the devil skates on thin ice ∙ myg ✓

14 ↝ the downfall

Bad things come in threes, Yoongi knows this all too well.

When he was a kid, it happened like this. First, he tripped and scraped his knee on the sidewalk, and the cries that sounded from him had half of the street rushing out of their homes, thinking a child was being murdered in broad daylight. Second, he ruined his favourite shirt on the evening of that same day by accidentally spilling his plate of tteokbokki down his front, causing the baby blue of it to stain a muddy orange from the spicy sauce. Third, he woke in the middle of the night after a nightmare of sharks nipping at his ankles to discover that the ocean he was stranded in was a pool of his own urine, soaked all the way through to his mattress.

When he was a teenager, it happened like this. First, he unintentionally smacked her in the forehead with his hockey stick when he was pulling it out of the car, which was followed by him kissing her all over her cutely irritated face. Second, he cut the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger on the paper note she passed him in class, and there was so much blood that it was almost believable that he had been stabbed by a pen instead. Third, he misjudged the thickness of a freshly frozen lake, no matter that it was drilled in his head from the age of ten to never skate on such a surface until it had been solid for a fortnight.

When he is an adult, it happens like–

"For the love of my grandmother's apple pie, don't tell me you're off in your own head before, quite possibly, the most important game of our fucking lives."

Yoongi blinks twice to be rid of the glaze that coats his eyes, coming to focus on Jimin. His hands are raised in a position of surrender, though Yoongi assumes that they were waving in front of his completely zoned out expression. There is a slightly irritated yet nervous look about his friend, but the entire change room is similarly suffocating on the same vibe. The buzz of anticipation, of fear, of too many emotions blending together at once, is almost tangible.

"I'm fine," Yoongi lies, grabbing his helmet from the bench at his knees.

"Bullshit, but we don't have time to argue," Jimin responds, clapping Yoongi on his padded shoulder. A kind of terrified and excited grin curls Jimin's lips—the type where you are charged on an overwhelming dosage of adrenaline while thinking about the fact that so much is at stake. "Are you ready for this?"

Yoongi manages a grin at that. "Ready to smear the opposition all over the ice and make it to 2020?"

"Hell yeah, that's what I'm talking about!" Jimin's grin is maniacal now, and he smacks Yoongi's right shoulder again, but with thrice the force. Despite his protective gear, Yoongi grunts at the impact before turning to face the rest of the milling change room—his team in various states of panic and enthusiasm—just as Namjoon strides in. A portable whiteboard is tucked under his arm, and he looks like he is about to shit himself.

"Alright boys, it's time to shine," Namjoon calls out in lieu of a greeting, voice wobbling with that same anxious, stomach-churning excitement as the rest of the chattering players. He props the whiteboard up on a windowsill, and it immediately topples off. This prompts his eyes to stray to Yoongi from across the room, to which Yoongi thinks: Oh, come the fuck on. "Yoongi, get over here and hold this for me. Everyone, gather around and pay attention."

Begrudgingly, Yoongi goes to put his helmet back on the bench so he can hold up the stupid board, but it is completely knocked out of his hand and falls to the tiles with an odd-sounding crunch. He does not even have to guess who it was that bumped into him—especially not when it is followed by that familiar, snarky chuckle. Yoongi stares daggers after Yugyeom, who looks over his shoulder and mouths: Whoops, before continuing to saunter over to Namjoon, who is not even aware of the interaction. Jimin, on the other hand, is going red in the face like an overripe plum.