On Thin Ice

Chapter 1- carved from ice

(Y/N) POV:

"I can't wait to get back onto the ice..." I say with a relieved sigh, the giddiness bleeding into my voice as I match pace, feeling the grin against my skin, warm and equally bubbling with excitement.

"You and me both... what's the fun if a training period ends without some competition?" he bemoans, voice playfully teasing, arm slinging over my shoulder to tug me into his side, nose scrunching at me as I squirm, sighing as I fall against him, half-stumbling.

"You still aced the singles in the inter-university competitions." I laugh, remembering all too well the glittering flush of victory, remembering how his eyes had sought me out in the audience, finding me easily, raising his bouquet and medal with triumph, head tilting to me. Sharing it with me as I sat out the competition, watching with an aching heart so proud and so fond, cheering so hard my lungs ached and the ache in my chest fell to the dark shadows of my mind.

"But it's not the same if we don't perform together." Words high with complaint and protest, toothy grin curving wide.

And somehow the usually long, winding walk to the large training rink vanishes in the easy conversation and ribbed complaints. Lost and vanishes in the eagerness that drives the two of us quicker, an itching restlessness that's finally soothed. That deeply rooted itch getting that gratification as the two of us move towards the rink, eager to get back onto the ice together.

As a duo.

But that same giddiness turns frosty. Turns into a hardened frustration and anger as we move to the rink and find it occupied. Still occupied.

Skates clunking heavily against the floor as my grip on them unfurls. Bag thudding down.

"You've got to be kidding me."

I feel my jaw tighten, clenching hard at the sight.

Riled to frustration at the sight of the ice hockey players still circling the ice, loud voices and laughs grating and obnoxious. Almost flinching with anger every time a hockey stick slams hard against the ice.

"(Y/N)...." Voice warning and low, sensing the irateness in my voice, bubbling away inside.

Weeks of being benched for an injury and the first practice we'll have as a duo already starting off with the impending argument that hovers on the near horizon.

Getting them to leave.

His hand darts out to still me before I move towards the ice, eyes darting from my face down to where the skates are.

An unspoken understanding as I sink down, hands tugging the skates out, shucking off shoes to draw them on instead, feeling the watchfulness of his gaze as I secure the laces, sinking down to double-check, fingers careful and precise. The sight of inked fingers tugging and testing. Double-checking.

But when I glance at him, there's no hiding the tightness in his own expression, unhidden by the curling strands of long hair against his cheek, equally dismayed and frustrated, a tick in his jaw where he clenches hard.

"As annoying as it is to see them on ice, it's not worth slipping on ice and taking a tumble after just getting a clean bill of health." Voice low and quiet.

And once he's satisfied, he tugs out his own skates, nudging me along with a hand so he can take my vacated seat, gaze quickly flitting to me once he stands, hand proffered to me.

Tugging me alongside him, an immediate sense of familiarity and rightness at the evenness of his glides automatically in sync to my own.

Falling into pattern of being attuned to each other's pace with the unfaltering grip of his hand entangled with my own, skates pushing forward in a quick glide.