said that he and Crimson Rain were planning to go together but they had something to take care of so they gave the thing to me.”

“Okay? So go by yourself. What does this have to do with me?” he can practically feel Mu Qing’s eyeroll through the phone.

“The ticket covers two people, so I need a plus one to go to the market, and since no one else is free, I thought that you were the next best option.” Feng Xin takes a deep breath. “So, wanna go with me?”

There is a long moment of silence between them when he says that.

“Alright. What time are you free?” Mu Qing finally says. “I have time around 7 on the 25th.”

Feng Xin’s heart does some sort of somersault when Mu Qing says that. “Oh, uh. Same.”

“Then it’s settled.” Mu Qing says coolly. “I’ll be back by 5. Don’t forget to vacuum the place and defrost the chicken.”

‘Alright, geez.” Feng Xin says. “See ya.”

“Bye.” he hears Mu Qing say on the other end, then he hangs up. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When the 25th rolls around, Feng Xin gets a lot more excited about the Market date, (Is it a date? He asks himself.) much to his own dismay and joy at the same time. He lies awake in bed the night prior, trying to fall asleep, but the excitement is killing him. At last, he falls asleep around midnight, after a nice session of trying his damndest to not think about the Market date but failing and at last falling asleep due to the built up exhaustion from all the work he did in the week.

When he wakes up, Mu Qing tells him that he’ll be out for most of the day, but will be back to go to the market with him. And that he should get ready before he gets back as it’s a long walk to the Christmas market. Feng Xin does not protest against this, and simply gives a nod at Mu Qing before he heads out.

The rest of the day, Feng Xin goes about his regular routine. Since it’s Christmas, it means that he had the day off from work, and the fact that it would be Saturday right after Christmas Day, makes it even better. He tries not to think about Mu Qing and the Market tonight, but also wonders at the same time why Mu Qing keeps going out of the house so frequently these past few days. Eventually, he gets the thoughts of Mu Qing out of his head, and settles down on the couch to binge some movies before Mu Qing comes back. He turns on the TV and puts the box of snacks on the coffee table, and before he even knows it, he drifts off.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Feng Xin jolts awake, he rubs his eyes and sees a fuming Mu Qing at the front door, he kicks off his shoes and puts the paper bag he has in his hands on the kitchen counter before walking towards Feng Xin.

“Do you even know what time it is?’ he yanks his roommate off the couch and shoves his phone in his face. 6:27 pm, it reads.

Feng Xin blinks a few times before realizing what’s happening and thinks. Oh no.

“Oh fuck!” he untangles himself from the blanket and makes a dash for his room for a change of clothes. It would take them a solid 30 minutes to walk to the Christmas market, and he just wasted a lot of time.

“I told you to get ready before I came home, and did you?” He hears Mu Qing scolding him through the bedroom door. “Oh my god we’re gonna be so late.”

“Says the guy who came home at 6:27 pm! You wasted just as much time as I did!” Feng Xin fires back at him.

“I expected you to be ready by the time i came back and we could head out as soon as I came back, god!” Mu Qing yells.

“Ugh!” Feng Xin yells in frustration as he ruffles through his drawers for something that would look remotely decent outside, but would still shield him from the winter cold.

At last, after ten minutes of non stop arguing and Feng Xin trying to dress himself in the nicest thing he owns (for the occasion, not to impress Mu Qing!), he steps out of the room and rushes towards the front door.

“Took ya long enough!” Mu Qing huffs, showing him the time on his phone, which now read 6:37. “Let’s go!”

Both of them ran out of their apartment at full speed. Only now did Feng Xin appreciate the fact that their apartment was on the 2nd floor and not the 15th, as he had originally hoped. Mu Qing insisted on the one on the 2nd, saying it would “allow for more natural light!” and “a faster trip downstairs.”

They were in such a hurry that they didn’t even have time to admire the beautiful Christmas lights that hung all around the city.

By the time they got to the location where the Christmas market was, Mu Qing’s phone already read 6:58 pm. They’d gotten there faster than they had expected.

The guard at the entrance scanned the ticket on Feng Xin’s phone and looked at both of them and chuckled. “You know, this Christmas market is really popular with couples.”

Feng Xin tensed up and he could feel the heat rising from his neck. He looked over at Mu Qing, who had frozen in shock.

The guard chuckled again and handed them two wristbands. “These’ll give you access to all of the attractions in the park, just show it to the staff and they’ll let you in. You kids have fun!”

Feng Xin took the wristbands and handed one to Mu Qing. They both wrapped them around their wrists and waved goodbye to the security guard before stepping into the winter wonderland that was the Christmas market.

“Wow…” Feng Xin said in astonishment of the Christmas market. Stalls were absolutely everywhere in the giant park that the market was set up in. Lights shimmered and the laughter of the children echoed throughout the park, and the falling snow that quickly coated the rooftops of the buildings nearby made the area look like something straight out of a fairytale.

“Don’t just stand there, you look like an idiot.” a voice beside him snaps him out of his trance. Mu Qing smiles teasingly at him. “Cmon, we came here to enjoy the attractions, not to gawk at the lights and stuff.”

“Hey, it looks beautiful here, can you blame me?” Feng Xin asks in defense, and Mu Qing rolls his eyes, but a small smile dances on his lips, and his eyes visibly soften when he looks at Feng Xin.

That sight made Feng Xin want to kiss him so bad.

“So uh… about what the security guard back there said,” he begins. “You know, about us looking like a couple.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess we do kind of look like a couple, huh?” Mu Qing answers him sheepishly, averting eye contact.

The two of them stand there in awkward silence for a while before Mu Qing finally breaks the silence.

“Cmon.” Mu Qing grabs his arm and pulls him over to one of the stalls. “I didn’t come here to do nothing.”

“The stall he had pulled Feng Xin to was a game stall, the girl manning the stall looked at their wristbands and gave them a rundown of how the game there worked. It was a very basic ring toss game. The more rings you land on the bottles, the bigger the prize you get. She gave them a bucket of rings and went to the side.

Feng Xin picks up one of the rings and aims for one of the bottles, he could feel Mu Qing staring at him behind him. He takes a deep breath, and throws.

The ring lands perfectly on one of the bottles.

“Holy shit.” he hears the girl whisper from the side, and Mu Qing seems to be gazing at him.

“My turn.” Mu Qing comes forward and takes a ring from the bucket and throws it at the bottles. It doesn’t land on any of them, instead, it hits the side of one of them and falls to the floor with a loud clang!

Feng Xin chuckles and Mu Qing glares at him. “You think this is funny?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Feng Xin admits, but before Mu Qing can get a word out, he steps forward and grabs another ring and shoves it in Mu Qing’s hand. He then goes up behind Mu Qing and holds up his arm to a certain height. This sudden close contact makes Mu Qing tense up. “You wanna make sure that a bottle is within your line of sight and make a decision on which bottle you want to throw the ring at. Next, take aim,” he raises Mu Qing’s other arm - the one that isn’t holding the ring, and puts it in front of him, making sure his index finger is pointing at a bottle through the ring. “And… throw!”

This time, the ring lands perfectly on a bottle, and Mu Qing is astonished by this. “Whoa…” he says.

Feng Xin smiles and picks up another ring. He throws it at the bottles, for it to land on one of them perfectly, as expected from the guy who got gold in all of his archery tournaments back in high school. They continue the game until the bucket of rings run out, joking around and teasing each other the whole time, with a majority of the rings landing on bottles and just a couple missed ones, it was no surprise that they’d won a pretty big prize.

“Here you go.” the stall girl says as she hands Feng Xin a giant black cat plush. “I’d recommend you give that to your boyfriend,” she points at Mu Qing behind him. “Gives off the same vibe.”

Feng Xin’s cheeks go red at this. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh really? Could’ve reckoned you two were dating, by the way he looks at you.” The stall girl comments, surprised. Mu Qing’s cheeks also heat up at this comment and he pulls his hood over his head.

“Uh, yeah okay. Thanks for the plush.” Feng Xin manages to say to the girl, who looks at him weirdly before shrugging and waving them goodbye. Feng Xin stuffs the plush

“Well that’s the second time we’ve been mistaken to be a couple.” He jokes to Mu Qing once they’ve walked away.

“Yeah, I know.” Mu Qing says, the red on his cheeks still not disappearing.

They stay like that for a moment, with Mu Qing not talking and Feng Xin looking at him while holding a giant cat plush.

“Well, uh, where do you wanna go next?” Feng Xin asks him to lessen the awkwardness.

“I don’t know, you pick.” Mu Qing answers him.

“Uhhh…” Feng Xin looks around them, there were a lot of attractions all over the park, but none of them really caught his interest, except for-

“You wanna go ice-skating?” He asks.

“What?” Mu Qing raises his head and looks in the direction Feng Xin is pointing in. Sure enough, there was an ice-skating rink smack dab in the middle of the park.

“Sure, why not?” He agrees and walks over.

They borrow ice skates from the staff working at the rink, and get on the ice within minutes, but there was one problem: Feng Xin didn’t know how to skate.

“Pfft,” Mu Qing tries to stifle a giggle when he sees his friend repeatedly trying and failing to get up from the ice once he slips.

Feng Xin sighs and gives up. “Little help here?” He asks Mu Qing.

“Nope, you got yourself into this, you get yourself out.” He says teasingly. “Alright, alright, I’ll help you.” He finally relents when Feng Xin glares at him. He leans down to grab his hand, but Feng Xin falls forward at him once he gets up again.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Feng Xin apologises to him once he realises how closely their bodies are pressed together, and tries to distance himself from Mu Qing, but with no avail, as when he tries to get back from him on the ice, he just ends up falling against Mu Qing again.

“Oh my god, just stop.” Mu Qing gives up, and just lets Feng Xin lean against him for now. “Follow my lead.” He grabs Feng Xin’s hands and guides him across the ice, trying his best not to let him fall again, and throughout this entire process, Feng Xin is just mesmerised by how pretty Mu Qing looks in the multicoloured lighting of the rink.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could skate.” Feng Xin remarks. “You're really good.”

“Thanks.” Mu Qing looks away for a quick second. When did all the fighting between him and Feng Xin suddenly turn into playful banter and jokes and suddenly now, basically flirting? Unbeknownst to him, Feng Xin was thinking the same.

Mu Qing takes a deep breath. “Feng Xin, I have something to tell you…”

“Y-yeah?” Feng Xin’s breath hitches and they skate to a stop.

Mu Qing turns around to face him, eyes softer than usual and the way his hair reflects the lights around them just makes him look… ethereal. (Yeah, Feng Xin can’t take the bi panic.)“Listen, I’ve kind of liked-”

RIIIIIINNNGGGG!!!!!!!

A bell rings in the distance and a staff member comes out.

“Alright, everyone, rink’ll be closing in ten for cleaning and maintenance! So everyone who’s still in here, please leave the rink before we force you out!”

“Oh! Seems like we have to get out of here.” Mu Qing says awkwardly, separating his body from Feng Xin’s and grabbing his date(?)’s arm and leading him away from the rink.

Once they’re out of there, Feng Xin thinks about what just happened.

So basically, Mu Qing and him got really close, like, really really close, he just guided him through skating and holy fuck that last part…

That last part.

“Are ya deaf?” Mu Qing’s voice rings through the air, cool and calm, but there was definitely a mischievous undertone to it.

“Huh, sorry what?” Feng Xin snaps out of his thoughts. “Yeah sorry I couldn’t hear you.”

“I asked where you wanted to go next, dummy.” Mu Qing rolls his eyes, but Feng Xin knows it’s only in a teasing manner. “I’ve been asking you for the past minute, and you didn’t respond, almost like you were deaf or something.”

“Uh,” Feng XIn scans the area around them for something interesting to go to. “Wanna go there?” he points at a very dark building in the distance, but it was already pretty obvious what it was.

“Ugh, there?” Mu Qing rolls his eyes again. “I swear, that place is the least frightening place I've ever seen.” he says, obviously trying to cover up the fact that he was creeped out by the house.

“Still looks fun though.” Feng Xin smiles. “What? Is Xiao Qing-er scared?” he adds teasingly.

“I literally just told you that that is the least frightening place I’ve ever seen.” Mu Qing says dryly.

“Then on second thought, no.” Feng Xin decides. That haunted house really did look a bit scary once he looked at it a bit clearer.

Mu Qing notices him looking a little creeped out and smirks.

“做乜啊?阿信係唔係驚咗啊?” he asks, trying to get a rise out of Feng Xin.

(Translation: What? Is A-Xin scared?)

“No, of course not!” Feng Xin says defensively. “Come on.'' He grabs Mu Qing’s arm and drags him towards the haunted house.

That sudden touch makes Mu Qing’s breath hitch and his body tense up, and he follows Feng Xin to the haunted house.

There were only a few people waiting at the haunted house, and for good reason. Now that Feng Xin got a way better look at the haunted house, he could tell that those people who worked there were not coming to play. The house wasn’t over the top looking like other haunted houses they’ve been to, the place looked like bad news, and if it weren’t for the fact that it was a park attraction, Feng Xin and Mu Qing would’ve avoided it like the plague, or COVID.

Once it’s their turn to step into the haunted house, Mu Qing tenses up even more, he grabs Feng Xin’s arm and yanks him closer to himself. This makes Feng Xin’s heart start breakdancing and doing somersaults in his chest, all the while singing corny Christmas carols.

The inside of the haunted house looked like something straight out of a murder crime scene, and from what research that Feng Xin had done on haunted houses, this was something good. It reminded him of the Winchester Mystery house he visited last summer and the McKamey Manor, only with less torture and death.

Mu Qing squeezes his arm tighter, trying to keep his head down so that he doesn’t see anything too scary.

“Ha, look who’s scared now.” Feng Xin teases in an attempt to get Mu Qing to calm down.

“Does A-Xin want to fucking die?’ Feng Xin can feel the glare, even though he can’t see it.

“No, but I’m pretty sure you’re gonna cut off my circulation with how hard you’re gripping my arm. “ Feng Xin says.

“Oh.” Mu Qing lets go of his arm and goes silent at his side.

Well that was kind of unexpected. Feng Xin’s arm feels cold without Mu Qing clinging to him like a koala.

They go through the haunted house slowly, with none of them saying a word, but Feng Xin can feel something was wrong, almost like someone was following him. He looks at Mu Qing, who by now has regained his composure and is walking steadily, but he can tell that he’s still a bit on edge.

Feng Xin looks behind him, but there was nothing there. He turns to Mu Qing. “Hey, you feel anything following us?” he jokes in an effort to get Mu Qing to stop being so quiet.

“I don’t know, maybe you’re just freaked out?” Mu Qing dryly, but he looks grossed out by the fake bloody handprints on the walls and looks over his shoulder.

“Hmm.” Feng Xin hums. “Maybe you are too?” he teases.

Mu Qing rolls his eyes.

They walk through the haunted house, everything’s uneventful for a bit, but Feng Xin’s weird feeling that someone is following them is getting stronger.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asks Mu Qing.

“The exit’s that way, dumbass.” Mu Qing points at a door labelled “Exit”.

“Yeah okay, let’s go.” Feng Xin grabs Mu Qing’s arm and walks towards the door, but before he can open it, a figure comes up behind them and raises a knife behind their heads.

“痴孖筋!” Feng Xin curses and Mu Qing raises his fist, only for the figure to raise their hands over their head, and that’s when Feng XIn and Mu Qing realise: This is an actor for the haunted house.

(Translation for 痴孖筋: it’s a curse in Cantonese, and it means “FUCKING SHIT!” in this particular context, but its base meaning is basically just an insult for someone who’s acting insane.)

“Oh my god…” Feng Xin facepalms and Mu Qing rolls his eyes and opens the door to reveal the outside.

“Oh my god, you looked so freaked out back there.” Mu Qing teases Feng Xin once they’re a considerable distance away from the haunted house.

“Says you.” Feng Xin fires back. “You were gripping my arm so hard that it felt like you were going to rip it off.”

“Ugh.” Mu Qing groans, a bit of pink dusting his pale cheeks. “That was actually pretty fun, I won’t lie.”

“Yes, because us being stalked by what looks like a killer and being attacked by said killer is fun.” Feng Xin says.

“Awwwww, poor A-Xin, so scared of a fake killer?” Mu Qing says in a baby voice and throws his head back. “That’s fucking hilarious.”

Feng Xin sticks his tongue out at him.

“Seriously?” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Sticking out your tongue? That’s grade school level shit.”

“Speaking of grade school level shit…” Feng Xin says mischievously, raising a hand behind Mu Qing’s back.

“What the f-”

“I HIDE, YOU SEEK!” Feng Xin yells before taking off.

“Oh it’s on!” Mu Qing runs after him into the crowds.

They run for a while, uncaring of all the people staring at the fact that two grown men are running through the crowds like six year olds, and Feng Xin sees a gap between two stalls. Nice place to hide. He thinks to himself. He makes a dive for that gap, but Mu Qing is faster, as he yanks Feng Xin out of his hiding place before he’s even halfway in.

“Gotcha!” Mu Qing laughs and gets off of Feng Xin.

“Yeah, yeah. You got me.” Feng Xin rolls his eyes and smiles at his companion.

“Come on, I wanna go see the ice sculptures.” Mu Qing lifts himself and Feng Xin off the ground. “And I don’t want to be stared at by a bunch of strangers.” he adds under his breath, glaring at all the people staring at them.

They head for the ice sculpture building, and the queue progresses quickly, maybe due to the late time, but both Feng Xin and mu QIng don’t really notice the time. Instead, they are thrusted into a kingdom of ice and snow.

“Whoa…” Feng Xin says, brushing his hand against one of the ice sculptures that was shaped like a penguin. “These look so real.”

“Yeah, they do.” Mu Qing agrees with him. “Hey.”

“Huh?”

“Take a look at this.” Mu Qing points at an ice sculpture of two people in extravagant ancient Chinese robes. Their lips were pressed together and the one with a bun was dipping the one who had longer hair, flowing freely from his head.

“Holy shit, that’s beautiful.” Feng Xin says in astonishment.

“Yeah. I know right.” Mu Qing holds up his hand to brush against the face of the one with the bun.

“You want a photo with this?” Feng Xin asks him.

“Huh? Yeah sure.” Mu Qing goes silent for a moment. “But you have to be in it as well.” he tells Feng Xin.

“What?”

“You heard me.” Mu Qing shrugs, then turns to another visitor of the building. “Excuse me, would you mind taking a photo of us?” he asks the teenager next to him, over the sound of Feng Xin’s protests.

“Sure, why not?” The teenager agrees and Mu Qing hands them his phone.

“Why did you ask-” Feng Xin begins.

“Shut up, the kid’s already starting to take the photos.” Mu Qing hisses at him and pulls him closer. He flings Feng Xin’s arm over his shoulder and wraps his own around Feng Xin’s waist.

A minute or so passes, and the kid finally stops taking photos. “Thanks.” Mu Qing says as the teenager gives the phone back to him.

‘You two make such a great couple, ya know?” the teen tells them.

“Oh, uh. Thanks, I guess?” Feng Xin says, embarrassed, while Mu Qing hides his face in his hands.

“Yeah. See ya ‘round.” the teenager gives them a salute and walks away with their mother.

“Well that’s the-” Feng Xin begins.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Mu Qing says, cheeks pink. He pockets his phone and blows some hot air onto his hands. “Let’s get outta here, I’m freezing.”

“But we’ve barely even-”

Mu Qing is nearly out the door.

“哎呀⋯⋯" Feng Xin runs after him.

(哎呀 basically means: Aiya… and that punctuation mark after it is the Chinese equivalent to this: …)

______________________________________________________________

They continue walking through the Christmas market for a while, it was already pretty late, nearing 9 pm.

“So uh, what do you wanna do next?” Feng Xin asks the black haired man walking beside him.

“I dunno.” Mu Qing shrugs.

“Well…” Feng XIn scratches his head. “Wanna go see them light up the Christmas tree?”

“What?”

“Yeah!” Feng Xin says. “Xie Lian told me about it yesterday, he told me that they’re gonna light up the Christmas tree at the center of the park.”

“Well, alright.” Mu Qing nods. “What time?”

“9 pm.”

“Oh shit, it’s already 8:45.” Mu Qing pulls out his phone. “Well, if you wanna go see the tree light up then we better get going.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

______________________________________________________________

“You wanna get something to drink before we see the lights?” Feng Xin asks.

“Okay.” Mu Qing says. “Whatcha want?”

“Nothing too much. Maybe some tea or hot chocolate, you?”

“Yeah same.” Mu Qing says, then he notices a small stall in the distance. “That stall seems to be selling drinks, wanna go check it out?”

“Okay, let’s go.”

A few minutes later, both of them are holding hot chocolate and sitting on a bench, right in front of the Christmas tree in the center of the park.

“Hey, thanks for coming with me to this Christmas market.” Feng Xin smiles.

“Hm.” Mu Qing takes a sip of his hot chocolate. “I’m glad I came.” he says quietly.

“I’m glad you came too.” Feng Xin smiles and wraps an arm around Mu Qing’s shoulder. Mu Qing tenses up at first, but soon relaxes into the warmth of his companion.

They sit in silence for a while, just staring at the unlit Christmas tree, and the snow lightly falling from the sky.

“Feng Xin, why did you ask me to come?”

“I told you already, Xie Lian and Crimson Rain couldn’t make it, so they gave the ticket to me and since no one else was free, i asked you.”

“Oh…”

More silence.

“Feng Xin, is this a date?” he asks him, eyes wide with hope.

“I mean, if you want it to be.” Feng Xin whispers, staring into those beautiful black eyes, reflecting the Christmas lights around them.

“Yeah, yeah i do.” Mu Qing moves in, and the lights around them softly illuminate him, reflecting off his silky black hair and making him look even prettier than he did at the ice rink.

“Then uh… wanna-”

He doesn’t even have to finish that sentence before Mu Qing dives in.

Feng Xin’s brain short circuits at that. He’d’ve never imagined that this would happen, much less for Mu Qing to initiate the kiss. He ia frozen in shock for a few seconds, but relaxes and melts into the kiss.

When they finally break apart, Mu Qing’s face is red as a beet and Feng Xin is at a loss for words.

“Wow…” Feng Xin says. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mu Qing mutters, trying to get rid of the deep red blush that’s taking over his face. “That wasn’t so bad.” he gives up on trying to get the blush to disappear and just smiles at Feng Xin.

That sight makes Feng Xin’s heart do somersaults.

“Hey Mu Qing.”

“Hm?”

“I’m so glad that you agreed to come with me tonight,” he takes a deep breath. “So, would you like to be my boyfriend?”

Mu Qing’s breath hitches and it takes him a couple moments before he answers.

“Yes, yes I would.”

Feng Xin dives in for another kiss, and the Christmas tree lights up behind them.

End notes:

Feng Xin, calling Xie Lian after the Christmas Market: holy shit. I went to the Market with Mu Qing and we did a lot of cool stuff and we kissed and I asked him to be my boyfriend and I think I love him?

Xie Lian, who has known for years and gave him the ticket to the Christmas Market just to get him and Mu Qing on a date:

______________________________________________________________

Hey, folks. Thanks for reading this fic of mine, and I hope y'all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Errors will be fixed when I feel like it... eventually, which is never.

Link to the AO3 fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43860684

[hongjoongspoetry]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Part 1 — I’m Just Dreaming Of Tearin’ You Apart

⛸️ Summary: Practicing for the Spring Championship preliminaries with your longtime crush wasn’t something you expected and neither was being treated to coffee by the man you despised most in the world, yet both happened in the span of a week. Besides figure skating competitions and hockey games, your best friends created a game of their own involving money and your love life.

⛸️ Pairing(s): Hockey Player!Mingi x Figure Skater!Reader, Figure Skater!Hyunjin x Figure Skater!Reader

⛸️ Genres/Tropes: College AU, non-idol AU, rivals to lovers, but it's more like one-sided resentment, hockey AU, figure skating AU, angst, fluff

⛸️ Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), a lot of swearing, petnames (princess), mention of drugs and sex in a joking manner, use of alcohol, chaotic friendship, friendly fights, a lot of side-characters, mingi is a bit of a dick, MDNI!!!

⛸️ Wordcount: 16.5K

⛸️ Author's note: I'm finally uploading this!! I know I said it was going to be an oneshot, but I wrote too much to post it all in one go so I decided to make it into a mini-series instead. There will be five parts to Cold Hands, Warm Heart and I'll upload every Friday starting from today. It's crazy to think I've been writing this whole thing since October last year, like what?!

The first part is more of an introduction to all the characters and me easing you into the plot rather than starting off too strong with the main pairing, so there isn't a lot of scenes with Mingi, but there will be plenty in the future. Anyway, I won't keep you for too long! Enjoy and tell me your thoughts ❤️

This is all fiction and not meant to represent the idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes as well as adult language. Minors and ageless blogs refrain from reading this work!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Click on me!

The sound of blades against ice and the smell of a freezer empty of food brought you great comfort, and it continued to do so for a century and a half. The ice rink was your second home — not the college or your grandma’s house — heck, you could maneuver the place better than your own home. Abel Korzeniowski’s Charms blasted pleasantly through the speakers in the hall as you stood in the middle of the ice with your hands raised and knees slightly bent. The arena was completely empty, which wasn’t anything weird considering it was six AM on a Monday. You slowly moved across the ice in sync to the music, leaving all your thoughts and worries in the parking lot outside. There were only you and the ice. 

As the music gradually picked up its pace, you began doing light spins and jumps. You imagined the arena to be packed with people, their excited eyes following your elegant figure, and cheers going off like cannons after every stunt. In tune with the music reaching its turning point, you propelled yourself up and spun in the air, only for the melody to be abruptly cut off. A short static echoed in the hall as the AUX was rather harshly unplugged from your phone, making you lose your footing and fall on your ass.

The ice beneath was hard and cold, and it numbed your whole left leg except for the burning pain that flared up in your backside. You had to physically hold back tears as you stood back up on shaky legs.

“Majestic as always, princess, but I’ll have to deduct ten points for that eye captivating fall.” 

A chorus of laughter and gloves pounding against the plexiglas averted your attention for a split second, and the picture of an audience watching wasn’t much of an imagination as the whole hockey team stood by the entrance of the rink. 

You masked the expression of hurt and threw a glare towards the music booth planted between the penalty boxes. Rephrasing, you threw a glare at the guy inside the music booth. If there was anything figure skating couldn’t help you with, it was Song Mingi, the right defenceman of the Blue Wolves and the biggest douchebag known to mankind. The mankind in question was you.

“Piss off, Song. The rink is booked until 10 AM.”

The large man leaned into the mic, a smug grin on his stupidly handsome face, “Can’t do sweetheart. We have an upcoming match against the Red Tigers, so we need to practice.”

In three strokes you reached the worn out glass separating you two. 

“Listen here, punk,” you breathed out a cloud of fog. “I don’t care what you have or when you have it; the rink is occupied, so take your little pack of chihuahuas and fuck off!” 

Mingi made himself comfortable on the chair, hands intertwined behind his neck and long legs perched up on the desk. He was not going anywhere unless it was on that ice.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait until you’re done.” 

“Wait, wait! He said what?!” 

In the midst of retelling the events of your morning, you were interrupted by Keeho. Everything about his judging tone told you he was more than disgusted at the new piece of information and a peek at his face — lips slightly curled, front teeth exposed, and eyes squinted — confirmed your suspicion. Keeho was very vocal with his opinions, vocal and bold, and you picked up on that in the short time you got to know him. That’s why you weren’t surprised to see his hands resting on his hips, adding that sprinkle of sass you both loved and despised. 

“Yes!” You exclaimed exasperatedly and bit into your spring roll. 

Choi Dasom, your roommate and childhood best friend, wore her signature sweet smile that made her cheeks chubbier and outshone her fiery red hair. She, unlike you and Keeho, was delighted to hear about your terrible morning, especially at the mention of the one-who-shall-not-be-named. 

“Wipe that grin off your face, Dasom.”

You squinted at her overly happy expression. There was no malice to your words and if it weren’t for your ten year long friendship she wouldn’t have mustered up an even bigger smile, showing off her pearly whites and dimples. No one could ever be mean to Dasom, one look at her round face and sparkly eyes, and they’d be wrapped around her pinky like a phone cord. She was just that cute. If they somehow managed to look past her cuteness then they'd have to deal with you or Keeho and that was never a pleasant outcome. 

The three of you sat criss crossed on the floor of your and Dasom’s shared apartment. An array of takeaway boxes littered the usually clean room as you caught up on each other’s lives; in other words, they listened to your venting about a specific hockey player.

“I just don’t see how this connects to your broken phone screen,” Keeho said and mentioned to the device beside you, sneakily hastening you to get to the ‘juicy part’ as he referred to it. 

Too blinded by the simmering anger you waltzed right into Keeho’s trap, granting him new gossip worthy material. Not that he had anyone to share it with besides the two of you, but he liked knowing everyone’s business, something you swore would come and bite him in the ass sooner or later.

“Well, my dear Keeho, wait til you hear the rest of the story.”

The heel of Mingi’s foot hit your phone, hurling it to the ground. A taunting ‘oops’ fell from his lips, but he stayed seated. 

“Are you kidding me!” You shouted from inside the rink. 

In a flash you were beside Mingi, inspecting your phone for any injuries. A big, singular crack stretched from one end of the screen to the other and you could feel invisible steam erupt from your ears. The phone survived so many concrete collisions and water incidents, but it obviously had to break at Mingi’s hand (or feet).

“Oh, did it crack?” 

Mingi stood up, eyes cast on the screen and hands shoved into his gray sweatpants. Not an ounce of concern or remorse crossed his features and you didn’t know what made you more angry - his nonchalance or mere presence.

“Did it crack? Did it crack?!”

“Alright, no need to shout.”

You knew after a full year of constant bickering and mean pranks that Mingi wasn’t all that well. Maybe he got one too many blows to the head, suffered far more concussions than convenient, who knew? 

You tried giving him the benefit of the doubt multiple times, which proved to be useless, and it took a broken screen for you to finally realize that. A curse so foul it would have his ancestors turning in their graves rested on your tongue, but as you opened your mouth, a puck aimed at your head was flung at the plexiglas, shutting you up in an instant. The same heinous laughs from earlier echoed around you, this time from inside the rink.

You stood there, phone in hand, and hopelessly stared at the sight before you.

Mingi watched the whole thing play out and didn't say a thing. Not that he had much to say, it was his idea from the start. The guys wouldn't stop complaining about you hogging the ice and the least he could do for his team was to get you off. That way he could also get his daily dose of prancing on your nerves. 

It was like killing two birds with one stone. 

Until he awkwardly stood there, contemplating whether to apologize or serve you with another snarky reply. 

He ran his hand through his ashy blonde hair. All the thinking was starting to tire him out and he just wanted to put on his skates and blow some steam off. You were being unfair. They needed the rink more than you, but you just couldn’t be nice and give in for once. 

“No hard feelings, princess.”

“Wow, he really is a dick,” Keeho muttered while examining your phone. “Well, I mean, we already knew that, but I didn’t think he’d be that much of a dick.”

You hummed in agreement as he passed the device to Dasom. 

“No, I’ve always known and I’ve been telling you guys so for the past year but no one listens to me.”

“Hey! I do and I’ve always agreed with you; it’s Dasom who’s being poetic and shit.”

The girl giggled at Keeho’s bluntness. “I’m not being poetic, Kyo. I just think there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

You and Keeho exchanged knowing glances, emotionless eyes and lips set into firm lines, silently agreeing she was tuning into her artistic side. Her smile, bright as ever, didn’t falter, and she simply shrugged before slurping down the last of her food. Keeho clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and flickered her forehead. 

“Wow, what happened to common decency? Table manners, hello?”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you. I saw you spit out that chicken,” you butted in with a roll of your eyes.

“It was all rubbery and– ugh. I can’t swallow that!” He defended himself while pointing at the overly chewed piece of chicken on his plate and pushing it closer to your face. You flinched back and hurled, the noise activating Dasom too, and soon you were all in a never-ending fit of retching.

“It’s the last time I let you bring a friend into our circle!” 

You recalled the day Dasom introduced you to Keeho and you’ve regretted it ever since, but there were moments you actually found joy in his company and they served as a reminder of why you put up with him in the first place. At the end of the day you still agreed to have study sessions at the library with his nose in a thick literature book and your fingers dancing across your keyboard.

“Can you, I don’t know, not abuse your laptop like that? I can’t concentrate with your loud fingers.”

“You sure it isn’t your thoughts keeping you distracted? I mean, I’d be too if my voice was that annoying.”

Keeho gifted you his signature glare, which you grew immune to. “Okay, first of all ouch and second of all, fuck you, my voice is not annoying or loud for that matter either.”

“Then go back to your reading.”

“I can’t,” he whined and closed his book with a thud, then slid his arm over the table, his cheek resting against his bicep with a pout.

A mere two hours passed since you met up outside the coffee shop closest to the university and not once did he shut up. From ordering your drinks to finding an empty table in the library his mouth worked and at first you saw it as a good thing, thinking he’d run out of things to talk about by the time you started studying. That lasted for about three hundred words in your essay.

“Keeho-ya, go back to reading. We still have some time before your shift starts.”

“I knooooow, but I’m tired and this shit’s boring me out.” 

You threw a quick glance at the book he was referring to, Animal Farm, and for once you understood him. The piece wasn’t the most interesting literature in the world and Keeho wasn’t that hard to entertain so it was pretty shit. Books based on real-life stories or romance themed novels were his favorites; anything other than that was a no-go and wouldn’t keep him occupied for more than five minutes.

“Why can’t we read The Outsiders instead? It’s so much better and more realistic. Like, when are pigs ever overthrowing the government?”

You snorted and pushed your laptop aside, taking the book in your hands. The cover did little to lure you in and it was no surprise that Keeho found it boring. He was like a child, giving his undivided attention to anything flashy and colorful. You quickly flipped through the pages and nearly passed out at the never-ending words before putting it back down. 

“I’m pretty sure Orwell’s talking about the Russian Revolution back in the nineteen-hundred and the pigs are supposed to represent Trotsky and Stalin.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s still boring and doesn’t really call out to me.” 

You hummed in understanding, “You don’t have much of a choice, Kyo. Read it or don’t; you’ll still have to write an essay about it.”

Keeho whined in agony and smacked his forehead against the table, once, twice and on the third smack you hit the back of his head with the book. He jerked back up and rubbed the spot you just whacked, his hand running through his black hair, doing little to soothe the pain.

“What was that for?!”

The librarian, a woman old enough to be your grandmother, shushed him from her desk. Icy eyes were shooting daggers through her half-rimmed glasses and if it weren’t for her age Keeho would challenge her with a glare of his own.

“What was that for?” He repeated but in a whisper, glancing between you and the librarian, checking to see if she heard him now.

“To get you motivated. Now, read,” you hissed and turned back to your work, purposely ignoring the stare of Ms. Bang. She wanted you to shush, then you’d damn well stay shushed.

Keeho sighed obnoxiously and stilled as his gust of air reached your face, but you held your ground and played it off as nothing. You knew if you showed any sign of irritation he’d just continue to annoy you until you caved in and left for the day. With your determination you managed to stay rooted to your seats for a while and if it weren’t for Keeho’s yelp about being late to work, you’d probably be there a little longer. Hastily you threw your stuff in your bag and ran out of the library with Keeho in tow. You didn’t miss the scowling look of Ms. Bang. Knowing she didn’t sign up to deal with annoying brats when applying for her job, you offered her a tight-lipped smile as an apology.

“Tell Dasom I need her help after work!” Keeho shouted and sprinted down the street, not bothering to wait for the reply you still gave him.

“Text her yourself!”

Nonetheless you whipped out your phone and as you were about to unlock it, your eyes fell on the four digitals showing 11:50 AM. A low ‘shit’ slipped past your lips and identical to Keeho, you took off running towards the training facility. 

If you weren’t dressed and ready for practice in the next ten minutes, it’d be better if you never showed up. Your coach had a set of ground rules he established the moment you were assigned his trainee fifteen years ago.

Come on time, be presentable and ready.

Have a clear and motivated attitude. 

And most important of all, trust your coach.

Jung Hoseok, your coach, wasn’t stern per se. He was a really sweet and kindhearted man who taught you everything you knew about figure skating — from gliding backwards to your first upright spin — you owed this man everything. Although he had a kind soul, a heart shaped smile and dimpled cheeks, you knew better than to defy him. After all, it wasn’t his thoughtful persona that brought him success. Courage, discipline and taking risks did. 

Summoning all the cardio exercises done in life, you managed to turn the seven minute journey into five, sparing enough time to change into your practice clothes and skates. The October wind did little to prepare you for the chilly temperature inside; your nose, cheeks and ears were painfully cold despite the thick scarf wrapped around your head.

“In time as usual,” Hoseok commented as you walked out of the changing room, a whistle dangling down his neck and eyes cast on the clipboard in his hands.

“I’d never dare be late for your practice, Coach.”

“And I take pride in that. Now get on the ice, we have a lot to do.”

With that you took off your pink guards and did a little stretching. Routinely you wiped your hands down your thighs, you liked to imagine it as a way of leaving any misfortune off the rink. It was a silly thing you did years ago and it stuck with you since then.

“Again!”

The rite must have lost its charm because everything was going to shit. Not once did you finish the whole number, messing it up halfway through and being forced to go from the top only to fail on the same part.

You huffed out a clouding breath of air and skated back to the center of the rink. Mr. Jung watched you from the sidelines, sporting a frown so big you wanted to cry. His nose faced the ceiling and his arms crossed over his chest. It wasn’t a good sign, how could it be when you were messing up big time? You shied away from his piercing eyes and took your stance, one arm elegantly thrown over your head that followed its direction. The other hand was professionally relaxed by your side and legs steady on the blades. You started slowly just as the video showed you a handful of times. Gliding backwards and forwards, your arms moved in swirls as you gradually picked up the pace. The first jump wasn’t anything extravagant, a simple triple-toe loop. 

Easy, you thought after landing and prepared yourself for the next takeoff. 

The video you watched with Mr. Jung showed a recording of him doing the Salchow jump going straight into a sit-spin as the music quickened. 

It was hard to move to the sound of nothing besides your own breathing and blades scraping against the ice. With music you could at least time yourself better and get lost in the world of imagination. You held your breath as you pushed up from the ice with your right foot, doing a light spin and landing on your other blade then snapped into a sitting position with your left leg connected to the ground. The other was stretched out with its heel facing outward and your arms stacked on top of each other straight out in front of you. After the sixth spin you graciously straightened out your skating leg and stood up, arms moving to your chest and then forward again as you checked out. 

You continued sliding around the rink, building up tension and fully catching the attention of the imaginary audience. Your dominant foot continued facing forward and the other turned in the opposite direction, legs squatting to form a square. The core of your body flexed as you arched your back, creating a ‘C’ with your whole being. Cold kisses ghosted along your neck and ears, fingers an inch from the ground. With little to no effort you snapped back into an upright position and prepared yourself for the highlight of the choreography — the part you couldn’t land — a triple axel. The second you saw Mr. Jung’s number, you knew you’d be struggling. You were a good skater, but not a magician. A triple axel would take a lot more than some wishful thinking and an hour of practice.

Did that knowledge lighten the burden on your shoulders? Not in the slightest.

Nonetheless you approached the jump with confidence, the key to every success in life, and  prepared yourself to jump. With a steady breath and enough speed you kicked up from the ice and rotated in the air; once, twice, and three times before gravity pulled you down, starting the landing phase. The blade of your skates skimmed the ice and just as you thought you had landed it, you became one with the ground. 

Your thigh took the majority of the fall, but it still hurt and if you didn’t know any better you’d think your femur was broken. With shaky legs you stood back up on your skates. A whispered curse slipped out as you rubbed your knuckles along your thigh. You didn’t know what hurt more; falling or failing. The sound of a whistle cut through the arena before you could take your starting position. You halted in place and turned to Mr. Jung who held the same solemn expression throughout the whole number. The walk from the center to him was short and your lips pursed in disappointment. He was cutting practice short. It rarely happened, some days you’d even go over time. 

“We’ll stop there for today. I’ll send you the choreography. Study it thoroughly and come mentally prepared next time because we’re not quitting til you land it.”

You fiddled with your fingers and nodded at his words. 

“Great, get some rest until then, yeah?” 

“I’ll stay a little longer.”

He raised a brow, slightly surprised at your spirit. After your last fall he was sure you’d be frustrated beyond belief, too tired to continue and too angry to give up. He smacked his lips, “Alright, one hour tops. Don’t overwork yourself. Resting is a slow way to success but it’s still a way.”

Before Mr. Jung completely took his leave, he turned to you one more time. “I’ll be back to take my things. If you’re still here by then I’ll make sure you don’t attend the competition at all, understood?”

You jumped into a military stance, back straight and fingers pushed against the side of your head.

“Sir, yes, sir!”

You deflated the moment his figure disappeared behind the big metal doors. After fifteen years of skating under his watchful eyes, you knew his threat wasn’t an empty promise. Leave it to Mr. Jung to make you anxious about the competition months before D-Day. You squished your cheeks between your hands and delivered two slaps to each side of your face.

“C’mon, focus.” 

Ten tries, ten fails and ten bruises later zero progress was made. One would think you’d do better without Mr. Jung’s breathing down your neck like a dragon, but there you were barely landing a single axel. You were one fail away from ripping your hair out.

“Fuck me sideways. What the fuck is my problem?”

Skating with a jumbled mind would do you no good, so with a quick breathing practice you pushed all your thoughts aside and tried again. You swore it would be your last try before going home. 

Starting position. Triple-toe loop. Salchow jump into a sit-spin. Double axel. 

The muscles in your thighs and abdomen burned, begging you to stop. Before you could plummet to your knees and throw a mini-tantrum, clapping sounds echoed in the silent hall. You jerked your head up with a scowl on your face. The person had to be taunting you; nothing about that was applause worthy.

The last person you expected to encounter on a Tuesday afternoon, let alone receive praise from, was Hwang Hyunjin. The prettiest guy on campus. He looked just like the day you first saw him, unbelievably handsome. The top half of his black hair was hiding beneath a beanie; the rest fell to his neck and some strands obscured his face. A face sculpted by Phidas himself. Pink plump lips, big eyes and a slim nose. Taking in his relaxed form, eyes quickly roving over his broad chest and down to his slim waist, you thanked the heavens that he wasn’t your coach. You wouldn’t survive one session with him leaning against the border, hands gripping the border and veins appearing on his pale forearms, eyes trailing after you. 

Your heart slammed against your ribcage as he waved. The charming smile he gave you warmed your cheeks as a smile of your own grew. It was no wonder girls swooned over him, he truly was beautiful and this was him dressed in a simple black shirt and tights. He looked even better dressed up. Inching closer to where he was, you grabbed the railing and held onto it for dear life. Your legs wobbled like Bambi on ice and you weren’t ready to fall flat on your ass in front of your crush and fellow figure skater. A timid ‘hi’ fell from your lips and your heart landed a perfect triple axel as he greeted you back.

“Your program is great.”

You giggled like a schoolgirl and bashfully looked away, and then back at him again. “It’s not even near what it’s supposed to look like.”

This was the most you said to each other in the span of a year. You never did much talking besides polite ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’ coming and going from the rink yet you knew more about him than your childhood best friend.

“Really?”

You mustered up a nod, afraid to embarrass yourself with words.

“Do you mind if I join you then?”

Whatever you did in your past life to earn this must have been something noble, perhaps serving a king or saving a village from starvation. You nodded again, your lips perking up and eyes shining with excitement. As Hyunjin faced away from you to put his skates on, you buried your head in your hands and bit back a worrisome squeal.

“By the way I’m not like doing this to coach you or anything. I just thought you looked a bit… distracted and could use some help to loosen up.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better I could really use the help, coach or not.”

He huffed a soft chuckle at your honesty and skated to the center of the rink with you behind. 

“I’m happy to be of service.” 

He mockingly bowed and you allowed yourself to laugh, feeling your whole body heat up despite the cool arena air.

“Okay, so put this on.” 

Hyunjin handed you his beanie and your eyes widened as the rest of his hair fell around his face. You wondered if it felt as soft as it looked. You gently pinched the black material between your hands — even his clothes were soft to the touch — and put it on. Hyunjin hummed as it covered your ears and head, then he gingerly reached out and pushed it over your eyes. 

“Can you see anything?”

“No.”

“Perfect. Just stay right there,” he said, his blades cutting the surface grew more and more distant by the second. There was a lot of trust put in his hands and you were starting to feel foolish, standing there like a stick figure with an expensive cap covering your sight.

“Do you hear me?”

Your head snapped towards his voice and you nodded. 

“Okay, come find me.”

The whole time you cautiously moved along the slippery ice you couldn’t help but think how silly it must look for outsiders. You conclude that if it weren’t for Hyunjin and your stuttering heart, you’d never agree to this. He continued speaking out in the open, some sentences long and others consisting of a word or two. Getting the hang of skating blindfolded you sped up, arms stretched out in case of toppling over and as you were about to give up, your left hand came in contact with a warm surface.

Hastily you snatched the hat off your head and blinked fast at the bright lightning. Your heart stilled as you looked into Hyunjin’s scrunched eyes, a wide and dare you say proud smile overtaking his features. The cold air nipped at his rosy cheeks and nose, even his ears, and your fingers itched to cover them. 

“Found me,” he chuckled at your struck expression, parted lips and raised brows. “Wanna go again?”

The game continued for a few more rounds and with every new try you channeled your concentration better. On top of that you trusted your other senses to get you across the ice without flying head first. Best of all you weren’t as flustered around Hyunjin anymore. The eye contact lasted longer and you weren’t a stuttering mess. The last round was going great. It was your fastest game yet. As Hyunjin called your name you thrusted your arm out, practically flinging yourself forward. Your fingers clasped around the air and not the warmth of Hyunjin’s body you expected. A panicked gasp died in your throat as your feet flew under you and back gravitated towards the ground. You braced yourself — as much as one could do — for a concussion. Instead of feeling the hard ground, arms wrap around you. One hand resting between your shoulder blades and the other on your lower back.

“Gotcha,” Hyunjin whispered.

On instinct you grabbed his shoulders and pulled yourself closer to him, chests nearly touching and noses inches away. You could see a faint beauty mark below his eye, a feature you hadn’t known of before and heat rose to your cheeks at the sudden proximity. 

“You good?” 

“Yeah,” you breathed out as he moved you upright, his hands respectfully resting against your hips while yours slid around his neck. Your head turned downward, too nervous to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Hyunjin opened his mouth, but you didn’t get to hear what he had to say as an agitating voice beat him to it.

“So the princess finally found her prince.”

You jumped from Hyunjin’s hold, his hands falling to his sides, creating a space big enough for two other people between you with your head whipping towards the entrance where a familiar figure stood, tall and bulky. The sly smirk painting his chiseled face was a sharp contrast to your scowling lips and wrinkled nose.

“And I see you’ve yet to find your manners.”

Something about Song Mingi brought out the devil in you. 

“You just have to ask nicely or is that too hard for you?”

The fifteen equally bulky guys all dressed in red and black gear behind him laughed at his remark. Children, they were a bunch of children. 

You threw them a glare they were more than acquainted with and in a poor attempt at masking your embarrassment, you kept your head down and stomped out of the rink, and walked through the group of guys that separated like a shoal of fish afraid of a great white shark. With record speed you grabbed your stuff and bolted for the changing rooms. Not once did you stop to think about the beautiful figure skater you left behind as your mind was occupied with intriguing images of delivering punches to the whole hockey team, starting from the shortest to the tallest. 

Bag slung over your shoulder and hands tucked deep in the pockets of your jacket, you strutted out of the arena. There was no way you’d head home now. Dasom had a group project she’d work on until late and you didn’t feel like being alone knowing the violent sound of bodies colliding and pucks sliding across ice would taunt you in the silence.

The bell above the ice cream parlor dinged as you stepped inside. The pleasant smell of freshly baked cones and vanilla extract hit you hard. The customers inside brushed you off, too immersed in their milkshakes and desserts to care about a girl with a scowl. 

“Hello and welcome to Kim’s ice cream parlor. How can I help you this fine ev– what the hell are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too, Kyo,” you greeted, dropping your bag on the floor by the counter seats. 

“Bad practice?”

“Try a bad day.”

You propped your elbows on the desk and tiredly leaned your chin on the palms of your hands. Keeho hummed, already preparing your usual order.

“Y’know I’m always up for some tea, but Jiung called in sick today so we’re one man short.”

You tried your best not to visibly deflate. The one time you needed to vent and get it out of your system no one was there. 

“That’s okay. S’nothing a banana split can’t fix, I guess.”

“Coming right up, sweetcheeks. It’s on the house just for you.”

New customers filled the little shop and you noticed your presence by the counter was still distracting Keeho so you did everyone a big favor and moved to a vacant seat by the big windows. The ice cream went down your throat and found its new home in your stomach. You’d usually be more strict with your food intake, having to be a certain weight and whatnot but some days just couldn’t be helped, especially when practice left you feeling like the biggest failure in the world and if that wasn’t enough then Mingi’s presence was a good enough reason to treat yourself.

Before taking your leave you sent Keeho a smile; he reciprocated and positioned his hand up to his cheek, the thumb and pinky finger extended in opposite directions. You chuckled at the gesture but nodded nonetheless. One way or another Keeho would end up hearing about your shitty day.

“Hello,” you called out as you gently threw your keys in the strawberry-shaped bowl — a housewarming gift by yours truly, Yoon Keeho — on the console table by the entrance.

“I’m in the kitchen!” 

You carelessly shrugged your coat off, allowing it to drop to the floor by your shoes and bag, before running off in her direction. Dasom softly hummed to a song playing on her laptop and you immediately relaxed as the melody reached your ears. There wasn’t a dent of worry in her life and you were grateful for that. At least one of you was in a good mood.

“Hey Dae-Dae,” you exhaled and plopped down on one of the four chairs around your dining table. 

Dasom wore a pink apron decorated with a big white heart over her knitted sweater and jeans, with a pair of matching mittens covering her hands. The apron was more for show than shielding her clothes from baking. 

“I’m baking cookies.” 

Minutes later you were sitting on the kitchen floor with a big plate of chocolate chip cookies between you and a cup of milk each. You picked up a cookie and moaned at its aroma of caramelized sugar and chocolate. Nevermind the banana split you inhaled twenty minutes ago, you were treating yourself for the rest of the night.

“How did the project go?” 

Dasom took a long sip of her milk trying to hide the way her lips curled upward. You nudged her thigh with your toe and wiggled your brows. 

“It’s exciting, a bit out of my comfort zone, but it’s still fun. We are actually working with the art majors. Everyone’s partnered with someone from the opposite class.” She dipped a cookie in her cup before continuing, “So the art majors have to write a poem about passion while we, creative writing majors, have to paint it.” 

“So the roles are reversed and how are you being graded on that exactly? Like no offense Dasom, but you kind of suck at drawing.”

“See that’s what I thought too, but the professors said we shouldn’t focus on how good our drawings are, but rather what it is we try to convey. Plus, they said we are paired up for a reason, so I guess we are supposed to ask each other for help?”

You hummed in understanding, it made more sense when she put it that way. “So who are you partnered with?”

“Kim Hongjoong.”

“The weird guy with the blue hair?”

“It’s black and white now, and he’s not weird, just… unobtrusive. Hongjoong’s actually kind,” she defended.

“Mmm, I don’t know Dae-Dae, it sounds awfully close to what you say about Mingi.”

Her invisible dog ears perked up and her tail wiggled excitedly from left to right. The hockey player was only ever mentioned after a run-in with the guy, both Keeho and Dasom knew that.

“Don’t keep me waiting!”

With another bite of your fourth cookie you spilled everything like an overflowing bucket. Starting from the study session to the unsuccessful practice and Hoseok’s disappointed look to the sweetest and most unreal moment with Hyunjin that was later ruined by Mingi–

“Oh my God!” 

Dasom dropped her cookie and jerked back, not expecting you to shriek like a banshee. “What?!”

The sudden realization of whose presence you forgot in the rink hit you like a truck. An uncomfortable heat twisted your guts as your thoughts began to spiral. You buried your head in your hands and as if that wasn’t enough he witnessed you explode on the whole hockey team, heard Mingi’s embarrassing taunts and watched you run out. 

“My outburst! I completely forgot about Hyunjin!”

“Oh…”

A silence settled over the kitchen. Neither of you knew what to say because what could one say in moments like these? A pat on the back and a somber smile would suffice although it wouldn’t ease your worries. A few seconds passed and Dasom eventually cleared her throat.

“You know what could be even worse? Like the cherry on top?”

Like a child, you peeked from behind your fingers. Eyes heavy and lips in a pout, “What?”

“Starting your period.”

Your childhood friend possessed an extravagant vocabulary with a cupboard full of advanced words and phrases. She could easily go on a poetic rampage about how you should see things from the brighter side or that some things happen for a reason. Yet she settled on a simplicity she knew would make you crack a smile.

“Amen to that.” 

You clinked your cups in a toast and downed the rest of the liquid like a shot. Milk clung to your upper lips like a childish white mustache and you broke out in laughter, pointing a finger to your index finger pointed at each other’s faces.

“I was thinking–”

“Uh oh, that never ends well.”

Dasom pouted and delivered a soft kick to your thigh. “Anyway, I was thinking we could have a girls’ night on Friday. Keeho’s invited too, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you chimed.

“We can paint our nails, watch movies and eat a lot of snacks. Whatcha say?”

Mentally picturing the schedule of the week, you figured you’d need a day off and agreed to her idea. 

The sharp noise of a whistle blew through the arena and the eighteen guys clad in hockey gear and skates gathered along the centerline. The first half of the players got into position and awaited the second signal from their coach while the rest of the team stood behind their designated partner. As the high-pitched sound cut through the silence, the first batch bolted from their marks and the remaining guys shimmied closer to the line.

There were a lot of fun things about hockey, like boarding your opponent or shutting down their offenses. The lesser good was receiving penalties or a game misconduct, but the absolutely worst thing about hockey was the cardio exercises. 

When Mingi signed up for hockey practice at the age of five, he didn’t think much would come out of it. He was too uncoordinated with his legs to play soccer and his towering height didn’t make him any better at basketball either, but hockey on the other hand… Everyone was clumsy when it came to skating on ice. Like newborn foals, they were all shaking on their skates with hockey gear too big for their little bodies and barely able to locate the puck through the grid on their heads, Mingi managed just fine. The gnawing thoughts of standing out and being the worst amongst his peers wasn’t something little Mingi entertained anymore. Instead, he focused on growing and being better at the sport he actually enjoyed playing. As he got older, hockey got more serious and his interest for the sport broadened. His role model changed from his dad to Kim Kisung, and his big collection of Pokemon cards was replaced by hockey ones instead.

The dunk of a gloved hand collided with his back and Mingi took off like a rocket. He wasn’t the fastest or the most agile on the team, but he was great at using his height to crush explosive little wingers and it was the secret recipe of what kept him able to go for so long in games. There was no bigger joy than putting a stop to other’s plays and when there wasn’t anyone to stop or pucks to steal, the hockey Mingi loved was something he loathed. The ripping and slicing of multiple blades on ice sounded through the arena and despite working out five out of seven days of the week, Mingi still felt out of breath as he stopped a few steps over the centerline.

“A new lap is added for each player that slows down!” The old man standing by the entrance barked. 

Mingi could feel all eyes turn to him and if he wasn’t so busy catching his own breath, he’d gift them all with a good ol’ ‘go fuck yourselves’. 

“You heard the man, Song. Don’t let him catch you slowing down.” 

Turning his head to the right, the smug face of Jungkook came into view. Jungkook was a prime example of little wingers Mingi expertised in crushing. The player (both off and on court) behaved like the youngest of the team, despite being one of Mingi’s seniors, which gave him immunity to everyone’s wrath.

“Don’t make me remind you how it’s to be sent flying into the borders, JK.”

Throwing a quick glance at their coach, Jungkook smacked Mingi in the back of his head, which did little to no damage and only meant the helmet was doing its job of protecting Mingi from concussions. 

“It’s Jungkook-hyung for you, brat.”

“Song! Jeon! Less talking, more skating!” 

There was in fact not less talking and more skating, and the penalty resulted with three more laps for the rest of the team and a bunch of curses hurled at the instigators. 

“I don’t get why you just don’t ignore him,” Intak complained as he wrapped a white towel around his waist and ran his hand through his wet strands. 

Mingi followed suit, his own towel similarly tied around his waist and another smaller one thrown over his head soaking up the water dripping from his hair. 

“You know how he is,” Mingi defended and plopped down on the bench to easier rummage through his bag for a change of clothes. “He’d just say something else until I finally explode.”

“I know, but bro, we’ve been doing bag skates for weeks now. One of you has to give in and it’s gotta be you.”

Living up to his zodiac sign, Mingi was awfully stubborn and a sore loser, there was no way he’d ever let up. 

“Yeah, sure I might as well let him trample all over me while we’re at it.”

Intak, who moved over to the square mirror attached to the wall, caught Mingi’s eyes in the reflection and his own widened as an imaginary light bulb popped over his head. Adjusting his red cap — a stark contrast to his bleached hair — he turned around and his mouth formed into a suppressed smirk that looked something between puckered lips and a smile. Weirded out by the smuggish-look on his friend’s face, Mingi reeled back and raised a brow.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason, no reason at all.”

“He probably just clocked why that figure skater puts up with your dumb shit,” Matthew or BM, as everyone referred to him as, answered and plopped down on the vacant spot between them.

BM was one of the guys who challenged Mingi in both height and mass. They were similar in body proportion, but BM carried more muscle and had a few years on him, not to mention he was a force to be reckoned with in the defense zone. Definitely a key player of the Blue Wolves. 

“Puts up with my dumb shit?”

“Yeah, all that teasin’ and makin’ fun of her.”

Scratching the back of his head, Mingi didn’t quite get what they meant. He wasn’t really making fun of you per se. They were just harmless jokes and, well, you did actually hog the rink for the past few weeks and you were so easy to rile up. 

Throwing a black hoodie over his head, BM filled the silence that came with Mingi’s thinking. “I get she’s cute, but we’re past that boys-pick-on-girls-they-like typa bullshit.”

“I don’t think she’s cute,” Mingi retaliated.

“Nah, every girl is a lil cute and that one is definitely cute.”

“What’s this? Tea time and you don’t invite the Jeon Jungkook?” The winger threw an arm around Mingi’s shoulder, and a whiff of fabric softener and pear reached his sinuses.  

“Didn’t need to, we knew you’d invite yourself anyway,” Mingi muttered and jabbed a thumb into the older’s side that immediately freed him from the unpleasant hold.

Jungkook scrambled to the opposite side, legs spread wide and forearms falling back on the wooden railing of the bench. 

“Don’t be mean just because you can’t talk to girls like the rest of us.”

Growing more agitated the longer the conversation went on, Mingi threw his stinky jersey at Jungkook and snapped, “The fuck you mean I can’t talk to girls?”

“Last time I checked, you don’t need to fuck up a girl’s phone to get her number, but I do have to say it’s an interesting technique. Tell me how it goes for ya, why don’t you?” Jungkook scrunched the shirt into a ball and threw it back at its owner, who caught it with ease. 

“Oh, fuck you. It was an accident.”

Another arm wrapped around Mingi’s neck and his face was pushed up against a clothed torso. The unpleasant and slightly painful feel of someone’s knuckled rubbing against the top of his head pulled out a string of winces.

“First you can’t talk to girls and now you’re disrespecting your elders? C’mon, Mango, don’t make me hand you your ass,” BM threatened with a grin, showing off his overly white teeth.

“Yah, that hurts!” Mingi somehow managed to escape BM’s iron grip and caressed his hair back into place.

“Serves you right, you punk.”

“I think Jungkook-hyung’s right though. Like, don’t you think it’s a bit excessive? I mean, yeah she’s annoying and shit, but dude, fucking up her phone?” Intak voiced as he zipped up his jacket and slung his bag around one shoulder.

“It was an accident and it’s not like I’m the only one to blame. You guys were in on it too!”

The deep chuckle of Jungkook diverted everyone’s attention to him. “We agreed on you distracting her, not destroying her things, baby chick. She’s better than me, if I was her and a guy did that to me, I’d be fuming.”

“Yeah, but what about that time she spilled apple juice on my shirt. On my favorite shirt!”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t taken the last drink, her favorite drink in fact, what was it again?”

“Strawberry milk,” Mingi answered without missing a beat and had everyone taken back at the quick reply.

“...Anyway, as I was saying. If you hadn’t taken the last of her favorite drink in the cafeteria, she wouldn’t have poured the apple juice all over you.”

“So that excuses it!?”

BM stood up with Intak and Jungkook in tow, all dressed and ready to leave except for Mingi who still sat in his boxers and just a pair of socks on his feet.

“Considering you’ve been a douche toward her… Yes, yes it does,” BM answered and tucked the hood over his neon green hair.

“When was I a douche toward her?”

“Jeez, I don’t know how ‘bout the time she nearly fell on her ass and you made that whole prince charming comment. What was that about anyway?”

Jungkook butted in and leaned against BM. “Yeah, what was that about? You jealous of the prince snatching your girl, Song?”

“She’s not my girl and I’m not jealous of a guy doing some loops on ice and calling it a sport…”

The rowdy boys quietened down at the sudden jab. Books and movies presented hockey players to have a burning hatred for figure skaters, and while that could be true, it wasn’t necessarily amongst the Blue Wolves. They didn’t really care all that much about the sport or the athletes, but they knew the amount of hard work and effort that went into figure skating, making it a hobby far more respected than soccer. They also knew that Mingi wasn’t really thinking that and only let his fiery thoughts get the best of him. Nonetheless, it wasn’t cool and while they were already on the path of calling him out, why not follow through.

“No need to be a dick, Hyung.”

Jaw going slack, Mingi threw his hands out towards Intak. “So I get shit for calling you guys nicknames, but he gets to outright call me a dick?!”

“Did he lie tho?”

One after another, they left the changing room with Jungkook getting the last word.

“Better hurry, baby chick, or you’ll be late for class! Remember, girls may like dicks, but not when you’re acting like one.”

Balancing between schoolwork and perfecting the triple axel, you hadn’t even noticed how quickly Wednesday and Thursday flew by. Keeho burst through your door with grocery bags in his hands and a giggly Dasom hot on his heels, a little Hello Kitty tote bag hanging off her shoulder.

“Bow down bitches, bow-bow down bitches!”

Quite literally you fell off the sofa, legs tangled in your soft blanket and some drool on the side of your face. 

“What the–”

“Wake up sleepyhead, it’s time to partyyyy,” Keeho hollered and raised the plastic bags in the air. The various bottles of alcohol, chips and popcorn reminded you what day it was.

While Dasom and Keeho prepared things in the kitchen, you were ushered to the bathroom to ‘wash the drowsiness away’ as Keeho worded it. They lasted five minutes without creating chaos and by the time you returned Keeho was sliding across your kitchen with his pink fuzzy socks on, dancing to Lady Gaga’s Monster while Dasom whipped together a peanut butter cookie batter.

You were still not entirely awake and couldn’t decide if everything was just a crazy dream or not. Without giving it another thought you threw a bag of dried kernels into your microwave and helped Dasom with the baking.

“Oh, can you like make this pinky have a red heart and the other a green one?” 

Dasom nodded at Keeho’s question and gently blew on his white nails. You watched them from your seat on the couch, patiently waiting for your turn. Keeho lay on his stomach, legs dangling in the air, and Dasom sat in a pretzel position with various nail polishes and pearls scattered in small bowls on the floor.

“We are having so much fun you guys.”

“Stay still please.”

“Sorry, Dae-Dae.”

A game of rock-paper-scissors decided who painted whose nails. You groaned as Keeho won and chose Dasom to fix his, leaving your fingers in his hands. It was no surprise that Keeho’s turned out to be the prettiest and yours the ugliest. Out of the three of you, he was the shittiest artist with Dasom as a close second but at least her hands were steady.

“Okay, as the winner I say we watch Coraline.”

“Slow down, you won for the nails not the movie.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh! Dasom tell him.”

After another game of rock-paper-scissors and another victory for Keeho, you had no choice but to put the movie on despite your protests about Halloween being a month away.

“It’s probably a shit movie anyway,” you said and leaned into Keeho’s side, repositioning your head so it was comfortable against his shoulder. Dasom found herself in a similar position on the other side. You each cradled a bowl of popcorn and chips.

“...You haven’t seen Coraline?”

“Uhm, was I supposed to?”

“Were you supposed to?! I should smack you right into the Other World with your Other Mother!” 

Your brows rose at his comment. A bit confused as to what this Other World was and why he referred to your mom as the Other Mother.

“Smack me and I’ll have the cops on you faster than you can say–”

“Big boobs?”

A pinch of his bicep between your thumb and forefinger quickly shut him up and Dasom took it as her cue to dim the lights and start the film. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, sure it was a bit sad, dramatic and hectic even, but not enough to work your tear ducts.

“Honestly speaking, and I mean honestly speaking, the Other Mother is kinda hot.”

“I wish you knew when to shut up.” You pushed Keeho and stuffed his mouth with popcorn. Dasom giggled at how quick the atmosphere changed, but then shushed you as the movie took a dark turn.

“Ya, ya. Whatever.” Keeho stood up and cracked his back before turning the lights back on, completely ignoring Dasom’s whiny protests. “You know what this calls for? Some driiiiinks!” 

In seconds the night turned from a chill girls’ night to a full blown party.

A widely popular song blasted from Keeho’s portable speaker and he couldn’t help but swing along to the sound. His ears were a burning red after two bottles of soju, but the rest of his face was white as snow. Dasom, on the other hand, looked pretty flushed all over. Her cheeks were as red as her hair and she could barely stand up without falling on her ass. She was alright though, her never ending giggles told you that. She was a cute drunk, unlike Keeho who was crazy and had you constantly reminding him why he couldn’t twerk on your coffee table.

“Y’know…” Keeho flung his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. The sweet smell of strawberry soju on his tongue was pleasant to your nose. “Hyunjin asked about you today.”

The statement immediately sobered you up and the dizziness wasn’t from the alcohol anymore. They both saw a spark of hope light up in your eyes and Dasom ‘oohed’ as you whipped your head towards Keeho. You licked your lips and dried your clammy hands on your trousers. 

The only thing they had in common was being seniors and last time you checked Keeho wasn’t acquainted with any of Hyunjin’s friends either. They had no reason to converse — one being an arts major and figure skater while the other was studying English literature and was a cheerleader — besides you.

“Really?”

He hummed and sluggishly continued talking, you could barely make out what he was saying. “He ash-ked if you were-rer alrigh-t.”

Another teasing hoot came from Dasom which Keeho chimed in on with a squeeze to your shoulder. Your face burned and you knew damn well it wasn’t because of the alcohol flowing through your veins. 

“An–and what did you say?” You fanned your face. It was really getting hot in there and Keeho’s clinginess wasn’t helping you.

As the song faded into the next one Keeho gasped at the familiar lyrics coming from the speakers and immediately untangled himself from you to turn the volume up.

“I love this song!” 

He grabbed Dasom by her hands and twirled her around the room, her childish giggles mixing in with the funky beat and Keeho’s loud singing. In any other circumstance you’d be angry at how absentminded he was, but the boy gave you some good information and was thus easily forgiven. The thought of Hyunjin asking about you was surreal. You were certain your prissy attitude would change his perception of you — whatever that was you didn’t know — but apparently not. More heat crawled up your spine, making your cheeks burn uncomfortably. You pressed your cold hands to your face in an attempt to cool down. 

Your mouth broke out into a huge grin when it finally dawned on you. 

Hyunjin asked about you. Hyunjin asked about you. Hyunjin asked about you. 

The rest of the night was a blur and some moments were faintly secured in your memory. You remember dancing, singing, laughing and drinking. A lot of drinking. A never-ending buzz sounded through the whole apartment. With a moan of agony you pulled the covers over your head and snuggled violently against the cushions of the sofa. Suddenly it went quiet and you exhaled in relief. Thinking you’d be able to squeeze in another hour of sleep, you turned around only to groan again as the noise came back.

“Why do you have the alarm on? It’s Saturday,” Keeho said, a tint of annoyance in his grogginess.

“I have to… meet up for ah… projec–th. Can’t be late.”

Whoever invented alcohol should be charged with decapitation for not inventing a cure for hangovers.

“What the hell did you put in our drinks, Kyo?” You arose from your position on the couch, lightly clutching your throbbing head. All your limbs ached and you wished the world would go back to sleep again. 

“Uh– don’t ask me. I don’t even know my name right now.”

The rest of the morning was spent puking and shuffling with blankets wrapped around you like tortillas. None of you were up for small talk, the hangover clung to you like never before and you collectively blamed Keeho for buying so much soju. 

“Oh, shut it. You’re at least well enough to talk. Poor Dae-Dae can’t even open her eyes.”

Said girl grunted out a noise of agreement and gratitude as Keeho gently placed a wet rag on the upper part of her face. True to his words, Dasom was faring the worst. She always struggled with alcohol, both in downing it and the aftermath.

“You shouldn’t drink if you’re going to be this cranky,” you said matter-of-factly and massaged Dasom’s calves.

He gave you a nasty look and rolled his eyes. “Whatever! I’m taking a shower, losers.”

“What a douche.” 

Dasom grunted again, her way of telling you to be nice. 

“Yeah, yeah, go back to sleep or you’ll drool all over your project.”

As the minute hand showed five minutes to eleven you gathered all the empty soju bottles in a bag and gave them to Keeho, a polite way of kicking him out, and then pushed Dasom to take a shower before she took her leave. With those two out of your hair, you turned to the living room and took in the sight of chaos. There were crumbs, glitter and drops of alcohol on the floor and coffee table, nail polish everywhere and nowhere, and dishes in places you never thought you’d see. You pulled back the invisible sleeves of your nightgown and began cleaning up the mess. On a positive note you didn’t have to throw the trash out and could immediately start with the dishes. Then you vacuumed the living room after wiping down every crevice you could reach and continued into the bathroom. To your luck Keeho didn’t puke his intestines out, only Dasom who still had a sense of direction in her hazy state so the toilet seat wasn’t drenched in her stomach acid and lunch. While you were at it you changed the sheets in your bedroom and loaded the washing machine with clothes from your and Dasom’s bedrooms.

At last you too jumped in the shower and stayed there until the warm water ran out. With a tub of ice cream and a towel wrapped around your head, you relaxed in bed. A fresh set of pajamas clung to your body as you wiggled under the clean covers. God, how you missed your bed and privacy. 

By the time you were done with the ice cream and two movies of a random trilogy, the sky turned a pretty dark color which reminded you of last night’s shenanigans. You glanced down at your fingers and laughed at the badly painted nails. The second Keeho laid eyes on the dark blue nail polish — or galaxy blue according to him — he announced his masterplan; a galaxy theme. The first coat was alright, but then as he got his hands on the silver glitter everything went downhill. Your nails were uneven, some having more blue and others drowning in glitter. There was nothing you could do about it or he’d sulk for a week straight, claiming you weren’t a real friend and favored Dasom over him which wasn’t not true but he didn’t need to know that.

As you started the third movie your phone went off with a ding. Your heart fluttered inside your chest when you picked up the phone and saw who was disturbing your ‘me-time’.

Unknown ID [07:35 PM] hey it’s hyunjin

The spoon full of melted ice cream slipped from your hands right onto your lavender sheets. A low ‘fuck’ echoed in the room at the same time as you received one more message.

Unknown ID [07:35 PM] keeho gave me your number

You didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss his cheeks or strangle him. Partially grateful, partially annoyed. Grateful Keeho had half a mind to slip Hyunjin your number and was annoyed that he completely forgot to tell you about this little piece of information during his drunken dancing.

With shaky hands you tapped in a reply and immediately facepalmed as you hit the send button.

You [07:39 PM] Hi Hyunjin :3

Before you could rip your hair out at the choice of emoticon, the front door opened and a cheery Dasom stumbled into your bedroom with rosy cheeks and hair slightly disheveled, looking like a combination of flustered and cold that you didn’t put a lot of thought into. 

Cutting right to the case, you said, “Hyunjin texted me.”

She let out a squeal of pure joy and leapt onto your bed, her heavy book bag forgotten on the tidy floor as she pried noisily on your phone.

Hyunjin [07:40 PM] you up for another practice tgt?

“Say yes, say yes, say yes, say yes!” She shook your arm violently, phone barely staying in your hands.

You [07:40 PM]  That’d be nice

The device was flung across your bed, landing face down as you both sat in silence. It lasted for five seconds until another message came through. You cast a glance at Dasom who was already looking at you, and then in slow motion you both dove for the phone. She landed on top of you, nearly knocking the breath out of your lungs, but you came out the winner with your hands wrapped around the phone.

“I’m scared,” you confessed and pulled the phone up to your chest. A nervous smile tugged at your lips. 

“Just look!” 

Hyunjin [07:42 PM] you free this friday, 9 am?

You angled the screen so Dasom could look too. 

“What do I say?”

“What do you say?” She smiled. “Yes, of course!”

“I mean obviously, but how do I say it? I don’t want to come off too excited.”

She gestured grabby-hands and you handed her the phone. Her thumbs flew across the digital keyboard and she bit down on her bottom lip, suppressing her giggles. You’d be giggling with her if it wasn’t your fate in her hands. She returned the phone and dashed to her room. 

You [07:42 PM] Lucky you, I can just squeeze you into my packed schedule

Hyunjin [07:43 PM] see you then busy girl

You scanned the message twice to make sure you read it correctly. 

“Dasom!”

Her childish giggle could be heard all the way from her room and if it weren’t for your heart almost bursting out of your chest you’d show her a thing or two about loyalty. Instead you hid under the covers. A big, warm tingling sensation filled your stomach and spread to your beating organ. You couldn’t stop thinking about the messages, picturing Hyunjin saying those things in real life. It had you kicking your feet like those lovesick girls in movies and you didn’t catch a wink of sleep that night.

If fifteen years of school taught you anything it was to never have high expectations. Big dreams and hopes were destined to be crushed and you could confidently vouch for that, yet there you were; with your head in the clouds and heart on your sleeves thinking this week would be the best week of your life.

As if sensing happiness floating in the lecture hall, your professor burst your bubble with one decision. The essay he assigned for Saturday was moved to Friday with the deadline at twelve PM. Your original plan of doing absolutely nothing all week and writing it in one sitting on Friday was already altered because of Hyunjin and now you had to change it again. Instead of spending your Wednesday morning huddled in bed with a warm beverage watching the latest episode of your new kdrama, you were in the library under the watchful eyes of Ms. Bang.

The library was full of students. You stood idly by the door and scanned the room for a vacant seat or table to squeeze into. Finals were just around the corner and everyone had the great idea of revising material before and after school hours. At last you found an empty table big enough for two and quickly skirted around the hoard of people, praying to reach it before anyone else.

A confetti popper went off in your head as you sat down. All you had to do now was get started which was easier said than done. The caret on the blank document ticked like a bomb, reminding you of the time you wasted thinking about nothing yet seeming so deep in thought. With narrowed eyes and lips in an angry pout, no one dared to occupy the chair in front of you.

That no one turned into someone.

You didn’t feel them sit down in the vacant seat. You didn’t see them, too occupied having a stare-off with your laptop. One moment there was no one there and the next moment a six foot-something tall hockey player plopped down from the sky, probably being outcast from heaven.

“You good there, princess?”

You reeled back, momentarily stunned by the unexpected presence. Mingi grinned at your reaction and sat back. Very satisfied with his work. As he readied his own computer, you took in his appearance and found yourself growing more irritated. There was no denying that he was attractive. Thick pink lips, a straight and sharp nose and a very prominent jaw. His brown eyes were surprisingly relaxed and didn’t resemble those of a fox. The boy was even blessed with not one, but two moles. You huffed as he made the moss green knitted sweater look good, even though it was ugly.

You sighed and kissed your teeth, “Why are you here?”

Although he tried acting offended, the sly smirk he didn’t bother hiding told you otherwise. You averted your gaze back to your computer. His face was starting to annoy you.

“What do you mean?” He asked ever so innocently.

“This table, my table. Why are you here?”

“The library is a public space and I’m here to study.”

You chuckled as if it were funny. “Since when do you study, Song?”

“Careful, princess or I’ll think you’re interested in me. Asking all these questions, what’s next you’ll ask for my phone number?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Mingi leaned on the table and rested his sharp chin against the palm of his hand. He suggestively ran his fingers through his creme colored highlights and grinned wolfishly. 

“Your place or mine?”

Your knee hit the underside of the table jarring Mingi’s water bottle. Pain flared and you bit back a wince, hastily rubbing against the jeans-clad skin. You didn’t miss the aggravated look Ms. Bang gave you. 

“I’ll take that as a no.”

The glare you shot him worked like a domino effect as he raised one brow menacingly asking, “What did I do?”

“If you’re gonna sit here then be quiet. I’m only tolerating you for so long, Song.”

“Didn’t peg you for a rapper, princess.”

“Don’t,” you drove your feet into his shin, “call me that.” 

The table jerked again — twice as much — and you received yet another disapproving stare from the librarian, but you didn’t care. The revenge was satisfying and you couldn’t help but marvel at his temporary pain. Your first thought as he sat down was that you’d be at each other’s throats, but to your surprise there wasn’t any bloodshed. Silence took over the table as you both worked diligently, and it was only possible because you were still ignoring each other’s presence. Sometimes you’d peek at him and be taken back at how calm and gentle he looked. The smirk you despised was nowhere to be seen, his lips parted in concentration and his eyes were void of any malice. They were warm like your morning coffee and as soft as the sand on Daecheon Beach.

“Is my handsome face distracting you?”

Then the thin line between tolerating and accepting was blurred, leaving you to work with nothing.

“In your dreams.”

“Yeah, you are. Especially at night…when I’m alone with no one to fix my–”

“I swear to God if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you hissed through your teeth and slammed your hand on the table.

The ruckus was drowned out by the sound of multiple fingers tapping against keyboards and the haste of flipping pages, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Ms. Bang. She hushed you with a long ‘shhh’ and you gulped and sank in your seat with Mingi’s broad figure hiding you from her. The woman probably hated you by now. If it wasn’t Keeho who got you into trouble then it was some other idiot.

You couldn’t stand Mingi and he lived to annoy you, but there was an unspoken understanding to put your differences aside for the time being. With another try, you returned to the empty screen and he went back to his. The silent and unofficial pact lasted for a hot minute.

“You know, I don’t usually have a thing for feisty girls but–”

You shut your eyes and sighed heavily. He was really testing your patience which wasn’t anything new really, but he was extra persistent today.

“–you were kinda hot like that. All angry and snappy, and that thing you did with your lips. Right, just like that!”

You sneered in disgust. This was the chance for Dasom and Keeho to prove their friendship because you were about to murder him and someone had to pay for your bail.

“Go back to your mediocre porn and keep your weird fantasies away from me.”

“You know me so well, angel. Wanna re-enact it? The one I usually watch has your hair color.”

“Are you fucking crazy?!”

Everyone stopped at the sudden outburst. It felt like a spotlight was cast over your table, like you were the lead in a play. The click-clack of Ms.Bang’s kitten heels moved fast along the tiled floor and you knew you were fucked. The gray haired woman reached your table and peered down at you with so much venom that it could make a flower wilt. 

“It’s the third time you’ve disturbed the peace in my library. I’ll kindly ask you to pack your things and leave or I’ll have to call security. I’m thoroughly disappointed in you, young lady.”

You felt embarrassed, face hot as you stood up and bowed sharply, “I’m so sorry, Ms. Bang.”

“And you, Mister. You’d think a grown man would have more respect for himself and those around him. I want both of you out, right this instance.”

Much like you, Mingi got up — albeit a bit slower — and bobbed his head up and down, muttering a quiet apology. Whispered murmurs spread through the library as the students resumed their studies. You hastily took your things and darted outside, not sparing anyone any glances. Ms. Bang didn’t return to her post until she witnessed you both walk out the door.

Fuck Mingi. Fuck Ms. Bang. Fuck your professor. Fuck the essay–

“Would you wait up?”

The man you wanted to see least of all stopped in front of you. Curse him and his long legs.

You peered up at him. The audacity of this guy. “No, Mingi. I don’t want to slow down because I don’t want to look at you! Let alone wait up.”

“Okay, calm down. It’s not that big of a deal,” he mumbled and scratched the back of his neck. Things were getting out of hand and he wasn’t used to seeing you this mad.

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down. You got me kicked out of the library, in front of everyone! Do you know how embarrassing that is?!”

“Hey, I was kicked out too!”

“You’re a guy! No one cares about you, but me? My reputation could be ruined, they’ll see me as a delinquent!”

“Oh, get over yourself. You were kicked out of the library, not arrested for snorting coke.”

Your tongue poked the side of your cheek. “You’re a real fucking asshole.” 

You cursed your voice for wobbling and stepped around him, continuing your walk home. Mingi stood rooted to the ground and watched as you stormed off. He clicked his tongue and went the other way. 

You were blowing things out of proportion. Who cared what people thought of you anyway? Stopping by a red light and staring off into nothing, he tried wrapping his head around your logic. You were a figure skater — a performer — you needed to grow thicker skin. People would always judge you, both on and off the rink. How could you be so easily affected by a measly little hag? Mingi blew out an air of frustration. You really were something else. 

The red light was running longer than usual and he was growing more impatient with each passing second. Mingi patted the front of his hair and thought back to the conversation with his friends.

“No need to be a dick, Hyung.”

The seven-word-long sentence struck a chord in him. Too blinded by his own bruised ego, Mingi didn’t want to believe his faults that day in the locker room, but as a sour, unripe apple faded into a deep red, Mingi too matured and realized he was in fact acting like a dick. It was clear his words hurt you, it was evident from the slight timber in your voice. A tone he was all too familiar with from his childhood days. A snivel he let out trying to suppress his childish tears from countless scraped knees and bee stings. A voice so suffocating and uncomfortable, as if a thick ball was shoved down his windpipe. He hated it — the feeling of not being able to breathe, being in control of his own body — even as he transitioned into his adult years. 

A heavy weight dropped in his stomach at the thought of you feeling that way because of him.

“For fuck’s sake.”

Mingi hastily turned around and awkwardly jogged back to where he last saw you. Slowing down by the entrance gates of the local library, he caught a glimpse of your angry-walking figure among the sea of students. Eyes set on you, his feet moved on their own and skillfully avoided the people. Right as he parted his lips to call for you, something hard rocked right into his chest or the other way around, Mingi wasn’t sure. Tearing his sight from you and at the person that was the equivalent of a brick wall, Mingi opened his mouth to apologize only to stop mid word.

“You good there, Song?”

What was it with people addressing him with his last name. His parents did give him a real name for a reason. 

Hate was a strongly charged word and from a young age, Mingi never felt hatred towards anyone. The closest thing he’d come to hate was dislike. He disliked bugs and vegetables, and he really disliked cardio. 

That was until he met Bang Chan, the winger of Red Tigers — a hockey team under TOP University — and also the most annoying man in the world. Mingi hated Chan with a burning passion. Was it because of something childish? Probably. Would Mingi ever admit it? Probably not.

“What’s it to you, Chris?”

If it weren’t for Mingi’s towering height making him look years older than Chan, passersby would have shot him a dirty look for the lack of honorifics used, but Mingi didn’t care. Honorifics were made to show a clear difference in hierarchy and nowadays it was to show respect to either elders or superiors. Mingi held no respect for the shrimp of a man and Chris wasn’t a superior in his eyes.

Chan chuckled and ran his hand through his blonde locks. “Considering I don’t really give a fuck about you, I’d say nothing.”

The grit of Mingi’s teeth clashing against each other and sharpening his jaw, had a cocky smile spreading across Chan’s face. 

“Oh, don’t say you thought I was worried about you.” 

The day Mingi first met Chan was right before a game between the Blue Wolves and Red Tigers. The younger had been told about the talented winger, warned of his skills and malicious ways of getting under people’s skin. Being still relatively new to the team, Mingi heeded the words of his seniors and promised to stay cool headed and free from penalties. The promise lasted for a good ten minutes into the first period until Mingi sprung into action, violating a handful of rules and knocking Chan off his skates. Each and every game after that where the two hockey players simultaneously skated the rink was a brawl waiting to happen.

“The only time I think of you is either with a broken nose or a losing score.”

“So you do think of me. Well I’d say I’m flattered, but you're not really my type, Song. I’m more into lanky boys with freckles and not whatever it is you are.”

Violence was never the answer, was what a lot of educational books said, yet they could never explain the therapeutic release of pent up anger that released as Mingi’s fist would connect with the winger’s face.

Eyes steering away from Chan’s cheesed ones, Mingi pinpointed you moving further and further into the crowd, slowly weaving and blending in with the other people. While he wasn’t all that keen on talking with you — still having a trouble making out what he was going to say — he’d rather stand empty minded before you and not entertain the clown in front of him. Besides, if acted out of line his seniors would never let him live it down, maybe even go the great length of convincing their coach to keep him benched for the rest of the season.

“I don’t have time for you, Chris. We’ll settle everything on the ice, until then stay the fuck away from me.”

Shoulders colliding and their mouths curling into a C — one up and the other down — Mingi went after you just like he initially planned before the universe threw an obstacle in his way.

The multiple calls of your name echoed like a wordless siren song, manipulating you to slow down only to break off the cures and walk faster as you realized who the voice belonged to.

“God, you walk fast,” Mingi huffed as he caught up to you.

For an active hockey player you’d think his stamina would be out of this world. Apparently not seeing how his chest rose rapidly, stretching his gorgeous musc– 

“What do you want?” 

“How you feeling about food? You hungry? It’s my treat.”

“Ha-ha, you’re so funny.”

Mingi skipped in front of you and rotated midstep so he walked backwards facing you, “I’m serious. You up for some fried chicken?

“I already told you to fuck off, don’t make me scream stalker too.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Look I wanna make it up to you. At least take this.”

He searched for something in his jean pocket and then held out two crumpled bills. The glare he received was sharp enough to cut through concrete and Mingi gulped as the corners of your lips gravitated down. Your hand itched to slap the mocking papers out of his grasp and scream something along the lines of him being an asshole. As if he hadn’t humiliated you enough, now he was offering you money like you were a beggar.

“I’m not up for any of your jokes, Song. Just leave. Me. Alone.”

“No, I’m being for real.”

You hit the brakes and stared at him hoping to find the smallest of hints that he was fucking with you. “What game are you playing at, huh? You’ve already publicly humiliated me once, you wanna go for round two, is that it?”

He scoffed at your hostility and stuffed the dollars back in his pocket. “I’m not always out to annoy you, princess.”

The small movement of your brows drawing together brought out a forced cough. He had yet to make it up for you and he was already fucking it up.

“Believe it or not, but I just want to make things right.”

“Why?”

Mingi opened his mouth and closed it again. Words swirled in his head but no answer came to his mind. The question was righteous, he’d give you that. Coming up with an answer proved to be difficult when he too didn’t know what had gotten into him or why the sudden surge of goodness turned him into Lady Justice. A measly ‘I don’t know’ wouldn’t get him anywhere so with eyes that reflected the stars and lips forming into a pout he mustered the softest, “I actually… feel bad for the library… and your phone.”

Your eyes filtered over his face. This was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him and you had to remind yourself that this was the same guy who knocked you off your skates, coughed in your lunch and flicked your forehead every chance possible. 

“I don’t buy it.”

Turning on your heel, you decided to go the long way home, hoping he’d take the final hint and leave you alone. Honestly, you should’ve known better.

“You would if I was a certain figure skater.” 

Your head whipped back around so fast that you nearly got whiplash and he’d have to take you to the hospital. 

“That’s not true!” Your face burned at the mention of Hyunjin or perhaps at Mingi’s observation. Did he always keep tabs on you or the people you associated yourself with?

He stepped closer, your breaths mixing in the cold wind.

“Prove it.” 

The bear trap planted in the middle of the trail couldn’t have been more evident yet you still stepped on it with both feet. Sitting in a dimly lit coffee shop waiting for the tall bastard to come back with your orders was not on your yearly bingo card. There were a handful of reasons you agreed to his stupid idea. Your keys were in your other jacket, which was collecting dust in your wardrobe. Dasom was working on her project at Hongjoong’s so the apartment was empty. The sky was turning darker with each passing second and you were not about to sit idly on the stairs of your apartment complex, especially not at night.

A strawberry frappuccino slid in front of you and popped your thoughts like a dart would a balloon. Mingi hung his jacket around a chair opposite you and sat down, much like in the library. He avoided your gaze and took a long sip of his green tea mocha. You didn’t touch your drink despite it being your favorite — you pushed the thought of it being a coincidence or not to the back of your mind — and continued staring at him. He eventually faced you and nearly choked on the beverage. 

“Why are you staring at me?” 

“I’m admiring your act.”

“What act?”

“This goody-two shoe thingy you’re trying to pull off.”

He chuckled and looked down at his drink, fingers tracing circles on the paper logo. 

“You’ve really got your head way in on that. There is no act. I said it earlier, I just felt bad for getting you thrown out.” The cup was left alone and his eyes found yours. 

“And that’s what I don’t get. You’ve been a douche for a whole year, what makes today so different from last month? Why do you care now?”

“Are you going to drink that?”

You weren’t drinking anything until he fessed up and it was clear from the scrunch of your brows and how your lips pursed, conveying that perfect amount of sassiness.

Mingi never stopped overthinking what the hell he was doing. On the walk there, during his stunt of convincing you and in the short time he stood in line waiting to order. He racked his mind for answers and came up with nothing. The blob of anxiety dug into his abdomen the more he replayed the library scene. It was different from all his previous harmless teasing and bickering. It was fun, but not in a sadistic way. Seeing you get so angry and flustered over a simple nickname tickled his insides, yet he never intended to get you into trouble let alone be the reason you got scolded and on top of that kicked out of a public place under a hundred watchful eyes. But being Mingi, the guy you apparently hated the most, he couldn’t say all that. You’d really think he was playing you, which you had every right to believe.

With another sip of his tea, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “It’s called having a change of heart.”

You scoffed and allowed yourself to taste the stupid drink. It wasn’t like you could just go home anyway and it was easier to just give in and not make his money go to waste, no matter how annoying he was.

“Happy?”

A sarcastic hum weaved through the air of the chattering customers. The conversation ended at that point and you couldn’t stop thinking about your precious time being spent doing absolutely nothing. An all nighter was bound to happen or you’d say bye-bye to morning practice with Hyunjin.

The soft and irritating buzz of Mingi’s phone burned holes in his pocket. When you thought about it, the person hadn’t stopped calling him since you stepped foot in the shop and if you cared enough you’d tell him to take the call. Glancing down at the caller ID, Mingi pursed his lips into a line.

It didn’t take a genius to know why Intak was pestering him. The hockey team was supposed to have a movie night at Matthew’s. Intak and Mingi were assigned snack duty, but considering Mingi was at a coffee shop with you, the responsibility was pushed entirely on Intak, although he had yet to tell the younger boy. Mingi’s thumb slid over the off button and he pressed it twice ignoring the call. He was out of excuses to use and even if he had something up his sleeve, Intak would smell the bullshit from a mile away. They’d eventually justify his no-show as him having something better to do, assuming it was a quick fuck or something else involving a girl.

You, on the other hand, could jump from glee at the message on your lockscreen. Dasom was on her way home and you could finally cut this… appointment short. You slurped the last of your frappuccino and grabbed your bag and with a forced ‘thanks’ you were out of the coffee shop. How silly of you to think he’d let you off so easily. 

“What are you doing?” You asked as he walked beside you.

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I'm walking you home.”

Underneath all that douchebag exterior Mingi had some qualities of a gentleman after all and for once you didn’t fight him on it. This whole exchange was weird and you were certain that whoever happened to see you two together would think it was a PR stunt. God forbid Dasom or Keeho got a whiff of you being civil towards him. Dasom’s future poems would be dedicated to your and Mingi’s nonexistent relationship while an exorcism would be arranged by Keeho, claiming Mingi had bewitched you.

“You live quite far from campus.” 

“I didn’t ask you to walk me home.”

“I never implied you did, I simply stated a fact.”

Another wave of silence settled over you. Mingi wasn’t that bad when he was quiet. Maybe you’d sew his mouth shut like Other Mother did to Other Wybee. At least that way you wouldn’t be publicly ridiculed anymore. Not that you were ever planning for this to happen again. 

By the time you arrived outside your apartment a layer of pitch black darkness wrapped around the earth and you had to physically bite your tongue from asking if he’d be alright walking home alone. Keeho did mention one of his friends was jumped by a group of older men and Mingi, despite his size and shape , wasn’t invisible to weirdos this late.

“Uhm, what’s going on here?”

Both you and Mingi turned to your left where a very confused Keeho and an ecstatic Dasom stood. You really wished you’d fought Mingi on leaving you alone sooner because the fear of walking alone in the dark was better than convincing these two coconuts there was no budding romance between you. Sensing your discomfort, Mingi cleared his throat. A dust of red sprinkled over his cheeks matching his cold ears and nose.

“See you around.”

Before you could mutter a lame ‘bye’ he was gone, leaving you to deal with the aftermath of dumb and dumber.

“What the hell was that?!” Keeho screeched as you bolted for the bathroom. “What happened to him being a dick?!”

“He’s still a dick,” you called out and splashed cold water on your face. 

“A dick you want to su–”

“Keeho-ya!”

“I’m just saying! What am I supposed to believe when I see you being all cozy with your sworn nemesis?”

You swung the bathroom door open and pointed at Keeho who, mind you, had his arms crossed over his chest and one foot impatiently tapping against the hardwood floor.

“Okay, let’s get one thing clear. I was not being cozy with him.”

He rolled his eyes at that. “You’re almost as gullible as Dasom.”

Said girl whined in protest and threw a sock at the back of his head. 

“No. No, no, no. I’m being honest. He just walked me home–”

“Mingi walked you home?” Dasom peeped from her space on the couch. 

“Yes, the bastard walked me home after getting us thrown out of the library–”

“The library closed like three hours ago.”

“Yes, Keeho. If you’d let me speak I’d explain everything from start to finish. The library was full so he decided to sit with me then he got us thrown out and wanted to ‘make it up’ by buying me coffee or whatever. So we went to a coffee–”

Dasom sprung up from the cushions and grasped your shoulders, violently shaking you back and forth. “Oh my God! He took you on a date!”

The self-proclaimed dad fell back on the sofa and dramatically covered his parted mouth. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was on the verge of crying.

“I can’t believe this. My little girl is turning into a woman.” He wiped an imaginary tear and followed up the act with sniffles. “We can’t have this, I have to threaten him properly. Invite him for dinner so he knows he can’t just hurt my little girl withou–”

You pushed past Dasom and threw glares at the annoying people you labeled friends.

“Can you stop fucking around for a second? I’m serious when I say nothing happened.”

“Well, yeah. I sure hope it didn’t. I’m still calling dibs on Hyunjin.”

You blinked a couple times, not entirely grasping his words.

“You’re calling what on who?”

“Dibs on Hyunjin.”

“Keeho thinks you’re getting together with Hyunjin.”

“You’re betting on my love life?!”

Keeho waved his hand in the air and tucked his feet under his bum. “Oh, stop screaming would-ya? It’s not much of a love life to begin with. Besides, Dasom is the crazy one in the bet.”

“Who’d you bet on?”

The girl balanced on her tiptoes and sheepishly smiled. If Keeho betted on Hyunjin, then she had to bet on–

“Mingi.”

“You bitch–” 

The instinct to fight kicked in and you lunged at her. It wasn’t as if you were going to hurt her, maybe jank her hair or bite her arm, something light to scare her. Before you could leave a scratch on her, Keeho flew to her rescue and wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground.

“Woah everybody, let’s calm down a little bit!” 

With one last attempt to get one kick in you flung your legs out to which Keeho twirled you both around. 

“Count your days, Dasom!”

“Okay! You’re on time-out,” Keeho declared and carried you to your room.

As he was about to cross the threshold, you placed both feet against the wall on the sides of the open door and pushed back, propelling Keeho backwards. Poor guy almost lost his balance but regained it before you became one with the floor.

“Stop being a difficult little shit!” 

His right arm sneaked down behind your knees while the other supported your back and carried you bridal-style. He gently dropped you on the bed and you flopped like a sack of potatoes, limbs drawn out like a starfish. You could feel Keeho’s eyes on you, but it did little to break your stare from the ceiling.

“I’m not supposed to get any attention while in time-out.”

Keeho pursed his lips as his tongue poked the side of his cheek. 

“Mmm and you were supposed to hate Mingi but here we are.” 

He placed his hands on his hips. You were tired of glaring, arguing and throwing hands so you opted with a weak nudge of your foot towards the door. 

“Leave.”

Now that was very much out of character. He was certain you’d jump him too or chuck a pillow at him, but no. You continued laying there lifeless. You didn’t even spare him a glance. Keeho plopped down beside you, shoulders touching as he too stared at the creme colored ceiling.

“Did we go too far?”

“Nah, I’m just tired of Mingi. It’s like he’s always there, even if he isn’t. He always finds a way to get on my nerves.”

Keeho hummed, “I get that. I mean, not that you’d know but you and Dasom make me sick sometimes too.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. You get sick of being around us too much, not because we are making fun of you.”

“That’s true… but you know who doesn’t make fun of you?”

“...You and doofus number two out there?”

“Wooooooow, really?” 

A smile sneaked on your face.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Do whatcha want, Kyo. I’m just going to sleep the time-out… out?”

Extra sleep was never a bad idea and considering you were planning on pulling an all-nighter, you’d need all the rest you could get before that. You closed your eyes and rested one hand over your stomach while the other one went under your head.

“Hyunjin! Hyunjin doesn’t make fun of you!” Keeho yelped and breathed out in relief. 

It physically strained him to keep his mouth shut and it felt like his head was going to explode if he didn't mention it anytime soon. 

The idea of sleep was pushed to the back of your mind, along with all the other hundred things you postponed.

If there was anyone who kept dibs on people it would be Keeho. That man was up to date on all the gossip around the campus, new as well as old. Whoever was in the spotlight he’d know and then you’d know too. You’d usually tell him to shut it, not really being interested in other people’s business but this wasn’t just anyone’s business; this was about Hyunjin. The Hyunjin. Your crush, Hyunjin.

“Spill.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He jumped on the bed beside you, chin resting on both palms and feet kicking the air behind him. “Apparently our little Hyunjin-ie is interested in someone.”

Butterflies born from sheer anxiety and suspense fluttered in your stomach. Hyunjin liked someone. Giddy happiness welled over you. The same content feeling you’d get after passing a peculiarly hard exam or landing a difficult jump exploded in you. Your lips were forcibly curved in a shy smile and warmth settled in your stomach at the information. 

The boy you admired for quite some time now finally liked someone. The joy lasted for all of five seconds as the words really sank in. The lively butterflies building cocoons in you were annihilated by a big rock, and your childish smile was wiped like rain and other shit was flung from the windshield of your mother’s car. 

“Girl, why does it look like you’ve figured out Victoria’s secret?”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m just saying how it is.”

That, he did. Keeho may have been an avid gossiper, but he wasn’t spreading lies. The things he heard and shared with you or Dasom were always true so you knew better than to question him and his sources. There was always that one-in-a million chance of him being wrong and it terrified you. It wasn’t like his sources couldn’t have misinterpreted it this time. What if they were talking about a girl named Hyunjin or Hyejin instead?

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s you,” he stated and picked on his fingernails. 

“Don’t fuck with me right now.”

“I’m not!” He threw his hands up. “But if you think about it, why would he agree to help you practice?”

“Because I was obviously struggling.”

“Okay, then explain why he asked for your number?” His head tilted as he raised a brow at your silence. “That’s what I thought. It’s you! Plus Jiung told me his crush was a figure skater. You are a figure skater!”

“That is a reach and you know it. It could be Yuna, she’s great. Pretty, nice and a figure skating prodigy.” 

“Okaaaay, but if she’s so great why aren’t they dating already?”

You flopped back on the bed, “Dude–” 

“No, I’m serious. If she’s so great and he likes her then what stops them from being together?”

“That could be used on me too?! If he likes me, why hasn’t he done anything?” 

“Cut him some slack, poor boy probably shat his pants while texting you.”

You swallowed down an insult and faced Keeho again. “How do you know about that?”

Crickets and whistling kettles.

“Oh, shit.”

“Yah, Choi Dasom!”

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2024 - All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[veilder]

Okay, I'm so sorry I was late with this reblog, but damn if I didn't wanna do it some justice? Hopefully you don't mind too much, OP, but this absolutely filled me with ✨Inspiration✨ and I just had to write a little snippet, lol! So yeah, hope you like it!

The rasp of skates upon ice filled up the auditorium as Connor flew across the rink. He moved swiftly, precision in every step, as he crossed the length of the ice. He breathed--in, out--and jumped--kick off from the edge--and braced--one, two, three rotations, not enough height, no room for more--and landed--not good enough, try again. Sweat beaded his forehead as he touched down, one foot upon the ice, the other flared out in a textbook pose. There was no waver, no wobble, no spray, only a smooth, clean line that followed him as he geared up for another. His triple lutz was perfect. But a triple lutz would not win him any competitions. Round and round he circled, pushing himself for more each time. Connor cycled through his repertoire, landing each jump with that envied precision that made the Stern brothers so feared on the circuits. He ran through his combinations, his footwork, his entire long program over and over and still... Still it would not be enough. "You are the weakest link, Connor. I'm surprised you even found a place on the Olympic team after your disgrace last winter, but I suppose it can't be helped. You will just have to try not to embarrass Niles too much in Milan." Amanda's words flashed through his mind as he turned, a fissure of temper driving him towards one last, exhausted jump. 'I know I'm the weakest, Mother,' he thought as he kicked off the ice, 'but maybe... Maybe I--' One rotation, two, three now, just a bit more--! Connor came down awkwardly, the attempted quadruple axel still beyond him. Niles' specialty still beyond him. He rolled with the momentum, sliding across the rink to lay flat on his back, panting up at the dim light up above. A hollow feeling settled in his chest, something familiar, something cold. He would always be inferior in Amanda's eyes. His consistency didn't matter when the judges preferred flashy jumps and bold moves. Dimly, he wondered if he wouldn't have been better off taking up pairs skating like Silas. His twin at least seemed happy with his lot in life, far from the shadow of their prodigious younger brother. Far from Amanda's penetrating judgment. "Hey! You alive?!" With his body striving to settle itself and his mind contemplating his failures, Connor took a moment register the noise. "Hey asshole, I'm talking to you! Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

Connor turned his head, gazing off to the rink access gate and the dark-haired man scowling his way out of it. A jolt of worry had Connor slowly sitting up, the idea of being caught using the facilities after hours finally shaking him from his apathy. But the man didn't look like a security guard? No, though he was stocky and well-muscled, his sweatpants and coat had a decidedly casual look to them. The bandages across his face likewise gave the implication of a common brawler, though the abandoned hockey bag peeking out from behind him was a better, more reliable clue as to the man's identity. Like a puzzle slotting into place, Connor realized that perhaps he wasn't alone in wanting to (illicitly) use the training rink after hours. Realizing he'd been quiet for far too long now, Connor cleared his throat. "That won't be necessary," he said, rising to his feet on aching legs. He wobbled a bit, still coming down from the adrenaline high of his fall, but was able to skate over to where the man still stood.

"Yeah?" he said, gray eyes glaring at Connor suspiciously. "Looked like a pretty hard fall to me." He leaned left, peering out over Connor's shoulder to the half-lit rink behind him. "The hell were you trying to do there anyway? And what are you doing here so late? Doors shoulda been locked." Connor frowned, crossing his arms defensively. "I was practicing," he said, and then a moment later, "And what makes you think I'm here without permission?" The man mirrored his stance now, crossing his arms, too. He pointed up towards the ceiling. "Barely any lights on. Just a few of them so you can see but it looks like you're trying not to draw attention to yourself. And no music, either. Never see one of you doing a whole-ass routine with no music before." So. He'd been watching him longer than Connor was aware. He didn't know if that should worry him or if he should take it as a compliment to his focus. Either way, the man's scrutiny had his nervously shifting. "And I suppose you have permission to be here then?" he retorted, trying not to let any discomfort show. The man snorted. "Yeah, sure I do." "Really? Forgive me if I find that hard to believe." "You're forgiven," he said infuriatingly and gave a truly atrocious attempt at a wink. "Guess with no proof you'll just have to believe me." He retreated with a smirk, going over to his bag to pull out a pair of heavy-looking skates and sitting down to fasten them up. It took him no time at all, his hands obviously well-practiced, and before long, he was back there beside Connor, a rude, "Out of the way, dipshit!" echoing from him as he took to the ice. Connor watched him go, all thoughts of his previous inadequacies gone in the wake of this new, supreme annoyance. He almost wished he could stick around just to be able to get in the man's way, but his protesting legs and the slight twinge in his lower back told him it was time to call it quits for the night. Even still, he couldn't help his ire rising, looking out at the figure doing some sort of strange-looking drill. What a horrible little man. Stepping off the ice, Connor slid his skate covers on, balancing his way over to where he'd left his own things. With a quick swap, he settled back into his sneakers and made for the exit, glad to put this strange encounter behind him. It was time to go ice down his calves and back for a good long while. As Connor neared the door though he spied the loose light board he'd managed to pry open earlier. It was still ajar. Connor halted, taking one last look back at the rink where the horrid man had now retrieved a hockey stick and some pucks and seemed to be shooting at some imaginary net. Looking back to the panel, Connor felt a terrible impulse come over him, one he knew he shouldn't indulge. ... But the man did say that he had permission to be here. A little more light couldn't hurt, right? With a smirk, Connor flipped up all the switches, the dim lighting turning to intense fluorescence in an instant. As he exited the rink, he heard an indignant squawk behind him. A smile tugged at his lips. Perhaps this had been a good night after all.

____________ So yeah, there ya go! Just a little scene I had envisioned for these boyos, lol! I'm sure it's rough and full of typos, but I wrote it all in one sitting, lol, so sorry if you ran into anything weird! XD Tbh, I probably should've written from Gavin's POV, lol, since that is how the art is presented? If I ever write a follow up, it'd probably be his perspective of this same scene, their first meeting, lol. Alas, it just flowed better from Connor's POV, lol! But yeah, once again, big huge thank you to @jude-shotto for doing such an absolutely stellar job on this!! I seriously love it so much!!!! 😍😍😍 Definitely inspiring for me, as you can tell. XD And for anyone interested in the original prompt, you can find it here, as well as a bunch of my other prompts in the pinned post on my dash! And if you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! ^_^

[Day 9 - Hockey player!Gavin/Figure skater!Connor: A Meet-cute -Veilder💖]

Boy do I love me some Ice Skating AUs 👀👀

You can check out the days early up on Patreon!

[eightmakesonebraincell]

our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom

genre: poly hockey team!ateez x coach fem!reader, enemies/strangers to lovers, athlete!au, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 37.6k

c/w: sweaty and athletic ateez (warning well deserved), explicit profanity, themes of corruption and rocky family relationships, trauma, hurt/comfort, injuries, kissing, boys are in an established relationship, m x m interactions

synopsis: you become the new coach of the elite men's ice hockey team, the red devils. but with both yourself and the team carrying burdens of the past, you all find it difficult to see eye to eye. as you lead them to the championships in the korean ice hockey league, you discover that teamwork and trust is not as straightforward as it seems.

a/n: it has made me incredibly touched to see so many of my readers from the essence of youth come back to support this new oneshot. thank you from the bottom of my heart ♡ and as always, this fic would not have been possible without @sorryimananti-romantic and her undying support

if someone were to ask yunho–or anybody on the team–when he feels the most alive, his answer would be the same every single time: when he is on the ice, just like he is right now.

the air of the rink is already chilly, but with the added cold of emerging autumn, each rugged lungful he takes fills his chest with vigour. only his own heavy breathing can be heard as the rest of the players’ shouts become muffled into the background outside of his helmet. he tightens his grip on his stick, muscles locked and engaged with adrenaline. his vision narrows, an opening suddenly clearing itself through the tangle of sticks and jungle of skates–a golden opportunity for him to take.

“san!” he yells.

their usual goaltender glances upwards as he handles the puck rebounding off the boards. his jaw tightens and with a practised flick of his wrist, san chips the puck over an incoming stick’s attempt to block the pass. there’s a burst of explosive power as yunho speeds up along the opposite boards to receive the landing puck, hoping to break away from the opposing team’s offensive players before he passes it off.

the flash of a blue jersey appears in yunho’s vision with alarming momentum. they lower and widen their stance, shoulder positioned in front ready to knock him directly into the boards in an attempt to steal the puck, leaving yunho with no choice but to mirror their actions. he braces himself as the opponent rams into him with more force than a usual play, and in combination with their own towering height, yunho finds himself being pushed into the plexiglass panels as he loses possession of the puck.

involuntarily, he lets out a threatening growl of vexation. there is a teasing chuckle from the other player that still has him pinned against the wall despite the continuing game, which clearly tells him that the excessive body check was deliberate. yunho has half a mind to flip their positions, knowing he could easily overpower the other. but before he can adjust his stick out of the way to make good use of his hands, the opponent playfully knocks their helmets together.

“you’re hot when you get all competitive and riled up.”

all of the tension escapes yunho’s body, because he will never not find mingi’s attempts to flirt mid-game–with his mouthguard and resultant bumbling pronunciation–to be amusing. he endearingly rolls his eyes and sighs, “have you not heard of, ‘don’t poke the bear’?”

“you’re not a bear, though,” mingi squirms cheekily on the spot, still up in yunho’s personal space because he knows the older will never be truly annoyed by his antics. “you’re just a cute, harmless puppy.”

before mingi can blink, yunho grabs him by the shoulders and pins him against the wall. yunho smirks, “and they also say, ‘let sleeping dogs lie’.”

wooyoung tongues his cheek with mischief at the sight of the two, nice and cosy against the walls of the rink. he hands his stick off to seonghwa, who is starting to remove his helmet, and skates in their direction, ignoring the dull throb in his left ankle. wooyoung only bothers to slow himself down slightly, instead letting his trajectory be cushioned by something else.

mingi lets out a pathetic noise as the air is squeezed out of his chest from the impact of wooyoung and yunho’s added weight. the latter grunts out, a little breathless, “woo, please, you’re going to knock somebody out like this one day.”

it goes in one ear and out the other as wooyoung grins up at him to state, “seonghwa scored so we lost ‘cause you were too busy making out with mister mingles here.”

yunho pushes off the wall to free himself from the sandwich of bodies and pivots on his skates to jab wooyoung’s padded chest. “you and san were doing the exact same thing just five minutes ago.”

“we’re on the same team,” wooyoung shrugs, “whereas mingi is not, so you’re fraternising with the enemy. now come on losers, captain’s wrapping up practice.”

the three of them glide along the ice to rejoin the rest of the team, where they are stepping out of the rink to sit on the benches. they remove their helmets and start unlacing their skates as hongjoong gathers the attention of the team.

“great work from everybody today, especially you, jongho. your backhand wrist shots are improving–keep it up. now just a reminder to everyone that our regular games start next week so i want you all to make sure you are stretching and cooling down properly,” he emphasises. he pointedly looks at yeosang, who has already begun to wander his way off to the changerooms, at the same time that seonghwa scruffs him by the back of his jersey and gently tugs him back to the team.

jongho peels off his blue practice jersey as he scans the arena and absentmindedly asks, “is coach still not here? it’s already the end of practice.”

“he said he had something to sort out today, but would come round if everything went well,” seonghwa answers, also craning his neck to look for signs of their coach.

from where you and coach cho are watching from the designated scouting area in the arena, the team is unable to spot you two. you had come from the final negotiations of your contract with coach cho and had watched their team, the red devils, play the last period of their game. despite it only being a friendly match amongst the team’s players, you have already grasped a sense of their playing style–it is heavy on the offensive at the expense of defence, just like how you used to play. it is fast-paced, aggressive and…prone to injury.

“let’s go meet the team,” coach cho voices, making his way out of the viewing area as you follow beside him. all the players look up from their skates that they are still unlacing or from their stretches on the floor when you two near the arrangement of benches surrounding the rink. they greet coach cho enthusiastically and you can see why from the way the older man smiles at them like they are his own sons.

“y/n, this is the team, the red devils–my pride and joy. boys, this is y/n,” he introduces. “i had to miss practice to meet up with y/n and make sure she was happy to sign on as part of the red devils.”

said team gives you disinterested glances, a complete change from the receptivity with which they respond to coach cho. one of the red-jerseyed boys, who you recognise as wooyoung, utters sarcastically, “cute, but we don’t need a mascot or cheerleader.”

coach cho chuckles lightly, “she’s your new coach.”

“hold on, you were serious about–” “–are you coaching a different team–” “–you don’t want us anymore?”

some of the boys erupt into a barrage of questions, trying to make sense of the sudden announcement, whereas the others stay quiet, flickers of flashbacks stirring up from within the depths of their memories. their coach raises his hands to settle them as he apologises, “i didn’t want to say anything before i was one hundred percent sure that things would go ahead, and i wasn’t sure whether y/n would accept the offer.”

“is it because your wife is due soon?” san interrupts.

coach cho nods, “with twins, and i want to be present to help–as a husband and a father. but that just isn’t feasible as your coach, as much as i love you boys.”

training as professional athletes takes incredible perseverance, discipline and commitment. there are early mornings, late nights, weekends and public holidays. it takes sacrifices in the form of time and relationships, especially when they must travel away from home for up to weeks on end to compete in matches. and with the start of the regular season, the intensity is only going to ramp up. as hard as the athletes train, the coach works twice as hard to make it all possible.

the team needs somebody to be there for them to ensure they make it into the playoffs, and it just won’t be fair for anybody–the players and his own family–if coach cho were to keep his position. and the team gets it, they really do, but–

“she’s the new coach?” yunho frowns in confusion. “no offence, but we’re not a bunch of kids for her to practise being a soccer mum to.”

“she was the assistant coach for the grey eagles,” coach cho discloses.

“the grey eagles? the under-21 men’s championship team?” yeosang looks incredulous.

mingi sceptically comments, “the fact that we’ve never seen or heard of her before probably tells us enough.”

hongjoong’s lips purse sourly as he tries his hardest to analyse the situation with the professionalism of the team’s captain. but with the sudden change in coaches and the same critiquing doubts as mingi, hongjoong cannot help but feel his personal judgement webbing over his mind. over the team’s entire career as an elite ice hockey team thus far–five years, now well into their sixth–the red devils have only ever had two coaches. coach cho has been with them for the longest and whilst it took the team a while to eventually warm up to him, he has been with them for almost quadruple the amount of time it took to trust him.

the team’s alternate captain, seonghwa, speaks to you directly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you not playing as an athlete yourself? you’re clearly our age–nowhere near retiring.”

you knew from the very start that your age would make your credibility as a coach much lower, and your answer to seonghwa will not help your case either. “i stopped playing.”

“how come?”

the trigger of memories fills your nose with a sharp stinging smell. you blankly reveal, “i chose to stop playing.” you know exactly how it sounds like to somebody else, even more so to professional athletes. coach cho has also told you of the team’s hardheadedness and strong will when it comes to the passions of their career, so you are expecting the cold receptiveness that you are met with.

your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. the way you answer so callously with those very words that had threatened to tear his world apart has his jaw grinding and eyes darkening, and he is not the only athlete in the arena who feels similarly.

“i would rather choose to die before i choose to stop playing. ice hockey is my entire life and without it, i am not living either,” hongjoong jabs and you cannot help but clench your fists because you know exactly what he means. still, you stay quiet as he continues, “sorry, but i can’t respect a ‘coach’ who chose to stop playing.”

at the captain’s words and subsequent move to leave for the changerooms, the rest of the team also gather their equipment and follow his steps. san’s feet falter in front of you, expression hesitant until he decides to voice, “our team needs a bit of time. it’s hard for us to warm up to…outsiders, and i know it might not mean much to say this but we have our reasons. don’t expect us to blindly trust you just because you’re a coach.”

the use of the word ‘outsider’ does not go unnoticed as you nod, “of course.”

san jogs off to rejoin the others and coach cho hums, “guess some things haven’t changed. they were just as prickly to me when i first became their coach.”

you raise an eyebrow, “prickly? to you?”

“yes, believe it or not,” he chuckles nostalgically. “we’ve come a long way because i’ve been their coach for years now. but it took me a while before i was able to break down their walls.”

you briefly mull over the information, then ask out of curiosity, “what would you have done if i didn’t sign the contract?”

“begged you to rethink your decision,” he jokes with a pleased chortle. “i would have to start looking for a different coach, i suppose. you were my only pick.”

“but why me, of all people? there are so many other experienced coaches that you can choose from.”

he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” at your silent processing, coach cho probes, “why didn’t you tell them the real reason?”

you smile wistfully, “i didn't tell them because i’m not here to gain their pity.”

some of the boys’ voices grow louder as they emerge from the changerooms, changed into fresh clothes and their kit bags slung over their shoulders. you hear one of them ask, “captain, is she really going to be our new coach?”

they step out from the facility’s corridor and you accidentally make eye contact with hongjoong, yet neither of you look away. maintaining a steady gaze directly at you, he responds with a slight glower, “maybe, but she’s only the coach by title. i’m still the captain of the team, so let’s see who everyone listens to.”

as they exit the rink’s arena, you feel a fire of determination growing inside of you. you have won over your own demons and you have won the championships before–this is nothing in comparison. whether your next words are for coach cho or for yourself to hear, it does not matter.

“i may not play anymore but i was still once an athlete, and no athlete has ever, in their career, wanted pity. i’m here to earn the team’s respect and i will win over them, especially their captain.”

you watch the swing of the glass door as it shuts behind the players, catching a brief glimpse of the trees lining the arena’s perimeter. it is the first day of autumn when you meet the red devils for the first time and outside, the leaves are beginning to change their colours.

autumn, 2018: pre-season

hongjoong believes all coaches are to be respected. it does not matter what kind of team they coach, how many years of experience they have, or whether they have built up a reputation for themselves. to hongjoong, respect for coaches is not something earned nor negotiable–it is something well-deserved and expected, as is for anybody in a position that is higher in the chain of command.

he may be the captain of their unofficial team, but hongjoong knows that the way a team can place their blind trust in the coach is irreplaceable, regardless of how much the other players rely on him too.

hongjoong watches as his boys carry out the practice drill he has set up for them. yeosang handles the puck around the cones before passing it to wooyoung, primed offensively near the goal to make a quick shot, who groans when his shot rebounds off the post. as he retrieves the disc, yeosang takes over wooyoung’s position near the goal ready to receive yunho’s pass as he starts to work his way through the cones next.

they are limited in the type of drills they can practise because hongjoong was only able to rent half of the community rink for a measly two hours. the boys are not even in proper uniform, wearing only their shin guards under their sweatpants and gloves on their hands to prevent any injuries when the centre had stated very firmly they would not be allowed in with their bulky equipment.

and yet, none of this has dampened the boys’ spirits. san teasingly brags that it is his chance to show off his skills other than goaltending, and jongho thanks hongjoong quietly for renting the rink in the first place. their understanding nods and comforting hugs make hongjoong’s heart clench, even more so as the team eagerly and diligently practise the drills in mediocre conditions but with fiery determination to prove their worth as newly-signed athletes under the kq blue birds.

this is exactly why hongjoong is driven to find them a coach–any coach: to give his boys a solid pillar they can rely on, because he himself lacks the resources and strings to pull in order to fulfil their shared dreams. he needs to keep his boys as one team, instead of scattered into other teams as extra players like a gracious opportunity for the leftovers, since kq does not yet have a coach available for the eight of them.

“captain!”

the excitement in seonghwa’s voice startles hongjoong more than the speed at which the alternate captain skates towards him. seonghwa digs his skates into the ice at the last second, stopping himself just shy of knocking the other over as he exclaims, “he emailed back!”

“the coach you reached out to?” hongjoong clarifies, eyes growing wide.

having caught wind of his signed contract as a professional athlete, an acquaintance of seonghwa’s had reached out offering to pass on the contact of their acquaintance, who apparently knew somebody with coaching experience. it was rare for a coach to take on a rookie team unless there were incredible benefits, so he and hongjoong had drafted and sent an email with little to no expectations for a reply. but seonghwa’s furious nodding is telling otherwise, and his eyes sparkle as he shoves his phone in hongjoong’s face to show him the email.

dear mr park, thank you for your interest and for reaching out with your proposal. i have looked at your athlete profiles and it appears that you all have big dreams and extremely promising futures. it would be my utmost pleasure to help you all reach your true potential by coaching your team. if you would like to arrange a meeting in person to discuss expectations and conditions regarding training, competitions and future championships prior to finalising the contracts with your company, please let me know what times and dates best suit yourself and your team captain, mr kim. i look forward to working with you all. kind regards, coach yeon

“holy shit,” hongjoong steadies seonghwa’s giddy hand to read the email again. when he reaches the last line, he starts once more from the beginning to make sure his eyes are not lying to him. then he breathes out with finality, “holy shit. am i reading this right?”

“yeah, joong. you’re reading it right.”

hongjoong is not often one to be affectionate with the others, but yanking seonghwa into a bone-crushing hug as he repeats holy shit like a mantra is the only response he is able to muster. the older laughs wetly, throat constricting with overwhelming joy and he holds onto his captain until the other pulls back.

“you tell them, okay?” seonghwa does not wait for a response before he is raising his voice to gather the others, “boys! hongjoong has good news for us!”

like puppies responding to the call of food, their heads immediately perk up and they abandon the puck and the drill to speed towards their two captains. there is a clamour of questions as they enthusiastically predict what is going to be said.

“are they letting us use the rink for longer?”

wooyoung squeezes himself in between yunho and mingi to ask, “are we getting the whole rink?!”

“no way,” san gasps, “or did our practice jerseys arrive?”

hongjoong’s eyes soften at their guesses. his boys demand so little from him when he wants to give them everything they could never even think of asking for. he glances at seonghwa, who looks just about ready to burst from his own excitement, then reveals, “we’ve found a coach willing to take on our team.”

dead silence. yeosang blinks and wooyoung’s jaw drops. jongho, who had been lazily circling around the group, comically slows to a stop, joining the rest of the boys in frozen stupor. it is only broken when yunho dares to confirm, “does this mean we won’t be rostered as extras for other teams?”

everyone’s hopeful eyes look at hongjoong. he nods, “we’re staying together and playing as our own team.”

it is obvious the moment the information registers in their minds and the implications of what it means for the team’s future starts to sink in. they explode into a flurry of movement and hongjoong and seonghwa find themselves swept up into the middle of a clumsy group huddle as shouts are exchanged, uncaring of who is listening or talking.

“are we finally playing in championships with the big dogs?”

“we’re going to play interstate?”

“oh my god, what if we get into nationals?”

“nah, fuck that boys, let’s go international! we’re going to represent korea one day and become the best team in the world.”

the amount of voices overlapping one another are overwhelming, but it is overwhelming in the way that it makes hongjoong soar up into the clouds, wings stretched to their full span and carried by the hollers and cheers surrounding him in every direction. his cheeks hurt from smiling because these are the boys that he knows and loves.

they may only be a small team of eight, but they have dreams that are big enough to fill the entire universe.

“what’s the coaches name–” “–know if they’re a good coach–” “–teams have they coached before–”

seonghwa chuckles as the boys hound them with question after question and hongjoong appeases their curiosity dotingly, “we’ll find out when we meet him–coach yeon.”

but it does not matter what qualifications coach yeon has or does not have, and it does not matter what teams he has coached or has not coached before. what matters is that he is a coach and he is willing to be their coach, because it means that hongjoong and his boys are finally taking the next step towards their big dreams. 

and most importantly, they will be in this together…as the red devils.

autumn, present: regular season

“again.”

hongjoong grits his teeth, taking up his position as centre again in the marked circle for the practice drill. even during defensive faceoff plays, he and the team are accustomed to taking on an aggressive approach. when he wins possession of the puck, the wingers–usually yeosang and wooyoung, or jongho when substituted on–quickly breakaway and move forward with him into the offensive zone.

obviously, they have other strategic plays too to switch up the predictability of their tactics, such as moving the puck towards the board whilst yeosang covers him, or by passing the puck back to the mingi in defence. but overall, their team is capable of rapidly flipping from defensive to offensive play using the aggressive setup.

the practice drill you are currently running emphasises heavily on the defence–the reverse setup play. hongjoong is to pass backwards but in the direction of the boards whilst yeosang supports and wooyoung covers the area directly between the circle and san. mingi moves towards the boards to receive the puck, and their other defenceman, yunho, assists with covering the goal.

hongjoong does admit that this play is much safer and stabler, but it is also much slower and…cowardly. his team is called the red devils for a reason and their reputation as demons on ice is not something that he is going to throw away–not following years of blood, sweat and tears to stand back up after falling during their rookie year.

when he assumes his stance once again inside the faceoff circle opposite seonghwa, who is playing the centre position as the mock opponent, you drop the puck onto the centre dot. the moment it hits the ice, hongjoong clears it with his stick towards the right boards. it doesn’t go back far enough for mingi to receive though, so yeosang makes the split decision to burst sideways to retrieve the puck, all three forwards moving aggressively in synchronisation to advance offensively once he gains possession.

you stop them, shaking your head. “again.”

it has been a week since your first meeting with the team, and with the start of the regular season, training has focused on refining their strategies. the red devils are playing in the korean ice hockey league for the second time, an annual national championship with a singular men’s division.

teams from all over korea gather in seoul to compete in regular-season games at the gangneung ice arena against the other teams in rotation. depending on the number of participants, the red devils will need to play an average of three games a week for the next five to six months. then based on the outcome of the games, if your team scores within the top thirty two, they will be able to enter the playoffs.

last year, the red devils were only able to make it to the quarterfinals before they were knocked out. but considering it was their first time competing in a proper championship–as opposed to the rookie leagues and interstate competitions they competed in during the first four years of their career–making it into the top eight teams out of over a hundred or so teams was already impressive enough.

your team’s first regular-season game starts tomorrow, so it does not matter that this is the sixth time in a row that you have stopped them during this drill. you will make them restart until they perfect the play. with that in mind, you release the puck onto the centre dot of the circle once more, but this time seonghwa wins the faceoff, clearing it to the side where jongho is waiting as his left wing. seonghwa looks at you guiltily and anticipates the word that will come out of your mouth.

you bite your tongue, having sensed the rising tension amongst the team an hour ago, but now they are almost at their boiling point. closing your eyes briefly, you try reminding yourself to think about the situation from your players’ perspectives.

their career progression rides on this championship, and with their grit and determination, they will not settle for simply beating their own record in ranking. no, they vie for first place. only the top team secures a position in the international ice hockey league, the most coveted opportunity to represent korea in the championship between the world’s best teams.

and it is during this vital time–when the stress levels and stakes are as high as they can get–that the boys have suddenly had to change coaches. not only have they lost their most trusted support and guide, they have only had one week to adjust to their new one–you. in the grand scheme of things, one week is nowhere near enough time to develop any sort of meaningful relationship where they are able to listen to and rely on you.

taking a breath, you explain, “being so focused on offence leaves your team vulnerable if the opposing team also has aggressive forwards that you can’t break through. the faceoff play needs to be adjusted for those situations, otherwise it’ll be too difficult to control the puck and it will more than likely end up in chaos. it won’t be a game of professional skill anymore, but a circus of dirty play.”

your defence-focused coaching style has worked well for all the past teams you have taught, both men’s and women’s teams. you know that the boys play an offence-focused style; you are reminded too closely of your past self every time they rush head-on into every situation. and it is exactly because of that–because you know the dangers that come with their aggressive style–that you are making them adjust their play. their career comes first and if they suffer an injury, there may not be a career left.

so you will play the bad cop if you have to. they will come to understand you one day.

san bites down on his mouthguard as he listens from his position in the goal. he is able to see each and every play unfold, better than any other of his teammates, so he knows where you are coming from. whilst he has become used to the pressures that come with goaltending, no amount of training or competitions will ever fully eliminate the sudden spike in fear and anticipation the moment the opposing team’s forwards break past yunho and mingi.

san is the team’s last line of defence and the best outcome is that a game never comes down to just him, the opponent’s stick, and his goal. it is true that his team needs to work on their defensive plays, so when the others huff in defiance and reluctantly reset their positions, san simply lowers his centre of gravity in wait for your cue to restart the drill.

“again.”

outside the arena, the echo of sticks and scraping of skates sound faintly as the first leaf of autumn begins to fall to the ground. as time passes, the rest of the leaves will also succumb to a similar fate, only differing in how. some will fall in a slow and graceful descent, whilst others…

…a rapid and spiralling whirlwind downwards.

counting the heads and finding all eight of your players seated in the bus, you nod to the driver to close the door and start driving. most of the boys have chosen to sit on a two-seater by themselves, only yunho and mingi choosing to sit together. they share a set of wired earphones, eyebrows furrowed in concentration at one of their phones, likely monitoring one of their own matches or one of another team’s.

the rest of the boys sit alone, faces grim and tight as they stare out the window. they look exactly like you used to and it hits you with a wave of bittersweet nostalgia.

the ride to the competition venue–much less for the very first game of the season–is always the quietest, air strung tight with nerves as everyone prepares themselves psychologically for the inevitable pressures that the game will bring. being able to compose and centre one’s mindset is already half the battle won, and whilst nobody says it out loud, you all know that today’s results, despite it only being day one, will set the tone for the next four to five months as they fight to qualify for the playoffs.

as you make one final sweep from the back of the bus to the front whilst it pulls away from the curb, you accidentally make eye contact with yeosang. you give him a polite smile and he opens his mouth, closes it on second thought, then decides to ask anyway, “do you want to sit here?”

it is a lie to say that you are not surprised by the question, so you stumble over your response as you stammer, “oh, okay. thanks.”

yeosang reciprocates your noise of disorientation and when he fumbles to move his bag aside that had been occupying the space beside him, you belatedly realise he was only asking out of courtesy. but backtracking now and rejecting his offer would be a million times worse and you can only try to hide the flaming heat behind your cheeks as best as you can as you sit down in the seat.

he fiddles with the straps of his bag and you can feel his discomfort reeking off his hands. in an attempt to break the ice, you glance at him, “are you nervous for the game?”

he nods, “don’t think it gets any less nerve-wracking no matter how many games you play.”

“well this is a pretty big championship. you have every reason to feel nervous,” you hum.

yeosang levels you with a look. “are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

you do not know him well enough to be able to discern whether he is joking with you or not. opting to clear your throat instead, you point out, “you have your teammates who you can trust.”

“yeah…teammates.”

and you have me, too, as your coach, you want to say.

the hopeful glimpse in the dark of your eyes is enough for yeosang to pick up on your thoughts. he swallows uncomfortably and looks away.

we don’t know that yet.

you bite the inside of your cheek, trying once more to extend the conversation after a pregnant pause. “did you guys have a coach before cho?” either you have a shitty sense of appropriate conversation starters or yeosang wants absolutely nothing to do with you (it is likely both, but one can be optimistic), because his shoulders tense almost immediately.

“we did…just one,” he starts off carefully. you think that that is going to be the end of it, but then he adds on, “we don’t really talk about him though.”

and there it is–the end of the conversation. it is his nice way of telling you that there is no more to be said, so you sit the rest of the ride in silence next to yeosang, pretending not to let the sheer awkwardness suffocate you.

when the bus arrives at the gangneung ice arena, you hurry to alight and only then do you feel like you are able to breathe again. you plaster on a smile and notify the boys, “your first game is in two hours against the panthers. you’ve been allocated locker room 3B.”

they make their way into the centre and you trail behind in wait as they find their designated space. warm-ups will be first so they will not be needing their full gear just yet, which means it should not take long for them to change.

inside the locker room, the red devils shrug off their bulky duffle bags and change into their game jerseys, lacing and relacing their skates to ensure the snuggest fits. hongjoong alerts, “boys, time to go out and start warming up,” receiving a chorus of acknowledgement as everyone grabs the rest of the gear that they need.

before jongho places his phone into his assigned locker, he habitually taps on the screen one last time to check for any notifications and finds a single text from his younger brother, jonghyuk. he knows he should not read it, much less right before his first game, but the smaller part inside him that yearns for his family’s recognition dares to hope for something. dragging the preview down to avoid opening it, jongho reads the text.

are you just going to keep pretending you haven’t read our messages?

jongho clenches his jaw and swipes the notification away as if that will also erase it from his mind. tossing his phone into the locker, he shuts it with a harsh swing, resting his forehead against the cool metal as he closes his eyes and breathes out shakily. this game–this championship–jongho has to win; he cannot afford to lose.

“captain.”

hongjoong turns around to see jongho striding up towards him, brows furrowed and voice troubled as he questions, “are we really not going to tell coach what our game plan is? shouldn’t we work together with her?”

“jongho,” the captain sighs, “we got lucky with coach cho, but we know better than anyone else that not all coaches are like him.”

from where he has been listening in on the conversation at the doors leading out of the locker room, seonghwa’s shoulders stiffen. there is a moment of silence; the rest of the team have already made their way to the ice rink.

“what if we lose?”

it is the way that his voice grows small and timid that hongjoong realises it is not his captain that jongho needs right now. hongjoong’s gaze softens as he searches the younger’s eyes, “did your family say something again?”

he receives no answer but it tells him more than enough. “you trust me?”

jongho’s almost imperceptible nod does not escape hongjoong’s observations, so he continues to reassure, “we’ll win. my boys are the best players, you included, and we already have experience playing in this competition.” he ducks down slightly to meet jongho’s gaze, “and even if we do lose? we lose because of our own skills–not because of anybody else.”

his words tug a small smile out of the corner of the youngest’s lips, and hongjoong returns it with a relieved smile. with a nudge, he sends jongho in the direction of the door, where seonghwa pretends to ruffle his hair affectionately knowing that it will be dodged. seonghwa chuckles lightly and watches him walk off, unbeknownst to his captain watching him.

“hey,” hongjoong calls out gently, “i know what you’re thinking, but that wasn’t what i meant.”

seonghwa looks back and winces, “i can’t help it.”

“and that’s why i will keep telling you no matter how many times you need to hear it. it is not your fault–never was, and never will be,” hongjoong cocks his head playfully as he raises an eyebrow.

“same goes to you then, captain,” seonghwa returns the banter, shoulders relaxing and head shaking, “not your fault either.”

“you’re right, so let’s get the fuck out there and smash our game, yeah?” hongjoong slings his arm around the other and leads them both out of the locker room to join the rest of the boys.

what he does not say, though, is that seonghwa is wrong. seonghwa may have been the one to reach out to coach yeon, but hongjoong was the one who made the executive decision to accept and trust coach yeon.

he is not going to make the same mistake twice this time, because it is not just about protecting his dreams, his career, or those of his teammates–it is about protecting the people he loves.

hongjoong will not let them fall…not again.

winter, 2018: regular season

jongho twirls his phone in his hand, intermittently turning the screen on and off. he sits in the corner of the locker room, away from the rest of the boys as they wait for coach yeon to return from checking in and filling out their required paperwork. only several competitions later will they realise that their locker room is small, cramped and dim, but to their fresh, bright-eyed excitement at competing in a professional league for the first time, they hardly have time to critique the assigned space.

the phone comes to a stop. making up his mind, jongho taps on the screen and navigates to the keypad. dialling his mother’s number, he brings the phone up to his ear and waits with bated breath as it is left to ring.

“what do you want,” comes her curt response when she finally picks up.

jongho’s words falter, “oh, nothing…i just wanted to tell you that we’re playing our first game today.”

“game? your little team doesn’t even have a coach,” his mother patronises.

shoulders curling in on themselves, jongho hesitantly voices, “i told you last month that we got a coach.”

“i forgot,” she brushes him off, “and it must not be a very important competition then, seeing as it isn’t worth remembering.”

“there’s prize money,” he reveals. maybe if he can bring some of it home for his parents, they will recognise his efforts.

she sceptically probes, “is it national? international?”

“no…regionals.”

“is it ranked at least?”

“it’s just an entry-level competition for rookie teams,” jongho trails off, discouraged and confidence in shambles.

his mother scoffs at his answers, none of which are the ones she wants to hear. “you have no excuse not to win this competition, then. this is child’s play. just look at jonghyuk. he’s two years younger than you, yet already has his eyes on the olympics. if you lose, i don’t want to hear about it–don’t bring shame to our family.”

“okay,” jongho mumbles, but his answer is only heard by the beeping dial of the ended call…and the rest of the boys it seems, if not apparent by the sombre hush that has settled over the room and the worried lips that he sees when he looks up.

yeosang’s mouth parts, the younger’s name on the tip of his tongue, but then coach yeon enters the locker room and calls for their attention. jongho gives them a reassuring smile before setting his phone beside him on the bench and directing his gaze to their coach, grateful for the distraction. it leaves yeosang and the others with no choice but to drop it for now.

coach yeon erases the old scribbles on the room’s whiteboard and replaces it with rough markings of the hockey rink. he drags the magnets into the different zones, each one representative of a player, as he goes over the final lineup and their respective positions based on the opposing team they have been pooled against.

“stay strong on the offensive and maintain a 2-1-2 formation where possible–yeosang, i want you up there with hongjoong and put pressure on the other team. if they gain puck possession, both of you fall back to where wooyoung is and maintain 3-2.”

the three forwards nod and coach yeon touches one of the magnets positioned on the player’s bench. “jongho, you’ll come on for your shift during the second period. whoever you replace will come back in later to sub the other wing. yeosang and wooyoung, you should both be playing again during the third period.”

“yes, coach,” jongho acknowledges.

coach yeon continues on to review their game plan and hongjoong steps up to assist with detailing their different strategic plays. to jongho though, their words sound like he is listening from underwater as his mind involuntary drifts off. it is a small saving grace that his parents do not care for his match, because it means that they will not see that he is not part of the starting lineup.

for seven of the people in the locker room, winning the competition is an aspiration, but for one of them it is an expectation. and for the remaining individual, the competition in itself is an opportunity, but for an entirely different reason.

winter, present: regular season

inevitably, you find out. when discrepancies start to occur between training, pre-game meetings and the actual games, it is only a matter of time before you start to notice them.

it starts off with the uncommon plays that are simply a response to the game situation–ones that are dire and not often brought up prior to them actually occurring. during their fourth regular game of the season, the red devils are behind by two goals. the last period is almost over when they miraculously gain the power advantage after two of the opposing players are sent to the penalty box in quick succession.

before you realise what is happening, hongjoong gives his team a signal and both yunho and mingi on defence and san in the goal all rush forward to attack with the wings. you can only watch with wide eyes as they risk an empty net in the hopes of scoring two much-needed goals to even the playing field.

wooyoung manages to score one with a quick shot, but with the release of the opponents from the penalty box, their advantage is put to an end and they ultimately finish the match with a loss. you do not dwell too much on their sudden change in tactics despite the lack of communication with you, because you understand that every single game requires a different approach. sometimes, there is no time to strategise, only time to act.

but one occurrence turns into two, and two turns into several. and when, during one of their matches the week prior, jongho and wooyoung swap positions on the left and right sides of the rink as soon as the youngest replaces yeosang’s shift, it becomes quite conclusive that they are deliberately withholding information from you.

the boys are not brainless. it is not a coincidence for you and the team to discuss one game plan in the locker room only for it to completely change the moment they step onto the hockey rink.

you silently watch as the boys prepare for a faceoff in their defensive zone. they are currently playing against the incheon bears and the timing of the penalty puts you all on edge; the score is currently tied four to four and only twelve seconds are left on the clock. you had requested a time-out right as the referee made the call in hopes of stopping the momentum of the opposing team and to tell the boys to play defensively for this faceoff.

“play it safe. stall for the last twelve seconds and drag the game into overtime,” you had ordered.

the incheon bears have made a shift change with their player number four coming on for the faceoff, their right wing who has low stamina but terrifyingly accurate shots. he is responsible for most of his team’s goals and several other scoring attempts that san had only just managed to block. you are also almost certain that they will be aggressively body checking your players to make this faceoff count for them. your forwards have to play safely–not just for the sake of the game’s score.

at your defensive suggestion, san had nodded in agreement with you, “forwards need to make passes with sure lanes–nothing that can risk getting intercepted. go for the reverse setup play if you guys can.”

“we don’t need to take this into overtime,” hongjoong had started to argue, “other than number four, the rest of their offence is weak. as long as we break past him, we have an opportunity to score.”

“captain–”

the whistle blows before mingi can give his two cents, the mere thirty seconds for the time-out far too short, and the boys hurry to enter the rink again. hongjoong leans in quickly to say something to them before they disperse into their positions and mingi glances at you, almost guiltily.

you do not have the confidence that your team will listen. san may have seen the advantages in favouring a defensive play, but he is not the one who will decide which direction the puck will go when the referee drops it onto the ice. hongjoong is.

the hand of the referee raises to signal the start of the faceoff and both team’s centre forwards lower their stance. then the puck hits the ice. hongjoong’s nimble reflexes help him to snap his wrist and twist the puck away from the incheon bear’s player, wooyoung already surging ahead with explosive strides towards the other end of the rink. but just as you fear, the opponent’s left wing thunders at hongjoong with horrifying speed, intention solely to bowl him over onto the ice–not to steal the puck.

“fuck, captain!” you yell, heart leaping up into your throat as it cuts off your breath.

hongjoong’s eyes snap upwards and darken, jaws aching from the force with which he grinds his teeth together despite his mouthguard. he suddenly pivots on the edges of his skates and shifts his weight to only just narrowly miss the body check, then flicks the puck away before another player can knock him down.

he does not need to look before passing to where he knows wooyoung will be, years of synergy allowing their plays to connect seamlessly. except incheon bear’s number four has predicted their exact play, having been watching from the benches and noting your forwards’ preference for aggressive attacks.

“shit,” yunho curses under his breath, ice shaving under his skates from the accelerating force of his strides towards the puck. he is not going to make it in time. “mingi!”

seonghwa jolts up to his feet from the player’s bench, chest mid-inhale with apprehension at the captain’s pass. the puck is intercepted within the blink of an eye and with a well-timed punch turn around yunho’s attempt to regain possession, the rival team’s number four makes a shot for the goal.

it is too fast for mingi’s stick to block–arm still stretching out with desperation–and although san drops down to his knees in hopes of barricading the goal with his leg pads, the trajectory of the puck arcs higher than he had predicted.

as the puck soars past san and hits the netting of the goal, the buzzer sounds in tandem with the eruption of cheers around the rink. all around, the incheon bears swarm towards their number four in joyous celebration. mingi leans over to rest his hands on his knees from both exhaustion and defeat, and the other boys stand in similar stances as the outcome of the game registers in their tired minds.

in an attempt to cheer them up despite his own disappointment, seonghwa half-heartedly smiles at his boys as they slowly start to trudge their way off the rink. “we played well, boys. it was unlucky that our pass got intercepted, but we can do better next time.”

“good thing it isn’t the playoffs yet,” yunho tries to joke, “so we’re still in the competition.”

nobody cracks a smile and wooyoung’s face is dark, hand grabbing the walls in support to favour his left foot whilst lifting his skates over the slight ledge of the bench door. noting his slight limp, san quietly murmurs in worry, “did you tape your ankle?”

wooyoung shakes his head. “i ran out. forgot to buy some yesterday.”

“make sure you ice it tonight then, okay?” san gently supports him by the elbow to the benches so they can loosen the laces of their skates and grab their things before heading to the locker room.

you look away to flip through the notebook in your hand instead, trying to calm the shaking of your hands. ice hockey is a contact sport and you cannot protect the players from every single collision, but that last body check that hongjoong had been unprepared for still has acid pooling into your mouth. you scratch the score ‘4-5’ onto a page filled with their scores from this season thus far. a quick calculation tells you that the red devils have just as many losses as they have wins, which in all honesty, is not looking good.

this…conflict needs to be cleared with the team–with hongjoong. you cannot let this concealment of tactics and blatant changing of strategies right in your face continue any longer, because at the rate they are going, they may not even make it into the playoffs. and as you make eye contact with san, who has been staring despondently at the puck that still lies in his goal, you know that you must clear the air for the team, too. the last thing you need is for their own teamwork to fall apart because their differing opinions on your coaching starts to drive a wedge between them.

san stills when you break your gaze and glance away to pivot on your heels in the direction of the changerooms. from the way your mouth thins and neck becomes rigid, he is quite certain you are not happy—and rightfully so, san must admit. he stalls time by slipping off his bulky gloves and freeing his hands up to remove his helmet and mouthguard too.

noting that the other boys have grabbed most of their belongings, san heads off first to meet you, knowing that they will follow him soon after. he walks down the corridor easily balancing on his skates and rounds the corner to their locker room. except the sight that greets him has his feet halting and taking a step back behind the doorway.

your hand is deep in one of their bags. san is unsure whose bag it is, but the brief glimpse of the black canvas bag he caught is enough to tell him that it is one of theirs. although he is not making any accusations, he also cannot think of a reason as to why you would be rummaging through their bags.

“why are you just standing there?”

jongho’s voice startles him and he mumbles, “nothing,” before stepping through the door with the rest of his team. you are sitting on a bench in front of an empty locker now and if he did not know better, san would think that he had imagined the last minute. he glances discreetly at the bag you had been poking through and recognises it as wooyoung’s.

gingerly seating himself in front of his own locker, san waits on edge as mingi also grasps the atmosphere and sits too. gradually, the boys read the room with tactful glances and linger on their feet or on the benches. all except for one.

“what was that?” you cut through the silence with a directed question at hongjoong.

the captain continues to toss his gloves into his unzipped bag at the bottom of his locker before proceeding to unlace his skates, not once turning to look at you.

“what was what?”

you know fully well that he is aware of what you are talking about but you decide to humour him as you elaborate, “that last faceoff. i clearly told you to play defensively, but you went against it to try for a goal. and let me guess, you told the others to ignore what i said.”

“and so what if i did?” hongjoong challenges. yeosang’s wide eyes dart from side to side and yunho watches on uneasily as his captain finally turns to glare at you. “in that moment–as a player on the rink–i saw the opportunity and took it. if there is a chance to attack, then my team takes it. we don’t run away like cowards.”

the successive jabs at your athletic retirement cause a lick of phantom heat to wrap around your shoulder. your jaw grinds as you hold yourself back from biting the bait. “then i’m curious as to what opportunity you saw every time you decided to withhold game tactics from me, or every time you changed the strategy the moment you and your team stepped foot onto the rink.”

“maybe we would respect and listen to your coaching if it actually suited the playing style of our team. heavy defence may have worked for the grey eagles, but i think you need to reevaluate your abilities as a coach because it seems like you are forgetting that we are not them. forcing us to play defensively like your past team is not going to work for shit, coach,” hongjoong mocks.

you scoff to the side, questioning your own ears. it borders on a laugh, because that is his reason? you have been adjusting their playing style not only based on the situation that arises each game, but in general for their own good. earning his respect be damned, you will not stand for this.

you return the same scornful tone, “well then, captain, considering you just lost the fucking match because you were too arrogant to defend for twelve fucking seconds, i think you should also reevaluate yourself. are you acting in the best interest of your team, or are you acting in the way that best strokes your own ego? and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you.

“if you do not have the decency to at least tell me what you have discussed with the boys so that i can adjust the plays accordingly, then i think the shit results of your games so far speak for themselves. teams have a coach for a reason whether you like it or not…or maybe i should say, whether you trust them or not,” you snap.

running your stressed fingers through your hair, you tear your eyes away from hongjoong’s defiant eyes. the two youngest avoid your gaze, whereas yunho and yeosang simply stare at you with their jaws slack at a loss for words. the fire within you almost quenches when your eyes skim over san, mingi and even seonghwa, who are fiddling with their jerseys with guilt.

the room suddenly feels too small and too stuffy. “change. the bus will be waiting outside,” you mumble, then you leave without a further word.

nobody in the room moves in the wake of the argument, not even hongjoong, who continues to bore holes in the doorway that you have just disappeared through. yunho’s eyes awkwardly dart back and forth between hongjoong and the other boys before they land on the bench you had been sitting on.

the notebook you are always holding is still there, left behind in your haste to leave. he stands up to grab it, turning on his heels to chase after you when the open pages catch his eye. “woah,” yunho breathes out, double-taking and bringing the notebook closer towards him to read the contents. “this is insane.”

you have marked down not only their score for every single game they have played this season, but you have also tracked the statistics of who has scored, assisted, or successfully defended a shot. yunho flips back through the pages as the other boys come to crowd around him. there are logs of their major games from the past five years, diagrams of their faceoff plays and formations, analyses of their strengths in games won and similarly, analyses of their weaknesses in games they have lost.

“oh, fuck,” mingi curses when yunho flips to the more recent pages and they see that you have compiled the same details and information, only more concisely, for every single opponent team the red devils have played against this season. there is no way of seeing this–hours upon hours of hard work–and still questioning your intentions as their coach. “i think we owe coach a huge fuckin’ apology.”

hongjoong immediately furrows his eyebrows with displeasure. “are you taking her side, mingi?”

“captain,” mingi deliberately calls. it is at times like this where being the only logical thinker in the team has its merits. it may be harsh, but mingi must draw the line between their professional and personal life. this dispute must stay strictly within the bounds of their career without blurring the lines over into their romantic involvement with one another, otherwise things could get messy real fast.

mingi stares at the captain as he reasons, “this isn’t about taking sides. from a solely rational point of view, i think it may have been better for us to play safe and defend like coach had suggested.”

from beside him, san nods in agreement. mingi continues, “and i’m not just talking about today–there were a lot of times when coach’s plays might have worked out better than bulldozing ahead with offence. yeah, we’ve won a few games but we’ve also lost just as many. how many of those could we have won if we had trusted coach?”

yunho backs him up whilst gesturing vaguely between the both of them and san, “it’s easier for the three of us to see from defence, but their forwards were already close to intercepting our faceoffs quite a few times that game.”

hongjoong’s immediate thought is to defend himself, because he is their captain and their centre forward; the one who leads them into opportunities to score and win. he knows that every single time he chooses an aggressive play, it is at the risk of weaker defence. the odds have never deterred him, though, because he has always been confident in his abilities–in his team’s abilities.

but if, even now with the palpable experience of losing because of his own decision, it still does not deter him from taking risks in a situation where offence may be his downfall, then is he confident…or overconfident?

it is quiet for a moment. hongjoong swallows the urge to justify against their opinions–against your opinions–instead looking around at his team. he meets jongho’s round eyes and he remembers one of the very reasons why he is so committed to leading the red devils to the gold trophy. why, if he is becoming a hurdle instead to their victory, then he needs to change. “what does everybody else think? seonghwa?”

“we’ve been wary of y/n all this time, but the more games we play and especially after…” the alternate captain vaguely gestures in the air, “...today, we should really work with her instead of relying on ourselves. we’ve seen her notebook, too, and i think that’s more than enough for us to see that the effort and resolve she places in our team is genuine. we need to acknowledge that and apologise.”

“not even coach cho went to these lengths, and most definitely not coach yeon,” yeosang shrugs as he offhandedly comments.

spurred on by everybody else, san carefully voices the thought that has been lingering on his mind, “i think it’s time to tell her the truth. we owe her that much.”

the truth. the wounds that not even coach cho knows of.

hongjoong’s distrust in you may have initially been true to his desire to protect his boys from something like that from happening again. but he is now realising that you may have seen right through him. perhaps at some point in time, it became unwillingness to trust you, blinded by his prideful title as the demon king of the ice rink but at the expense of his team under the guise of wanting to safeguard them.

exhaling shakily, voice thick with regret, hongjoong accepts, “i’ve let you all down, haven’t i?”

“no,” yunho gently rebukes. “letting us down would be refusing to listen to us. we trust you for a reason, hongjoong.”

not just as a captain, but as everything else too.

seonghwa wraps an arm comfortingly around him. with hongjoong’s demonic presence on the ice once he is in the zone, it is easy to forget that he actually has a shorter stature than all of them. “that’s right, we trust you,” seonghwa affirms. “the next step is for us to trust our coach as well. we’re a team, but it isn’t complete without our coach.”

“and this apology isn’t yours alone to bear,” yunho reminds. “like seonghwa said, we’re a team and we all have fault in our behaviour towards y/n. if i’m honest, i had a shitty attitude and gave her a hard time at the start too,” he admits, wincing at the memory.

yunho is not the only one who grimaces as they reflect on their own actions���whether they happened when you were first introduced to the team, during your first training together, or even up until today’s game. but wooyoung, who has been quiet throughout the entire ordeal, still has a niggling doubt: one that is most personal to him in comparison to the rest of the team.

wooyoung reveals his thoughts, “but what about her choice to stop playing? i still can’t think of a good reason that i can respect her for having retired.”

“then we ask her,” mingi proposes.

jongho nods, also curious to know whether there is more to your decision than you have let on. “today, though? we don’t really want to come off as accusatory or anything. it might be good to give her some space today.”

“what’s our schedule looking like tomorrow? training?”

everyone looks at seonghwa, the most likely person to know their schedule off by heart. he does, and he scratches his head as he recalls, “no, recovery day. low-intensity cardio in the morning and…a team meeting with coach in the afternoon.”

“tomorrow it is, then,” hongjoong concludes. there are hums of agreement and the decision appears to appease wooyoung enough for the boys to start dispersing, heading to their lockers to finally start changing out of their gear.

wooyoung tosses his helmet and gloves onto the bench in front of his locker before sitting with a sharp but discreet inhale. he carefully loosens the laces on his skates, easing the left one off his foot slowly. the relief is immediate and his fingertips gingerly touch the throbbing area around his ankle. it is not too swollen, but he will need to ice it when they get back to their apartment and he will definitely need to buy more tape.

he sheds off the rest of his gear and uniform, leaving them on the bench too to air out while he takes a quick shower. as he roughly towels his wet hair afterwards, he drags his kit bag further out to make it easier to toss everything in.

“huh?” wooyoung makes a noise of confusion when he unzips the bag, hand immediately reaching in to grab the item that has caught his eye. it is partially covered by his hoodie but he would be able to recognise the packaging anywhere.

“what’s wrong?” san asks, glancing over.

the younger brandishes the brand new roll of strapping tape he has found in his bag, the frown etched across his face slowly relaxing into amused exasperation as he reasons, “i must not have seen this in my bag all along.”

san is about to snort and make fun of his inattentiveness, but a sudden thought stuns the smile off his face. it was not that wooyoung had managed to miss the spare roll in his bag. it was–

“y/n,” he quietly exhales with realisation.

at wooyoung’s questioning what?, san looks at him with upturned eyebrows. “the tape–coach was the one who put it in your bag, right before we all walked in here.”

“this…she gave it to me?” wooyoung’s face drops, remorse evident in the thickness of his voice. “but why?”

san gently squeezes his shoulder with a smile, simply answering, “because she’s our coach.” he turns to zip up his own kit bag and leaves wooyoung to digest the revelation. the boy is quiet for the rest of the time, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek as he stares ahead and absentmindedly follows the rest of his team out of the locker room.

when they exit the ice arena, they do not expect to see you. and yet, there you stand beside their bus waiting stonily with your jacket zipped up and hands in your pockets. you mentally count them off without acknowledging them as they start to store their kit bags under the bus and board. yeosang gets on first, taking a seat near the front of the bus as usual. he watches from the window as you wait for the rest of the boys.

you follow jongho up the stairs, the last to load his kit bag, and tell the driver that you are all good to leave. yeosang sits a little straighter as he tucks his small backpack further under the seat in front of him with his feet, having left the seat beside him empty. but before he can open his mouth with an offer of a seat, you have already sat right behind the driver. yeosang leans back into the cushions of his seat, unfamiliar with the sense of disappointment he feels.

the ride back from the competition venue–much less after a lost game–is always quiet, players both physically and mentally exhausted from the strain. this time, though, it is strikingly silent, but you appreciate it–need it.

you stare out of the window as the trees flicker past like a repetitive motion film. most of their leaves have already fallen off, littering the ground in a blur of tragic glory. and with the beginning of winter, the trees will soon become completely bare, bringing about the period of time when there is nothing but bleak emptiness.

winter, 2019: regular season

‘2019 ice hockey rookie stars tournament: team standings’

hongjoong stares at the printed piece of paper with seonghwa at his side, where the results of all the team’s round-robin games have been taped up onto the walls of the stadium. hongjoong does not even bother reading from the top, eyes going straight down to the bottom of the page instead.

the red devils are dead last, having lost every single one of their matches. even the korean penguins, who had nil wins either, had managed to beat them earlier today, ranking them at the lowest of all teams. it is fucking humiliating and hongjoong hates that the sport that had brought him and his boys all together, that they had immeasurable love for, is now one that fills them with shame and indignity.

nobody else but the two captains of the team have decided to look at the rankings. they had all already known towards the end of the regular season that they would not stand a chance at making it into the playoffs. and yet, hongjoong and seonghwa need to see the results for themselves. it is almost masochistic, forcing themselves to look at the fruitless results of their hard work in their first competition that has so devastatingly crushed their morality.

seonghwa picks at his cuticles fretfully and wonders whether he made the wrong decision to give up his education in pursuit of becoming an athlete. he thinks of his parents, who had encouraged him with supportive smiles and offers of financial support the moment he brought up the idea–was it all in vain?

“are you two done looking?”

both of the boys turn at the question to find a captain with his team waiting to look at the standings.

“yeah, sorry,” hongjoong mumbles before stepping aside to yield his spot. the players swarm forwards and he is pushed further back away from the list like a physical representation of his distance from the playoffs.

somebody from the other team yells, “we made it! we’re in the playoffs!” and they simultaneously break out into cries and cheers as they celebrate together.

hongjoong watches on bitterly, wishing with every cell in his body that that was him and his boys. how is he going to walk back into the locker room as their captain when all of his boys have eyes that are rimmed red and cheeks that are blotchy from despair–when there are captains like that who have successfully led their team to at least a chance at winning the competition.

the feeling of a pinky slowly hooking around his own draws hongjoong out of his pain. “let’s go back,” seonghwa murmurs, tugging him away from the still-celebrating team. together, both of them start to walk back through the hallways to their locker room. 

“aren’t we down here?” seonghwa questions, standing at the t-intersection that hongjoong has absentmindedly walked straight past.

“oh, yeah. sorry,” hongjoong apologises and begins to backtrack. his ears suddenly perk up at the sound of a voice. “wait, doesn’t that sound like coach?”

before seonghwa can respond, hongjoong has turned around yet again towards the voice in search of their coach. seonghwa hurries to catch up and that is when he hears it too.

“have you transferred the money?”

“yes, i wired you the remaining amount the moment we won,” a deeper, unrecognisable voice reassures.

hongjoong’s footsteps falter, brows knitting together and head cocking to one side. he gestures for seonghwa to slow down, pressing a finger on his other hand to his lips. both of them creep forward silently.

the unfamiliar voice probes, “your team–you’re sure they don’t suspect anything?”

hongjoong and seonghwa do not need to see him to confirm their suspicions when they hear the unmistakable laughter of coach yeon. through the gravelly sound, he mocks, “they have no fucking clue even though they’ve lost every single one of their games. they’re dumber than fucking sheep. their captain tells me everything about their plays and strategies and they never question it when i change things around.”

seonghwa clutches the back of hongjoong’s jersey with a death grip, knowing that without it, his captain will punch coach yeon’s face into a bloody mess. but as much as their coach deserves it, it is not worth the disciplinary action that will inevitably follow, likely suspension, because–

“plus, even if they do somehow find out, what can they do about it? bullshit, that’s what. they have no evidence and they’re not going to risk blowing this up and ruining their own careers instead,” coach yeon boasts smugly. “losing like that as a rookie group in their first year out is completely normal. no one will believe them, and no coach is going to want their team after that because of their ‘shitty sportsmanship’ or out of fear of being accused in the same way if they lose again.”

at coach yeon’s words, seonghwa scrambles to put them into context with his dread-riddled mind. the echoing pounding in his ears tells him that he has just heard something that was never meant to be known. he does not even notice that the voices start to grow distant as the two men begin to walk off, but hongjoong does.

the trembling grip that is still on the back of his jersey grounds hongjoong enough not to throw everything away and sprint up to coach yeon with vile words and heated fists, but he also cannot do nothing. hongjoong peers around the corner before seonghwa can counteract his movement, desperate to identify who exactly coach yeon is talking to. except the revelation has him reeling, hands white from how hard his fingers dig into his palm–a stark contrast to the deep scarlet of flames that leap forth from his murderous eyes.

because the person who is walking beside coach yeon is the coach of the korean penguins. hongjoong and his boys have not been losing because of their skills they believed to be fucking shit–coach yeon has been fucking ensuring they lose.

for money.

winter, present: regular season

you stand on the balcony of your apartment. the sliding glass doors are shut behind you to keep the heat trapped inside, but for now you welcome the refreshing cold of the winter chill as you simply observe.

below on the streets, the miniature specks of people and cars mill around as if you are watching a game simulation. it is strangely humbling to think that each and every one of the people you see are living their own lives, completely distinct to yours with different yet very real problems of their own, but in the grand scheme of the cosmos, you are all insignificant.

you wonder what concern the people holding their coffee are plagued with right now; what problem the people crossing the street are facing. you wonder, if you were to tell them of your worries and they were to tell you of theirs, would you curse or thank the heavens?

the phone in your hand buzzes. you look to see if it is from coach cho and manage a small smile of relief when the notification is indeed from him.

apologies y/n, i was busy earlier. i can call now if you still need me?

you send an affirmative reply, then slide to answer the call that comes through. “hi coach, sorry to bother you.”

“no, you’re alright. is everything okay?”

you hesitate before revealing, “...i messed things up with the boys.”

“the team?” his voice goes gentle, fatherly nature extending to you too. “what happened?”

“hongjoong and i had an argument today after the game because he keeps changing the team’s plays without letting me know, or even after we’ve agreed on something else. it was only meant to be a talk, but then things escalated and we ended up fighting. i just–i don’t know what you saw in me, coach, because i don’t think i’m fit for the boys,” you ramble. “they’re not listening to me, they probably don’t even like me, and we’re going terribly with the season.”

you take a breath as you timidly admit, “i don’t think we’re going to make it into the playoffs and it’s going to be my fault.”

“hey,” coach cho grounds you, “making the playoffs would be great, yes, but the reality is that most teams don’t. and you’re still very young yourself–this is your, what…fifth year of coaching?”

throat too sticky to formulate a response, you simply hum.

“when i first started coaching, i was older than you and it was still a steep learning curve during my first ten years. i believed that coaches deserved the utmost respect and that my opinion was final. they’re my players, so of course i should be the one laying down the laws,” he chuckles. “but growing up was realising that whilst the respect is still there, it needs to be mutual. coaching a team is not a hierarchy of ‘i command, you listen’, but a show of leadership with the captain at the front of the team–not on top of them.”

his words strike a chord within you. coaching the boys was frustrating because they were not listening to you. but it should never have been a case of who listens to who–it should always have been a reciprocated relationship of everyone listening to one other.

as if he can physically feel the guilt that is starting to settle in the pit of your stomach, coach cho draws your attention to something else. “remember what i told you when we met the team for the first time? why i chose you specifically?”

“because of our similar playing styles?” you recall.

“exactly,” he confirms, “you know best the strategies and plays that work, and what their strengths and weaknesses are, because they were also your own. you need to be a coach to their playing style, not the other way around–they shouldn’t be a player to your coaching style.”

you cannot help but worry, “what if they get injured?”

“y/n, this is where your similarities can either be your biggest flaw or your greatest asset as a coach. no matter how safely they play, there will always be a risk of injury. that is just how the sport works and you know that the best. you can teach them to assess the risk and pull back if they really need to, but ultimately, there is no way of eliminating the risk completely.” coach cho pauses, then asks, “if you could meet your younger self, would you make yourself change your playing style?”

would you? as you imagine what you would tell your past self if you had the chance to, you find that you do not have an answer. perhaps for the sake of a prolonged career, you would. but then would it be your passion and skills that are playing the game, or your fears and worries?

if you cannot come to a decision even for yourself, then it is completely unfair for you to restrain the boys within the cages of what you view as safety for their own good. harnessing the defensive skills may have been functional for the grey eagles, but like hongjoong said, you are coaching the red devils now and it is not working for them. you must come to terms that you cannot protect the boys at every opportunity–consciously or unconsciously–you need to be a coach to them.

coach cho, aware that you have come to a conclusion, asks you one final question, “have you told the boys why you retired?”

“no, not yet,” you shake your head. you already have an idea of what he is going to say to you next.

“i think it’s time for you to tell them,” he advises. “remember, y/n, sometimes you need to be vulnerable with them first before you can make things right.”

after coach cho ends the call, you do not make a move to go back inside the apartment. you stay standing on your balcony, arms folded as you lean against the handrail listening to the faint rumble of traffic and hustle of busy activity. life goes on, and so will yours; you just have to make it count.

the trees on the streets may be stripped bare and lonely throughout winter, but eventually you learn to appreciate its nothingness. it is a necessity in order to start afresh.

mingi stares at the blinking cursor that sits in the open search bar. it has been empty for the last twenty minutes since he started up his laptop, wondering whether it would be an invasion of privacy for him to look you up on the internet.

he makes up his mind. he knows that he was the one to tell wooyoung only mere hours ago that they would ask you about your decision to retire tomorrow at the meeting, but mingi supposes it would not hurt to simply see what sort of athlete you were like before.

typing your full name into the search engine, mingi hits ‘enter’ and waits for the results to appear. he combs through the first several links quickly. they all have the same information; ice hockey databases and websites that detail your age, nationality, physical stats and position, but the sections that usually list your team and agency are now blank.

mingi is surprised to learn you were also a centre forward. he scrolls down to your game logs and match statistics that span from 2014 to 2019. you have won an impressive number of championships, most notably the under-18 and under-21 women’s ice hockey league. they are both international competitions and mingi is not sure how your reputation has flown under all of their radars.

frowning, he goes back to the search engine and clicks on the next page in an attempt to find more information. it is not until he clicks yet again to the next page that he finds a low-reputed news article from almost eight years ago where you are the main subject.

‘y/n l/n, youngest player of ‘black cats’, wins ice hockey championship at the age of sixteen’ the headline reads. there is not much to the article, but it outlines your admirable achievement at your young age as a rising prodigy in the ice hockey scene. mingi agrees, since he knows that you also go on to win another international competition a few years after that. just as he is about to close the tab, there is a recommended link that catches his eye.

he hovers his cursor over it. the hyperlinked headline does not explicitly say your name, but the phrasing really only alludes to one athlete considering it is a recommended link on your article. mingi does not know whether he wants to click on it, though, because he is afraid of confirming it is you.

and if it is…then the others will also need to see this too.

“hongjoong, guys, come look at this,” mingi calls out, balancing his laptop on his forearm as he walks out into the open living room. the others look up from where they are sitting or emerge from out of their rooms at his summon.

“what’s this?” hongjoong reaches out to receive the laptop and places it on the table. his eyes skim the screen, trying to make sense of what mingi is showing them.

mingi points to the hyperlink he had been mulling over. “i think we need to look at this.”

solemnity washes over the boys as their curious gazes dull and darken, realisation of what exactly they are reading dawning upon them. all at once, their hearts clench in solidarity. hongjoong clicks on the link. the only sound that permeates the silence is the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall. nobody talks. nobody moves.

ice hockey star announces retirement following shoulder injury june 18, 2019 star player y/n l/n, centre forward of the ‘black cats’, has announced her retirement from professional ice hockey today. her decision follows lingering issues after suffering from a rotator cuff tear during the grand finals of this year’s under-21 women’s ice hockey league. l/n has been under the ice hockey spotlight ever since her win in the under-18’s league as the youngest player on her team. she is well-known for her offensive threat to the opponents, bold playing style and unparalleled skill breaking through the lines of defence.  during the grand finals in april, l/n was body checked from the side by ‘polar bears’’ kim hyejin. although full-body checking is illegal in women’s hockey, it is not uncommon during the heat of competitions. l/n suffered a severe right rotator cuff tear and is reported to have received open surgery last month. l/n did not provide further details about her recovery, however stated that she plans to focus on her physical rehabilitation in the meantime.

the glare of the screen stares back at the boys as they finally understand exactly why you had retired and why you had come back as a coach–you were unable to fully step away from the sport you so loved with your entire life.

“coach wasn’t telling us to play defensively at all the crucial times just for the sake of the game strategy…” seonghwa grasps.

“...but because she didn’t want the same thing to happen to us,” hongjoong finishes. one of your heated remarks during your argument with him suddenly resounds in his mind: and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you. you had been reliving your own demons every single time hongjoong and his boys were playing aggressively on the ice. “fuck,” he mutters.

mingi leans down a little. “wait, see if there are any other articles about this.”

fingers dancing across the keyboard, hongjoong opens up a new tab. another quick search of your name with the keywords ‘injury’ and ‘retirement’ yields no further articles. mingi is certain you would have had more media coverage considering you had suffered an injury at the rising peak of your prodigious career, so he finds it strange that there is close to no information about this.

“it almost looks as if somebody had the articles purged from the internet,” mingi observes.

jongho nods with furrowed brows, “maybe y/n? but why would she go to the length to remove them?”

“i mean, wooyoung didn’t exactly go around flaunting off his injury to the media. maybe she didn’t want the attention anymore,” yeosang guesses.

yunho nudges wooyoung playfully as he comments, “no offence to you, but none of us are exactly famous enough for the media to take interest in our injuries.”

“i think the real question is why coach didn’t tell us that her injury was the reason why she stopped playing,” seonghwa wonders, “it was never really a choice like she made it out to be.”

none of them know the answer. hongjoong slowly closes the laptop, exhaling deeply, “we’ve got a lot of things to clear up tomorrow…and a lot of apologising. i’m going to sleep early. you all should too.”

with that, he gets out of his seat and disappears into his bedroom. hongjoong’s mind is heavy and crowded and he knows he is going to be awake for a while.

nobody sleeps well that night. especially wooyoung.

spring, 2023: playoffs

“what do you mean i can’t compete in the playoffs?”

“you have a fractured ankle, wooyoung. the playoffs are honestly the least of your concerns and if you keep straining yourself like this, it won’t just be the playoffs that you can’t compete in–it’ll be the rest of your life,” coach cho admonishes.

“but this is our first proper championship, coach,” wooyoung begs, “you have to let me play.”

coach cho hates that he has to say no and if he could swap ankles with his player, he would do so in a heartbeat. “this isn’t a choice. you physically cannot play. what are you going to do out there on the ice? crawl?”

“fuck, coach, you don’t understand. it was so hard for us to get to this point. this means everything to me, fuck, please,” wooyoung pleads between heaving breaths.

“i’m sorry, wooyoung,” coach cho apologises, leaving no further room for argument as the other boys divert their gazes to the floor.

hongjoong gently squeezes wooyoung’s shoulder. “the doctor said that your cast can come off in about eight weeks and if it’s looking good, you can gradually join in on any light training when it’s off-season.”

wooyoung does not care because in eight week’s time the playoffs will already be over. he knows he is being unreasonable and that there is no chance he will be able to set foot in an ice rink within the next two months. but his heart and mind are operating separately and the only thing his heart can see is the opportunity of playing in the championships slipping right out of his grasp.

he is already angry at himself for getting injured in the first place but it is not enough to quell wooyoung’s raging inferno. so he does the only thing he can think of in the moment–he spits out his anger with a venomous, “i hate you all.”

it hurts the boys more to see wooyoung hurting and coach cho speaks up on their behalf, “i would rather you hate us now than for you to hate yourself in the future because you traded decades of your career for this one playoff.”

wooyoung jerks his head away defiantly, but they know he is only trying to hide his tears. unable to watch any longer, san moves in closer and pulls the younger into his arms.

“fuck off, san. i don’t need you.”

san swallows the hurt in his chest because he knows there is no truth behind wooyoung’s words. “i know you don’t,” he offers, “but i need you. so just let me stay.”

wooyoung’s body sags as all of the fight slips out of him in the form of shuddering sobs. san embraces him tightly, as if he has picked up all the pieces of the other and only a hug can make him whole again.

“i’m sorry,” wooyoung chokes out.

san shakes his head with reassuring hushes, “don’t be. you focus on recovering and we’ll take it from here.”

like that, wooyoung’s anger is quenched and the team goes on to compete in the playoffs without him. but in the absence of anger comes other emotions, jealousy and insecurity the ugliest of them all. wooyoung despises the bitter taste in his mouth as he sits on the player’s bench outside of the rink each game, only able to helplessly watch his team advance further in the playoffs without him.

and as much as wooyoung wants them to win, he also does not want them to win, because if they can win the championships without him playing as their left wing, then do they really need him at all? he never gets to find out the answer though. they lose in the quarter finals.

wooyoung does not tell anybody about the ill relief he feels…and he vows to take that secret with him to the grave.

winter, present: regular season

the moment you walk into kq’s meeting room, a rehearsed apology for the team on the tip of your tongue, you realise that something is off. not necessarily wrong, per se; just off.

all the boys are sitting around the table as usual, though the overhead projector that is routinely already set up with video footage of their recent games has been put on standby mode. but the thing that unconsciously makes your hackles rise is the expression they all nurse on their faces, strangely familiar yet foreign at the same time. it is familiar in the sense that people have looked at you this way in the past, but it is foreign in the sense that it has never come from the boys before.

“hi, coach,” hongjoong clears his throat awkwardly, opting to look at the wall behind you instead of your eyes as if even he knows this is the first time he has ever addressed you as such. “we had a…talk last night and thought we should probably clear up a few things before we discuss the actual games.”

although you share the same sentiment as they do, hongjoong’s words put you on guard. gingerly, you lower yourself into an empty seat across from him. “i also have a couple of things to say, but you guys start,” you cue.

hongjoong glances at seonghwa beside him, who in turn gives him a miniscule shrug. neither of them know how to bring it up with you as they are afraid of saying the wrong thing. thankfully, mingi steps in, not one to beat around the bush.

“why didn’t you tell us about your injury?” he asks directly.

with mingi’s question, you are suddenly able to place their expression. the boys look at you warily as if you are a wounded animal they are afraid will run away. you loathed the expression years ago when it was from your coach, your teammates and your family–the constant treading on eggshells around you with pitying eyes–and you still loathe it just as much as you do now.

your prickles emerge and your instinctive reaction is to deny it. you have kept your injury a secret up until now for a reason and the unexpected confrontation has all of your sirens blaring to keep it a secret. but then you remember coach cho’s advice–you remember the apology you had mulled over all night–and you force your prickles to retract.

you take a breath. coach cho would not have told them about your injury, so there is only one way the boys could have found out about it. “you read the articles, didn’t you?”

mingi at least has the decency to look sheepish as he admits, “one…but there weren’t any others.”

“i thought as much,” you mumble to yourself, smiling tightly. you choose not to think about how they came across the article. “i wanted them all removed and my agency managed to pull enough connections to sweep the articles under the rug, but i should have known that in this day and age it would be impossible to get rid of any media completely.”

the question remains as to why you have chosen to keep this hidden and also–

“why did you want them removed, though?” hongjoong furrows his brows.

you have faced countless demons in the last six years. the injury itself, the abrupt end to your golden days, and the forced reconciliation with the fact that you will never be able to play again. and yet, the demon that continues to haunt you to this day is the media spotlight that chases after you as if you are a circus animal.

you are unable to look at any of them in the eye as you finally bare yourself open to the boys. “the articles felt belittling and shameful–they still do. they made me feel less as an athlete then and they make me feel less as a coach now. i worked my heart and soul to get to where i was with the skills that i had, but you don’t understand just how crippling it is for all of that to be overshadowed by an injury. it was no longer a celebration of my achievements, simply because nobody cared anymore. it just became a fucking broken record of, ‘how does it feel to have fallen at the peak of your career?’

“then when i became a coach, it didn’t matter how well my team performed or how hard they worked to win the championships. the question became, ‘how does it feel to coach after being forced to retire because of your injury?’ no matter how hard i tried, i just could not escape the hellhole of my injury.”

guilt settles in the pit of mingi’s stomach as it also does for the others. they may not have written the article, but by consuming it and searching for more, they had unknowingly joined the faceless masses of those who had hurt you.

you dig your thumbs into the flesh of your thighs to stop your voice from shaking as you continue, “the media will not care for the achievements that myself or my players accomplish when there is something even better–a sob story. but i do not need that kind of pity. not from athletes, not from other coaches, and most definitely not from strangers silently pitying my life from behind their newspaper or screen when i did not ask for any of it. i made people forget and i kept this all hidden because my career, be it as a coach or a former athlete, does not deserve to be reduced to that kind of shit.”

the raw honesty behind your words strikes the boys silent. what they thought they had started to understand about you, they are now realising was barely the tip of the iceberg. seonghwa wonders for just how long you have left this wound bleeding and untreated. he calls out for you sadly, “coach, you should’ve told us.”

when you look up, you are surprised to find wetness brimming his eyes. you feel the hot rush of emotions build up behind your own eyes but from anger, because why is he upset? what reason does he have to cry when you are the one who has suffered all this time?

your voice is biting when you respond, “and have you look down on me like everybody else? i just said, i do not need your pity–”

“it’s not pity,” a voice interrupts firmly. of all people, you least expected it to come from wooyoung. his tone stays unyielding as he holds your gaze. “we’re athletes too, y/n.”

the way he includes you in the collective–as an athlete–has your glare softening immediately, replaced by the dangerous quivering of your bottom lip while he elaborates, albeit voice gentler now, “we are hurting for you–with you. it is not pity; it is standing by your side in hopes that we can help you up if you ever fall again.”

because it is okay to fall, and you will fall; wooyoung knows that the best.

you tilt your head upwards as you desperately blink back the tears that suddenly threaten to spill. the swell of emotions that had churned in your chest had not been anger but fatigue, you realise. wooyoung’s words give you sudden clarity that you are tired–of suffering alone and in silence. you want help.

“i’m tired of hurting,” you confess quietly.

“then let us share the hurt with you.”

the dam breaks and your tears fall freely down your cheeks. it starts off with a nod so miniscule that the boys think they have imagined it, but then slowly and surely, your head moves up and down with more conviction. “okay,” you whisper.

you had always thought that you had come to terms with your injury and the end of your career, but perhaps you are still mourning your loss…and perhaps that is okay. like looking into a time-warped mirror, wooyoung sees the fight slip out of your body with a sob as you apologise, “i’m sorry.”

san wants to cross the room and wrap his arms around you if it can take away even just a fraction of your hurt. but he knows that he cannot cross the boundaries of professionalism despite the intimate nature of the conversation right now, especially when you and the team are only just starting to patch things up. so instead, he opts to rub his thumb over the knuckles of wooyoung’s hand from under the table, which has slipped into his, hoping that one day he will be able to do the same for you.

“we understand,” hongjoong answers on their behalf, “you were doing what you needed to do in order to protect yourself.”

and if you do not realise that he says those words for himself and his team to hear too, then you will by the end of the conversation as you walk away with a newfound understanding of them.

“no, not just for that,” you shake your head, roughly swiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “it ended up negatively influencing the way i coached you guys, even if it was subconscious. i let my own trauma dictate how i wanted you to play: defensively all the time whether it was needed or not. hongjoong, you were right about me not coaching your team as your team.”

you try your damned hardest to keep your voice steady so that you can look at them properly to apologise, “i’m sorry i made it so hard to trust me as your coach.”

“okay, let me stop you right there,” yunho smiles gently, sliding a tissue box in your direction. “we were pricks too, so half the apology is ours.”

“don’t call her a prick,” seonghwa whispers. his horrified expression relaxes when you break out into a wet chuckle.

hongjoong is glad that you are able to find something to laugh about even with your cheeks still damp and blotchy, and he finds his mouth curling into a bittersweet smile. you have been honest and vulnerable with them and now it is their turn.

“we have something to tell you about our past coach,” he starts, drawing your gaze to him. “not coach cho–our very first coach. we’re not trying to justify that what we did as a result was okay, but…”

“but hopefully i can understand,” you finish when hongjoong hesitates. he nods and you mirror his action with a reassuring smile to encourage him to talk.

but irregardless of what they tell you, you already know that you want to understand them, because understanding is the first step to forgiving, and you want that too.

so with intermittent comments from the other boys, hongjoong reveals to you the hidden wounds they have been nursing. and as they tell you about coach yeon, how their trust in him had been misplaced, how he had betrayed it for money at the expense of their championship, and how they had then let that become mistrust in you and your reason for retiring, wooyoung finds himself quiet so that he can steal glances at you.

he can see it now. the untameable beast within you of passion for ice hockey that has been forcibly chained down to the ground with the weight of the earth. the devastating torment that must incessantly surge through you in the most debilitating waves, tenfold any anguish he felt when he was unable to compete in the playoffs. the blemished canvas of dark and ghastly emotions that you do not let see the light of day, yet continue to coexist in hidden silence.

it is there and then that wooyoung realises you and him may be more similar than he thought–that you may actually understand him better than any of his seven boys.

you stop the drill.

yeosang gracefully turns in an arc whilst keeping the puck close to his stick as hongjoong and seonghwa dig their skates into the ice to brake before their momentum takes out the younger.

“let’s have jongho try using the perimeter of the rink instead of passing to yeosang this time. start the faceoff again,” you instruct.

the chorus of responses that you receive are zealous, even slightly teasing as the boys lower their voices with a, “yes, coach!” and give you small salutes with their gloved hands. you cannot help but snort and shake your head, waving at them to retake their positions.

practice is short today, since your team has a game tomorrow. the first half an hour consisted of running through offensive formations for power plays and you are now focusing on defensive penalty kills. your two captains and wooyoung are playing as the mock opponents, preparing your remaining wings and defenseman for a situation where they are down a player.

hongjoong seems to mull over a thought as he looks at the formation of his boys. “you mentioned the team we’re playing against has a tendency to position their forwards higher up, didn’t you?” he asks and  when you nod, he suggests, “what do you think about trying the diamond formation instead? might help close some of their shooting lanes.”

with the captain’s input, you reposition yeosang further up to form the tip of the diamond, and yunho too to cover the right point whilst jongho covers the left. mingi moves in a little closer to the goal to cover the bottom of the diamond and you make sure to point out the importance of his position.

“if the opportunity arises, we can transition into a counterattack instead with 3-1. but we’ll need to make sure we still cover the goal in case they turn it back over again–mingi, this will probably be you. support whoever has the puck from behind, but make sure you don’t go too far forward.”

mingi answers with an affirmative and yeosang passes the puck to hongjoong for him to commence the penalty kill. at your whistle, the rink explodes into action. wooyoung and seonghwa immediately split down the perimeters to open up shooting lanes for their captain, who passes the puck off to wooyoung the moment he has cleared half the rink. with a brief adjustment of the puck’s angle, he attempts a cross-ice pass to where seonghwa is free on the other side.

with astonishing speed, jongho intercepts the puck and yells, “3-1!” he continues to barrel forward with the momentum of his explosive acceleration towards the goal as yeosang anticipates a pass and yunho joins the counterattack rush to his right. the three of your players charge forwards with adrenaline as mingi covers them from behind. jongho chips the puck over hongjoong’s stick, which is immediately taken up by yeosang. without a goaltender, he finishes it off with an easy shot into the net.

the tempo and execution of the rush surprises not just you, but the boys themselves too, who are tapping their sticks together with elated excitement at the success of the play. it may only be a simulated practice drill, but you still share in the same pride and contentment that hongjoong’s face glows at you with.

he cocks his head to the side with a paired smile and you return the same nonverbal acknowledgement. corners of your lips still lifted up, you gather the boys, “let’s have a drink break.”

as the boys make their way over to the benches, removing their gloves and helmets, you eye the water bottles and make sure you have enough–five in the cooler and three on the bench beside it. san bounds up to you after grabbing one from the cooler, bragging, “coach! did you see the way jongho intercepted that puck?”

from beside him, wooyoung reenacts the moment with wild flails of his limbs and airy whooshes from his mouth, jongho watching with bashful giggles. you indulge in their animated recount and listen intently. “he was amazingly fast,” you agree.

yeosang passes an opened bottle to wooyoung before untwisting the lid to his own, commenting, “the ankle weights on top of all the training must be working.”

the boys are not currently wearing any, but you had slowly implemented the use of vests, ankle or wrist weights during specific drills. now that they have taken them off and are playing without the burden of the additional mass, you are all starting to see the gains of their hard work.

you smirk with satisfaction, “of course. if my players are going to bulldoze across the ice, may as well make them fast enough to avoid all the opponents.”

“don’t encourage her,” wooyoung elbows yeosang scandalously. “she’s going to make us wear heavier weights next practice.”

“you don’t get to complain if you don’t even wear the weights,” you quip.

he knows his injury means that he cannot wear the weights in case it places stress on his ankle, so he curses at you with no real heat just for the sake of cursing, “fuck you.”

you wink, “love you too.”

wooyoung shuts his mouth and scrunches the bridge of his nose with faux displeasure, and jongho laughs at his inability to faze you. you glance down and open your notebook to mention, “on that note, though, how do we feel about going up a few hundred grams next week?”

“i’m fine with that,” yeosang says at the same time jongho confirms, “sounds good.” most of the other boys also nod that they are fine with increasing their weights, save for seonghwa who notifies you that he is still adjusting so he will keep his as it is for now.

you jot down ticks and crosses next to their names corresponding to their answers whilst suggesting, “yunho and mingi, you can both probably try half a kilogram since your body masses are higher.”

said boys peer over your shoulder to see what their new weights would be, then yunho makes a noise of intriguement. “coach, did you write these?”

you look to where his finger is pointing to–sticky notes upon sticky notes of unorganised observations and reminders to yourself. starting to feel self-conscious, you deny, “...no,” only for yunho to swipe the notebook from out of your grasp. “hey!”

he holds it up and open above him, voice gleeful as he reads one out, “‘jongho, wooyoung and yeosang prefer water at room temperature when training–take bottles out of cooler!’”

“aw, coach,” wooyoung coos, “did you deliberately leave three bottles in room temperature for us on the bench?”

feeling your ears heat up from being exposed, you swipe at the notebook. your skates give you added height, but so do yunho’s skates, so your attempts to jump for it are futile.

“‘boys want to eat abura soba after their win’,” he continues to read, pausing to let out a dramatic gasp, “are you going to treat us, coach?” his question is met with enthusiasm.

when another wild swipe sends a sharp sting down your shoulder from the movement, reminding you of the pain that had flared up a few days ago, you decide to change tactics. you grab the back and front of his jersey with your hands, completely ready to commit to scaling him like a literal tree. but then a different set of hands easily takes the notebook out of yunho’s and of course it would be mingi. you insult, “give it back, you tall buffoon!”

mingi is hardly fazed as you switch targets to him, your fingertips nowhere near reaching the notebook as he snickers and reads, “‘trial jongho as starting forward–wait.” he lowers his hands with sobriety and you are finally able to snatch the notebook back, shutting it before they can read any more of your sticky notes. it is not like there is anything they cannot know, but it is sort of embarrassing for them to see how much attention you pay to them.

“you want jongho on the starting lineup?” mingi confirms that he has not read it wrong, eyes as wide as all the other boys as they look at you.

jongho is almost certain that you must have meant somebody else, or something else, because there is no way that he would be given the opportunity to start for the team–not when they have yeosang and wooyoung as their wings, and the choice of hongjoong or seonghwa as their centres. he is used to being the player who momentarily relieves others of their shift on the ice, or as his parents so like to remind him, option b.

“why do you all look so surprised?” you frown. beckoning at jongho with your chin, you ask, “you’ve been practising hard to make your right hand just as good as your left hand, haven’t you? so let’s take advantage of your versatility and unpredictability on ice and throw the opponents off. what do you think?”

jongho’s mouth opens and shuts, struggling to formulate an answer through his wide beam other than, “i–of course, if you’d let me–if everyone else is happy.”

the pleased smile on hongjoong’s face is enough to make his cheeks sore and he wraps his arm around the youngest’s shoulders. he praises, “look at you, our wild card and our hidden ace,” as seonghwa declares, “i know he’ll do us so proud.”

both yeosang and wooyoung simultaneously offer their positions in the starting lineup and the rest of the boys watch on with fond expressions. they are grateful that you have recognised the talents and hard work of their youngest. although you are not aware, this opportunity holds significance not just in regards to his career.

you conclude, “we’ve been on a good streak with our games. let’s ride the momentum and show the other teams what jongho is capable of–what we’re all capable of.”

“yes, coach!” they shout, the loud echo of their voices reverberating and filling the rink with buzzing energy for the remainder of the training session.

spirits still high by the time you call it a wrap, you let them change as you grab your own belongings. there is a team meeting in the afternoon so you and the boys will be going back to kq to eat at the cafeteria and use the booked room. you pause when you see wooyoung loitering by your bag. he still has not changed out of his practice clothes.

“i’m not letting you on the bus if you’re planning on staying in those clothes,” you joke.

“i’m going to change!” he scowls indignantly, then avoids eye contact as he thrusts something out in your direction. he mumbles, “had some spares. didn’t want them. just dumping them with you so you can stash them or use them or whatever, i don’t care.”

you grab the small bag, brows creased with confusion, but wooyoung dashes away to change before you can ask what it is. you peer inside and to your pleasant surprise, there are two packs of pain relief patches. your shoulder protests at the lack of attention you have given it in the last few days. the pain is chronic and never really goes away, but it has been bothering you more than usual recently, so it is all in good timing that you now have some patches.

you make a mental note to stick one on when you get to the company and grab your bag after ensuring your notebook is stored inside. as you head towards the change rooms to wait for the boys, you spot a piece of paper on the floor. it looks like rubbish that you must have missed on your way in earlier so you pick it up to throw away. but when your fingertips touch the familiar sheen of the wax-like paper, you realise wooyoung must have dropped it.

it is confirmed when you unfold it to read the text and see that it is from yesterday evening, at the pharmacy that is just across the street from the company; in your hands you hold wooyoung’s receipt for two packs of pain relief patches.

spring marks the start of the playoffs. in synchronisation with the burst of life that blooms with the season, your boys, too, flourish in the league.

the unpredictability of your team’s strategies that entail a mix of both yours and hongjoong’s prowess helps to secure wins over the remainder of the regular season. despite the unsteady start to the season, it allows your team to scrape into the round of sixteen near the bottom of the standings.

the red devils are seeded against the team that is third in the rankings, and then against the sixth-standing team in the quarterfinals. in upsets that knock out two of the most anticipated teams in the league, your boys advance into the semifinals, their reputation as the demons of the ice rink that had laid low now rapidly spreading.

where none of the other competitors had paid you and your players any mind before, barely even noticing your presence, the opponents now glance and watch your team walk past with an air of confidence through the arena. their tense jaws and hard gazes size up your athletes–formidable rivals who have suddenly barrelled up the ranks from out of nowhere and now pose perhaps the biggest threat as a team that has somehow slipped under their radars.

you know; your team may be small in numbers. but with yunho and mingi flanking the sides of the boys, and even with hongjoong’s charismatic aura alone leading the front, which extends around him like a dark cloud of terror and envelops the rest of the group too, your team is a pack of predators at the tip of the apex.

other players part to make a path for your boys, whose heads are held high and eyes are set only on their captain and you, their coach, as you all walk to your assigned changeroom. the nerves have long dissipated because the ice rink is your territory and the other teams are your prey.

the moment you shut the door behind the last of them into the room though, the icy stare in wooyoung’s eyes melt and he exclaims, “holy shit, did you see the way everybody was looking at us? we must have looked so fucking hot, i wish i could ask for my own signature.”

from their glowing faces alone, you can tell that they are all basking in the feeling of finally being recognised and reckoned with. yunho bats his eyelids and pinches his voice higher into a falsetto, “oh wooyoung! you’re so handsome and cool, could i please have your signature?”

mingi imitates him and pounces on wooyoung, begging for a photo together as he clings onto his elbow. it sets off the rest of the boys to crowd around like mock fans with faux exhilaration. you snort at their antics, leaving wooyoung to sign imaginary sheets of paper with his imaginary pen in favour of ensuring all of their backup equipment and gear is correctly located outside or in the storage area.

you allow the boys adequate time to change into their full gear for their warm-up prior to the actual semifinal game before you walk back into the locker room. your ears perk up when you catch the end of san’s question, “that’s good for us, isn’t it?”

“what is?” you ask out of curiosity, flipping open the provided cooler and adding several sports drinks into the ice.

“i overheard someone on the white tigers team say that their head coach happened to fall sick, so they have their assistant coach today,” jongho mentions.

the surge of brazen smiles and reassured glints in their eyes at the reveal of information makes you falter to a degree. you lightly chastise, “don’t let that get to your heads and start being cocky–play as you usually do and do not underestimate them just because their head coach is off.”

you pull your notebook out of your bag, the familiar cover and weight of the book providing you with a sense of security as you remind the boys, “the white tigers have a very similar playing style as us. we may have worked hard on our defensive strategies, but with similar strengths and weaknesses overall, it won’t hurt for us to still be cautious.”

“yes, coach,” they chorus.

hongjoong nods, “let’s go warm up, then finalise our starting lineup for the game.”

your team’s allocated time on the rink passes by quickly and it is followed by the last adjustments to the discussed strategies and game plan, thorough checks of their gear, and the remaining boys who are still wearing their practice jerseys change out of the blue into their red game uniform. in full gear, there your boys stand, presence intimidating and demoniac. the boys do not live up to their team name; their team name lives up to them.

they stride through the hallway for their semifinal game against the white tigers. right at the end before it leads to the ice rink, yunho yells, “pep talk, captain!”

hongjoong groans, rolling his eyes, but places the blade of his stick onto the rubber flooring nonetheless. the rest of the boys huddle around, their sticks meeting in the centre of the circle and standing close together so that their helmets and shoulders knock against one another. you are also swept into the circle with yeosang and san by your sides.

“boys…and girl,” hongjoong snickers to himself before recollecting his very inspirational train of thought, “we’ve fought hard to make it this far–this is the first time we’ve made it into the semis, so let’s keep running until the very end, yeah?”

to the team’s increasingly loud cheers, hongjoong yells, “let’s fuck it up out there!”

their sticks hit the ground in unison and despite the muted sound of the cushioned flooring, their shouts of fighting resolve and unwavering determination drown out everything else. together, you emerge from the hallway and your starting players take their positions on the ice, ready to fuck it up.

only, it happens literally.

the moment the puck hits the ice and the white tigers’ centre forward, byun, wrestles it away with his blade, hongjoong immediately knows it is going to be one of those games. the ones where his competitive grit is fueling his mind ablaze but his body is leaden-footed as if he is wading through quicksand; where his body is just unable to keep up and move the way he wants it to. it is one of those days where his condition is just inexplicably off and there is nothing he can do about it except hope that his years of training and sheer aptitude for the sport will be enough.

“fuck,” you curse under your breath at hongjoong’s slip as jongho and yeosang rush to fall back and support those in defence. “he wasn’t like that during the warm-ups.”

byun is not only agile and swift, but is almost an identical reflection of hongjoong’s own bold and assertive offence. the centre forward powers through with evasive turns around yunho’s attempt to body check him, unafraid and confident. passing the blue line into your team’s defensive zone, byun flicks the puck at the goal.

the point shot is an unexceptional attempt to score, nothing that san’s reflexive goaltending cannot take care of. he extends his left foot and blocks the low shot with his leg pad, where the puck then slides in yunho’s direction. you did not doubt for a moment that san would not be able to save the shot, but it is still a close call that is far too early in the game to be a good sign.

your team’s greatest strength is their unspoken synergy and seamless unity, but it is also their greatest weakness. when one player stumbles, particularly when it is their captain–the very roots of the team–their bond runs so deeply that it throws their teamwork out of harmony and ultimately impacts the entire team.

with san’s save, yunho regains possession and handles the puck around the back of their net to shake off the pressure that the white tigers’ forwards are placing on him, as well as to buy his own team some time to reassemble in their formation.

you know that this is not going to work for long; you have to change the momentum of the game, and fast. “seonghwa, get ready,” you alert. “you’re going on for hongjoong.”

the alternate captain stands, alarmed at the unexpected line change so early into the game. he grips his stick with white knuckles and watches his team as he waits for your cue. yunho hits the puck against the boards where yeosang successfully receives the rebound.

“breakout!” yeosang yells and rushes forward with the chasing skates of the opponents nipping at his heels. jongho clears the centre line into the offensive zone at the same time hongjoong screens and blocks the view of the white tigers’ goaltender, setting up for an opportunity to score.

when the opponent’s left defence and wing advance on yeosang rapidly, he fakes a deceptive pass towards the boards before twisting the blade of his stick and flicking the puck between their skates instead in hongjoong’s direction. but like an eagle honing in on a small rodent, byun swoops in to snatch the puck, flipping the possession again.

the tides turn and all the athletes on the rink race towards your team’s net, a cutthroat competition between triumph and desperation to chase the puck. byun passes to the player on his left as they both dash closer, the left forward immediately returning the puck the moment he receives it to break past mingi’s defence.

you are able to see the white tigers’ right wing following closely behind ready for a drop pass, but in your team’s frenzied minds, they are unable to read the play. yunho approaches byun, who is expecting the defence and leaves the puck behind whilst skating on, knowing that it will be received by his trailing teammate. with the momentary confusion that is enough to disrupt both yunho and san’s gaze on the puck, the opponent’s right wing winds his stick back just enough to build power without sacrificing speed, then slaps the puck into the corner of the goal–

–and scores. within the first three minutes of the game.

“seonghwa,” you call out again with urgency as the whistle blows. you turn to look at him, “you’re up. you have to break the flow of the team. not just the white tigers, but ours too–the boys are panicking and you need to help anchor them.”

he nods, steadying his hand on the board in preparation to hop over it, and you yell out for the captain, “change!”

hongjoong sees the gesture of your hand pointing at the bench, and although his chest tightens with frustration at himself, he speeds towards the edge of the rink to change. once the captain is close enough, seonghwa pushes his skate off the benches to launch himself over the top of the boards onto the ice then propels himself forward to take the centre faceoff.

the captain sits down heavily on the bench, defeat already broiling off of his slumped body in smothering swells. you really cannot afford to take your eyes off the game; it waits for nobody and the whistle has already blown, the rink erupting into commotion. but whilst you need to watch the game unfold, you need hongjoong just as much, and his team needs him.

you turn him slightly to face you so that he can see your face of resolution. “you are the captain, so be the captain–for the team…and for yourself,” you invigorate, voice raised so that he can hear you over the noise of the stadium. 

you give his shoulder a hard squeeze, certain he will not be able to even feel it from under the pads of his uniform. regardless, he understands your intentions and nods grimly, the fog in his eyes clearing. wooyoung taps the back of his helmet in a show of encouragement and hongjoong returns the gesture with appreciation. 

a particularly loud thump draws the attention of all three of you back to the game. from the grimace on yeosang’s face and his hand steadying himself on the boards, it is obvious he has just been body checked into the wall. seonghwa pursues the puck with graceful yet powerful speed before he digs both skates perpendicular into the ice to suddenly change direction. pushing off, he accelerates back towards the white tigers’ defensive zone when mingi manages to disrupt the opponent’s stickhandling enough for yunho to sweep the puck and skate it up the perimeter of the rink away from their net.

wooyoung also goes on for yeosang but as the left wing, so jongho switches position to play as the right forward. he skates past the benches when an opportunity arises and he hands off his stick whilst grabbing his right-handed stick from you with practised ease.

with the line change of forwards and with seonghwa on as your centre, your team stabilises to an extent. the red devils are no longer being pushed back but they are also unable to push forward. the game is at a stalemate, although the tides remain in favour of the white tigers with both their positional and psychological advantage of the first goal.

you can see the pressure weighing down on your boys; passes that yunho and mingi would be capable of executing blindfolded are miscalculated; predictable manoeuvres still mislead wooyoung in the wrong direction; seonghwa and jongho fail to notice the opportunities for clear passing and shooting lanes; and the openings appear far too wide and innumerable for san to cover the goal from. the relentless offensive pressure that the white tigers places on your team, strikingly similar to how the boys played when you first started coaching them, does not give any breathing room either.

so that is how the first period comes to an end–losing zero to one with none of your players performing at their best condition. their steps are heavy and burdened as they walk back to the locker room for the intermission, helmets removed the moment they come off the ice to reveal hardened expressions. in the privacy of your assigned room, most of the boys adjust the pads in their gear and yunho peels off his shin guards to let them air out.

you pass around their iced bottles and as exhausted as they are, they make sure to voice their gratitude. san grabs wooyoung’s bottle for him, since the younger is bent over loosening the laces of his left skate. “here,” san murmurs, twisting open the cap and passing it to wooyoung once he straightens his back.

similarly, seonghwa hands over an opened bottle to yeosang before taking a swig of his own. “you’re okay?” he checks, the particularly rough body check that yeosang had copped earlier in the game still at the forefront of his mind.

yeosang gives the alternate captain a reassuring smile, “i’m okay.”

appeased by the answer, seonghwa turns to look at hongjoong, who is re-taping the blade of his stick. “what about you?” seonghwa softly asks, “you’re feeling okay?”

hongjoong glances up briefly at the back of your figure. you are busy shifting the red magnets around on the whiteboard and erasing the markings you had made prior to the start of the semifinals. when you turn around to gather their attention, you accidentally make eye contact with him and break out into a small smile.

“yeah,” hongjoong replies, “i’m feeling okay.”

“alright, listen up boys, that was just the first period. we’re not even halfway into this game and we’ve started to even up the playing field now that we’ve found our footing,” you encourage. “we just have to make sure we keep our heads cool and read their plays instead of simply reacting to their movements.”

you look at each of them as you direct, “their centre forward, byun, has been on for almost all of first period, so there’s probably going to be a shift change, if not a complete line change of forwards. they have the leniency to swap out their top players since they’re in the lead, which means if we want to break their momentum, we need to break it then.”

shifting yourself slightly out of the way, the boys are able to see the new arrangement of positions you have marked out on the whiteboard. “we’re starting the second period by sharpening our offence in the 2-2-1 formation,” you explain. you beckon your head at the captain, “hongjoong, you’re back on. you and wooyoung are to position yourselves up high between the neutral and offensive zones–try to screen their goaltender when our boys have possession. yunho, i want you to move up to our blue line with jongho and open up as many passing lanes as you two can. mingi will stay in defence and help cover the goal with san in case the white tigers makes a counterattack.

“use this opportunity to make as many scoring chances as you can. if there isn’t a clear shot but there’s a chance it can be continued on by another one of us, then go for it anyway–any sort of pressure we can put on their team is better than none.”

your forwards nod with understanding, so you continue to the most important point, “but the moment byun and the wings–kim and song, i think they are–come back on, we’re reversing the formation.” you reposition half of the magnets into a 1-2-2 formation. “only hongjoong will stay up high; wooyoung will fall back and join jongho in the neutral zone; put pressure on their forwards from there. yunho and mingi, you’ll play left and right defence as usual.”

san listens intently when you start moving the black magnets that represent the opposing players and call out to him directly. you warn, “san, be careful of their drop passes. kim and song have been skating forward but leaving the puck behind for byun to score multiple times throughout the first period. they have you primed to predict it now, so they’re probably going to change their tactic and pass directly in front of the goal instead.”

“yes, coach,” san acknowledges.

a glance at the screen on the wall of the locker room tells you that there are only a few minutes left of the intermission. “gear up and get ready to go back on,” you instruct the boys.

they make final adjustments to their pads and yunho tapes his shin guards back into place under his socks. you make sure they all have their helmets and sticks when they start to file out of the locker room once they are ready and you grab wooyoung’s gloves for him while he ties the laces of his skates again.

“thanks,” he reaches out for them as he stands up. except he stumbles slightly when he puts weight on his left ankle and your hand instinctively grabs his to steady him.

your eyes grow wide with concern. you know that wooyoung is the type to keep quiet about his pain, even if you ask, “does your ankle hurt?”

“no, my legs just fell asleep on me from sitting,” he reassures, conscious of your hand that still holds his. he smiles through his lie and hopes that you are unable to pick up on it. the buzzer sounds before you can, though, warning you both that there is only one minute remaining until the game resumes.

hurriedly you tell him, “let me know if you need to come off.”

somebody yells out your names, forcing you both to rush off to join the rest of the team in the hallway. wooyoung knows that he should admit to you right there and then that his ankle does hurt, but he will not–he cannot…because he owes it to his team.

they do not know and they will never know, but there is not a day that goes past where wooyoung does not feel guilty for having desired for their loss last year. he has to play and win this championship for his team because only then can he start to forgive himself. but until he wins, he deserves to suffer.

those in the lineup rapidly glide across the ice to take their positions, wooyoung included. a short buzzer sounds, the puck is dropped, and the second period starts. immediately you can see that your boys have the advantage. the white tigers had not expected you to take such an aggressive approach of offence considering that you are losing.

and sure enough, just as you had predicted, their coach has changed their entire line of forwards. the players are still undeniably skilled, but they visibly struggle to match the pace at which hongjoong and wooyoung are now leading your team to attack.

the rink is under the boys’ control; the neutral zone has become a stronghold with the resistance of both jongho and yunho’s combined strength and mingi’s reinforcement from behind. wooyoung weaves through the players with polished agility as he creates passing opportunities around the offensive zone, whilst hongjoong makes his own path with imposing might, his devilish wings spread. and even if the white tigers somehow manage to gain possession of the puck and break past your defence, san looks impossibly larger than the goal itself, leaving no openings for their forwards to score.

it is well into the second period when the perfect play sets itself up. with mingi blocking any possible rebounds off the boards, yunho’s attempt to body check the white tigers’ right wing forces the player to pass the puck across the ice. before their centre forward is able to receive it, jongho has already intercepted and is thundering ahead with his stick controlling the puck.

“high!” he shouts, ploughing through the neutral zone as wooyoung and hongjoong immediately respond to his call and skate up towards the goal.

jongho deliberately looks at his captain but flicks the puck with a forehand pass in the other direction, too fast for the defenders to react to. wooyoung easily receives the anticipated pass, thighs burning and his left ankle stinging as he rushes towards the goal from the left with powerful acceleration. the white tigers’ goaltender immediately lowers his stance and raises his arms in preparation to block his shot.

in the corner of his eye, wooyoung sees hongjoong matching his lightning pace on his right, the captain’s eyes narrowed with concentration and body weight tilted forward as he hurtles past the defenders. wooyoung pretends to wind up his stick for a slap shot into the net, only to twist the angle of his arms at the last second to send the puck skittering across the ice directly parallel to the goal. the goaltender drops down to his knees, having anticipated a scoring attempt, except the puck is now nearing hongjoong.

hongjoong sees it clearly–the trajectory that the puck is taking and the perfect point where it needs to meet his stick. without breaking its momentum, his arms contract to swing his stick and the blade collides with the puck with forceful precision, sending it hurtling through the air. the goaltender desperately scrabbles back onto his skates to defend the other side of the goal, but it is too late.

the puck flies past the posts and hits the netting.

the horn blares and echoing cheers erupt throughout the stadium as the lights flick on to shine across the net and your forward players. hongjoong yells with fierce triumph, stick raised into the air as wooyoung excitedly collides into him. the duo disappear amongst the bodies of your boys as they swarm around them feverish exuberance.

“that’s our fucking captain–” “–woo’s assist was insane!”

hongjoong cannot even tell who is who as he is jostled around in overjoyed laughter and beaming smiles, numerous hands reaching out to tap his and wooyoung’s helmets and shoulders. from outside the rink, you, seonghwa and yeosang have long stopped sitting on the benches, bodies too strung tight with hopeful tension to stay seated, so you are immediately swept up into a hug as the three of you celebrate the goal with identical exhilaration.

the game is still far from over but the morale has just skyrocketed through the roof as if the red devils have scored the winning goal. combined with the team’s fans electrifying the atmosphere of the stadium, it definitely feels like it, and you are starting to see hope that the ones advancing to the finals after today will be your boys.

“line change!” you faintly hear, so you still to watch all three of the white tigers’ forwards skate towards the boards. byun, kim and song jump onto the rink, back on offence in the wake of your goal.

hongjoong makes eye contact with you when you search for him amongst the team huddle and in unison, you both nod, pride and determination unspoken in your gazes–the real game is about to start now. the boys start to disperse and take up their positions around the marked circle for the centre faceoff, and hongjoong and byun meet head-to-head once again in the middle of the rink.

the white tigers’ centre forward smirks condescendingly, “cute goal.”

hongjoong’s face thunders over but he will not let himself resort to dirty sportsmanship. he bites his tongue and lowers his stance, focusing his attention on the game instead.

“ready,” the referee signals, then the puck is released.

byun manages to steal it and sends it backwards to his defensemen to open up more passing lanes, but as discussed, your boys mutually move into the 1-2-2 formation to fortify against their offensive plays. despite the pressure of the white tigers’ top forwards back in play, your team is riding on the momentum of your goal; although you had been treading to keep your heads above the water during the first period, there is now an air of confidence that permeates the ambience of the rink in favour of your boys. 

an angled pass from their defence rebounds off the boards and kim receives it high in the neutral zone. he attempts an immediate pass across the ice to song, except the safety net of your player’s defensive formation allows mingi to thrust out with his stick to intercept the pass. he signals, “breakout!” before deflecting it to wooyoung.

the turnover of possession immediately triggers a switch in defence to offence as wooyoung handles the puck back the other way. his wrists twist the stick with measured coordination, controlling the blade and puck as an extension of his own hands while approaching the offensive zone. wooyoung sees the white tigers’ defensemen racing towards him so he abruptly pivots towards the left to drag the black disc around their extended sticks.

suddenly, a sharp pain engulfs his ankle that has his legs crumbling as he staggers off balance. wooyoung manages to stay upright, using his stick to steady himself, but the momentary stumble is more than enough of an opening for byun to steal possession from behind him.

the rival centre forward swerves around jongho then stays close to the perimeter to avoid mingi’s resistant defence. behind mingi, san splays his legs out as he prepares to block the left side of the goal, but byun continues blazing on and wraps around the back of the net. san follows his movement and swiftly shifts over to the right instead while byun cradles the puck with his blade to lift it into the air the moment he approaches.

yunho cannot risk a penalty by raising his own stick to block its trajectory, so he shifts his body in hopes of deflecting the shot before it reaches san. but byun’s wrists snap and tuck the airborne puck at a sharp angle right past the red goalpost…and the horn blows to mark the scoring of a goal.

your jaw plummets at the same time that your heart does. not even your lungs work, your body frozen stock-still. once more, the white tigers are back in the lead only mere minutes after the score had been painstakingly tied by your team.

“fuck!” wooyoung curses and slams his gloved fist against the ice, having dropped to his knees in enraged denial.

seonghwa looks on with despondence from beside you as hongjoong drags wooyoung back up to his feet. the captain’s jaws are clenched in frustration but only because of the score itself–never because of his boys. when mingi and yunho try to comfort san with firm squeezes and uttered reassurances, he can only return a tight smile, all three of their breaths heavy and irregular from exertion and dismay.

for the boys to have climbed so arduously and persistently to even the scores, only to be knocked off and their momentum obliterated so mercilessly soon, it is even more demoralising than the white tigers’ first goal. after all, the higher the climb, the harder the fall.

through the deep ache in your heart, you mutedly say to yeosang, “go on for wooyoung, and tell jongho to change sticks and play as left wing.”

“yes, coach,” he replies, voice delicate. yeosang waits as you gesture for wooyoung to come off before he hops over the boards and skates in jongho’s direction.

“woo,” you murmur as your left wing makes his way back to the benches, but he avoids your gaze and keeps his head down. you bite your lips and decide not to push it for now. instead, you press an opened bottle into his gloved hand.

wooyoung is thankful that the bottle is half empty, because his hand unconsciously clenches around it with quivering shame and he would have spilled the water were it full. he makes no move to bring the bottle up to his lips; he doubts the water would go down his constricted throat anyway. the penetrative guilt of his tears hurts immeasurably more than the piercing throb of his ankle because he may have just cost his team the win…again.

even when the buzzer signals the end of the second period, wooyoung dares not to look up. the score is one to two and it is his fault. the intermission passes by in a haze of dissociation, his body robotically moving on autopilot into the locker room and back to the ice rink. wooyoung does not even know whether there are line changes to the positions or whether the game strategy has been altered.

but it does not matter because it does not concern him–as if any coach would put him on after his grave mistake. what wooyoung fails to notice though is the glances of worry in his direction, and they do not come solely from his boys.

the stakes run at their highest in the third and final period. tension suffocates the entire stadium, invisible hands that snake around your throats with a hangman’s loose and make you break out into cold sweats. all the players on the ice rink put everything that they have on the line because by the end of the next twenty minutes, only one team will be advancing to the finals.

from the moment the puck is dropped into play and the timer resumes, the rink is a torrential battlefield of contesting skates and grappling sticks. dramatic passes and unforeseen interceptions lead to rapid turnovers that force both teams to hastily switch back and forth between offence and defence.

but everyone learns of the juxtapositions of the world early on in life. there is no light without dark, there is no happiness without sadness, there is no spring without autumn…and there is no victory without defeat. for every scoring attempt that the red devils make, the white tigers make three, steadily and gradually pushing your boys back in the final stretch of the game. and while most of your forwards’ goals are blocked in the nick of time, most of theirs are not.

as a last resort in the face of the crisis, you calculate the risks then add seonghwa onto the field. “yunho, change!” you yell, pulling him off defence.

“behind you,” byun alerts song as seonghwa powers across the ice right into the cutthroat action, before cursing when the white tigers nearly lose possession of the puck.

your two captains unrelentingly pursue the black disc at the forefront of your team, their complementary synergy and unity a whirlwind of prowess to be reckoned with as they try not to let the burden of scoring weigh them down. despite the overwhelming pressure as the team’s last line of defence, even more so now that you have sacrificed stability to capitalise on having two centre forwards, san’s cat-like eyes do not cloud over, only intensely scanning the field and the opponent’s plays.

you glance at the clock. there are only two minutes left and even the combined efforts of your forwards is not working. you never thought that you would ever have to do this as a coach, but now you are afraid there is no choice. “yunho,” you urge.

his head turns to you and you see the ashen pallor of your own face reflected on his as the very probable outcome of the game dawns across your minds. you make your decision. “you’re going back on. for san.”

yunho’s eyes widen. “for san? i can’t play as goaltender–”

“no,” you shake your head, “we’re playing without a goaltender.”

sixty seconds.

save for wooyoung, all of your defenders, wings and centre forwards make a last-minute spurt to attack, not letting their bodies recover for even a split second as they strain their burning legs and gasping lungs.

thirty seconds.

they desperately break past the physical boundaries of their own stamina into their last reserves of pure grit and will, draining every last drop that their mental resilience has to offer.

ten seconds.

they do not give up. they try again and again to score. but against all of your prayers, all of your tears and sweat and against all of your hopes, the gap does not close. the final buzzer blares throughout the entire stadium, marking the red devil’s loss.

two to six.

your players stand motionless, ghosts of denial and despair amongst the crazed jumps and bounds of celebration as the white tigers flock across the rink towards one another. hongjoong tilts his head upwards to stop the rush of tears from falling down his face, both yunho and seonghwa mirrors of his pain as sweat and tears drip down in salty trails. san grasps the edge of the board in front of him, his head hung low and shoulders quaking from how hard he tries to stifle his sobs so that wooyoung does not hear him.

not one of your boys are able to accept the results of the match. not even you can bring yourself to utter a single word of consolation, be it for yourself or for them. and as you watch the wretched image of your heartbroken boys, choking back tears of your own that you are unaware still manage to escape the corners of your eyes, the only sounds in your ears their stricken cries, you are reminded that the path of an athlete and coach is nothing like its portrayal in movies and stories; where hard work triumphs and leads to sure success.

the harsh reality is that there is no dramatic comeback. there is no underdog victory. there is no miracle and there is no final to advance to. you and your boys lose by triple the amount of your own goals and just like that, the journey has come to an end at the semifinals.

it is an anticlimactic defeat, the gap so far that your team could not even see the light at the end of the tunnel. and somehow…that feels far worse than losing by just a marginal difference.

the locker room is mostly quiet, the silence punctuated only by the closing of zippers and rustling of canvas as the boys who have finished showering and changing pack the rest of their gear for the final time. there are no more intermittent sniffles, leaving behind a miserable hush of emptiness instead. even the dying flicker of the light in the far corner of the ceiling thrums with more energy than the boys combined.

you sit on one of the benches and absentmindedly thumb through your notebook. seonghwa sits to your right, his kit bag already long organised and tidied to preoccupy his mind. the warmth from the close proximity of your thighs and elbows is a gracious comfort to the both of you. it no longer makes your backs straighten with uptightness, conscious of the boundaries between coach and athlete–not after your hearts and bodies melded together in hugs of solace after the final buzzer of the semifinals and melted away those lines.

seonghwa places his hand soothingly on your knee and murmurs, “stop looking at that. we’ll think about it later all together.”

none of the words or diagrams had been registering in your head, but you nod and close your notebook anyway. he probably does not want to see it either. you rest your head back against the wall behind you with a small exhale, blankly watching your team instead until your eyes travel around the room. 

you count, then count again, before calling out, “captain, is wooyoung still showering?”

hongjoong cranes his neck around at the same time that everybody else does as well. “don’t think so,” he frowns, “i’m pretty sure he was one of the first ones out.”

wooyoung’s kit bag is still unpacked in his locker, so he is definitely not already waiting for the bus outside. before his absence can raise any alarms–the last thing the boys need on their plate right now–you stand and announce, “i’ll go find him. he probably just lost track of time.”

“do you need me to come with you?” yeosang rises to his feet.

you shake your head and reassure, “keep packing your bag.” then you turn to make your way out of the locker room when somebody calls out for you.

“coach, wait.”

it’s san, who skitters in front of you to press something into your hands. “give this to him when you see him?”

the item crinkles and a glance downwards reveals that it is an instant ice pack. you smile softly, stuffing it into the pocket of your jacket and hoping that nobody notices the ice pack that is already in there. “of course,” you gently touch his forearm. “i’ll be back.”

this time you make it out to the corridor but you do not get further than four steps before another voice stops you.

“coach!”

when you turn around, hongjoong emerges from the doorway. he slows down as he catches up to stand in front of you. “i…” his voice falters. “i’m sorry.”

i’m sorry i didn’t realise wooyoung was gone. i’m sorry i didn’t do my job as captain…and i’m sorry for losing. 

“no,” you shake your head. “don’t be.” because you tried your best…and you did not give up. beckoning in the direction of the locker room, you tell him, “take care of the boys, okay? i’ll be back with wooyoung.”

the rigidity in hongjoong’s shoulders dissipates. “thank you…y/n.”

you smile, “anytime, hongjoong.” you wait for him to walk back inside before you finally turn to find wooyoung.

the arena is massive but apart from the locker room–which you already know wooyoung is not in–there are limited places that offer privacy from the multitude of people who mill around, be it other athletes, staff or spectators. you know from personal experience, so you head to the one place that is usually guaranteed to be somewhat out of the public eye.

“oh, fuck me,” wooyoung startles when you sit yourself down heavily on the same step as him, his curse echoing around the both of you. “how the fuck did you know i would be here?”

you snort, bumping his shoulder with yours. “i hate to burst your bubble, but this isn’t exactly an original experience. i’m pretty sure every athlete has hidden here to cry at one point in their career.”

the slight spark of light that had ignited within wooyoung at your appearance suddenly flickers out, reminded of why exactly he is hiding in the emergency stairwell in the first place. shame tears his eyes away from you, unable to meet your gaze any longer.

“i want to be left alone,” he murmurs.

although you respect his request, that is the opposite of what he needs. left to his own thoughts and devices, you know that wooyoung will spiral dangerously in guilt and self-reproach, even if the red devil’s loss is not his fault–is not anybody’s fault.

the two of you sit in silence, wooyoung intermittently swiping at a lone tear that threatens to drip off his chin, and you mulling over the words that you hold close to your heart. eventually, you break the quietude with a soft chuckle.

“the first game i ever played i was actually on left defence. our team was losing by two goals and i suddenly had the puck. i still remember seeing an opening in the goal and feeling the surge of confidence that i did when i hit the puck…but you know what?”

wooyoung does not answer, does not look up from where he is picking at his cuticles, but you can feel his curiosity so you continue, “it was an own goal. i scored into my own team’s net and it wasn’t until i scored another goal before i finally realised which way i was meant to go. obviously, my team wasn’t very happy with me, but then i ended up winning the game for them anyway and that’s how i started playing as centre forward.

“there was also a time during internationals where i argued against the ref’s call and got myself put into the penalty box. it cost our team a goal–the tiebreaker, too. i learnt my lesson and never did that again. and then there was the first couple of years i started to coached. i thought i had enough experience as a player to be a perfect coach. it wasn’t until one of my teams told me to pull my head out of my ass that i realised i was anything but.”

that gets a small snicker from out of him. you deliberate, “i’d like to think that we make the best team now, though.”

he scowls disgruntledly, “we’re your only team.”

“and my favourite team, too,” you laugh softly, gauging his expression. “my point is, wooyoung, we all make mistakes. but the reason why we make them in the first place is because we love playing. we do what our heart wants to in the moment and we play for ourselves because otherwise, there would be nothing left of us without ice hockey. what matters is that we stand up again and learn from the experience.”

wooyoung feels the weight of your words settling heavily in his chest because they are only half true to him. his passion and love for the sport indeed burns eternally as a blazing inferno inside of him, but his persistence to play today was due to ulterior motives. to acknowledge that aloud is a different story, though.

your voice takes on a lighter tone, “although i guess in this case, you should be sitting down with that ankle of yours. you know you should not be gambling with your injuries.”

he finally looks at you; a former athlete who did not even have the luxury to gamble your injury. it suddenly scares him to imagine just an ounce of the conflicting anguish that must course through you at his continuous decisions to endanger his own career–the anguish that you have made sure to never show, lest it affect them.

“do you ever feel angry?” wooyoung abruptly asks, voice laced with hesitation.

it is your turn to look away. you know that the question is not directed at himself but your entire career. with a bittersweet chuckle, you allow yourself to admit, “every day. i still get angry and i still get upset. i wake up in the morning wondering why it had to be me and i go to bed at night wondering why i didn’t deserve a second chance.

“but i’m okay; it gets easier to be okay. coaching means that i still get to go on the ice, i still get to experience the adrenaline of games and i still get to play through you guys. and most of all…i still have a team. i don’t know if i will ever stop feeling angry, but it’s better than it used to be.”

at your admission, wooyoung is reminded of how you are possibly the only one who would be able to truly understand him. he musters his courage and confesses, “i wanted us to lose last year…and we did end up losing.”

it catches you off guard, the direction of the conversation not what you had expected, but you neutralise your expression and tone so as to not make him feel defensive. “how come?”

he swallows. “my ankle–i fractured it last year just before we made it into the playoffs, so i wasn’t able to compete. i had been so angry at first; angry at myself for getting injured, angry at my coach for not letting me play, angry at my team because they could play. then when it became clear that i wasn’t going to be able to compete regardless of how angry i was, i became jealous, insecure and…afraid. jongho and i share the same position, and i mean, look at him now–he’s able to play both left and right wing. if they had won the playoffs without me, then would the team really need me?

“they did end up losing, just like i had wanted them to, but that made me feel so much worse–made me realise just how terrible i am of a person. the guilt eats me alive every single day and i tell myself that i will make it up to them this time, that i will risk everything to win for them…” wooyoung scoffs pathetically at himself, “only for me to fuck things up because of my fucking ankle again.”

you get it. the slow gnawing of yourself from the endless feelings that you ‘should not have’ until you become no more than an empty husk. ever since your own injury, you have spent nights on end trying to reconcile with your emotions in your own confusing and formidable journey, but for the first time ever, you are grateful that you did–because you can keep wooyoung company on his. 

you carefully voice, “i think it was okay for you to have felt the way that you did. they’re your feelings and nobody can invalidate them nor your experience. what i came to realise was that all of those ‘ugly’ feelings do not make us ugly for having them–they simply make us human. it is only a problem when those feelings end up hurting other people, but i think the person you hurt the most…was yourself, wooyoung.”

at your words, he looks at you with wide eyes, a fresh swell of wetness gathering in them. wooyoung is kind and loving to everybody, yet has never once thought about deserving that kindness and love for himself. you smile gently, trying to hide the slight quiver in your own lips as your heart clenches with a desire to be loved in his stead.

“you know, woo, i’ve watched basically all of your past games including the quarterfinals from last year. but if i were to compare it to today’s game, it was as if two completely different teams were playing. your team was alive today–a truly united team where every member is the driving force behind each other’s passion for the game. i am pretty confident when i say that a huge part of it was because you were playing with them–because the team was finally whole again.

“yes, the trophy and the championship title is coveted but it is not what truly matters to them and neither to you. it wasn’t the actual win itself that you wanted today, but being able to win for them. and if your boys were to pick between winning without you and losing with you, i’m pretty sure you know better than i do what their immediate choice would be.”

should the other boys be here right now, they would instantly berate your ears off for even suggesting the first option. the thought flickers through wooyoung’s mind too and the corners of his lips tug upwards slightly.

still, he apprehensively confirms, “...no one is angry at me?”

“no,” you reply, voice soft, “not at all. but we are worried.”

you are reminded of the weight in the pocket of your jacket. pulling it out, you present the ice pack to wooyoung. “look, san told me to give this to you.”

his fingertips brush against your palm when he reaches out, hand hovering over the ice pack as if he does not dare to touch it. “san did?” he whispers.

when you nod, the final confirmation that he needs that nobody–you included–harbours ill feelings for him and his actions, he allows himself to take the ice pack. allows himself to love himself.

“you need to take care of your body,” you fondly chastise, lightening the atmosphere. “did coach cho not drill into you that as an athlete, your body is your most valuable asset? if you thought he was bad, he’s going to seem like an angel when i’m through with you. you won’t just be banned from playing, i’ll tie you to the bed to make sure you don’t walk on that ankle.”

wooyoung laughs through the few tears that are left, mood lifted enough to suggestively lift his eyebrows and quip, “kinky.” his laughter grows when you punch his arm in response.

no longer does he have to carry this burden alone because you are there for him now. but you know that you are not the only one who can be there for wooyoung. the dynamic between the boys runs past mere teammates and from what you have noticed, quite possibly even friends.

tentatively, you suggest, “maybe this is something you should tell the others about. that way you can truly let things go.”

his gaze wavers at the idea as he looks at you. yet, the miniscule smile and encouraging nod you give him fills him with tranquillity. perhaps it is time to let go, but the only way he can truly do that is if he is honest to the boys about his feelings–if he is honest to himself.

“okay,” he breathes out softly.

you grace him with another beat of silence before you stand up, extending your hand out to him. “let’s go.”

wooyoung takes your offered hand and lets you pull him up to his feet. he does not know if it is intentional, but the slight squeeze you give him right before your hand lets go of his fills him with warmth. the feeling stays with him even when he activates the ice pack as you two walk back to the locker room.

right at the doorway where the rest of the team is behind, you stop. you place your hand on wooyoung’s back, whose brows are starting to furrow in confusion. “i’ll be waiting out here. take your time,” you tell him.

“thank you, coach,” wooyoung returns your soft smile.

before you can think better of it, you reply, “i wasn’t talking to you as your coach…but as your friend.” then you nudge him towards the doorway with tender encouragement, waiting for him to walk through the threshold before you close the door behind him.

the first few months you had coached the red devils, mistrust had been in the shape of private conversations that deliberately excluded you. but now, trust is in the conversations that you know you do not need to be a part of. so you simply lean against the wall and wait.

and when they emerge from the locker room half an hour later, you know you have made the right decision upon seeing their eased expressions and relaxed shoulders. the air is still sombre, their defeat in the semifinals still fresh at the forefront of everybody’s minds, but what matters now is that they will face the loss together–the eight of them and you.

“here you go.”

hongjoong hands you your bag so that you do not have to go back in to grab it. you take it graciously from him, then with him by your side, you two lead the group through the arena–past the gazes and whispers that follow your group–and out to the team’s bus.

first to load his kit bag, yeosang takes his usual seat towards the front and waits. he has long developed the habit of placing his backpack under the seat in front of him instead of beside him. as the bus starts to pull away once all the bags are properly stored, you wordlessly take the seat next to him. your knees intermittently brush up against each other with the slight sway of the bus, but neither one of you make a move to shift your legs away.

you and yeosang watch the outside world whirl by the window, just like you always do. except the flowers that have bloomed among the trees–that had been bursts of positivity and vibrancy only just this morning–are now bittersweet reminders of the fall that you and the boys have just experienced.

a brief movement below your line of vision causes you to glance down. it is yeosang’s hand, palm upturned with a silent invitation of solace. you slide your fingers into his, an extension of the comfort you wish to give to them, and them to you.

what you and the boys do not realise, though, is that your flowers have simply bloomed elsewhere.

your jaw drops in sync with the last of the heavy suitcases that seonghwa rests on the floor outside their apartment complex. the amount of his luggage is easily equivalent to at least half the team’s.

“these are all yours?” you confirm.

seonghwa looks at you strangely, “of course. why?”

you look at him strangely. “are you planning on moving? why did you pack enough for a trip around the world?”

“well somebody didn’t want to tell us where we were going, so i had to make sure i was prepared for wherever our destination would be.”

“it’s called a surprise for a reason,” you shake your head, “and i did tell you to pack for cold weather, didn’t i?”

seonghwa fakes offence, scoffing, “can i remind you that it is still spring here, so my apologies for assuming that it might potentially mean we are travelling overseas.”

“you’re such a worrywart, you old fart,” wooyoung teases, circling around the older on his rideable suitcase.

seonghwa yelps when the wheels nearly run over his toes and he threatens, “next time you wet through your entire pack of underwear, don’t come crawling and begging for my spares.”

the suitcase halts indignantly to a stop with its rider. “that was one time,” wooyoung complains, “and it wasn’t even my fault!”

“it wasn’t even my fault,” seonghwa mocks. “i told you not to put your shampoo in a ziplock bag but no, you said that it would be fine.”

wooyoung sticks his index finger up. “correction, hongjoong said that it would be fine.”

“what the fuck, wooyoung,” hongjoong blanches at the sudden disclosure.

“and that’s exactly where you are at fault,” seonghwa cocks his eyebrow at wooyoung. “why would you listen to him?”

“what the fuck, seonghwa. i’m your captain,” hongjoong scowls.

“only during games.”

when you make eye contact with san, the two of you can only sigh with amused resignation. the rest of the boys shake their heads and proceed to load their luggage onto the bus, leaving the trio to feud it out in the background.

as mingi stacks his luggage beside yunho’s, he turns to ask, “are you sure we don’t need our kits?”

“you all brought your skates and sticks with you?” you question in return. when mingi and yunho nod, you reassure them, “then that’s all you need.”

jongho pipes up from beside you, “but what about training?”

“mental training,” you simply grin before hopping up the stairs to sit beside yeosang.

the boys gradually take their seats, even wooyoung and the two oldest despite their continued bickering. somebody yells out over the commotion, “coach! are you going to tell us where we’re going now?”

you peer backwards over the top of your seat to find everyone’s eager eyes on you. “nope,” you snicker, “you’ll find out when we get there. we are going on a holiday though, i’ll tell you that much.”

there is a surge of excitement at your confirmation and a similar fluttering eagerness flits through you, except yours is because you cannot wait to see their reactions. you really hope that the next two weeks will help to reset the team’s morale and give them a much-needed break.

“kq let us go on holiday?” yeosang asks with an impressed look as you settle back in your seat.

you give him a proud smirk. “i’m pretty convincing when i want to be. plus, we just had playoffs and we would all benefit from the rest. what better time to do that than at the start of the off-season?”

“there is no better time.”

“exactly.”

and so the bus starts the four-hour drive towards what the boys will soon come to realise is a team retreat. mingi connects his phone to the bluetooth, in charge of shuffling the music that blasts through the speakers, turning the atmosphere of the bus into a lively concert once it becomes obvious that it is going to be a long trip.

you have to yell over their deafening singing–which you have to admit actually sounds quite impressive–numerous times for them to sit their asses down, their enthusiasm uncontainable by the seat belts and law regulations. but they look their age, free and untroubled; just a group of boys up to their silly antics with one another, so you cannot bring yourself to truly regulate them.

the bus drives on, making a rest stop at one of the service areas along the highway so that you can stretch your legs in fresh air, use the restrooms and most importantly–

“food!”

their hollers resound before the doors of the bus even open. the second that the gap is large enough to fit one of them through, most of the boys go sprinting off like a stampede of toddlers in the direction of the food court.

wooyoung stays back and slips his arm through the crook of your elbow when you step off the bus too. he grins mischievously, “i’m sticking with you so you can pay for my food.”

“oh, stop it,” yunho tugs him away, pulling even harder when it only serves to make wooyoung’s grasp tighten around your arm. “i’ll pay for your food. leave her wallet alone.”

you laugh brightly as you are jostled around and you pull a card out of your back pocket, holding it up like a golden ticket. you waggle your brows playfully, “it’s on the company card.”

both wooyoung and yunho freeze. their eyes instantaneously start to glimmer, faces radiating when they slowly look at each other. then before you can react, they pounce on you, linking their arm through yours on either side of you and dragging you along to catch up with the rest of the team.

“buy whatever you want!” wooyoung brags and waves the card that he has seized off of you, “it’s on me!”

the service area itself is a field trip as the eight boys cause carnage throughout, except the destruction is in the number of times they swipe the company card. their hands quickly fill with rice cakes and fish skewers, corn dogs and grilled squid, more bags of walnut pastries and roasted potatoes tucked safely under their elbows. they demolish the snacks at the same rate it takes for the next ones to be prepared and the card is tossed around to keep up with their purchases.

they do not forget about the drinks either, getting iced americanos and barley tea to go along with their snacks, and banana milk and soda for the next leg of the trip. whatever catches their eyes–basically everything they lay their eyes upon–they buy. you do have to draw the line at daytime drinking though, narrowing your eyes at the cases of beer jongho and yunho try to pick up until they sheepishly put them back.

(you also end up having to purchase motion sickness tablets because seonghwa and mingi gorge themselves so full on snacks that they are queasy before they even make it back on the bus. kq’s president sends you a text too, asking just what exactly you and the boys have bought to rack up almost forty consecutive purchases at a service area. but the subsequent message asking if they are enjoying themselves tells you that his question is all in good fun.)

their energy mellows out during the last hour of the trip, both from tiring themselves out and from the gradual change in the scenery outside the windows. no longer can you see an endless mirage of highway road and open fields.

as the miles build up the further you travel, it leads deeper into a mountainous woodland with the trees growing denser and thicker around you. the narrower road winds around the base of hills and the bus driver carefully navigates the undisturbed peace of the forest. it starts to get colder and when the branches of the trees gradually dress themselves in dappled layers of snow, more of you shoulder on the thick coats and puffer jackets you had told them to bring.

the bus eventually arrives at a clearing amongst the pine trees, revealing a large but welcoming cottage pension. its wooden exterior and sloped roof gives it a distinctly cosy and rustic look, with large glass doors spanning the entire height of the walls that will let you admire the surrounding mountainous beauty from inside. off to the side of the cottage, there is a sizeable lake that has frozen over and immediately, you know that this was the perfect place to choose.

the boys press their faces against the window to get a better look as the bus pulls up beside the accommodation. “woah,” they breathe out, their exhales fogging up the glass.

they follow you off the bus in a trance, mouths open and unable to peel their eyes away lest they waste even a second to drink up the sight before them. here, in the heart of the taebaek mountains, it is still a winter wonderland despite the spring blossoms that cover the rest of seoul.

you turn to face them, walking backwards slowly and spreading your arms out with fond tenderness. “welcome to your home for the next two weeks, boys.”

even though it is simply an illusion created by taebaek’s geographical location and mountainous terrain, this time you find yourself appreciating the coldness and bareness of the winter-like ambience that cocoons you and your boys. it is as if time has stopped and there are no worries…only time to heal and start afresh.

living together, even if just for a holiday, is different.

you are used to only seeing the team in their training clothes, practice jerseys or bulked up in their padded gear and uniform. but here, the boys wear lounging sweatpants and worn hoodies, hair soft and poking into their eyes, bodies and expressions unguarded as they laze around. and where you are used to only seeing them at training, meetings and games, all rigorously scheduled and planned, there are no expectations to follow and no limits as to when you see them here.

the boys have their own organised chaoticness to their daily routines, having been living together for almost seven years now, and it seamlessly integrates into the space of the cottage too. but what truly surprises you and them is how you naturally blend into it.

when you rented the pension, you had ensured there were at least three bathrooms to accommodate all nine of you. however, you quickly discover that numbers mean nothing because the boys are incapable of staggering their morning and nightly bathroom routines one by one like you had assumed they would. you also realise that it is not that they are incapable, but that they like and want to do everything together.

space within a room holds no meaning to them and they are perfectly content to stand pressed up against each other’s sides, expertly dodging elbows and leaning over one another to reach for their toothbrushes or skincare. after that first night, you wake up in the morning and patter off in search for the least cramped bathroom to wriggle yourself into, up to three of you sharing the large sink and mirror that now looks comparatively tiny as you brush your teeth together.

more often than not, you find yourself sandwiched between yunho and mingi. it is moreso a matter of neither boy letting you escape from their clutches if you happen to peer into whichever bathroom they have crammed themselves into.

“we make the perfect ratio as the two tallest plus you as the shortest,” mingi likes to rationalise, “so it averages out perfectly with three boys in each of the other bathrooms.”

“but san’s shoulders are basically the equivalent of two grown men, so your point is invalid no matter how we divide ourselves up,” you like to argue back.

except they refuse to see reason. instead, yunho raises the volume of the speaker he has set on the sink’s counter that blasts out music to playfully drown you out. you relent every time and it turns into goofy dancing from the three of you as you pull silly expressions at one another in the mirror. when you rinse your mouth, mingi will start a gargling competition without fail, but none of you have lasted for more than three seconds before you begin to choke with laughter.

(when you are with people you like, everything is funny.)

seonghwa shakes his head whenever he passes the bathroom, insisting, “the only thing you guys are missing is a disco ball.” he is definitely not jealous of the fun you three are having. not at all.

the eldest has his own routine though, visible in the way he prepares everybody’s cups of coffee in the morning. they are all made differently according to individual preferences; no sugar, double shots, a dash of milk, brown sugar, matcha powder or decaf. and despite the fact that yeosang is usually up the earliest, seonghwa does not allow him to make his own coffee.

seonghwa claims it is because nobody knows how to properly use the drip brewer, but yeosang sits next to you and murmurs into your ear, “he just won’t admit that he likes to make them for us.” it must be the chill of the morning, but yeosang’s warm, whispery voice always sends goosebumps over your arms.

by the second morning, seonghwa finds himself naturally grabbing an extra cup and the hot surprise greets you with one and a half teaspoons of sugar in it, just how you like it. hongjoong emerges from the bathroom moments later to grab his cup and as he takes a careful sip, his eyes flit over the remaining cups on the table. seonghwa can practically hear the numbers ticking up in his head.

“y/n already took hers,” he verbalises, beckoning with his chin.

hongjoong turns around in the same direction to see you curled up on the sofa next to jongho and yeosang, your feet tucked comfortably underneath you as you lean forward out of curiosity to take a sip of jongho’s americano. when your expression scrunches up from the shock of bitterness, jongho giggles brightly and steadies your hand that is holding your own cup of sweetened coffee. his eyes melt at your reaction.

“oh, i know that expression,” hongjoong chortles. “he’s a goner.”

seonghwa sees the honey in hongjoong’s own eyes and he smiles knowingly, “i don’t think he’s the only one.”

hongjoong does not peel his gaze away from the three of you all cosied up on the couch. “you’re right, they’re both goners,” he hums absentmindedly, not at all registering who exactly it is who is being referred to.

(the true answer is that there are more than three of them.)

you discover that wooyoung is usually in charge of cooking, but in return, everybody else gets up to clear and wash the dishes the moment the last pair of chopsticks is placed down on the table. that is the only time they are allowed into the kitchen because they are apparently all walking hazards.

but when wooyoung realises you can actually handle a knife without giving him grey hairs from watching, the two of you easily divide the roles and tasks between yourselves. like a waltzing dance, you move together in the kitchen to prepare the meals. he passes you the spices in the overhead cabinets before you ask and you close the fridge when he takes out a pack of meat or vegetables.

cooking with wooyoung is never without bickering. he does not let you hear the end of the time you bump your head on the edge of the counter when you try to grab a saucepan from underneath, or the time you squeal after the oil starts to splatter from the onions. but if that is the reason why he starts to subtly move his hand to cushion the edges of the counters when you bend down to find something, or why he chooses to do the stirring and frying while you slice, then he pretends it is merely coincidence.

san never strays far away from the kitchen whenever you and wooyoung are cooking. you have noticed that they do not really ever stray apart–none of the boys do, though. wooyoung talks as you and san listen and the latter does not stop smiling as he watches wooyoung multitask. what you do not realise is the countless times you have forgotten to keep cooking because you are watching him too with the same expression that san wears.

(the rest of the boys realise and they also see the way san and wooyoung will pause to gaze at you.)

when you two have mostly finished cooking and it is simply a matter of waiting for the sauce to simmer or the soup to boil, you find that wooyoung will take his seat next to san on the barstools at the island, knees and thighs touching as he continues the conversation. you gravitate towards them the first time before catching yourself, cautious that you may be intruding, but then san gives you a dimpled smile and beckons for you to come and sit by his other side.

san likes to keep a gentle hand resting on wooyoung’s knee as he talks. when he does the same thing to you without even looking, your lungs stop working for a minute. the only thought that consumes your mind is the warm sensation of san’s thumb soothingly running back and forth across your skin. you do not want him to stop, so you stay still in hopes that he continues. you are pretty sure san does not even consciously realise he is doing it.

(san does, and he is glad you do not move away.)

in the hours after dinner and before you all head off to sleep, you pile the thick blankets into the open living room and squish yourselves on the least number of couches as possible. again, space holds no meaning when you are with the boys and you find the press of yeosang and hongjoong’s skin against your own more natural there than not.

sometimes you watch movies together, other times talking with low voices as the hours tick by, and other times where you are all doing your own things but in the presence of one another. regardless, the nine of you stay cuddled in front of the fireplace with the warm glow of the fire and the light dreamy flutter of snow outside the windows.

yeosang tenderly tucks the blankets up around mingi’s shoulders when he falls asleep before turning to you on his other side. “are you warm enough?” he softly asks. and even though you say you are, he still tucks the edges of your blanket under your chin, nestling you safely within the blanket, hongjoong’s side and his own body.

the boys are naturally affectionate with one another and seeing the close dynamic of their…friendship so intimately in the environment of the retreat reminds you once more of the possibility that their relationship may run deeper than they let on.

(but when that affection extends to you, you wonder what exactly that may mean for your own relationship with the boys.)

and so living together, even if just for a holiday, is different. it is different when they are the first sight to greet you when you wake up, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes and voice still husky from fatigue as they murmur good mornings to you, and your cheeks start to glow with rosiness.

it is different when the decisions you make together are not about a change in formation or a defensive power play, but what to make for dinner and what movie you want to watch afterwards, and it makes you begin to wonder what other mundane decisions you want to make with them. it is different when they wrap you in their embrace–eight consecutive hugs–to bid you goodnight, and it takes you longer to fall asleep because you toss restlessly in your bed as their smiles replay in your head.

being on the retreat together is strangely domestic and homelike. but it has been almost nine months since you have started coaching the boys and thus seeing them every day for countless hours on end. so really, this trip should not change anything.

and yet, it feels like everything is changing.

jongho pays no mind to the conversation that is happening around him. last he heard, half of you are wanting to go out to skate on the lake before the sun sets and the other half are wanting to finish the halli galli championship you had started the night prior.

he is happy to do either but his mind is distracted by something else. as the screen of his phone lights up, jongho’s eyes flicker down and he puts his hand over the glowing display before anybody can see the caller id. you glance at him when you catch the movement in the corner of your peripheral vision, only to look away when yunho calls out your name to see which of the two options you would prefer.

the screen goes black as the call goes unanswered. seconds later, it lights up briefly with a notification.

pick up.

then the caller id shows up again. jongho grabs his phone and mumbles to nobody in particular, “going to grab something from my room.”

closing the door to the room that he is sharing with hongjoong in the pension, jongho sits down heavily on the edge of his bed, phone clutched tightly in his hand. whilst he has no qualms ignoring their messages now, he still finds it difficult to do the same to their phone calls. he finds his resolve weakening as he watches his phone ring for the third time within minutes.

so jongho picks up. “mother,” he greets stiffly.

she scoffs scathingly, “you finally decided to pick up.”

“i’ve been busy with the playoffs.” a half lie.

“busy? busy losing, you mean,” his mother ridicules. jongho is taken aback by the fact that she is aware, since he did not tell his family. it makes sense when she berates, “do you know how embarrassing it was for me to find out from your aunt? she told me to congratulate you for making it into the semifinals–the semifinals, jongho.”

he feels a heat of shame at what she is insinuating. jongho defends, “that’s still the top four out of seventy six teams.”

“nobody cares,” she turns her nose up. “it does not matter if you came fourth, second or last–unless you win first place, the result is not worth anything. our entire family has a legacy of achievements and your younger brother even has an olympic gold medal now. but what have you done? this is a mere national competition and yet you are incapable of making it into the finals.”

“jong–” his name dies on the tip of your tongue and your hand stops before you can knock on the door when you hear jongho’s muffled voice.

the boys had finally decided to grab their skates so you had come to get jongho to join everybody outside. realising he is talking to somebody, you are about to turn away and give him some privacy, but the words you hear make you freeze. 

it is not the conversation itself that you overhear; it is the wounded tone of jongho’s voice that makes it impossible for you to walk away. your feet stay rooted to the spot, in fact, wanting to enter the room. you have not heard jongho in such great affliction before, not even when he was consoling the boys with tears in his own eyes after their crushing defeat in the playoffs. 

“when are you going to celebrate my achievements for what they are, instead of telling me to do better?” jongho appeals.

he has lived his entire life being told that he is not good enough–constantly compared to the accomplishments of his family, particularly those of his younger brother. what he does not understand is why he cannot just be recognised for the athlete that he is, void of any other person.

his mother is silent and for a brief moment, jongho thinks that she may finally see some sense in his words…only for her to unfeelingly state, “when they are worth celebrating.” with a simple, “do better,” she hangs up on him.

jongho’s hand falls limply into his lap, phone slipping out of his lax fingers with a dull thud to the ground. he wants to swear. he wants to cry. he wants to throw his phone against the wall until the screen shatters. but jongho simply leans forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, the crushing weight of dejection forcing his lungs to exhale shakily.

there is a faint, timid knock on the door. he knows who it is immediately–only one person would knock so softly. “come in,” he answers listlessly, because he could never bring himself to ignore you no matter his own feelings.

the door cracks open to reveal your tentative figure and you slip through the opening. from the way your lips are pulled down, eyes rounded with concern, jongho knows that you have connected enough dots to understand the context of the phone call.

you approach the bed and try to ignore how small the boy in front of you looks with his shoulders hunched inwards on themselves. jongho has always appeared as the most collected and composed, even more so than the captain, and it makes your chest tight to realise he has simply been hiding this whole time.

jongho is not a man of many words so you do the next best thing that feels right in the moment. you simply open your arms. when his hands slowly come up in silent acceptance, you step forward to engulf him in your embrace.

he presses his face into the soft warmth of your stomach. the darkness welcomes him with safety and comfort and he lets out a stuttering breath that racks his entire body. you wrap one arm around his shoulders and cradle the back of his head with your other, your fingers tenderly caressing his hair in soothing motions.

although silence is what he needs, you allow yourself to say one thing to him. you murmur, “i’m proud of you, jongho…so, so proud of you.”

and they are the words he has been wanting to hear his entire life. unable to keep it together any longer, jongho breaks down in your arms with tearful sobs and allows himself to grieve for the acknowledgement he has yearned his entire life and never received. however, it will only be for tonight because he has realised that it is futile to chase after recognition from a person who refuses to see his worth, even if that person is his own family.

there will always be other people who can see his actual worth; the same people who will still love him even if he does not have a gold trophy to call his. for him, those people are his seven boys and you.

so he stays in your arms with you wrapped around him, time lost to the two of you. he cries until he has no tears left and you tilt your head upwards to stop the flow of your own tears before they can drip down onto the crown of his head. and outside the bedroom, hongjoong quietly eases the door shut to give you both some privacy.

you do not know how much time has passed when you finally step out. jongho has fallen asleep after you tucked him under his covers, exhausted. heading towards your room to change out of your shirt, you are startled by the sight of hongjoong lingering near the door.

“you didn’t go out with the boys?

he shakes his head, then conscious of where you two are standing, he gestures inside your room and follows you in. “is jongho okay?” hongjoong asks.

“i think so…he’s sleeping now but probably just needs a bit more time,” you sigh, “i just wish i could do more for him.”

hongjoong reassures, “you are already doing so much more than you realise.”

for jongho. for wooyoung. for all of them. comfort has never been about the words or actions, but the person who is by their side, and for the boys, having you there is already enough.

“really?” you worry.

“yes, really.”

before he realises what he is doing, hongjoong reaches out to gingerly cup the side of your face to thumb away the worry in your brows. “y/n, you take care of us all the time…but who takes care of you?” he whispers.

“i’m your coach, of course i–”

“no,” he interrupts. “you aren’t just our coach and from what i have seen, you aren’t just our friend either. unless…” hongjoong hesitates, “unless i’ve been reading everything wrong, then in which case, tell me and i’ll move away.”

you do not reply. your eyes flicker back and forth between his, your heart racing and mind blank. it is true–they are not just your players and they are not just your friends either, but you are unsure about taking such a huge leap of faith and acting upon the feelings you have only just started to understand.

hongjoong takes your silence as encouragement to step even closer until he is right in front of you. he keeps his hand on your cheek, his other coming up to delicately cradle your waist. you are standing intimately enough for his warm breath to span across your cheeks as he tenderly pleads, “let us take care of you as more than what we are right now.

“if you do not want to put a label on it then that’s fine, we won’t. we’ll still be your team and you’ll still be our coach. but please, let us take care of you when you are hurt, when you’re upset or angry, and when you are happy, too. let us love you as one of ours.”

as one of theirs.

you swallow and confirm, “are you all together?”

“yes, we’re dating each other,” hongjoong nods.

“but then why…” your voice trials off. why me, too?

hongjoong taps the tip of your nose and jokes lightly, “is there a capped limit as to how many people we are allowed to love?”

it pulls a giggle out of you and he smiles fondly as he reiterates, “we don’t need to put a label on this and we can go entirely at your pace. just let us into your heart, please?”

for a moment you wonder what will happen to your professional relationship with the boys–what will happen if things do not work out or worse, if other people find out and report you all for it. but when you really think about it, you realise that the professionalism between you and the boys has long since blurred. 

you do not know if you can go back to seoul after this retreat and act like you do not want to continue living with them. most importantly, you do not want to know if you can. so you take the leap of faith and nod–you want to be theirs.

when you first met the red devils in autumn last year, you were resolved to win over them. never would you have expected that you would win them over in more ways than one…and be won over yourself.

“hi, girlfriend.”

seonghwa smacks the back of wooyoung’s head. “stop pressuring her,” he hisses as the younger cackles delightfully and strides away through the snow impressively fast considering he is wearing his skates.

“ignore him,” seonghwa turns to you, where you are sitting on the porch steps to the cottage. he squats down and takes the laces out of your hands to start doing up your own skates.

“i can do it myself,” you start.

“i know you can,” seonghwa hums, gazing up lovingly, “but i want to do it for you.”

you press your lips together in an attempt to hide the shy smile that blooms across your face and when that fails, you duck your head down instead. ever since your talk with hongjoong the other day, the boys have been significantly more obvious and proactive with their displays of affection for you. however, you are pretty sure they had their own conversation when you were asleep or in the shower, because not one of them pressures you into something you are not ready for, even if that includes making your relationship official.

“there you go. is it too tight? too loose?” seonghwa taps your skates and you tell him they are perfect. taking his offered hand with an appreciative smile, he pulls you up to your feet and you go to join the rest of the boys on the frozen lake.

you are sure it feels the same for every single one of your boys–nothing can compare to that moment when you first step onto the ice. it is where you become a completely different person; a fish back in water, in control and at home.

it had been a gamble renting the cottage pension as you were unable to know whether the lake would be frozen over enough to allow for skating. but it is as if the heavens know not to separate you and your boys from the love and passion that your entire lives revolve around, because you are blessed to see them scrambling out to play on the frozen lake almost every single day, just like they are right now.

san spots you and seonghwa and beckons for you two to join. “hongjoong’s the tagger,” he calls out.

the captain stands at the other end of the lake, back facing everybody as he drawls, “green light…”

before hongjoong even starts to enunciate the first word, yunho, wooyoung and jongho have already pushed off their skates to advance. it sets off an immediate chorus of indignant shouts and desperate acceleration amongst everybody else to catch up. you laugh and seonghwa drags you along with him urgently, unable to stand your apparent nonchalance and uncompetitiveness.

but oh, how wrong he is. very quickly, you join the majority of the boys in a game of who can be the most sneaky with dirty play. wooyoung and mingi tussle with one another right as hongjoong turns around with his yell of ‘red light!’, trying to topple the other over so they get caught. jongho yanks on the back of seonghwa’s jacket whilst yeosang giggles and joins in to yank on jongho’s, effectively preventing all three of them from advancing forward.

“let go of me, you brats!” seonghwa flails forward against the combined weight of the two boys but to no avail.

you use yunho’s height to your advantage and hide behind him, steadily creeping forward even when hongjoong has turned around to face you all. yunho quickly catches on and extends his hands backwards for you to latch onto. you are more than happy to let him do all the hard work skating you both towards the captain and you grin cheekily at the trio–still caught up in their self-induced tug-of-war–as you overtake them easily.

“y/n’s cheating!” san hollers, the only one who is actually playing by the rules.

“life’s not fair!” you holler back gleefully at the same time that hongjoong sniggers, “san, you moved your mouth! go back.”

san gives an indignant cry, “favouritism, i say!” but, bless his heart, moves back to the starting line regardless. 

when yunho is almost towering over hongjoong, he cues you to get ready to escape by letting go of your hands. you pivot around and without waiting for anything else, you start to run away.

“gree–”

yunho tags hongjoong’s right shoulder before pushing off to the left so that he escapes the other’s immediate line of vision. except it means that the first person that hongjoong sees when he turns around is you.

an involuntary squeal escapes you when you hear the terrifying crispness of skates on ice right behind you followed by the captain’s arms snaking around your waist. “caught you, babe” he beams. hongjoong lifts you up with shit-eating smugness at your reaction–both at his close proximity and the pet name–spins you around for good measure, then sets you back down to chase after the others.

wooyoung skates in a wide arc to dodge the captain’s frenzied rampage, only to suddenly appear right beside you with the most telling glint in his sparkling eyes that he is up to mischief. he grins.

“wooyoung, no,” you warn.

he grabs you by the waist. “wooyoung, yes.”

wooyoung pushes off his skates with you in front of him at breakneck speed across the ice, bellowing at the top of his voice, “make way for the cripples!”

you scream the entire way to the end of the lake, hands clutching onto his like a lifeline as a colourful string of words flies out of your mouth. you think you black out for a second because when you open your eyes again, you are in a heaving tangle of arms and legs on the cushiony surface of powdery snow.

“oh, shit,” hongjoong winces.

the boys speed towards you and wooyoung, and yunho peers down at you on the ground with panicked concern in his eyes. “are you two okay?” he asks but when he sees that you are laughing, unrestrained and radiating joy, yunho relaxes and joins in with relief.

they–mainly seonghwa–fuss over you both enough to reassure themselves that there is not so much as a scratch or bruise, before mingi suggests playing a casual hockey game of five versus four. there are to be no goaltenders and san fashions makeshift goalposts by poking sticks into the snow on either ends of the lake.

the team splits into their usual arrangement when they are required to be in two groups; hongjoong, yunho, san and wooyoung; seonghwa, yeosang, mingi and jongho. normally, you would offer to be the honorary referee…but the boys have never been rough with you and you have confidence that you will not get hurt. so for the first time in years, you play.

it is far from a proper league game and it will never be enough to quench your thirst as a former athlete, but for now, gripping your stick on the ice in tandem with the others, you are content–you are alive.

like red light, green light, the game starts off fair and proper for a grand total of two minutes. then it becomes a circus of foul plays and increasingly creative methods of cheating as all sense of order is tossed out the window. yunho and san stand in front of you, leaving just enough space for you to handle the puck, whilst hongjoong and wooyoung flank your sides and use their sticks to block any attempts to steal the puck. as a shielded group of five, you all move up towards the goalposts like a formidable army tank.

in retaliation, jongho physically manhandles hongjoong out of the way, hugging him from behind with a vice grip that he swears not to let go. seonghwa, mingi and yeosang imitate him with similar displays of strength, turning the entire match into a childish scuffle of chaos and hysterics.

there are no proper rules, no proper gear and no proper stadium–only the bare minimum, yourselves and uncontainable laughter. it feels like you are kids again, little souls harbouring colossal dreams, running around on the fields with long branches and a pine cone you had found when you could not afford to go to a real rink.

it is like you have gone back in time to when all you knew about ice hockey from watching it on your television screen was that you had to get the puck into the goal. you and the boys are fresh, blank slates without a care in the world for the countless strategies and tactical plays that you have learned over the length of your careers.

without the pressures and routines of strict training regimes, you all reignite the very roots of your ardour and fervour for ice hockey. no longer is it about the scores and making it into the playoffs. no longer is it about winning the championships to gain the acknowledgement of other people. no longer is it about the trauma of betrayal, injury and defeat you have experienced.

playing is simply the thrill of skating liberally with no burdens across the ice. it is the feeling of thriving when your blade connects with the puck and sends vibrations up your arms. it is the rush of adrenaline as everyone moves in tandem with the same singular thought in your hearts–that you love ice hockey with your entire lives. and that in itself is already more than enough, even without a gold trophy and championship title to prove it to yourselves.

for the last five years, the boys have had the leaves of their trees forcibly plucked and removed–by family, by coaches, and by injuries…but now?

it is time for their flowers to bloom.

spring, 2025: playoffs

standing off to the side, you watch your boys listening attentively to the reporter who is conducting an interview with them. you have continued to stay out of the media spotlight where possible, not yet entirely comfortable standing in front of the cameras again, but your boys have quickly grown accustomed to media coverage ever since their popularity gained traction thanks to their undefeated streak in the regular season.

the interviewer glances down at her prompt card before asking, “so tell me, what has been a major contribution to your success this season? your team has made a name for yourselves as the undefeated champions so far–quite a contrast to how you started off last season.”

seonghwa laughs cordially with her. “we were getting used to a lot of changes last year so our teamwork and mentality wasn’t the best,” he admits. “our agency gave us some time off to recalibrate, which really helped us to focus on building ourselves–as individuals and as a team. i think we learnt to place our unconditional trust in one another and our coach. we still play with a dominantly offensive approach, but we’ve been adopting different playing styles and experimenting with them, so this relies heavily on believing in each other.”

yunho nods, gesturing for the microphone to add, “as cliche as it may sound, a huge part of our growth was also learning how to accept loss. this wasn’t just in the context of being defeated in the semifinals but in the wider lens of our past mistakes, relationships, and even situations that we could not change.

“it has been a tough journey for a lot of us over the last year, but we were lucky enough to have each other’s support,” yunho’s nostalgic smile reflects your own as you realise just how far both you and all of your boys have come. “once we were able to let go, it meant that we could enjoy our career for what it truly is–playing the sport of our dreams together, every day.”

the reporter’s ears perk up in interest at the segway to probe and she jumps on the opportunity to ask, “i am sure many of your fans have been curious for a long time. is there a special somebody who has supported you–or any of you–throughout your journey?”

yunho passes the microphone to the hand that has extended out to reach for it. it’s san this time, who has a charmingly confident persona that he takes on whenever he answers questions during interviews. good thing too, because their fans are going to need something to distract them from understanding the confession he is about to make.

“there is. we all do, actually,” his deep voice rolls off his tongue like butter. the way he smoothly talks with a flirtatious smirk never fails to make you swoon. “funnily enough, we all met our girlfriend at about the same time.”

off to the side, wooyoung sends a wink in your direction and you have to muffle a snort with your hand and divert your glance away. the structural framework of the stadium ceiling suddenly looks very interesting. san stands there incredibly smug at his joke that he knows nobody but you and the boys will pick up on.

by the time you tune back into the conversation, the reporter has moved onto the next question. “last year, you lost to the white tigers in the semifinals. how do you feel about facing them again later today?”

due to a spike in popularity, the korean ice hockey league had to divide its teams into two separate groups for the regular season matches this year. both the red devils and the white tigers had been placed in different groups and by some twist of fate, had ranked at the top and then seeded accordingly on either ends of the tournament brackets. now, your team faces theirs in the very last game of the season.

the finals.

“we’re quite excited, actually,” jongho responds. “we have been wanting to play against the white tigers again some day and i don’t think it gets any more fitting than meeting them in the finals. they have some incredible players but like seonghwa mentioned before, we’ve been working hard to adjust our playing style to suit the situation. our coach has put in a lot of effort to hone in on our strengths and weaknesses, so no matter what today’s outcome is, we’re confident that it won’t be an easy win for either team.”

“i am sure the finals is going to be a thrilling match. now, speaking of coaches,” the interviewer starts and you can see hongjoong’s hand twitching subtly at his side, ready to step in and deflect the question need be should it pertain to you.

she continues, “how does it feel to play against your former coach?”

yeosang and mingi frown, unable to neutralise the confusion on their faces. hongjoong smiles calmly, ultimately taking over the microphone as he apologises, “sorry, could you please elaborate your question?”

it is the interviewer’s turn to fluster slightly but she nods quickly, “you must not be aware, then.”

your eyes dart back and forth as you try to recall whether there is a crucial piece of information you have somehow missed or forgotten to tell the boys. the tone of her voice foreshadows something that makes the pit of your stomach churn.

“last year, the white tigers had a stand-in coach, so you probably did not know.” she says her next words carefully and despite the bustling movement that fills the entire stadium, you can hear the exact moment all of your hearts drop.

“the coach of the white tigers is coach yeon, your team’s former coach in 2018…and he’s here today.”

you are the first to rush back into their locker room. frantically, you grab the official guide that had been given to you by the ice hockey league prior to the start of the regular season from out of your bag. you flip through it, team profiles upon team profiles blending into a hazy blur of faces as you find the one you are trying to look for.

“y/n,” somebody gently murmurs from behind you but you do not register their call. you continue to flick through the pages and when you find the profile for the white tigers, you scan the top of the page for a certain name with a shaky finger.

head coach: yeon ha joon

“oh my god,” you breathe out, hands lowering to your sides and gaze wavering. how the fuck had you managed to miss it this entire time?

you are not the only one affected by the revelation. the change room is pervaded by unease and restlessness, and wooyoung paces back and forth despite hongjoong’s attempts to get him to sit down. hongjoong himself cannot even remember how he answered the question about coach yeon, only that he had somehow excused themselves not long after to cut the interview short.

“how is he still a coach?” seonghwa furrows his brows.

wooyoung stops pacing and your eyes are drawn to him when he suddenly blanches, “what if coach yeon is doing the opposite now and paying other teams to let his own team win?”

“no way–” “–i wouldn’t put it past him–” “–surely not?” the boys’ voices overlap at the speculation.

it is a valid speculation based on what they have told you in the past about coach yeon. however, you stay quiet, suddenly aware of the fact that it is not something that would favour you should it be true. you gnaw the inside of your cheek because as much as you know that your boys would not suspect you, you still worry that doubt may cross their minds at one point, even if only briefly.

“unless the money he offered every single time was equivalent to the prize money, it’s highly unlikely the teams would have all accepted, right?” jongho points out.

yunho shrugs nonchalantly, “but even if they did, we all know that coach yeon would never be able to bribe our girl.”

the way everybody immediately agrees expels some of the anxiety within you, filling you with reassurance and security that starts to relax your chest instead. wooyoung chooses that moment to finally sit down on the bench beside you. he adds, “we’re too whipped for you, so even if you were bribed, we would probably ask whether the money was enough and if you wanted more.”

san chucks a water bottle at him. despite yourself, you laugh and admit, “that is…strangely comforting.”

“see,” wooyoung triumphantly boots the bottle back at the older. “she gets it.”

seonghwa intercepts the pitiful bottle before it becomes weaponised and sets it down next to him. “she wouldn’t accept the money in the first place.”

“exactly, so why does any of this matter?” mingi suddenly questions.

yeosang knits his brows together as he states the obvious, “it’s coach yeon.”

“and?” mingi mirrors his expression with genuine confusion.

it is quiet in the locker room. the coach of the white tigers is indeed coach yeon…and so what? what exactly about the revelation has pushed you all to the edge of the cliff?

mingi cocks his head. “what i’m trying to say is, does it make any difference whether he is their coach or not? think about it–regardless of how he got his team to the finals, he has no unfair advantage over us. there’s no way that he has bribed a fixed win in the finals, and he has no access to any insider knowledge that could jeopardise our tactics and plays.

“the only leverage that he ‘has’ is a psychological advantage–if we can even call it that. but we’re not the same boys who were too naive and powerless to do anything about it six years ago. if anything, we can easily turn this to work in our favour because i don’t know about you guys, but i’m ready to drag his ass through the mud. what we said earlier about not caring for today’s outcome? nah, fuck that. we’re going to fuck him up and show him that he messed with the wrong people.”

he takes everybody’s silence as misunderstanding of his last statement and he hurriedly clarifies there is no violent intent, “by winning. fairly.”

“damn,” jongho whistles. “you’re onto something for once.”

mingi clambers over seonghwa’s legs to grab the forgotten bottle and it goes flying across the room with violent intent. “dude, what the fuck,” mingi grouses.

the dull thud that resounds when jongho holds san’s leg pad up to block the projectile is enough to shift the mood in the room entirely. you finally relax into hongjoong’s side and he moulds you closer to him with the arm that he snakes around your waist as you both watch the locker room erupt into familiar pre-game mayhem.

yunho immediately scoops up the bottle and pitches it again. san stands to the side worrying over his poor leg pads as jongho uses them to bat the makeshift ball. his impressive accuracy makes you wonder whether they would have made it just as big as they are now had they formed a baseball team instead, but then yeosang narrowly dodges the bottle before it gives him a black eye, wooyoung cackles in the background, and you think better of it.

seonghwa joins you both on the bench and amongst all of the mischievous chaos and raucous laughter, you feel at peace, your hands clasped tenderly in the hands of your two captains–in unity, trust and love. you affectionately squeeze their hands with unspoken conviction.

you know your boys are going to play well; you just have a good feeling.

the energy in the room spikes exponentially as you huddle together one final time before you walk out of the locker room, through the hallways and to the arena–one final time before you step out to the ice rink as the red devils, playing in the final match.

you and your boys stand in a circle as close as it is physically possible with their bulky pads and game jerseys that they wear so proudly. it is indiscernible where one of you starts and where another ends from how intimately you all press together. your huddle is a woven nexus of arms and your hearts pound as one entity.

everyone learns of the juxtapositions of the world early on in life. there is no light without dark, there is no happiness without sadness, there is no spring without autumn…and there is no victory without defeat. not a single one of your boys has made it this far without falling at least once, and the conscious thought makes your heart swell and your throat constrict with overwhelming emotion.

somehow, you manage to choke out, “i am so, so proud of all of you.”

yunho and seonghwa’s own eyes start to heat up with wetness. from your side, san kisses your temple with feather-like tenderness, “and we’re so proud of you. y/n, you have grown just as much as we have.”

“thank you for being our coach,” hongjoong murmurs into your ear from your other side, the tip of his nose softly nuzzling you.

wooyoung reaches out to thumb the round of your cheek, “and thank you for loving us when we found it difficult to love ourselves.”

you had always viewed your injury and career with anger, bitterness and anguish…but you have finally come to terms with it. in the process of healing, you have learnt to love yourself, love eight other people, and to be loved. you have had your golden days as an athlete and you are now living your golden days as a coach–

–the very coach of the red devils, your team of boys who are living through their golden days as athletes, and you are going to lead them to victory in the finals.

swiping at a tear that slips down your cheeks, you grin. “boys, let’s win this match and then,” you pause as you meet their determined gazes, their smiles wide with uncontainable excitement, the tension in the room electrifying and palpable.

“let’s go international.”

you may have all fallen before–as athletes, as coaches, as a team–but you will always stand back up together, because at the end of the day your dream is theirs and their dream is yours. and like autumn, the leaves fall for a reason; they must fall before the spring flowers can bloom to their full beauty.

and bloom your flowers have.

[won4kiss]

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ────FALLING HEAD OVER SKATES FOR YOU.

(⛸️) ── 𝓟ARK SUNGHOON﹙성훈﹚ ꒰ 𝓰. oneshot ៸ fluff ៸ strangers to ?? ୨୧ㅤㅤ WARNiNGS : not proofread ៸ ❞ iceskater! sunghoon x 𝑓! reader ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ꒰ WC : 1.4K ꒱ SYPNoSiS 𐙚 in which your first ice skating trip turns as magical as those hallmark movies when a cute boy saves you from a fall .ᐟ ── LiBRARY

THE RINK WAS BUSTLING WITH PURE JOY AND EXCITEMENT.

laughter echoing off the walls as people skated by, some with grace, others, like you, cautiously clinging to the sides.

your friends had been the ones to convince you to try ice skating, promising it would be fun.

and, while it did look magical, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were one slip away from making a very un-magical impression on the cold, unforgiving ice.

“just let go of the wall, y/n!” one of your friends shouted, gliding backward as if she’d been born with skates on.

“it’s easy once you get the hang of it!”

you gave her a skeptical look, clutching the wall as if it were a lifeline. “i think i’ll just… stay right here for now.”

taking a deep breath, you ventured a small step forward, wobbling unsteadily. for a split second, you felt a tiny thrill of success—until your other foot slid out from under you. ── 𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖤 𝖴𝖭𝖣𝖤𝖱 𝖢𝖴𝖳 .ᐟㅤ

panic shot through you as you lost your balance, bracing yourself for an inevitable crash.

but instead of hitting the ice, you found yourself tumbling into something warm, steady, and… incredibly solid.

strong arms wrapped around you just in time, and before you knew it, you were lying sprawled on top of someone, safe from the icy floor below.

wide-eyed, you looked down, meeting the gaze of the boy who had, quite literally, broken your fall.

his dark eyes sparkled, and there was a soft, surprised smile on his face, cheeks pink from the cold—or maybe something else.

“are you alright?” he asked, voice soft with concern—for a moment, all you could do was stare, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

you’d fallen onto him so perfectly that your faces were inches apart, noses basically touching and close enough that you could count the tiny snowflakes caught in his hair.

he was breathtakingly handsome, and it took you a moment to remember that you still had to answer.

“oh! yes! i’m… i’m okay, i think.” you managed a shy smile, feeling your heart race as he continued to look up at you, his arms still around you to keep you steady.

the two of you stayed like that, frozen in place, neither of you daring to move.

there was a soft warmth between you that was impossible to ignore, and for a heartbeat, it felt like you were the only two people on the ice.

just as you felt yourself get lost in his gaze, a voice broke through the spell.

“y/n! are you okay?!” one of your friends called out, rushing over with wide eyes.

flushing, you quickly scrambled to get up, suddenly feeling flustered as you realized the scene you’d just made.

but before you could pull away, he helped you, still gentle as he steadied you on your feet.

“thanks for the save,” you said, looking down with a small, shy laugh.

you could barely look him in the eye, but when you did, his smile was warm, reassuring—there was something about it that made you feel… safe.

“don’t worry about it,” he replied, chuckling softly. “it’s the least i could do after you made my day a little more interesting.”

you laughed, cheeks flushing. “i… definitely didn’t mean to do that.”

“hey, it’s not every day you get to save someone like that,” he teased, his voice light but warm.

he gave a small, playful salute before skating off to join his group of friends waiting for him on the other side of the rink, but not before flashing you one last, lingering smile.

you stood there, dazed, watching him glide away with a grace that made you even more aware of your wobbly knees.

as you tried to regain your bearings, your friends surrounded you, eager for all the details. “who was that?” they demanded, eyes sparkling. “he’s cute!”

“i… don’t know,” you admitted, still a little in a daze.

you couldn’t get his face out of your head—the way his eyes had looked at you with that gentle expression, the way his smile lingered even as he skated away.

it was as if he’d left an impression you couldn’t shake.

the rest of the evening passed in a blur, but no matter how much you tried to focus on your friends or keep your balance, you couldn’t help but look around, hoping to catch another glimpse of him.

and every so often, you’d find him glancing your way, his eyes crinkling in a shy smile each time he caught you looking back.

he was graceful on the ice, moving like he was weightless, and watching him made you want to skate just a little better yourself.

at one point, he skated close by, giving you a small, almost teasing wave as he passed, and you waved back with a sheepish smile, your cheeks warming.

each glance he gave you was like a tiny spark, something thrilling yet innocent, and it only made you want to keep watching him.

finally, as the rink’s closing time approached, you made your way to the edge, working to pry off your skates.

part of you felt relieved to be off the ice, but another part was… disappointed. you didn’t want to leave just yet.

as you slipped into your shoes, you felt a light tap on your shoulder. turning, you looked up—and there he was again, standing there with a soft, almost shy smile.

“hi,” he said, his voice gentle, as if he didn’t want to scare you away. “uh, i just wanted to say… you did pretty well out there. for a beginner, i mean.”

you felt a laugh bubble up, and you smiled, feeling your cheeks heat up. “you really don’t have to say that. i think i fell more times than i skated.” you said sheepishly.

he laughed, his eyes sparkling. “that’s what makes it impressive. you kept going.”

his gaze softened, and he scratched the back of his neck, glancing down for a moment as if gathering his courage.

“actually… if you ever want to practice more, i could help. you know, teach you a few tricks— only if you want though..”

the offer hung in the air, his meaning unmistakable. he was asking you to go skating with him. alone.

your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your cheeks warm. “you… really wouldn’t mind?”

he shook his head, that same shy smile spreading across his face. “not at all. it’d be fun, right?”

unable to stop yourself from smiling, you nodded. “i’d love that.”

he grinned, looking as relieved as he did thrilled, and quickly pulled out his phone, handing it to you with a timid and shy manner that was somehow adorable.

“maybe… you could put your number in?”

your fingers brushed his as you took his phone, feeling a rush of excitement as you typed in your number.

when you handed it back, he looked down at the screen, saving it with a quiet smile before glancing up.

“oh, i’m sunghoon, by the way,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “nice to meet you.”

“y/n,” you replied, your smile growing. “nice to meet you too, sunghoon.”

as you turned to leave, you heard a loud cheer from behind you—his friends, who had apparently been watching the whole exchange, were clapping and whistling in encouragement, laughing as they nudged each other.

sunghoon rolled his eyes, shooting them a mock-annoyed look, but there was a fondness in his smile.

you looked back one last time, catching his eye as you waved goodbye.

sunghoon’s face lit up, and he waved back with a smile that promised you’d see each other again.

the night air felt warmer as you walked away, heart racing and cheeks still pink.

and as you left the rink, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, your phone clutched tightly in your hand, excitement bubbling up at the thought of seeing him again—maybe with his arms around you once more.

© WON4KISS 2024 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

NOTE. this was the cutest request ever like THE WAY I WAS GIGGLING WRITING THIS T-T i want christmas so bad !!

୨୧ TAGLIST OPEN ‹𝟹 @mioons @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @iluvnikism @rikibwn @wonsprincess @niawonn @pockyyasii @mimismenu : COMMENT OR SEND AN ASK TBA.

[glassofspoiledmilk]

omg I was trying to send in a request but I'm not sure if it went through cuz my internet cut off😭😭 hope you're doing well though！

originally was asking for a Yuri Plisetsky x Reader🥲 s/o that's really enamored by him, blushes n gushes over him！would love to cling onto him all the time, but refrains from dumping too much physical affection :p sorry if the first one went through but I couldn't tell 😭

First kiss

“If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it?”

WC: 0.9k

Synopsis: You and Yuri have been dating for a while, while you love physical affection…he seems to be a little hesitant. This refrained you from kissing him, but he decides to change that.

“Hey Yuri, would you wanna go out tonight?” I ask as I wipe the snow off my blade, a smile plastered on my face.

“Sure, I’ll have to check with Lilia though, you know how much of a bitch she can be” He scoffs as he unties his laces.

“Awe cmon you know it’s just cause she cares!” I say as I ruffles his hair lightly.

His faces blushes a sweet shade of pink.

“Yea I guess..” He says, averting my gaze.

I let out a slight laugh.

Yuri had never been too big on physical affection. He always gets incredibly embarrassed at the smallest things, like if I hold his hand or move a piece of hair out of his face.

However, this has stopped me from doing anything more than just hand holding, specifically kissing. I’ve always wanted to kiss him, but judging by the way he gets embarrassed, and the numerous amounts of time he’s told me about his dislike for physical affection, I’ve refrained from doing so.

“Where would you wanna go? I think there’s a new Italian place nearby, but I’ll have to check” I add as I throw my skates into my bag.

“Sure, sounds nice” he replies, a faint blush still lingering on his cheeks.

“Wear something cute ok?~” I wink as I get up to leave.

“Yea yea…” he says, looking away with a much redder blush than before.

“Love you, bye!” I add as I start on my way out the door.

“Love you too..” he grumbles, trying hard to fight off a smile.

I walk down the surprisingly warm streets of St. Petersburg. Spring was setting in, and days were getting longer, the perfect date night setting might I add.

I push open the door to my house and walk up to my bedroom.

I tiredly plop down on my bed and change out of my sweaty practice clothes.

After throwing on a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, I looked in my closet for something nice.

Even if he wasn’t able to go out tonight, I still wanted to be prepared.

I decided on a white and blue floral dress to match the spring aesthetic, along with a cute pair of white heels. As I lay the outfit out on my bed I get a notification from my phone.

I quickly pull it out of my pocket, and see a text from Yuri.

“Hey, Lilia’s ok with me going out, what time were you thinking?” It read.

“Maybe 5:00?” I replied.

“See you then” he responds.

I shut off my phone and smile to myself excitedly.

Before it know it, it’s 4:00.

I hop into the shower and quickly wash my hair before stepping into the dress I picked out earlier. I carefully applied my makeup and curled my hair before placing on my heels and walking out the door.

“Bye mom, I love you!” I yell as I step outside.

The walk to the restaurant was a short one, only a bit further than the ice rink.

The time was 5:01, and as I approached the restaurant I saw Yuri standing outside in a white button down, and black dress pants.

“Well don’t you look gorgeous!” I say, greeting him.

He smiles slightly.

“Could say the same for you” he says blushing, a slight nervous tone in his voice.

We step inside and are greeted by the hostess.

“Table for two please” I say with a smile.

She brings us to a table in the corner of the restaurant, next to a big window.

“Did you have to convince Lilia to let you come?” I ask as I sit down.

“Only a little, but I promised to do extra conditioning tomorrow so she let me go” he replies.

“She’s really that strict with you?” I laugh.

“Yea, she acts like she’s my mom” he rolls his eyes.

The waiter comes over and we order our drinks, I got soda, he got apple juice.

“Apple juice, how classy” I chuckle.

“And soda’s more appropriate?” He laughs.

“Touché” I smile.

There’s a beat of silence before Yuri speaks.

“You know, you look very…nice tonight” he says averting my gaze.

“Awe, thanks. You look exceptionally handsome tonight yourself” I smile, slightly shocked.

It wasn’t often Yuri gave sweet compliments like that, but when he does, he means it.

“Thanks..” he smiles, the familiar blush plastered on his face.

“You don’t usually say stuff like that, what’s up?” I ask with a smile.

“I-I don’t know…I guess I’m just happy to be with you…that’s all” he says genuinely.

I smile and brush a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

“I’m happy to be with you too Yuri~” I smile, still leaning forward.

There was a comforting silence, one where we could just look into each others eyes and understand what the other was saying without any words.

I felt his hand move hesitantly on the table, and then up to my face.

Before I knew it, he had pulled me in and kissed me.

I was caught off guard, but when I realized what was happening, I happily returned the action.

It was sweet and warm, and god I didn’t want it to end.

When he pulled away, I looked at him.

His eyes were wide, cheeks a fiery shade of red, and a lovesick look all over his face.

“Thank you..” I smile gently.

“No problem…” he replies with a slight smile.

And even though Yuri doesn’t show his emotions up front, you could tell he was happy.

A/N: I’m back! (Hopefully 😭) thank you anon for requesting 💞. I might start writing some criminal minds stuff so if any of you guys have any requests let me know! But other than that, happy reading!