(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.

Hand squeezing mine tight in reassurance before he relinquishes his hold, coming to still in the very centre of the hockey team.

The laughs and conversation coming to a still as he weaves past the still moving players, gaze unyielding as he scans the helmeted figures.

A glowering heat bubbles through me at the lazy slowness as they tug off their helmets, my own feet pushing forward the small stretch of distance to come to stand beside him.

Stares pointed, my lips twisting into a glower as I eye the hockey sticks.

"It's our turn to practice." Voice level and cool in a way mine never can be when confronted with the ice hockey team.

"We were here first." One of the players retort, a challenging gleam in his eyes. Mirthful stare. Trying to immediately rile a response from the levelness given to them.

There's always that competitiveness over hogging the best ice rink, of managing to snag it first.

"And now you're running into our booked practice. You know the rules." I snap, bristling at the slow once over I get in turn, several unimpressed stares, some glittering with mockery, a curved cockiness to the guy's lips.

"Practice in prancing about?" voice lofty and mocking. The words are jeered- eyes flashing with amusement but it only makes my skin feel tight and my blood burn.

I can feel the anger rolling off in strong waves beside me, can almost feel the heat bristling off Jungkook as he stares them down. The coldness in his stare at odds with how white-hot his fury can get, anger tamped down and controlled.

Voice level and rumbling with a low authority.

"Whether it's to prance about or just stare at the ice has nothing to do with you. You're wasting our time so get off the ice."

Unbidden my gaze flits when another player tugs off his helmet then, head shaking to dislodge the hair from his eyes before his hand brushing through dishevelled blonde hair. Pushing it away from his face, sharp eyes narrowing and full lips curving with a taunting grin, the sight immediately making my anger flare. Body stiffening as I glare in response to the teasing grin, impatience and frustration spiralling into one another, my lips thinning as his own stretch wide, his smile pearly and already brimming with unspoken taunt.

"Hey doll."

Eyes rolling at him as I let my gaze drift, watching as Jungkook's own posture remains tall and stiff, unimpressed by the unspoken amusement the hockey team gets as they dally.

Wait.

Draw out our impatience, reeling it out with a practiced ease.

But instead, Jungkook's gaze turns flitty.

Drifts quick.

Seemingly searching.

"No captain to collar you guys? Drag you off?"

Grin wide and smug at the visceral, easy reaction it provokes. The flash of anger and smiles twisting as they fall away.

"The same way I suppose doll you needed backup to get some time on the ice?" voice lofty and provoking, a low crooning drag of words dripping from full lips.

An ugly snort tears past unimpressed lips, threatening to make laughter bubble out my own, lips twitching as I turn to face the voice.

Features smoothening out, relishing in not giving him the raise he wants.

Though his words couldn't be further from the truth if he tried.

"Though hockey's a group sport, you might be unfamiliar with the idea of teamwork... and (Y/N)'s my partner. Why wouldn't we be together?"

Eyes glinting sharp and proud as his gaze turns to hold mine.

"And she doesn't need backup."

There's the sound of skates against the ice, feeling the brush of a body veering close to mine, recognising and feeling the provoking grin aimed at me.

"Can tackle big bad us all alone? Haven't seen you on the rink for a while." He muses.

But there's a bristling impatience simmering under my veins, fuelled all too easily, too readily by the sight of a face all too bright and grinning with mischief.

With relishing in trying to rile me up.

Staring back coolly. Gaze firm.

"I didn't know that's what you spent your time on the ice doing Park. Explains why you might need the practice."

His lips thin, eyes flashing.

A soft scoff before he dismisses his attention from me entirely.

"Beer and chicken?" the question directed to the other stragglers, drawing their attention away.

It's annoying how readily they jeer and rush to leave the ice now but were content to linger and waste our practicing time for the sake of it.

There's ire that sears through my skin, chasing away the welcoming coolness of the rink, watching them leave with a scowl.

A hand looping around my wrist to tug me back, whirling me around with a quick rushing movement I can't resist, a smile tugging at my lips at the easy motion of it all.

Despite taking me surprise, it's easy to trust in the arms that whirl me off the ice, briefly feeling as if I'm flying, airborne for a few seconds, a laugh bubbling past my lips as I stretch my arms out; the movement feeling victorious and welcoming, the rink's cold air brushing against my cheeks and body in welcome.

And as we whirl, I catch sight of a figure that's only just reached the edge of the rink despite being the one to herd his hockey mates off.

A brief moment where it seems almost as if he's staring hard at us before he pushes away, clambering off the ice.

And the sight threatens to flare that diminishing frustration.

But I let the giddiness, the easy breathless grin Kookie sports to wash away anything but the pure elation of being back on ice.

And let myself ignore the figure that is Park Jimin.

---------------------------

Rivalries aren't always forged through bloodshed and war. It isn't formed through tearing through each other's throats in the way that you hear and learn about wars and battles. Of fates entangled in a way that they're only ever destined for ruin and annihilation.

Except some rivalries are formed not from fire and forged weapons but on the same battleground of ice and skates.

Sometimes rivalries don't need nations or treaties.

Sometimes they need one Park Jimin.

In a rival ice sport, competing for the best records, to push his name as an acclaimed, talented student and future Olympic athlete. And in doing so to drag me off the ice.

Sometimes all rivalries need is the hot-blooded rage of competing with someone so infuriating, so cocky and smug and self-righteous about his position in his team, on the ice, in this university... sometimes all rivalries need are the infuriating smugness of full lips curved into a smirk to flare the roaring anger in my blood to spike.

And for me to push further to be better... not just as a person but most definitely to make sure that Park Jimin is always second to me.

It'd odd how the rivalry doesn't just entirely consume us because of our talent, because of our own preferred ice sports, a long generational running rivalry between ice hockey and figure skating as there is between the martial arts students, as there is between the football teams on campus.

An undercurrent of bloodlust to win driving the competitive force that powers the university, that makes every competitive event, every representation of our sport of a university level make something wild and primal and predatory snap into place, ready to defend our sport to our last breath. But that fades in face of friends, parties... fades outside sports uniforms... apart from this one. Apart from him.

And yet-I don't exactly what kickstarts our personal rivalry into something more weighted, something loaded and burning with the fuel that our sports rivalries already brings, don't know how to pinpoint it to one sole moment where in that breath... in that moment I decided he was my sworn rival. My enemy on ice.

Maybe it's the constant competing for the best rink on campus, maybe it's the jabs and underhanded comments to my sport with a brash confidence and pride for his. Maybe the rivalry that already exists between the teams fuels into a burning sear, fans flames into a blaze and that blaze into an inferno.

Maybe it's simply because there's nothing more that gets under my skin than Park Jimin.

--------------------

"No lifts (Y/N)!" voice a mix of laughter and scolding but there's an unwavering firmness in dark brown eyes, narrowing when I in turn let my eyes widen in implore.

"Not even one? We've been practicing for a while." I lament.

"We're not testing lifts on ice until we've gotten some practice in the studios."

"I trust you Kook."

His smile turns warmer, eyes softening as they crinkle; the laughter lines around the corner of his eyes deepening briefly.

Charming and disarming, his blunt reply throwing me off.

"Still a no. I'm not risking it right before group training starts up for this semester. You're lucky the injury didn't worsen and that you stayed off practicing." He warns, though the glittering knowledge in his eyes gleam with an all too aware depth in them.

Knowing full too well, and probably down to a specific numerical figure, just how many times he'd caught me on the way to the rink, far too attuned to the ins and outs of my mind, sensing the restlessness at times before I did myself. Before it could take root, keeping me as far as he could from the rink even if that meant spending nights haunting the clubs and the days trying to make the most of the reprieve.

Even if for me that reprieve had come with the restraint of not stepping onto the ice.

The skates had been kept captive for the holidays in his apartment.

His glittering eyes nudge me to take the win he's giving. Albeit small.

"You're a tough nut to crack cap'" I finally say.

Endeared at the scrunching grin, smile toothy as he steers the two of us towards the edge of the rink, hands grasping mine more firmly, squeezing tight, carefully drawing me off the ice before clambering off behind me.

"Pulling that card?"

"Yes! You would've snuck out with me before!"

Jungkook snorts behind me, nudging me forward.

"Keep telling yourself that."

Because at some point the fellow conspirator in arms, the partner in crime label had turned the tables on me, using his knowledge of knowing me too well to grasp the thoughts in my mind, plucking them from the swirling vortexes of my brain before I even got to implement the plans.

"...can we at least get pizza Koo?"

"..."

"I'll pay... come on~ you said yourself training will start soon, and Coach will be on us for maintaining weight and all of that..."

There's a visible dissolving of his control, the curve of his shoulders slumping, the breadth of them curling inwards slightly and the familiar sight of a boyish grin I've known all my life.

I know when he's a goner.

"You're paying."

I loop my arm through his, tugging myself alongside him, falling into easy step beside him, hip nudging his as I tilt my face to him.

"Whatever you say Koo~"

JIMIN POV:

Centres are the quarterbacks of ice hockey. The game makers, the ones who help guide and manipulate the flow of the game in their team's favour.

They're placed at the very heart of every match, a pressure in being the frontman for the team that's as rewarding as it is damaging.

As boosting as it is to ego and pride when matches go well, and threatening that same confidence, that same assuredness with strikes that go much further than the hockey stick driving the puck can.

Every position on the team is vital, every position needs to work with a fluid synchrony to make the team work-to win the game.

But there's a weighted sense of pressure that always sits on my shoulders at matches, and that same pressure floats when we win... then I feel as if everything is but a blur. And the giddy triumph of victory makes that same pressure boost me upwards.

I like the praise. I like being admired. I like being at the heart of the team's dynamics. I like that Namjoon discusses gameplans and strategies with me. That he trusts me to it. That when needs be... the team trusts my word too.

But despite playing in the same team for years, despite being trained and competing together for the past three years there's some part of me that's not entirely about to feel as if I entrust myself to the team. As if I can count on them 100% to have my back.

Being an ice hockey player is how well you work on a team. It's a team sport. It needs and requires close-knit trust and solid sportsmanship and camaraderie.

But there's some... some when we lose, or when training doesn't go well or when the day just isn't right. And that same teamwork has players turning on one another. Anger and frustration bleeding out into the movements. Manoeuvres used to outsmart one another, to poke and taunt at one another, to leave jabs and snide remarks that can cut too deep sometimes.

Despite training with most of these players for a solid three years, I can't say I trust them to not turn on me if I was to mess up.

I can't say it's not cutthroat.

----------------------

"Try not to damage the ice too much, there's booked practices for later." Joon calls out as we skate out onto the ice, before practice even begins.

There's already jeers and dissent and mocking comments as the others skate out, jabs and remarks made about the figure skating team. There's always an underlying thrum of amusement in simply getting a raise out of the other team. But some... some of the team say the words with barely concealed distaste for the other team. They take the rivalry as something that in their eyes places us as a team far more superior than the others.

I don't hear Joon join the jeers. He never does. And I don't miss the hardened, thinning press of his lips at some of the comments, the flicker of something cold and disappointed flitting over a briefly stony expression. Though I don't join, can't bring myself to even join in mocking, voice stuck in my throat, comments washing over my head. There's a confusing mix of feelings that always bubble away when they're like this, not sure where the line was drawn in the rivalry and not knowing how some of the team had decided to erase it entirely, skating over it and letting their blades scuff and chip at it.

"They can always use the smaller rinks if they have that much to complain about." Yugyeom mutters, lips curling as he begins skating around. Lithe frame skating around, weaving around as the other players skate outwards, already geared up to practice.

Though I also know he's friends with some of the figure skaters-that outside the rivalry, with just them-he's fine with it. But he can't resist the urge to take jabs in a way that only sparks that fiery amusement in seeing the other team bristle.

"We have a lot of time anyways. Get some drills and practice in before the next season starts." Jay B steers the conversation onto neutral ground, helmet clutched in his hands as he skates towards the centre, the wingmen and defence players all clustering together.

Today's practice is larger.

The substitutes and extra players also included in the pre-season drills Namjoon's organised.

And I skate towards the clustered centre as he begins calling out instructions, commandeering the ice easily, towering form filling the space, voice easily carrying.

"Break off into fours. We'll start with pushing off and stopping." The others begin skating towards the end of the rink, a cluster remaining to set out the cones, the obstacles for the team to practice weaving in and out of.

A set determination and focus settling, hardening the lines of my body as I skate to join my group, eyes raptly focused on the others skating ahead, controlling the movement of their hockey sticks, switching around as Joon calls out orders, watching as they come to stop multiple times as he tests their reaction times, eyes flitting over each of them with a careful, thorough intensity.

And when it's my turn, the cold air of the rink nips and stings my cheeks, the rush of air that makes my lungs shudder with giddiness, pushing forward to skate faster, weaving past the obstacles, ears trained to catch each call of Joon's voice, feeling the flush of my cheeks as heat floods back in, a smile curling at my lips at the holler behind me.

Cheering and egging me on, letting myself be swept up in it all, blood singing as a laugh bubbles up in my throat.

"Go Park!"

And my lips curve deeper, grin stretching wide and unrestrained, flushed warmth entangling with the familiar brush of cold air against warming skin, skating back towards my team, tugged into the throes of them.

And as the drills go on, turning into competition against one another, time melting away, and caught up in the rush of it all, this is why I love the sport. This is why I play ice hockey.

And as I turn, I catch Joon's eyes, catch the dimpled grin, catch the look of encouragement and pride both shining on his face.

Because Joon and I were a team, that's why I stuck with ice hockey.

-----------------

There's only the ice hockey team left. The subs and extras skating off when the booked practice had come to an end. Only a few of them staying. Practice broken down into a much more informal setting; groups splitting off, practicing with one another.

But the others all stay too.

Lazily skating around, passing the puck between each other, practicing shooting.

A much more relaxed atmosphere as Joon skates forward to join too, falling into step with Jay B, the two of them analytical and careful, circling around one another; both in a way that's predators encroaching on each other's space and yet allies in it... allies to turn a joint front. They end up drifting, lost in conversation, hockey sticks clashing against one another as they try steal a puck from one another, a familiar synchrony between the two. Turning their manoeuvres on one another-to find chinks in each other's armour so that when they play together as a team, as a duo guarding the goal, they're able to rebuild their defence stronger.

The two defencemen of the team, the strategists.

I hear the skates before I see them, turning to face the wing players; lips curving in greeting as both Yugyeom and Bambam skate towards me, passing a puck back and forth between them.

"Let's go centre!"

"Come on Park~ where's your mind at?" voice teasing and lightly provoking, a half laugh, half scowl as I dart forward with quick movements, stick stealing in to knock the puck away from the two. Circling around them in a quick skate.

a lightly mocking jeer that stirs me forward, a scowl as a flash of competitiveness bubbles upwards, darting forward with quick movements, stick stealing in to knock the puck away from the two. Circling around them in a quick skate.

"Got to keep you on your toes." I crow, eyes crinkling as it tugs wide lazy grins from the two of them, a sudden flare of competitiveness as I toy with them, weaving in and out with circling motions.

And though there's always this familiar light banter to fall back to, a crutch, a safety net-they're also the ones who have my back.

The two are as thick as thieves-and even as I watch the conspirator glance between them, the unspoken communication from practicing together, playing the same positions... I only have a brief moment to process the sudden sharpness of their movements.

Before they gang up on me-realising this half a beat too late.

The curl of wicked grins as they play dirty, tag-teaming on me, the rough swipe of a hockey stick against my shin, the blow cushioned by the practice pads but it's enough to make me falter briefly. Momentum lost as I try right myself immediately, puck stolen.

"Playing dirty Bam?" I laugh.

His head cocks at me.

"Whatever it takes to win...hyung" the label added with a dry lilt, lips quirked with mischief, eyes glittering.

But there's also an echo of our coach's words in his voice, in the jesting almost sneer that curls his lips.

For a brief moment-I falter.

Not entirely sure whether the sharpness in his eyes, the glint is imagined or not.

Or whether each player was each to their own.

But then it vanishes.

And I shake my head to dispel it, letting that brief hesitation fall away.

The two got a bit rough in practice at times but I know when it came to playing they'd have my back, they'd fall into line and play as team players. There was just something disconcerting whenever a flash of something mocking or almost cruel enters their gameplay. Especially in practice. Because in games that ruthlessness was turned towards the opponents, in group practice ironically... it turned on team.

As if they are each to their own... testing limits, pushing them.

Somewhere in them I see Coach's rough-housing style come through.

I couldn't fault them from using dirty tactics.

Not when I could recognise that in myself, lips twitching despite myself.

Whatever it takes to win. Whatever limits it pushes.

-------------------------

I miss the moment that the figure skaters turn up to practice, hear the commotion before I see it as I head back, cheeks still smarting with the cold despite having stepped off the ice a while ago for a water break. Catching the sight of two figures skating forward, fingers pausing briefly in tugging on my helmet before resuming again.

Joon's not returned yet.

I recognise the commotion the moment I see it, lips curling with amusement as I skate forward, watching the scene play out, watching the same clash of sports going head to head.

"It's our turn to practice."

I recognise the guy who speaks even if I don't really know him, eyes briefly flitting over him.

"We were here first." Bambam retorts, words challenging and eyes full of laughter. Mischief in his gaze as he stares with amusement at the guy. A familiarity in their confrontational stances. A resigned dismay on the other guy's face.

I know it by the curl of his lips and the slight narrowing of his eyes.

"And now you're running into our booked practice. You know the rules." Voice sharp and slightly cold. The words snapped back, chin tilting upwards in unwavering confidence as (Y/N) stares down the hockey players.

But there's a dangerous, mocking curve to Bambam's lips as he appraises her with a glittering stare. Always teetering and skating far too close to a precipice, to a point of explosiveness that I just know he purposely fuels.

"Practice in prancing about?" voice lofty and mocking, his comment tugging wider grins from the guys, watching the way the guy next to (Y/N) bristles, anger flashing in his eyes. But it doesn't bleed into his voice, a hardened levelness that's at odds with the way it makes (Y/N) seethe.

Something about her reaction makes my grin deepen, always so easy to rile to a reaction, always so expressive and open about her disdain. Gaze turning colder as she scrutinises Bambam.

"Whether it's to prance about or just stare at the ice has nothing to do with you. You're wasting our time so get off the ice."

I move forward, tugging off the helmet to move to intervene, sensing the precariousness of the argument blowing up, some scrap of responsibility to stop the team provoking the duo, knowing full well how Namjoon would take another incident report.

Lips parting in a widened grin as (Y/N)'s gaze flits to me, her posture stiffening impossibly further. Her lips thinning in response, straightening up further as she looks at me.

Words rolling off my tongue, unable to help the lilted tease. Not when it riles her up so easily.

"Hey doll."

The prickliness she'd shown the other hockey players she seems to deign beneath her to give to me, eyes rolling as her gaze turns towards the tall skater beside her. Tall and broad and demanding the space just as much as her presence does when it inevitably veers into orbit with my own.

"No captain to collar you guys? Drag you off?" the low mocking tone drags my eyes away from her, turning instead to face him, feel the prickliness off the other players at the way he stares them down.

One by one, a scathing gleam to his eyes as he looks at our team.

A pack of dogs needing to be collared and dragged off. Tamed. I see the way in particular it makes a cluster of players stiffen, bristle with the urge to surge forward.

Grinning in mockery at how easy the team seems to be provoked. Turning the tables the team tried to play the two of them with.

But, despite myself, I can't help tease and provoke (Y/N) a bit further, can't help want to indulge in the flash of her eyes, the scowl that twists her lips whenever the two of us come to a standoff.

"The same way I suppose doll you needed backup to get some time on the ice?" my voice lofty and low, dragging out the words, the nickname dripping off my tongue.

Not quite expecting the snort that escapes the guy's lips, the twitching quirk of (Y/N)'s own mouth as she registers the sound, a half-smile curling her face before she smoothens it out.

Refuses to indulge me with it.

"Though hockey's a group sport, you might be unfamiliar with the idea of teamwork... and (Y/N)'s my partner. Why wouldn't we be together?" the brief exchange of glances.

There it is again.

That unspoken communication. And it speaks volumes for the connection the two share, something irksome about the way I don't get a reaction and she gives them to him instead. A proud gleam to his eyes.

"And she doesn't need backup."

I don't register moving until I'm veering close to her, eyes dragging slowly down impassive features, face hovering closer to hers, lips curving deeper at the slight twitch of her body, itching to do something.

"Can't tackle big bad us all alone? Haven't seen you on the rink for a while." I muse, the observation slipping out unbidden.

Usually she's fighting tooth and nail for her private skating practice and always on the main rink. Usually she's always head to head-she hasn't been for a while.

Something about riling her up makes my lungs lighter. Grinning at the way she's keeping her face impassive. Almost disappointed by the lack of response, wondering where to poke further-

"I didn't know that's what you spent your time on the ice doing Park. Explains why you might need the practice." Voice lofty and soft. Mocking me.

My grin fades, lips thinning.

The familiar spark of infuriation that she always seems to spark, smile twisting into a scowl before I let my gaze drift from hers.

Eyeing the rest of the team.

"Beer and chicken?"

Watching as they rush to leave the ice, the argument forgotten. The pettiness of it abandoned on the ice as they rush off, lips pressing tight to bite back the faint smile of amusement when I hear the soft scoff of breath.

And even as I skate towards the edge of the rink, moving after my team, I can't help turn my gaze back towards the two as we leave.

Noticing the way the two of them have skated further away, body stilling at the radiant laugh that tumbles past her lips as she's whirled around, the two of them half-entangled in one another, the indifference and coldness melting from their frames.

Briefly rooted to the sight before I turn to leave.

A mix of amusement and dismay twisting together. Every interaction with her always leaves this feeling of wanting to provoke more-not quite satisfied with the limited rise I got out of her.

Until next time.

-------------------------

The rivalry between ice hockey and figure skating has long since existed. The rivalry between me and (Y/N) stemmed at some point during our first year at university.

The uni only took the best of the best, the cream of the crop, the promising, glittering athletes with even more glittering futures stretched out ahead of them.

The university was to help mould and carve our paths to victory, to success, to sporting careers that a lot of us had been preparing for... for a long, long time.

So when I get the acceptance letter, when I get the offer to attend the most prestigious sports universities this side of Asia-I know I've earnt it. I know I've made my way there.

And every single student that's enrolled on a yearly basis are adults at the cusp of making their athletic debut, of making it in the sporting world-the name and prestige of the university alone opens so many doors, so many ventures and competition offers and potential for scholarships.

It also brings with it long-existing rivalries.

There's multiple rivalries between the martial-arts disciplines, each stubborn and insistent in their way, their training that their art was the strongest. The best.

There's rivalries but a strong sense of brotherhood especially between the footballers; competitors when they're playing in the multiple teams that form the university's teams, a strong-knit crowd when it comes to the uni's representative team.

There's rivalries but there's a greater, unified sense of pride and support too.

That all comes crashing down when it comes to the figure skaters and the ice hockey team.

Competing for resources, for the best rinks, for the best times for practices-the rivalry between the two sports seems to run deep, exists in the coaches too.

A warring sense of conflict always hovering on the horizon.

I don't know specifically when (Y/N) became a more specific rival. When she became someone from the ice skating team that just irked me, that challenged and provoked and taunted and played with as much fire as I had to give and then some.

But every time I see her, see the cold impassiveness and silently taunting expressions... every time she's there, hogging the ice when I want to practice, blocking out my protests and voice by blaring the music louder, my retorts lost on deaf ears.. every time I see her, we clash.

And fire is fought with fire.

And it burns hotter to slam against each other's defences.

I don't know when she was pitted against me.

When her reputation, her talent and the respect she held on the ice, the power she held in her own was combatted against my own place on it.

I see her and sparks fly and fire burns. Pushing myself to be better, to not be lost in my position in the team that I can't hold my own as myself.

That she's carved her place, but I've damn well earnt my place on the ice just as much as her.

And if I've spent years battling it out to prove it, to fight for the ice that we both crave and covet then so be it.

Because there's only space for one at the top.

For one sport, for one person.

And for as hard as (Y/N) tries to claim it, I'll fight her each step of the way for it.

Whatever it takes.

(AND SCENE. I FEEL SO NERVOUS, SO INSECURE, SO GAHHHH ABOUT THIS CHAPTER-I ALWAYS DO WITH FIRST CHAPTERS... IT'S ALWAYS HARD STARTING A STORY AND GETTING INTO THE FEELS OF IT ALL! LET ME KNOW HOW IT WAS- Midiiplier, TOSS, YEET, SCRAP? I'M SO EXCITED TO GET INTO THIS STORY AND THERE'S SO MUCH COMING AND JUST SCREEEEEECH! CAN'T WAIT TO START THIS SHORT STORY!)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3