(Y/N) POV:

"We've got a few more competitions coming up in the following weeks so it's more important now than ever to make sure you're prioritising yourselves. It doesn't matter how strong you might be physically if you're not taking care of your mental health at the same time. A healthy athlete is a strong athlete." Coach announces, the roster for competitions and personal training schedules being pinned up on the notice board.

Turning to face us towards us, gaze sweeping and firm.

"So no overworking, no overtraining, no overindulging~" a slightly teasing tone entering his voice.

"You follow the training schedule that me and Coach have set out, limit your personal training—" eyes narrowing pointedly as they settle on me and Kook. A twitch to my lips at the slight dig to my side. Elbow nudging me lightly.

Head angling to mine.

"That gives Park the chance to actually book the ice."

"Don't be so sure—"

"Coach's orders~ no overworking... it'll be our personal practices together. And I reckon the smaller rink might help."

"But it's fun booking the main rink."

"Why? Gets Park's knickers in a twist?"

"Gotta work hard play hard yknow?"

"Of all the things to get a kick out from..." Kook mutters, a faint grin curling at his mouth, rolling his eyes exasperatedly at the amusement I get from it.

"Shut up I know Park loves being bested by me."

"Sure he does... the same way that means you must as well."

"I do not—" hushed whisper distracted by Coach's voice addressing and singling out names.

Hearing mine and Kook's being called out in Group 3.

"Group 3—Coach Seo will be working with you. You'll all start with harness lifts and turn-practice before moving onto working with your partners. Monitor the height and angle."

We all nod.

"Remember when you're doing practices, the rest of the group should be both there to assess and assist with pointers. The best critiques of your work is yourself and your team—so help each other out."

"Yes Coach." Everyone choruses.

Filing out after Coach dismisses us, eyes scanning the training schedule, snapping a photo of it—eyes sweeping over the practices scattered across the upcoming weeks.

Confirming there'd be less chance to have natural run-ins with Jimin when the next few weeks outlined just the one shared practice on schedule and later bookings for practices in the smaller rinks.

That didn't mean I couldn't pay him a visit on the ice, keep his blades and wits sharp and all—

"I know that look."

"What look?"

"The I'm planning to cause trouble look."

"I'd never—"

"Sometimes I get disgusted how easily I can read your expressions... whatever sexcapades you're planning have to be done in plenty of time for practice, whatever nuisance you're gonna cause Park—don't make me have to call you to remind you to be on time." Kook natters, voice a constant in my ear, a mixture of grumbling and knowing and tinged with an exasperation as if despite it all he expects to have to shepherd me along to practice regardless.

It's insulting.

"When have I ever been late?" affronted as I stare at him.

"The other day when I had to call you to get your ass back to your dorm room cos you'd spent the night at Park's... the other time when you were too busy messing around in the locker room to even have your skates properly tied by the time you got onto the ice... and then that other time when—"

"Alright...alright I get the point. I won't be late Captain." I grumble, hand swatting at him hurriedly to get him to stop speaking. At calling me out for the few instances I'd been a scant few minutes late.

"Don't make me haul your ass to the rink when most days I can't haul it off the ice."

"Problems...problems..."

"You're one of them!"

"You love me."

"I don't love the babysitting you need."

"Never said you didn't love me though~"

[......]

"You've had a long practice make sure you stretch out properly, get a hot shower, let your muscles relax and rest before doing any cardio training tomorrow."

"Sauna?"

"Sounds like heaven."

"Anything that's a burning level of hot does sound heaven for you doesn't it? I don't know how your skin doesn't peel off." Kook grumbles.

"Because it's bliss."

"Or you're a lizard."

"Might be why I'm always on the ice. Cold-blooded and all."

"Yeah that about fits."

"Hey!"

"What? You just said it!" Kook laughs.

"On pure principle you're meant to say no! That your partner couldn't possibly be anything but perfection."

"The day I say that... I want you to get me checked for a concussion. Must've been knocked onto the ice too hard trying to catch you."

"Hey!"

[......]

My hand laces with Jimin's, dragging him into the enclosed space, the scorching waves of heat immediately making sweat prickle at skin, beading at our temples, making it feel a burning-hot red.

"It's so hot."

"Don't you mean I'm so hot?"

"We're in a sauna—of course you're going to be hot too."

"Awww thanks Park you really didn't need to make a point of mentioning it every time... but flattery will get you anywhere."

"Like roasting to death apparently."

My lips tug up into a grin, clouds of steam that swirl around the sauna, briefly clouding him from view, wispy curls of heat that make the way his body stumbles into mine, searching in the heat, all the more a branding press of limbs to limbs.

"Gives us privacy doesn't it?"

"You wanna sneak away that much that you'll let us both burn?" amusement curling his lips, sparking his eyes.

Lips parted as he draws in a shallow breath, laced with the heat of the sauna's steam.

"A little bit of heat's never harmed anyone."

Moving towards the sauna bench, sinking down against it, head resting against the wall, watching through curling trickles of heat as Jimin moves forward, bathing robe tied loose around him. Eyes dragging over the expanse of his chest where the gown is loose, the ripple of his abdomen as he sinks down, a slouched curve to his posture.

Leg knocking against mine.

A soft groan as minutes pass, as he melts into the bench, posture loosening up.

A look of relief melting and smoothening out the features of his face, my head tilting to examine his side-profile.

Tracing over the sharp line of his jaw, the way his blonde hair seems darker at the roots, tendrils of it pressing to damp sweat-flushed skin. Tracing the trickle of sweat that trails down from his temple, down his jaw, dipping down to snake along his throat.

A pulse of heat, mouth parting slightly. Gaze lingering there.

"A picture would last you longer."

"Does a picture let you last longer Park? Might have to test that theory out in front of me."

Dark flashing eyes that turn to appraise me.

Hand tugging mine, letting him move me towards him, body twisting to swing my leg over his lap, fingers skimming down the glistening expanse of his chest, a sheen of sweat that makes the warmth of his skin glow in the heat and the darkened space.

Hand finding its way to the loose knot that holds the bathing robe together, body shifting on his lap, feeling the way his thighs tense, muscles taut under me.

Turning tenser when my hips circle over his, fingers tugging slowly at the tie, watching it unravel. The first brush of his hands against skin is slow, leisurely. Fingertips tracing their way across the dip and curve of my body, skimming lightly across skin, leaving a more searing heat to spark across flesh.

My hand rakes through his hair, darkened strands of blonde pushed away from his face. Dark intense eyes tracing the touch, head tilting back and narrowed gaze mapping out the sight of me over him. Eyes seeming to turn darker, heavier. The weighted heat in them appraising, fingers curling to squeeze tighter, harder. Hips giving an involuntary buck upwards. And then more intentional when my fingers lace into his hair, tugging to tilt his head back further. Eyes raking over the strong line of his throat, tracing the way his throat bobs, swallowing heavy and hard. Pupils dilating further. Skin burning under his hold. Burning hotter under the slow thoroughness of his sweeping assessment.

And there's something so openly piercing about his stare, about the way it makes my insides twist and melt, putty under his touch, hands dragging me forward, to the circling press of his hips pushing up to mine that my gaze wrenches away from him, head angling forward. Lingering over the curve of his bottom lip, teeth aching to sink into it. A different want bubbles up. To feel the press of his mouth against mine, slow and unrushed. Indulgently thorough.

Hands dragging the bathrobe back, tugging at it impatiently. Hands tracing over heated skin, each tracing pattern of lazy fingertips and dragging palms making my body arch. Pushing into his touch. Dark dilated eyes, sharp and blown wide with heat and lust. Gaze tracing the rise and fall of my body. The way sweat gleams on skin.

His eyes linger. Their trailing gaze slows.

The grip of fingers pressing to the dip of my spine burning their prints into my skin. But they come to a still.

Eyes mapping a slow path down and then up.

And then they stop.

Gaze holding mine with a brewing, thickening intensity to the dark heat already pooled there.

There's something about the slow-burning intensity of his stare that makes me feel more exposed than before, that makes my back feel taut, arched into the sprawl of his hold. Feel the grip of his hands shift. Seeming softer.

Seeming different in the way they shift from gripping at me to just...holding me.

Expression turning languid. As if he has all the time to trace the outline of my body with slowly sweeping fingertips and drifting eyes.

Letting my own eyes rove over him.

Tracing the darkened blonde, slicked back. The heat that clings to his skin. Makes sweat bead at his temples, skin glistening with heat. The rise and fall of his chest, of the ink traced across his ribs falling in rhythm with the slow breaths.

For a moment I wonder if he can hear it, the betraying hammering quickness to my pulse the deeper his gaze turns.

As he looks at me. As if he really looks at me.

Taste my pulse on my tongue, feel it pulse at my throat when a hand drifts from the low of my back to drag his thumb, a lazy slowness, across the curve of my hip.

Skin burning and scorched hotter under the light touch more than the heat that presses our skin together, limbs together.

"You're hot."

"So are you. It's a sauna."

"Playing the fool doesn't do much for you Park. Not when you've been the fool far too much."

"It's cute—" my eyes drop to his lips. To the way the word sounds coming from his mouth.

To the word so different to what he usually says.

"How much you believe your own lies. I've never made a fool of myself...especially in front of you."

"Pride too stubborn?"

"You've always tried to outdo me on the ice. Trust me that I'm bringing nothing less than my A Game."

That part of me, a great part of me if not all of me, had always thrived and revelled in the challenge, the competition, the push of driving myself further than I ever had because that'd be the only way to put myself further than Park on the ice.

And yet despite the flare of competitiveness that rises to the surface, instinctive and immediate, there's also a kindred appreciation for the same burning drive to go, that same passion that pushes me...pushes him too.

"So I bring the best out of you?"

"Oh and the worst too—I've never been a sore loser."

"Not until it was me you were losing to." smile pleased, vindicated.

"I'll take it so long as it means it's a win for neither."

[......]

Sweat-slick bodies stepping under the warm spray of water, washing away the heat from our skin.

The same slicked back hair falls forward now, dripping with water as it hangs past his eyes. Dark heavy strands of blonde that don't entirely hide the sight of dark wicked eyes. Sparked with heat. With want.

Though the path his hands take, inching down my body is slow. A simmering heat that coils its noose tighter and tighter, insides clenching, wound tight with anticipation. Skin sparking with the barest of touches, feeling as if the slow drag of roughened fingertips, of a dragging palm as it drifts down my abdomen, lower between my thighs—

Body curving forward, steadied against his by the grip of my hand curled around his bicep, nails digging in hard at the first press of his fingers, slowly circling, toying...drawing out the wait, the fleeting featherlight touches slow slow—

"Hurry up." Demand breathier than I would've liked. Fingers digging in harsher at the slow slick glide of his fingers, at the slow circling pressure of his thumb sparking sharp jolts of pleasure to lance across my skin, sporadic and uneven breaths stuttering unevenly against his skin. Hips rocking forward.

"Why? Training's done. What's the rush?" a saccharine smoothness to his voice, soft and low, brushing against my skin, the curve of his mouth deepening.

"I need more." teeth dragging against the slick skin of his shoulder, sinking into the taut line of muscle when his fingers finally, slowly sink into me. Teeth sinking harsher, legs clenching around his hand.

"And I want to see you slowly come apart." Words a breathy, low confession against my skin. The curve of his mouth softening as he presses a line of open-mouthed kisses against my throat, hand gripping my nape, angling my head back to bare it to his touch. To the hot press of his lips against my skin.

The daunting thing is... I'll let him.

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

"Did I get you in trouble?" the beginning of a shit-eating grin curling upwards across his face, an amused glint in Jimin's eyes as he watches me stomp onto the ice, skates clattering noisily across, weaving roughly past the chunks and dips of the rink where hockey sticks have gouged at it. Leaving it rough and the surface unsteady. Ruined.

"You know you did."

"You stayed over." an unrepentant shrug.

"You asked me to!"

"Since when do you listen to what I ask you to do?"

"Since maybe--"

"Your legs weren't working afterwards?"

"Oh, fuck you, Park." words growled at, gritted teeth, hand shoving at him once I'm close enough. He takes the shove without barely being nudged, hand dragging from my wrist to curl around my forearm. Hand gripping at me to tug me forward.

"Did I really get you into trouble?" head angling close, something in his eyes shifting, the smug curl of his mouth softening around the edges.

Voice softer. Quieter.

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Is your Coach mad?" a flash of apprehension, of second-guessing.

"My Captain's mad."

"Jeon? He's incapable of being mad at you. Not really." a brush off, a spark to his eyes that flare into a gleam once more.

"He's a sadist that drives me hard. Harder because I was late cos of a booty call."

"I seem to remember you having no problem admiring it."

"What an ass—now what workout would get me that?"

"Don't worry doll~ if it's any consolation your ass is a turn-on."

"And yet your eyes are always--" fingers crooking under his jaw, angling his face up, dark eyes sweeping over me.

"Up here."

His gaze dips. A hint of a smirk tugging at full lips.

"Sometimes doll... I don't know where to look. Where to begin."

"You have my permission, Park. Not just to look."

"So generous."

"Don't forget it."

"You shouldn't have forgotten you had stamina training this morning then." words dripping with tease, laced with laughter.

"It was you—" I begin with sharp protest. Hand dragging me closer, falling away from my forearm to curl against my waist.

Gripping tightly.

"Should've told him we were practicing our stamina anyways."

I feel my own lips twitch. I had said that.

"Now you get me Park."

[......]

"Was Jeon pissed?"

"Nothing extra PT lessons from hell won't fix. And a longer session at the studio later."

Slowly skating around, warming up steadily, feeling Jimin's presence as a shadowed double of my own. His own movements lazy and unrushed, the flush on his cheeks slowly cooling now that his practice is over.

"Why'd do you take so many sessions out of figure skating?"

"The flexibility for routines isn't just automatic. And dance helps with sequencing."

"You are pretty flexible."

"Did you just say I'm pretty?"

"Flexible."

"All that training doesn't let you get bored in bed, does it?"

"Not for a second."

[......]

"Just...drop it."

"Your Coach shouldn't have blown a fuse—"

"Well, he should've. He should've cos I was late to practice and it's my fault."

"Park-- listen... he's being hard-headed and pushing you too hard you need to--"

"What I need to do is get my head on straight... I just... I gotta go. I'll--"

"See you?"

"...yeah maybe."

A sinking, twisting feeling left behind. Disparaged and uneasy. A mix of anger towards his Coach and a slither of concern that he'd push himself too hard and overexert himself. That something in Jimin's mindset—that engrained drive to be perfect would mean he'd get lost in his own head and pick at mistakes that don't exist. His Coach being around to amplify that wouldn't work.

"It's a closed practice."

"And yet the rink is open access."

"A closed practice means there's no space for prissy flouncing dancers playing at being make-believe princesses."

"But there's space for boys knocking about their sticks pretending they know what they're doing?"

"We're a winning team you bitch--"

"Save the pep-talk for the mirror." moving to sidestep, a hand darting out to block off my path.

A scowl twisting my lips.

"Can't hear well?"

"Believe it or not... this way is also the way to get to the offices. Not everything is about you airheads."

And as I bypass, hand shoving roughly as I move past the hockey player, walking past the seats—my eyes can't help dart onto the figure skating determinedly across the ice. Barked orders rippling over and pushing the figure to move harsher. Reading the exhausted set of his shoulders, the slight hunch before he powers forward regardless.

Moving past the seats to head down the smaller hallway to get to the office at the end, a twist of sympathy towards the guy cutting harsh lines into the ice. Over and over.

Almost mindless with it.

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

"Are you okay?" words hedging carefully, body slotting into the space seamlessly, filling it as if it hadn't been vacant, hadn't been torn up by blades carving hard lines and curls into the rink.

"I'm fine." an impatient rush of breath, fingers pushing at errant flyaway strands, brushing them off my face.

Measuring a count of 3, trying to contain my breaths within them but they're too jagged, too uneven, too abrupt. Too light where they need to be deep, too empty where they need to be full.

Twisting around to weave past him, skating a clean line across the ice before my foot turns sharp, lurching my body around, coiling up to fall into formation to execute a turn. The triple lutz jump falls short, motions not as controlled as they need to be, turns not flawless because there's a faint wobble to my footing as I land. Glowering as I straighten up, brushing off ice that isn't there, fingers curling tight, nails digging into my palm before loosening.

Okay.

Again.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure Park. If you don't mind--" hand gesturing him to move to the side, a rushed exhale when he doesn't.

Letting my skates push me back a few paces, granting myself the space to move off again.

A quiet slide of skates, noiseless, eyes catching onto them. Obstacle cutting off a clean line for me to move, to gain momentum with.

Skates weaving me left, brushing past, building speed slowly and then quicker, needing the speed to let me gain pace, body twisting, one, two, three—turns of my skate that push me into a spiralling motion, limbs blurring into a blend of moves, of a turn morphing into another and—

A hiss of breath. Skate wobbling.

Almost teetering off balance.

"Fuck I almost had it."

I feel the weight of his stare, light and heavy at the same time, sweeping over me in a skimming assessment, though what he's searching for I don't know.

Mentally mapping out the next paces on the ice, seeing where I'll land, the sequence clear in my mind's eye. Right foot to turn, twist, arms brought close to my body, keeping the line of my body straight. Controlled. Breaths rippling through my lungs in time to the slightest motions.

There.

Lips tugging up with triumph. A brief pulse of satisfaction at sticking the landing correctly.

But that feeling is fleeting.

Because this was a standard jump. I'd mastered it years ago and frustration was making me fumble now. Frustration growing and the turns failing every time it hadn't worked.

It's a mistake that shouldn't really happen.

"You aced that." voice tinged with marvel, skating into my line of vision, lips curved up and something real and genuinely pleased flares in his eyes.

But it's praise and acknowledgment that feels excessive for a move I shouldn't have struggled with in the first place.

Its warmth sinking in, cheeks heating with a flush.

"It was a simple jump."

"I don't think a simple jump would have that many turns and rotations."

"Look at you Park you're starting to sound like one of us." a pleased lilt in my voice.

Warm despite myself.

I shouldn't feel flattered, pleased... but I am. It shouldn't matter at all but somehow it does. Somehow Jimin's words make that fleeting sense of satisfaction morph into something slightly... flushed. At knowing he was watching in wait for me to land the turns properly.

It makes that sting and depreciation fade, he lets it fade. He makes it fade.

Like it's okay to have fumbled up something simple because I landed it in the end anyways.

"I spend too much time around you." he brushes off with a faint grin. Looking as if he doesn't really mind.

"That was a choice you made when you decided to shadow me during my personal skating time."

"It's not shadowing you. It's just... cool. To see you do your stuff. I couldn't do it but it's... cool."

The heat in my cheeks warms further. Flush inching its way up across my skin.

"What do you find cool?"

"If you're going to get all big-headed about it and let that ego of yours inflate further princess—"

"No... seriously. What do you find cool about figure skating?"

"Well, it helps that you're seriously hot princess. Very easy on the eyes."

"Pig."

"We both know that I find you attractive."

"And?"

"It's like... it's like it's more than one thing you know? It's skating and dancing and some element of gymnastics... it's athletic and artistic..." a flush dusts his cheeks as his words cut off. Softening the sharp angles of his face, drawing my gaze to the way when his cheeks pinken, they seem soft and full.

Lips briefly wanting to press to the rosiness.

To linger against the curve of his cheek. Particularly when it bunches up, wry grin tugging at his lips, fingers carding through his hair—eyes filled with consciousness. Almost waiting for some sort of comment or dig.

But his words are touching. Warming.

To realise that he's noticed with that much detail... that he's observed me with that much detail.

"It's a lot of effort. I didn't think hockey players noticed. We're just prancing skaters, aren't we?"

A flicker of something regretful...in his eyes before it fades. Something sharper sparking in them.

"Guess we're wrong. I was wrong princess- you're impressive."

"Took you long enough to realise."

"Took you some time to remember that though, didn't it? You were all--" hand gesticulating, motioning at his head.

His words make me falter.

"What?"

"Lost up there. You couldn't land properly cos you were psyching yourself out."

A hint of defensiveness creeps into my posture, sets my shoulders stiffly.

"How would you know?"

"Your eyes got this—absent look. Like you're focusing so hard on what's inside your mind that you're not entirely here."

And a part of me doesn't entirely know what he means, so fixed, so stubborn, so sure that of course that wasn't possible. That I was right here, mentally present and focused. Each step mapped out in front of my eyes, ready for my body to step into those exact formations.

But somewhere...somewhere in the back of my mind it makes sense.

That being too stuck in the way it's meant to look, the way I know it should look, by being so fixed on what I'm seeing in my head, it doesn't translate to how it should be on the ice.

"But I've done this move thousands of times... I could do it in my sleep." an edge of frustration making the words huff against my lips, tracing the cuts in the ice with the tip of my skate.

A shoulder nudges against mine.

The movement light but force enough it jolts me on purpose.

Eyes flashing up.

"I reckon prodigies are allowed their off days too."

"Prodigy huh?"

"Your Coaches adore you." a flash of something heavy briefly pools in his eyes, but before I can comment on it, before I even get to say anything it vanishes. Abrupt and sudden. As if it'd never been there in the first place.

"They work us all hard. But they acknowledge the effort too." I murmur.

Jimin's breath is a wavery exhale, mimicking the slow tracing patterns my skates have left behind before his foot nudges to mine.

"If you're done with all the effort fancy a skate?"

"I am skating—"

"3...2..1GO!" whizzing off sharply across the ice, a nudged stumble to the side as I stare at his back for a few stunned moments before rushing after him.

Skates cutting the ice quick to chase after him.

"Park Jimin you dirty cheat!"

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

"Don't beat yourself up. It wasn't an official competition, and the Coaches never said it was you. For all you're being paranoid I know I was a few beats too slow to be in the correct position before the dip and twist—" Koo huffs, voice laced with encouragement.

"I twisted too sharp. My foot caught your shoulder—you okay?" lips twisted into a frown, hand brushing over his left shoulder, fingers skimming featherlight and then...testing the waters, no reaction given to the touch, squeezing gently.

Not a hiss of breath.

Not a flicker of discomfort or pain.

But my eyes still search intently.

"Because I dipped your body too low."

"It's meant to be low." I brush off, fingers tugging at the thin tank. Unsatisfied.

"I'm fine—are you trying to get my clothes off?" amusement bleeding into his voice.

"Yes! Now take your top off so I can check." words insistent, a soft resigned sigh and then Kook leans back. Tugging the top off, letting his posture slump.

Sinking back on his hands, torso bared for me to examine. Eyes narrowed with focus as they skim over his shoulders, body shuffling closer to press nearer to him. Hands roving over the line of his shoulders, fingers kneading, testing, listening attentively for any pained hitch of breath. Eyes darting up to check his, finding nothing but warm patience there. Gaze unwavering.

"I told you I'm fine icicle." voice soft, fingers brushing over his shoulder. A faint pink left there. Thumb brushing over it gently.

"It's going to bruise."

"I'm tougher than that. It takes more than a nudge of your foot to bruise me."

In retaliation, the hand that'd been curled against his shoulder shoves at him.

A playful oof as Kook falls back, weight sinking back onto his arms, a mock-wounded expression on his face that for one moment flares up the panic before he grins.

Scrunched and amused.

"Jungkook!" his name a sharp scold.

Scowling at him.

" big baby I'm fine but..." a hint of sharp knowingness flits through his gaze.

Slowly straightening up. Hands shifting to encircle my wrists.

A gentle tug forward.

Voice a soft careful murmur.

Eyes dipping down.

"Your okay? You landed unevenly twice."

In response, I roll my foot. An easy twist of motion, no flare of pain at the joint, no stiffness. Though Kook stares at it intently, hand dropping down to squeeze gently.

Hand guiding it through gentle rolls and turns, testing my ankle for himself.

"All good."

"Not a twinge?"

"Nope."

"I still think you should ice it in case and—" he begins with a worried edge to his voice.

My fingers skim through his hair, head tilting up at the touch, eyes settling on mine.

"But just in case mama Jeon I'm going to get it iced and physio."

"You've been keeping up with that?"

"Of course. The last thing I'll ever let happen is sabotage a single competition for you because my post-injury care wasn't enough."

Because he hadn't been the only one who'd worried, because my own mind was steeped with paranoia, deciding to play it overly cautious rather than brush it off. Because ankle injuries as extensive as the one that'd benched the both of us last season had awful ways of creeping back up unaware if the care wasn't done properly.

"Want me to come with you?"

"It's just the on-campus medic bay. I'll be fine."

"I can still—"

"You're in that meeting with Coach for all that induction stuff for new skaters."

"I can tell them I'll be late—"

"Absolutely not."

"You're my partner. Of course I can." Words matter of fact, the resolve and ease of it clear on his face.

"So Coach watches me even more carefully? I could see it in their eyes before we'd even reviewed that I'd messed up."

"But they help."

"I know but—it's already bad enough that they haven't said it yet. They'll wait for our session tomorrow now that we've reviewed it."

"So, they let us find our own faults and errors."

Because nothing is more effective than self-correction. Because what could be more effective than that drive to improve because you saw your own strengths and weaknesses. Because we picked what they were.

Something oddly both enabling and empowering about boosting ourselves, our performances by picking up the small slights in the reviews afterwards.

Something about it that lets me have the chance to be more prepared for the session tomorrow.

Mentally mapping out the improvements and—

"Your eyes got this—absent look. Like you're focusing so hard on what's inside your mind that you're not entirely here."

And unknowingly...he'd been right again.

Psyching myself up, and psyching myself out, for the new sequencing we'd been working on together. I'd been so intent and focused on making sure the beginnings of our sequence were ready to show Coach that it had been a practiced lift I'd landed unsteadily on.

"Can we get to practice earlier? I want to do the corrections..."

Fingers squeeze my ankle.

"First thing... I'm dropping you to the medic-bay. Then we check how your ankle is. Make sure it's okay and then sure...why not? I've got a list of pointers." a curve of a grin tugging at his mouth, blurring the concern with the promising glint of making damn sure that after tomorrow's practice I'd regret asking.

"...you've got a masochistic streak—you weren't like that at the beginning you piece of—"

"Oh, you know exactly what I'd like. And that's your ass on a bed."

"Foot propped up and being iced." Words finishing with a firmness.

"And you made it sound so dirty—" I lilt.

"Ice. Therapy. Dinner."

"Then taking me to bed?"

"Then if I have to tuck you into bed to make sure you stay there then I will."

"What a gent."

"Mama Jeon raises her kids right—"

"And my mum didn't? I'm a delight—"

"Nono... your mum is a delight."

"I'm her daughter!"

"I prefer your older brother, but we can't always get what we want? Such a shame that he didn't go into sports too." I sigh in commiseration.

"Should've chased him around all the time."

"It wasn't chasing... it was making friends! And see? Besties."

A snort. Hand nudging me to get off the bed.

Impatient.

"More like a shadow I didn't ask for."

"Actually shadows are linked to you... you can't get rid of them. They're a part of you."

There's a begrudging twitch at his lips, curving upwards into a warm smile. Deepens as we both clamber to our feet. Arm looping itself around me.

"Guess we're stuck with each other."

"Aren't you the luckiest?"

[......]

"Your ankle's healed up perfectly you know?" fingers carefully turning and testing the dexterity of the limb, ankle easily rotating without even the briefest pinch of pain.

And it's been months since the injury, months since its recovery too... so it shouldn't still be a worry. But the doctor's words make a wave of relief ripple through me, shoulders slumping as the tension drains from me.

"I had a few odd lands in practice, and I just wanted to be careful."

"I know ankle injuries can have a dangerous way of creeping back up if you don't stay attentive... but luckily no inflammation or flare-ups." Giving the all-clear even if his hands continue to rotate my ankle carefully, thumbs pressing into soft tendons. A quiet hiss of breath at the firmness of the ministrations.

But the pain isn't one that flares from deep within my skin. A general exhaustion that my body feels more acutely now that I'm slumped against the hospital bed. Having sunk into it readily at the beginning, body relaxing, ice cool pressure sending jolts of cold through my skin.

"I've just learnt to play it cautious."

"And I wish every athlete had the foresight to do that. Unfortunately it's always after injuries or close calls or when a career is put on the line that we open up our eyes."

Something about the weariness in his eyes speaks volumes about how many athletes have such abrupt ends or standstills to their careers.

It sends a cold careening down my spine, a shudder as I look down at my ankle. Feeling the cold weight of the ice pack long after it being removed. A clamped pressure reminding me of what I've cleaved back, held onto desperately.

It's not always the case.

Not everyone gets lucky.

"Take care of your ankle and your body—keep checking in on yourself how far you've pushed yourself because there'll be stubborn ones—"

The sound of footsteps approaching, coming to a shuffled halt at the doorway turns both our attention to the doorway. A wry knowing smile tugging at the guy's face as he hovers there.

Eyes dancing uncertainly.

But something about his posture's off. Despite standing straight something about his posture's off. As if he's holding himself upright and careful.

Eyes quickly scanning and finding the side he's favouring. The fingers of his left hand trembling slightly. Curling into a tight fist when he seems to register my gaze.

"Some stubborn ones will overwork themselves even though they know to take it easy."

"Ah doc don't call me out in front of strangers."

"You're both athletes. Both in the medic bay. Not quite strangers... take a seat. I'll grab a heat pack for your shoulder."

There's slow shuffles as he makes his way to a hospital bed a few spaces from mine, slumps into it with a tired practiced familiarity.

A chronic pain or injury then.

A twist of sympathy for the way his hand cradles his shoulder, kneading and squeezing to ease some of whatever pain's ebbing through him.

"You should've really rested up if you're injured." I call out, voice quiet. Lips twisting downwards as I watch him. Slow fluttering eyes that blink at me, a grimace that's smoothened out off his face.

"It's fine."

"Doesn't look it." I can't help retort, but a flash of defensiveness enters his gaze. Narrowed slitted eyes that appraise me.

At my leg stretched out in front, the loose slouch to my body.

"Do you take your own advice?"

A soft laugh interrupts me, the hand at my ankle loosening. Warmed oils leaving the limb feeling thoroughly loosened. Slowly straightening up further.

"You're good to go. Give yourself ten minutes before leaving. Tell your Captain you're a solid green light to go."

"Hear that? I do take care." I can't help but tease lightly. Watching as the doctor moves round, circling towards the guy leaning heavily back against the pillows, adjusting them with an ease as he lies on his right side—as if he already knows the drill.

A privacy curtain being drawn to the side, voices murmuring on the other end of it.

And after ten minutes I straighten up and drawing my legs off the bed, feet sliding back into slippers as I ease off the bed.

The doctor reappears from the other side of the curtain, a flutter of movement before the curtain's drawn aside. A more comfortable slouched position, heat pad strapped over his arm, the rest of his body curled under a blanket.

A flash of pale skin, of the curve of his shoulder.

Dark hair brushing in front of his eyes as he tilts his head. Narrowed eyes sharpen as they fix on me, a hint of amusement curling at pink lips before he shrugs loosely as if to say what can you do?

It elicits a soft quiet groan. Stifled and swallowed back. Lying flat on his back as he looks at me.

"Easing up won't kill you. Pushing yourself too far might have you benched one game." The doctor calls out, circling round as he searches the medicine cabinets. Rummaging through them.

A frown deepens his expression, tightens the line of his jaw.

Nodding curtly, though the doctor's back's to him.

"I know doc. It's flared up after these past few inter-city competitions."

"Follow the doctor's orders... it looks like it hurts like a bitch."

"And I thought I'd done such a good job of hiding it." but there's a genuine furrow in his brows and a frown on his lips.

"You do. But you favoured your left side since you entered. And pretending it doesn't hurt is something we all know how to do right?"

A pointed cough from behind us.

"I mean wrong... we don't know how to do. Take it easy..."

My eyes fall to the number and name at the discarded hoodie.

A minute detail.

Not his performing gear.

"Min...give the shoulder a break."

"Will do stranger. Keep the ankle in one piece."

"Planning on it."

And a faint trace of gums where his lips twitch slightly.

Nodding as he sinks down further into the pillows.

But seeing this athlete and his shoulder brings a flash of guilt remembering the faint pink left on Koo's shoulder, where my skate had hit the limb. Mind resolving despite Kook's insistence that his shoulder was fine.

We don't wear the same padding that hockey players do.

So for all that he insists he's okay, he takes the tossed gel the next day with a roll of his eyes and a grin.

A warmer appreciation there.

He's got my back, I got his.

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

Between practices, between the run up to competitions, there's time sparse in-between to spend every other night at each other's dorm rooms. Moments dwindling back to stolen opportunities here and there, hurried breaths and impatient need, limbs pressed to each other. Sounds muffled against one another, swallowed by rough greedy lips chasing pleasure and chasing it fast.

And sometimes... sometimes it feels frantic and needing, it feels urgent and wanting. Using each other to fuck out the restless energy that buzzes away under our skin.

Satiated, rough breaths, sweat-slick skin drawing back from each other. Lips and hair mussed, clothes being tugged on or straightened, lust-darkened, blown-wide eyes dragging over each other.

Breathing uneven as we straighten up, small jolts of pleasure still wracking my body as I smoothen back my hair, fingers carding through to try gain a semblance of control and order back.

Watch as his fingers deftly slide the zipper up of the jacket he'd so roughly tugged down, to press his mouth against bared flesh, darkened splotches of colour hidden away at the drag of fingertips drawing my jacket shut again.

"You okay?" words breathless, eyes raking over the dark intensity of his very posture, still crackling with a fraction of the tension and energy that'd been pouring off him when he'd yanked me and shut the door behind us. Had pressed me to the hard surface, lips bruising and hands rough.

"Long practice. Some people are dickheads..."

"The usual? Want me to beat someone's ass for you?"

The curl to his mouth is a wry, amused slant.

"Gonna take my hockey stick and beat it at—"

"Urgh Park gross." The tinge of mischief sparking in his eyes as he laughs, the sound ringing and soft. So at odds with the way his voice sounds rasped against my skin, laced with frustration, mouth inches from mine.

"What did I say?"

"You can take your hockey stick and shove it up your—"

"I don't mind a toy or two in the bedroom but hard no (L/N)."

"What sorta toys you keeping?"

"Let the next round of matches finish and I'll be glad to take the time to show you."

"I'll hold you to it Park."

"It's a promise doll—one I intend on gladly seeing through."

[......]

🏒Busy?

❄️Competition tomorrow

🏒How're you feeling

❄️Nervous

🏒Shame...

❄️Why?

🏒I was gonna say if you're feeling down I can feel you up 😏

❄️Don't tell me that shit's worked before

🏒Depends... did it work on you?👀

❄️In your dreams Park

🏒Oh you're in loads of them

❄️Aww dream about me?

🏒Nothing awww about what we do in my dreams🥵

❄️...

❄️Thinking with your dick Park?

🏒Not a bad way to be...

❄️Think with that brain of yours? I know it's not entirely empty up there

🏒What'd you think the helmet's for? To protect the goods...

❄️And here I thought it was cos people didn't like looking at you

🏒You of all people know that's a lie

❄️Don't kid yourself Park... I just about tolerate that smug face

🏒Didn't seem to mind it between your legs this morning though did you?

My thighs clench together, fingers gripping the phone tightly.

And I can hear what his laugh would be like right now. Amused and low.

❄️I wouldn't mind it there again after the competition...

🏒You saying I'm your prize?

❄️I'm saying I need a distraction at the end of it

❄️You in?

🏒Tomorrow I will be ;)

[......]

"Are you nervous?"

"...a bit."

"Liar."

"Terrified."

"I know." Eyes slowly tracing over me, reading the tension in my body, knee nudging against mine, hand reaching up to brush against my cheek before skimming down. Gently tugging at a strand of hair, brushing it back away from my face.

"So am I."

"You don't look it."

"I'm scared shitless before a big competition."

"You said not to treat it like a big competition." I laugh, half-scold, poking at his chest.

"And we shouldn't. We go out tomorrow and we perform like we always do together. It's us on the ice. That's it." hand catching my wrist, pressing my hand flat against his chest.

The maps and planes of his body familiar, the breadth of his chest memorised to the pads of my fingers, to my palm. Sprawling across his chest, feel the way his hand presses to mine.

"So why are you scared?"

"I always want to perform as the best partner for you. I'm always scared I'll mess it up for you."

"You're worried about that? I'm the one who's kicked you in the face more times than I can count."

"No lasting mark—you couldn't hurt me if you tried icicle."

"I don't want to!"

"And you don't. We learn and hurt but guess what icicle?"

"What?"

"Tomorrow we're going to ace it."

"Just like your nickname golden boy." I tease lightly.

"Shut up little Miss Prodigy."

The coiling ball of nerves unravels slightly, eases its pressure. The constant, grounding thudding pulse under my palm soothing that frazzled, anxious edge.

A soft exhale, one that the chest under my hand expands and contracts with as it mirrors my breathing. The two of us calming each other down, breaths falling into sync with ease, in the same way we always do.

"We'll be okay." I whisper.

Kook's hand moves to brush down my hair, tucking me closer to him, nose nudging against mine.

"We'll be just fine."

[......]

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be twirly. Let's get it!" voice a loud cheer, hand outstretched for me to take as we step onto the ice.

Skating together towards the centre, backs pressed to one another.

Fingers laced together.

A silent squeeze of support and strength.

I've got your back.

There's a sea of faces, undecipherable and unfamiliar, eyes expectant and watching. A thousand eyes.

But there's none that matter, none that matter more than my partner's.

Fingers lacing together, a hushed anticipation before the first beats of the music swells and those same interlocked fingers are tested to straining as we skate away from each other, hands falling away, lingering for a last fleeting touch before our bodies twist away from one another.

A parting and chase before the slow turn, the pull of gravity tugging us back towards one another. Our moves turn from incomplete reflections of another to slowly circle back. Speed and rhythm falling back into synchrony the closer we move towards each other, closing distance on the ice.

Bodies leaning on each other, supporting Kook through his moves, letting him use my strength, my limbs as an extension of his own before surrendering mine to let him guide and support me through the curved tilt towards him, skates sweeping across the ice, our hands the only tethered link of connection.

Fingers laced together as he tugs me upright, twisting the two of us in a series of perfected turns, speeding more and more, skates never faltering, pace never failing, catching a blur of him as I turn, catch the curve of a grin- breathless, bodies sparking with adrenaline, tugging him forward, body curved over the extended line of his arm. Tilting back to peer up at him, his own body tilting to chase the downwards twist and spiral of limbs melting and folding into each other.

Breaths, uneven and sharp, pressing into my skin once we pause.

Still.

The thudding pulse of Kook's heartbeat soaking into skin, hands gripping him with the same intensity his curve across me.

And the senses that'd been narrowed down to just Jungkook, to the way his blades sound on the ice to the way his breath and pulse are a mirror to my own, to the way he feels through every move—it expands out.

Senses once again taking in the space and sound around us, the slowly growing sound of applause, the music ceasing and being replaced by the voices announcing our performance is complete.

That—as we skate off the ice, hands laced tight, that the scores will be announced shortly.

Knowing, as I grip at Kook's hand, that we've done our all.

[......]

"Well done—get some rest both of you. We'll do a review of the performance tape tomorrow afternoon."

Hands patting at our backs, bodies still buzzing with residue adrenaline, slowly unwinding, breaths settling and evening even though the hammering of my heartbeat echoes loudly in my ears. Relief, profound and giddy, radiates through me. Eyes glued to the scoreboard, posture melting at the curl of a hand at my wrist that tugs me abruptly into a firm chest, pulse thudding against my cheek. Arms curling around to grip back at Kook just as tightly as he grips at me.

Arms squeezing me tighter, a breathless grin in his words, arms tightening once more before scooping me up and whisking me around.

A twirl of motion that tugs my lips wide.

Hands lacing together around his neck. Arms wound around him.

"We did it!"

"Second round of qualifiers! We did it!"

"If we win the next few rounds we get pushed to national competition." Doe eyes glittering with excitement and thrill.

"And if we win nationals—"

"When we win nationals." Kook corrects with a firm confidence.

"When we win nationals than we go to—"

"The Olympics!"

[......]

Celebration is giddy, rushed. A blur of exhilaration and adrenaline.

And then it's practice again.

It's the fizz of anticipation, that bubbly feeling of a high that pushes us to skate along that feeling, use it to push forward each practice, each step and sequence we slowly slowly begin to build into our routine. Begin to polish it for the final rounds.

More secure in our place because the mixture of dopamine and endorphins coursing strong through our veins, confidence rebuilding itself back up. Affirmed by the commentary, by the review of the tape, by comparing it to the last performance we'd done competitively.

We were improving.

And slowly slowly... building blocks being placed carefully, meticulous in keeping that foundation we were working off as ironclad, unshakeable, firm. Rooted deep into the very ice.

Tethered between the rink and our skates.

[......]

❄️Busy?

🏒For you? Never

❄️Flirt

❄️Trying to sweet talk me into your bed?

🏒Dirty talk works wonders too~

❄️🙄

🏒Oh don't act like you don't love it

❄️I don't

🏒Sure sure~

❄️I changed my mind.

❄️I'll stay with Koo—we've got an early morning

🏒I can make that a late wake-up

❄️And get my ass handed to me?

🏒Oh please...

🏒Jeon's not going to say shit

❄️Big words coming from a guy who's never seen his sadist streak

🏒Have you?

❄️On a daily

❄️Now.

❄️Last chance...

❄️Busy?

🏒Like I said doll~ I got all the time for you

🏒;)

🏒And a locked door

🏒And a bed

🏒I got all the time in the world

❄️I'll take a booking for tonight then

🏒Yes ma'am 🫡🥵

JIMIN POV:

"You look happier. It doesn't seem just like a fuck buddy situation yknow?" Tae muses, eyes narrowed with scrutiny, looking at me over the table.

"Whatever Tae."

"I'd almost say you're glowing Jimin-ah." Though there's a small twitch to my lips when he says that.

"That's all the sex." I wave off with a brush of my hand.

Shovelling fruit into my mouth. Smile swallowed down with the bite of fruit.

All I hear is a snort of laughter before a hand reaches out to yank the bowl of berries towards him, spearing them, dragging them across chocolate sauce.

Eyes contemplative and sceptical even as they rake over me slowly.

"Just the sex huh?"

"What else would it be?"

"Dunno...something you wanna share?" Voice prompting, eyes glittering with questions and answers. Curiosity and some awareness lingering there.

"Share what exactly?"

Tae shrugs, peering at me from underneath dark curls.

"Nothing? You're giving me nothing?"

"I don't know what you expect me to give?" brows raised as I look at him.

"You're really not going to even tell me her name? Can't bring yourself to? I only ever hear about is this ice princess but keeping everything about her a mystery?"

But there's things I can't tell. Won't tell. That feel too new, too different, too much to share with the person I share everything with.

I can't tell him the way that more and more it's not just the sex it's the moments after it too. It's not just the way I know the way to make her feel good but I'm also learning to know the way that the sharp ice princess softens and mellows into something warm. Soft.

I can't tell him that it's not just sex when we spend the night at each other's and it's lazy and unrushed and so is the morning after. That it's not always slipping out of her bed when a hand yanks me back, touches slow and unrushed. Eyes blinking away sleep and lips curled up at the corners.

I can't tell him that something about her more and more makes something in me more and more feel snared by her. So utterly gone for parts of her, for parts of her I'm seeing and learning.

As if saying them will make them less real.

As if saying them... sharing them will make the glow of them recede.

It's selfish.

But I want to be selfish.

"Just don't see why it matters Tae. I don't ask around for who you've been sleeping with."

"Cos you're no fun but fine fine. Keep your secrets if you really want Jimin-ah. But if it's making you happy I'd say it's a good thing. And there's nothing wrong with holding onto a good thing." Lingering over the words, eyes flitting over the plates scattered over the table. Deliberating over what to eat next.

Eyes darting up to look at me.

Lips curving up mischievously, stretching his mouth into a boxy grin, slanted and cheeks puffed.

A smear of chocolate on the corner of his mouth, fork spearing pancakes.

"Really—keep your secrets. I'll just find another soulmate to pour my heart out to. Reckon Yoongi hyung's upto it?" voice insistent. Mischievous and teasing.

Boxed grin deepening.

"Replacing me? When you make me pay for brunch 9 times out of 10?"

"Yoongi hyung pays."

"You'd have to pay him to leave bed for anything earlier than the afternoon if he doesn't need to be awake."

"All the money in the world wouldn't drag hyung out of bed for a morning run on his weekends off."

"He's so lucky to get weekends off all the time."

"Most sports do—you do!"

"I decide to spend it cheering my soulmate on by running with him—" trailing off distractedly, gaze snagging on the tinkling of bells as the door's pushed open. Eyes sharpening with passing interest, gaze lingering.

Snatched back to our table when I reach over the table, stealing food off his plate.

Voice nonchalant.

"I'm your number one cheerleader... hey! Do you think I'd look good in a cheerleading uniform?"

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

❄️I got an empty bed

❄️No morning practice

❄️And something of yours if you'd like it back

🏒I got a match I need to leave for

🏒But trouble sleeping

🏒Sounds good

🏒I'm in

❄️Not going to ask what I have of yours?

❄️I'll gladly toss it to the floor when I get there

❄️Not take me in it?

🏒...I can toss it off later.

[......]

I wince apologetically when (Y/N) stirs, eyes blinking up at me as I slowly extract myself from her, from the sheets, from the bed.

"You're up early." Voice a bleary mumble.

"Match day remember?"

"Alarm didn't go off. Light sleeper on match days?"

Surprised as I look at her.

Lips tugging up slightly.

"Kinda."

"Didn't tire you out then did I?"

My hand brushes across the curve of her hip, squeezing briefly.

Watch the lazy flutter of her lashes, the inviting tilt to her mouth as she turns, twisting into the curve of my hand, pressing into the touch.

"Can tire me out after the match? We always get the day off after. Just review tapes and—"

"You're rambling Park. Go have a good match. And then maybe the star centre can let me borrow his jersey."

A soft groan rumbles in the low of my throat. The image it sends flashing through my mind so vivid.

Another place, body straddling mine, jersey clad and hips rocking down, fingers curled into my shoulders. My name and number across her back. Her lips branded with mine.

The jersey is bunched up around her waist, shoved up roughly, hands dragging up from her thighs to her hips to grip her waist.

"You purposely put it on... just remember that doll... that you chose to wear my name across your skin."

"You're doing that on purpose. Are you trying to get me distracted before I leave?"

A soft laugh, brushed against the pillows, body stretched out across her sheets.

"Go. Go win Park."

"Seem confident I will."

"I intend on wearing a winner's jersey later."

Fuck.

And if I wasn't motivated or driven enough before, the lilted promise of later is both something that wants to drag me back into the bed, into her, and slowly makes me peel back. Clothes being tugged back on. Moving towards the door.

Eyes glancing at the time.

Plenty of hours still until the match.

But the door opens from the outside as I'm dragging my jumper back on, eyes darting with surprise to it being pushed open.

The sounds of rustling of a bag and shoes being shucked off.

Startled doe eyes morphing into ones that linger for a few moments. Amused.

Before brushing past.

"I've got the shampoo and conditioner you'd run out of icicle."

"You're an angel Koo—just put it in my shower?" voice a mumble, expression fond and pleased as she watches him enter the bathroom, his movements practiced as he moves through her room. Unbothered at the way my eyes track him, steps slowed, to watch the way he moves over towards the bed, eyes it with narrowed scrutiny.

"Did you change the sheets?"

"I'm not a heathen and we clear up after ourselves." Grumbled and then protesting when he nudges her to move over and settles over the blanket, arm draped over her as he curls behind her.

Eyes flickering up to me.

"Weren't you leaving Park?"

Feeling stung, dismissed by the way Jeon's body moves to settle next to hers. The ease and normalcy of it all.

But it's my jersey she wants to wear. And me she spent the night with.

So it shouldn't matter that Jeon moves to replace that space, that gap immediately.

Had I not had a match, would I have been replaced? Someone to warm the bed at night and then leave when he arrived?

A sting of something bitter and—

"Good luck Park. Text me."

And it eases back.

Nodding at her, smiling at the way she looks, eyes still fixed on me as I leave.

Message received Jeon?

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

"And time!" Coach's voice calls out the speakers. Match coming to a halt with the final shot being made.

Skin buzzing with adrenaline.

Pleased, flushed expressions on everyone's faces as they tug off their helmets. Slowly skating back towards the centre.

That crackling energy and rush of endorphins that comes post-match fizzing in the air still. Successful plays and new strategies having been played out. Our own defence prodding at any cracks and gaps in our line of attack, in the way our team pushed back.

A match that went head to head and pushed and pushed on the other team, the wins being chased relentlessly.

The same approval shines in Coach's eyes.

Pride as he skates forward.

As he looks at us all.

Unconsciously postures straighten and stances widen. Responding to the approval his expression is imbued with.

"Now that team is a match!" delighted grins tug up at exhausted faces, my own stance shifts, a ripple of pride and satisfaction echoing through me.

"I've taped the game, and we'll spend tomorrow morning going over the plays—but the new plays are really working. Well done Captain!"

"I worked them over with Jimin."

"Well done Park!" approval nodded towards me.

Hands clasping at my shoulders, squeezing.

"Put our aces together and you get game-makers."

The spark in Coach's eyes sharpens. A focused gleam.

"And this season's ours."

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

The loud overlapping voices quieten once Coach starts speaking, attention turning towards the office entrance.

"We've had a great game today and it's great promise for our season. But I expect you to continue managing your off-schedule training independently. That goes for every single hockey player. That means you're managing yourselves off the ice when I'm not." Coach calls out, standing in the doorway as we all move to file out the changing rooms.

"Yes Coach." Dutiful echoes around the room.

"Now that we're beginning game season there'll be regular blood testing going on. Especially once the matches begin to be ones we compete in leagues and competitions to move up towards the national title."

"Yes Coach."

"You already know whatever you're doing in your personal lives is your own business. So as long as you keep it clean and don't make it a mess I need to sort out."

"Yes Coach." Echoed agreement to words that we've always heard around competition season. Words that we can parrot back.

Knowing how an athlete should behave and perform especially as it grows closer towards the competitive season. Growing closer with the turning of the seasons, with the longer practices that all build towards the first set of matches coming up.

"No alcohol. Never the day or night before a game."

"Yes Coach."

"I shouldn't have to say but no drugs. I'm not risking a member getting benched and the whole team being under testing for one reckless behaviour. Keep clean. Keep your records cleaner."

And then a faint curl tugs at Coach's lips.

A sharpness there.

"Outside of being athletes—do whatever you want. Within reason."

It sounds simultaneously warning and encouraging. As if telling us we're allowed to tiptoe over the line he's drawn. So as long as it doesn't affect the team when it comes down to it.

And there's a hint of amusement in the echoing ripple of voices.

"Yes Coach."

And the first question one of the players ask as we step out of the changing room is who wants to get hammered then?

A pulse of laughter that echoes out. A few agreements.

Splitting off into a group, heading off together.

"Yoongi hyung's cooking... I'm heading to the mart." Joon says as he falls into step beside me.

"Drop our kit off and go together?" I ask.

"Wanna grab Taehyungie?"

"He'll still be swimming—we'll get him from the pool."

[......]

And it's the familiar sound of splashing waves, the scent of chlorine and the sight of figures streaking through the water, quick and swift, that greets us as we enter the large main pool.

Spotting the lithe figure cutting through the water, dark curls hidden under a swimming cap. But somehow even though our sight of him is obscured by the constant splash of water, arms cutting through and cleaving at the ripples, somehow Tae spots us.

Continuing to swim swiftly through the water, twisting once he reaches the end.

Grin familiar and immediately recognisable, boxy shape distinguishable even from his end of the pool.

Pulling himself upright and out of the water, steps rushed and stable on the water-laden floor.

"Come for a swim?"

"Not today Tae... maybe the weekend?"

Tae's grin widens.

"Of course! You know the pool's always open to every athlete outside practice hours. Besides there's always the smaller pools too if you don't wanna flaunt that hunk of muscle Jimin-ah." Head angled towards Joon with a wide curve to his mouth.

"Can't let that guy into public pools." I agree with a nod.

The highs of Joon's cheeks pinken slightly even as he smiles, faint dimples softening his expression.

The shift from captain to hyung melts seamlessly.

Eyes glancing over Tae with an approving nod, hand squeezing his shoulder.

"Been doing some extra workouts Tae?"

"What'd you mean hyung?"

"Swimmers are quite broad and lithe—this..." he gestures downwards.

My hand pats at his abdomen, poking at the ridged definition beginning to steadily show more noticeably.

"Swimmers don't tend to have abs. Definition sure... but where've you been hiding these?" I ask, eyes lingering on the planes of his torso.

A soft laugh, bashful and slightly proud, sloping shrug before he tugs his cap off. Purposely shaking off droplets of water like a stray dog, enjoying the splutter as both of us step back.

"Same place you hide yours. Underneath Joon's hoodies."

Eyeing the bag Joon holds, delighted when it's held out.

"Go get showered off. We're going to hyung's."

Watching him dart away with quick steps.

Joon's gaze directed back towards the pool with a musing contemplation.

"I suppose swimming's a good way to do cardio."

"Runs aren't enough for you?"

"I was thinking for the team."

My face twists with a grimace.

"I wouldn't bring a team of hot-headed asses to the swimming pool—you might get a few cases of attempted drownings."

"Jimin-ah those hot-headed asses are your teammates."

"Oh I know."

"And you'd be one of them trying to take out Lee." Joon laughs.

My lips tug up.

Laughter easy.

"Oh I know."

[......]

"I've said it before.. I'll say it know there's something just plain shady as shit about your Coach." Yoongi hyung grouses, reaching over for the tissues to dab at the spillage on his shirt, brushing off Tae's attempt to help.

Sheep-faced and then boxy and affectionate when Yoongi hyung plates up the food Tae had been reaching for, handing it over as he glances at me and Joon.

"He's got his methods but he's—" I begin.

"I agree." Joon mutters, staring at his bowl, spooning up a mouthful.

"You see it now?"

"You see it if you stop trying to make excuses for it." Joon nods.

"Namjoon you said yourself he's got a stick up his ass but—"

"But there's just something off about telling us... his team... his players that we're okay unless we make a mess."

"That's just telling you guys to not get caught." Tae mumbles around cheeks-full of food.

A puffy chipmunk.

"It's his way of—"

"Why're you defending him? He drives you guys too hard during competition seasons." Yoongi hyung mutters, stabbing at the meat he piles my plate, eyes skimming with a sharp intensity. As if he sees every comment, every sharp rebuke, every barked command hover around me. Before it comes crashing down.

"You do your best with what you get." Joon shrugs, though there's a distaste in his expression.

"He takes the best athletes and—" hyung grumbles, food replacing the words he swallows down, motions slightly sharp. Eyes softening around the edges as his gaze sweeps over the three of us.

"But you're doing your best."

And the praise, warm and light, brushes over the three of us.

"When's your next match hyung?"

His eyes flit to me.

Narrowing in warning slightly.

"And why'd you wanna know that Jimin-ah?"

"To come watch!"

"So you can cheerlead again?" a flush of colour on his cheeks that doesn't match the narrowed scrutiny or the sceptical tone.

"Aww hyung I know you loved having me lead the audience from the stands."

"It was embarrassing." A quiet mutter.

"It was cheering at its finest!"

"Just shut up and eat Jimin-ah."

"Yes hyung."

"Yknow I was talking to Jiminie, and I think I'd look great in a cheerleading outfit for your next match—"

"You too Tae."

"Yes hyung." a dutiful echo with mischief and grins.

[......]

"You're heading out?" confusion briefly flitting across hyung's face when I stand.

"I had plans for tonight."

"Plans huh~" eyes alight with mischief, eyebrows wriggling at me as Tae grins.

An echo of that grin on Joon's face as he shakes his head at him.

"Yes plans."

"Tell plans I said hi." Yoongi hyung says lightly, lips twitching slightly.

"I will not tell her hi—" I begin. Words cutting off.

"You're too easy to tease Jimin-ah." Joon says, smile dimpling.

"Hyung!" complaint huffed.

Yoongi hyung's smile only deepens.

A flash of gums as he shrugs his shoulders.

"Not my fault is it? Go enjoy time with your plans."

"I will."

[......]

"Had a good match—"

Lips pressing to hers, fervent and wanting, fingers sinking into unwound hair, entangling as I tug her mouth to mine. Urgent and suddenly wanting at the sight of her, words swallowed by the press of my mouth chasing hers. Body backtracking hers into her room. Door shoved shut.

Something impatient and rushed and needing to see her. Something only satiated by the sight of her. By closing the distance from me to her.

Hands gripping at me, pressing and pushing back, grappling for control, a breathless grin pressed to my lips and then withdrawing. Fingers dipping underneath my jersey, nails skimming up against skin, hand moving to brush across my abdomen. Inching up. Eyes skimming over me with a slow thorough intensity. Eyes trawling over the length of my body with a matched heat and want as the one that's brought me to her doorstep.

Breathless laugh pressed against my jaw as (Y/N) tilts close, lips skimming against skin.

"Someone's in a rush. Does that mean I'm a distraction or you couldn't wait to get your hands on me?"

"Couldn't wait. Been thinking about what you said." The hand in her hair tightening, angling her face back to mine, lips chasing hers. A hissed complaint muffled against the seam of her mouth, the flick of her tongue when the sound makes my lips part, hand dragging upwards, skin heating under her touch. Hand dragging over the low of her spine, pushing her flush to me.

A thorough languidness in the way she kisses me, pressed to her door, hands slowly tracing me that makes the heat under my skin burn for her. Because it'd just been somehow too long and too much time in between leaving her bed this morning and seeing her now.

Because somehow I needed more.

"Yeah? I believe you're wearing something that I'm meant to be." Fingers tracing the same letters and numbers into my skin with the slow brush of her fingertips. The slow tracing drag of her nails cruel in their toying.

"Gonna have to get it off me."

Her hand skims low.

Rests on the low of my hip. A ghosting touch that drifts lower.

The resounding groan wanting.

Slowly undone by her.

Willingly letting myself be undone by her.

"That can be arranged. Since you did so well winning."

"Who said I had any part in that?" the question, though curious, comes out as a rough exhale against her skin, fingers loosening from their grip to trace against her nape, drifting to thumb across her jaw. To tilt closer to her.

"Something I've learnt about you..." she begins.

"Hm?" watching as she tilts to the touch, as her throat arches when my thumb drags lower, tracing the line of her neck.

Reciprocating the slow exploration.

Because the rush to see her is quelled... satiated by the rush to be near her because now... now I'm with her. She's here. I'm here. A twisting heat that burns all the more hotly because it tugs me to her. To (Y/N).

"Is that you're worth your blades." The praise murmured against my throat, hand slipping past the waistband to curl her fingers around me.

It's maddening... how distracting the slow pressure of her fingers curling to grip me, how it feels when her thumb brushes at the tip, hips bucking forward with a harsh snap that's at odds with the coil of want that begins to wind itself around me. That's at odds with the slow teasing drag of teeth and tongue against my collarbone.

"Praise coming from your mouth? You're full of surprises aren't you (L/N)?"

"Nothing wrong with giving credit where it's due."

"You've changed your tune."

"Or maybe you've finally caught my eye."

And my fingers curl to grip at her shirt. To tug her closer. To taste that grin against my lips.

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

There's something about (Y/N) that's always taken my breath away.

Some part of her that manages to leave the air in my lungs aching to be freed, a shuddered exhale, an angry rough breath laced with muttered frustrations, low groans muffled against her skin. And then this.

Something about watching her practice, watching her perform as a figure skater... it roots me where I sit, body tilted forward. The sight of her executing a flawless series of turns before she's twisted and manoeuvred overhead. An almost careless innate ease and grace to the elegance of the move, to the athleticism needed to execute it.

And sitting there watching isn't enough. Body rising off my seat to move further down towards the rink's edge. Needing to get a better view. And the closer I move, the more that very air seems to seize inside my chest.

It never fails to blow me away how she commands the ice, takes over it.

The trust and unspoken communication in the way one move melds to the other.

It's so different from everything I train for, the way we train and practice when I look at her.

The spark and radiance in her eyes, hands gripping Jungkook's shoulders as she uses him to twist her body round his, to let hers dip down, arm extended out in an arch as she skims her blades lightly over the ice.

Something about it makes it harder and harder to look away.

And a part of me is tugged by the pure want to be there, be the one holding her, bodies tilted close with an undeniable gravitational pull to one another. Lips curled up and eyes holding each other. Not a fraction of doubt or hesitance between them.

There's something about the way I get to see her... moments of rushed need and urgency, quick skates chasing each other, trying to outdo each other, the familiar reflection of competitiveness in her eyes as the one that drives me, that makes my blood sing and burn with the need to get the upper hand. To see the fire crackle in her eyes. The way I see her, in lazy mornings tracing and mapping my way down her body to watching her now. Practicing on the ice though... figure skating... that's how Jungkook sees her.

What I see are fragments of her—the parts of her that are wild and vivid and bold and yet different to the parts of her I've seen her of her since we'd first started clashing.

Leaning against the rink's edge, watching as Jungkook and (Y/N) skate in perfect synchrony. Their paces in mirrored perfection of one another even though they skate paces apart. Blades angled inward before both of them twist. Once. Twice. Thrice. Legs extending behind them.

Mirrored halves.

Somehow—despite the distance, without looking at each other, their bodies are perfect reflections of one another.

The move vaguely familiar.

An axel.

"What's that move?" pressing the spacebar to pause their competition footage, eyes catching onto the quick twist. Her body seeming to ripple with the movement.

"One of them is a single axel. Four is the highest any figure skater's reached."

"You got three though." I point out, rewinding and replaying the footage. Slowed down to truly see the way (Y/N)'s body twists multiple times before landing before pushing off again.

"Four. We're reaching for four."

"What makes it hard to get to four? Though that looks insane."

"It's keeping the momentum. If you slow down even half a beat and fall out of sync you can't land another rotation. You need to be constantly on it."

An axel.

One, two, three.

A triple-axel.

A flicker of pride echoes through me at remembering the term, fragments of their routine vaguely familiar to me.

A gust of cold air brushes against me when their skates propel them close to the edge, bodies almost near the rink's edge before Jungkook grips her waist and twists her away. Muscled arms prominent and displayed as he holds her overhead. As her body tilts back, pliant to the grip of his hands.

And the more I look at her, the more I realise everything for her is on the line when she skates. Because just looking at her, at the entire support that comes from Jungkook holding her... everything is on the line, and everything is placed in her partner.

I get it.

And even though it's not me on the ice with her, there's something about her—about the figure skater I've gotten to know that makes the air in my lungs feel just a bit more tighter.

A front-row seat to—

"For someone with matches you spend a lot of time gawking." Words a teasing brush of ice and warmth, calling out over to me.

"I'm all set. Are you Jeon?" eyes narrowing at the challenging gleam in his eyes. The amusement even as he and (Y/N) continue to move. Skates slowed but still in time.

"Icicle's got my back." Confidence easy in his voice.

Her eyes briefly dart to mine.

Lips curving up in a smile that's private, a fleeting bolstering warmth.

Winking at me quickly.

I got your back too.

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

(Y/N) might have my back.

But at the end of the day it's the team whose back I need to have.

Unfailingly.

Without a single flaw.

I need to be open to the offence and defence line sending the puck careening forward, stealing it away from the competition.

I need to be able to anticipate the other team's next move before they've decided what it is- mind mentally cataloguing and filtering through them all, a stream of images and plays, diagrams that flit through my head before stilling on the one the other team's lined up to play.

Finding the flaws in them, body pushing forward to be ready to break down their offence line by pushing forward.

But gameplays can be just as fickle as they are sturdy.

They can fall apart, fall through or entirely be abandoned when it comes to a mixture of recklessness and instinct.

I know that.

But the look of sharp disappointment that flashes across Coach's face, brief and heavy, stings as I skate back into formation.

The mental image lingering before I shove it away into the dark recesses of my mind. No space nor time for it during a game.

But it's an unspoken reminder to do better. To be better.

And I just have to be. I can't afford not be anything less than what Coach demands of me, expects of me.

[.....]

"You know the team counts on you right Jimin-ah?"

"Yes Coach."

"So you need to always make sure you're always in prime condition, Jimin. I can't stress enough how important it is that you put yourself and your training above all."

"I do Coach."

"I know– there's a reason Lee's not been able to ever claim your spot. And we do tryouts every year. He knows he's not at your level."

A slither of discomfort flickers through me.

"Lee's a skilled player Coach." just an asshole about the way he shows it.

"But he's not been able to beat you. Competition within the team keeps you sharp. Keeps you on your toes. Keeps your blades from dulling."

The way he says it though is somehow both sharp and reproving, as if that competition fuelled between me and Lee has pitted us against each other because of Coach. Because in his own way Coach wants me to push me to be performing at my best. Because he knows what's the best for me, to push me, to keep me striving for more.

So I do. I try again. Skates coming to a jagged stop at the voice that interrupts.

"Jimin–" voice sharp and heavy with disappointment.

It makes my skin feel tight, stretched over my bones, feeling uncomfortable and chagrined and ashamed. Head ducking down to avoid looking at the expression of exasperation and frustration settled in Coach's gaze.

"I'm sorry Coach. I'll try again."

Skating after the puck, hockey stick chasing to draw it back from where it'd hit the edge of the goalpost, had gone skittering away.

Whatever ease I'd had, practicing alone, disintegrates more and more...crumbles under what had been an observation made passing by, had turned into Coach lingering at the edge of the rink. Watching intently.

It makes me feel pinned, scrutinised, assessed. Examined. Under a lens for Coach to pick apart the very things I am confident with. Feeling that the moves I execute down to the turn of my skate as I build speed are being watched. Deliberated over.

"This time when you're going to score– I want you to rush across the ice, build speed and then stop. I want to test how well you can shoot if the speed is altered suddenly."

My voice sounds drained, wringed dry, to my own ears.

The echo dutiful but worn down.

The pattern of trying again to restart.

"Yes Coach."

New cuts of blades to carve into the ice more practice. Under the watchful hawk-eyes of someone right now... I wasn't impressing.

[......]

I make it to hyung's basketball game, but I don't make it to his practice with Joon hyung and Tae.

I make it to the stands cheering him on, laughter splitting my lips wide, cheeks aching at the sight of the two pompoms Tae shakes wildly, leaning and tilting heavy over the stands, yelling and cheering hyung on.

"Min Yoongi! Min Yoongi!"

Heart feeling warm and overflowing and full with how his cheeks pinken, gummy smile stretched wide across his face, practiced skill that he flaunts, easy and almost carelessly when he shoots at the hoop from further down the court. The basketball sinking into the net.

I make it to the match, throat aching from yelling, stomach full and ribs hurting from how hard I've laughed, eyes damp with it.

I make it to the match, admiration and respect for Yoongi hyung, the way that looking at him you'd never be able to see the way his shoulder injury hurts.

The heat packs sitting in a bag under our seats, long since abandoned for a better view pressed to the railings.

"Coming to practice on Saturday?"

Cheeks still ruddy and flushed from running, towelling his skin as he looks up at us with a grin, adrenaline sparked in his gaze.

Eager echoed agreement.

Lips falling.

"Ah sorry hyung I have practice." words cowed. Soft. Hushed.

"No you don't– we finish Friday morning..." Joon hyung begins. Brows furrowed with confusion. The look in his eyes clearly telling he's mentally rechecking, trying to remember if there's one he's forgotten.

Embarrassed as I shake my head.

"It's... it's just me. Coach wants to go through some drills."

The grin on Yoongi hyung's face fades. The spark in his eyes turns into a crackle of something angry and hot and for a moment my stomach lurches and my heart plummets because now hyung's mad at me and–

"Why's he pushing you so hard?"

"We can't afford mistakes, not when we're competing for Nationals."

"Then he's an ass to everyone and brings the whole team in. Why just you?" words blunt. Firm.

"I reviewed the match and Coach has some pointers–"

Tae doesn't speak but his face is crestfallen, something in his eyes is achy. For me I realise.

"It's fine. You'll have to cheer hyung on without me." tugging lightly at the pompoms.

"Take these too."

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

"Alright that's enough."

Skates veering close, hand closing around the hockey stick I've been clutching at so tightly, so desperately. Hands slick with sweat, readjusting my grip, trying to tug it free from the hand.

"Jimin-ah that's enough. You're going to burn out pushing yourself so much."

"I need to. I haven't finished taking free-shots."

"And you don't need to. We've had practices all week... we've had an intense training practice yesterday. Give your body a break."

"It'll take a break when I'm done." words firm. Resolute.

"When's that? When you overheat? Fall sick? When you can't drag yourself out of bed tomorrow cos your body hurts?" words sharpened with a harder edge, protectiveness and concern making his voice firm.

Unyielding.

But I'm not yielding either.

I can't afford to.

I've got to be on top of the game to win the game for our team. If I fell behind then the team fell behind and if the team fell behind then I'd let them down and if I'd let them down then I didn't play my part and if I didn't play my part then I didn't earn my part and if I didn't earn it then who was I to pretend I was on the team and I'd done my work for it?

"Jimin-ah that's enough. What're you punishing your body for?"

"I'm not... Coach said I needed to practice more. I've been sloppy at practice."

"Bullshit."

"He's not wrong... I missed some open receives from offence. If I can't make it past our team's defence, how will I against the competition?"

"Two things. One– our defence is meant to be strong even for our own. Two– you're not the only one who's got to win. It's not all on your shoulders."

"But I'm the centre... the one everyone's watching."

"You're not playing alone Jimin-ah. Why do you feel like you're alone in the game?"

"Coach... Coach said that centres are the ones that make or break a game. I can't break a game for us–"

"So for once... listen to me. Listen to hyung. And not to Coach." and his voice, the plea in it, makes my gaze turn to focus on him.

So rarely... So rarely does Joon pull the hyung card on the rink. So rarely have I really let myself indulge in the safety net of having a hyung that has my back on the ice.

So insistent on not letting the lines blur between professional and personal, so insistent on being just the same as the others that it makes me forget that we might all be on the same team but Namjoon knows me best.

"But–" a pleading defensiveness bleeds into my voice, eyes flitting up. Finding the worry in dark brown eyes, feel a welling wave of guilt surge up for it–

"No ifs. No buts."

"You might slave away on the ice tonight perfecting faults you see. What happens if one of us messes up in a game? Give up? Get it stuck in our head?"

"No!"

"Then the same thing applies here. Go grab a shower." an unwavering order laced into the concern, nudging me gently towards the edge, hand drawing my hockey stick into his grasp.

"I'll meet you back at the dorms?"

There's a slight edge in Joon's eyes, shaking his head. A tightness to his jaw, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

"I'll wait for you."

Eyes glinting with intent.

But then his expression softens. Nudges me again.

"Go on Jimin-ah. Hyung'll wait."

[......]

"I don't want you practicing more than 2 solo practices in a week." words firm.

"I can't do that–"

"Captain's orders."

He's pulling ranks.

But this close to the next match?

"But what about our practices then?" voice trying to be nonchalant, at ease with it all even though the thought of it makes my skin prickle with unease. "Practice makes perfect Jimin. And I'll coach you until you are."

I couldn't be perfect if I wasn't practicing could I?

"You and me will practice. But ice hockey's a team sport– 2 practices alone is enough."

There's been a slight shift in the past few days, since he'd turned up on Saturday to end practice. An edge to him when I'd returned from the showers, quick to follow me out the ice, not darting a glance back.

A sharper sort of watchfulness over the team the past few practices.

As if he's been looking for something.

But he's been somehow more solid than ever too.

Guiding and leading our team through warm-ups, drills and match practices. Breaking down team game footage with us all and listing out plays we all needed to re-do. Not once does he single out a player.

Subconsciously, my mind notes that. A battered part of me that aches at the realisation that Joon coaches and guides and leads his team. Coach picks apart individuals. Guides them independently so we all add to the game. All add to the team.

Each to their own.

"Coach won't be happy."

"Then that's my problem to deal with." Eyes sharpening at the mention.

A firmness that underlies his words.

"Is that understood Jimin-ah?"

"...yes hyung."

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

"Ji—Park. What're you doing here?" a mixture of surprise and delight alighting (Y/N)'s features, making them brighten as she stops warming up. Skating forward towards me.

Lips curved in a grin.

"I had some spare time and—"

I wanted to see you.

"You thought you'd come bother me?" wriggling her eyebrows as she leans against the rink, propping herself up on her arms as she looks at me.

The words are easy on my tongue. Slip off without needing to think.

"Call it a test of focus if anything."

The smile on her face deepens into an amused grin.

"Keeping me sharp?"

"Gotta make sure you don't lose your edge ice princess~"

"And how're you going to test my focus?"

"Don't you worry... go ahead. Practice."

But instead of moving back to take a seat in the stands I stay at the edge, watching as the music pours out and she moves in time with it. Practicing spins and loops, each fraction of the move timed to perfection.

Perfection.

(Y/N) was...perfection.

A perfection so deeply engrained, the artistry of her sport mastered. It's something I both admire and respect. Something I want.

It's not just because it's (Y/N) that figure skating becomes appealing. Something about the mixture of dance and athletic talent as a gymnast... as someone who's combined multiple facets of sports to be the skater she is in front of my eyes.

It's...

It's something I've never realised. It's something that I haven't appreciated until now. Just how much effort goes into maintaining her sport, her practice, her discipline.

Somehow she's all the more attractive for it.

[......]

"Park. Here for practice?"

"I thought I'd get some drills done before the team arrive."

"Good. I was worried you were going to ease off with a few wins under our belt."

Our.

Coach moves onto the rink.

Eyeing the pain outlined into the ice, rink set for practice matches.

"There's no pausing until we win."

"Quarter finals are closer than you think. Remember you need to stay in the right headspace." Eyes somehow feeling as if they scour at me, see right through me.

As if he's deciding for himself whether I'm mentally at the level Coach needs me to be.

"I know Coach."

"Any tips I give... it's to help you, you know?" voice a low quiet murmur.

And its quietness elicits a faint stirring sense of shame that really, truly Coach just wants to help us be our best. He just wants us to be proud of the athletes we are and the team we compete as.

"I know Coach." Head dipping low before moving to warm up. A few laps around the rink that are trailed, watched by the heavy silence of Coach's gaze.

That it takes the clutter of multiple skates pushing onto the ice to chase away.

Relieved by it.

By the sound taking away the burdensome quiet of being alone with Coach.

Joon's eyes silently flickering to me in question.

You good?

My lips tug up, feeling slightly strained, as I nod.

I'm good.

His gaze seems to combat Coach's. A few long moments where Joon just looks, brows furrowed before he turns back towards the team.

"Gather up team—we're going to be practicing something I've noticed the figure skaters do quite well. Matched timings in our different formations."

A flash of distaste smoothened out from Coach's face.

Joon entirely unperturbed if he has noticed. But the expression is so minute that it seems as if it was never there.

"Practice jerseys on. We're going to play a friendly match or two afterwards."

"Yes Cap'".

And I don't know whether I've noticed it before.

I don't know whether it's more noticeable now but the voices chorus and resound loud and strong and enthusiastically for Joon as Captain...than they do for Coach.

[.......]

"Kim and Im! Strong line of defence. Wang let's get a more solid defence. Your wingsmen are covering your sides so guard that goal with your life!"

"Bam and Yugyeom tighten the flanks around Park, there shouldn't be a single player that's able to intercept the three of you."

"Lee—Park's open. Take the puck—"

"Use the gameplay we poached from Ilsan's hockey team. Double feint and pass to Yugyeom, Park fall back and swap positions."

"Easy opening—shoot, shoot, shoot—"

"Good save Wang... Yugyeom retry that shot."

"You've got 5 counts to get from centre to the opposition's defence line—5...4...3...2...1 and stop!"

"Good pacing boys."

"3 counts to get to the goal—Bam, Yugyeom, Jimin go!"

"Lee, Han and Jae you're targeting the offence line. Watch them, mirror them and use their play to get the puck."

"Good shot Jimin. Again."

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

"And hold for 5....good. (Y/N) and Jungkook you're going to move into your pirouetted turns. Remember I want a dozen crisp turns. Arms overhead."

"Beautiful!"

"And as Jungkook you go to hold (Y/N) make sure you've let the layback spins end before reaching for her. You don't need a skate getting caught on your clothes."

"And nice! Dip her slowly, (Y/N) your fingertips should just be brushing across the ice."

"Coach Kim look! They did it—they did the next part of their sequence. No harness, no support, no slip-up."

"You both have really got your head in the game. There's no way this year isn't your year—"

"I think (Y/N) would've overthrown me as Captain if I didn't have my ass on the ice every time she needed it there."

"Partnership makes the performance... you two—"

"We got something good icicle. I really think this comeback season—this is the one."

"Don't jinx it!"

"You've both really stepped up to perform at an incredible standard... somehow you've gotten better in the past few weeks alone."

"It's the work-life balance Coach."

"Well whatever it is, I'm in favour of it."

"Winning skaters need their downtime too."

"Does that mean we can go with the others for the solo competition in Incheon?"

"I don't think I could stop you if I tried Captain~"

"Thanks Coach!"

"Now... how's the ballet teacher I sent you both to?"

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

❄️You're not in the stands anymore.

🏒Eyes on the ice doll~

🏒Isn't that the rule?

🏒Didn't know you were looking for me

❄️I wasn't...

❄️You were there

❄️Where'd you vanish?

🏒Coach wanted a word with the team.

❄️So... getting your heads bitten off.

🏒...the "tough love" approach

❄️I'll offer this now

❄️And I'll offer it once

❄️Want me to make your problem disappear?

🏒Are you threatening to unalive my Coach?

❄️I never said that

❄️I said I'd sort out your problem

🏒...

❄️Yes or no?

🏒Yes or no that you're hot when you're threatening people on my behalf?

🏒Yes.

🏒Yes it's hot🔥

🏒Yes you're hot🥵

❄️Now who's distracted~

🏒It's your fault

❄️My fault you find me attractive

🏒Your fault for being a walking turn-on

❄️Well well~

❄️That's something you never said all these years you've been at my throat

🏒Cos I didn't know I wanted to be at your throat

Buzz.

A faded mark at the low of her throat, fingers hooked loosely into her top to tug it aside, head tilted. A glimpse of a curled smirk.

❄️You get a free pass at it Park

🏒Maybe I'll find you after you're done practicing then

❄️I've got dance at night

❄️But I'm free in an hour

🏒Hour it is

❄️Let's see what you can do with limited time

🏒Game on.

[......]

"Sometimes I wish I could plug my ears up—Coach tears us one whenever he spots a slight fault or mistake in an old game-tape."

"The figure skaters' Coaches don't seem to blow a fuse every damn time—"

"I don't think I have heard them lose it."

"Treated with kid-gloves aren't they?"

An elbow nudges me in the side.

Eyes dipping to the side, pausing in tugging my hoodie off its hanger, hands drawing it off even as I look at JB.

"You're distracted."

"What?"

"Even when Coach was giving us a tongue-lashing. Went to your happy place did you?" finger tapping at the side of my head lightly, an easy grin on his face.

"Isn't it better? Than to let his words get at me?" I shrug lightly.

The same fingers that'd tapped against my head, poke lightly at my cheek.

Nodding seriously.

"Exactly. No need to feel down just cos Coach is in one of his moods."

But usually I would, usually it would be me who's gotten Coach's words stuck in my head. One of the ones plagued by the comments, feeling them as direct attacks to my performance, my shortcomings, my failure to be the best I can be, should be for the team.

And the messages had distracted me from the full impact of Coach's tongue-lashing-pep-talk-barked-orders-reprimands.

Her words, teasing and light and flirty, somehow have intercepted the intended harshness of Coach's berating words. As if her messages are the padding I wear under my uniform, adding another layer of coverage around me. Somehow shielding me from them.

Because her messages are an offer, an out, an escape to get out of my own head by letting myself fall into the space that (Y/N) occupies.

Because there's a promise of something more, someone already waiting for me on the other end of this meeting.

Reaching to tug my hoodie out, drawing it over my head.

"Hyung you coming with us? We're going down to the gym."

"Nah...go ahead..." already shutting my locker door, moving to leave.

Surprise flashes across a few faces.

My habits, my mannerisms as familiarised to them as they are to me.

Want me to make your problem disappear?

Are you threatening to unalive my Coach?

I never said that

I said I'd sort out your problem

And right now that problem hasn't managed to linger.

"You're not joining us?"

"I had plans before Coach called us out."

And those plans had been disturbed when the text had summoned everyone to the locker rooms.

Those plans had been disturbed when I'd been watching (Y/N) practice, wanting to stay.

And now I had every intention of going back.

To (Y/N).

Hand shoving into the depths of my pocket, hand brushing against my phone.

Attention still on the messages.

"Anyone heading to the gym—don't overexert yourself. Everyone else—take the time to relax. We all know Coach will have us training hard tomorrow." A depreciating grin on Joon's face as he tilts his head to the door. Gesturing for everyone to file out.

But the thought isn't as daunting as it usually is.

Tomorrow's problem is tomorrow's to deal with.

And there's something akin to warm pride in Joon's expression as he watches me weave past the players to leave.

Grin softening into a smile. Dimpling lightly.

"See you at training Jimin-ah."

"See you hyung."

[......]

"You looked quite cool."

"Did I? Tell me more." skin still faintly flushed and dewy, hair sprawled out across her pillows as she tilts her head to look at me.

My discarded hoodie dragged over her. Hair tousled and mussed, left unbound and brushing across her cheek.

Pausing on the skating footage she'd been analysing. Eyes skimming to me with a feigned lightness that tries to underplay how interested she is in hearing my response. Gaze flitting to me and back and then back to her laptop.

"When you skate—you take over the ice."

A bashful edge softens her expression. Leaves it feeling slightly vulnerable, open.

In that moment I realise I see a glimpse of her that's so carefully shielded in each athlete, a side that's so protected and hidden. That vulnerability of how others see their craft.

"It's... you have this chemistry with Jeon, and it shows in your sport."

"We have skated together our whole lives." She admits, twisting to face me, fingers absently plucking at my hoodie. Her fingers falling away only to trace indolently across the line of my forearm, nail a light fleeting pressure that traces and maps out the veins under my skin. A featherlight touch that's unlike the tight drag of hands across skin, through my hair, tugging my body closer to hers.

"And managed to land the same uni to perform and train in?"

"We were scouted together. We were only going to attend if both of us got in."

"That serious—but getting into KNSU is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"It's not an opportunity that's worth it to me if I got in alone. We're a skating duo." Words so easy, so light yet an unshakeable truth in them. The reality of it, of their career, of everything in relation to Jeon—their lives and careers so wholly intertwined that they can't be one without the other.

I have Joon hyung. I have the team.

But it's nothing like this.

Nothing where one person, where that one person's whole life is conjoined with mine.

"And you'd gamble your chances here but not—"

But the idea is unfathomable.

And the idea of being so wholly intertwined with someone. Their life with yours... it's simultaneously daunting and foreign and yet—

The slow tracing touch of her fingertips brush up over the curve of my arm, fingers squeezing at my bicep.

Appreciative glint in her eyes, briefly distracted but voice serious. Soft and firm and resolute.

"Never Jungkook."

And I wonder if I'd ever find someone to put their trust so irrevocably into me, whether I'd ever even considered someone on the team I could so wholly entrust to have my back in every move, to be someone closer than a shadow—cut from the same cloth, the same side of the coin.

I wonder what it feels like.

I wonder whether it's a pressure (Y/N) and Jungkook daily combat, whether it's something as easy as breathing to take the fall and responsibility for themselves and each other within the same instant.

And that duo, that partnership, that connection is something both enviable and yet something that inside of me, a fraction of me craves. Longs for.

[......]

"I've gotta go—" breath uneven, loosely-satiated grin deepening even as she shoves at my chest. The rise and fall of her own still unsteady, eyes glittering with pleasure as she moves from under me, hand curling into her sheets. Hand smoothening over her thigh, feeling the faint tremor under them. A nudge at my calf and then a kick to get me to move. To let her move.

"Club? On a weekday?" letting myself fall back into her sheets, sprawling into them as (Y/N) draws herself up. Lips curled with amusement, rolling her eyes as she searches for her phone.

"Not that kind of dancing tonight. Though I wouldn't mind meeting an insufferable hockey player there to bring back to my dorm."

"What's to bring back?" tucking my arm under my head.

Stretching out more comfortably as if to say I'm right here. No invite needed.

"Taking over my bed?"

"It's comfy."

"It's the standard dorm sized bed. I think you're being lazy and just don't want to get up~" she teases.

"Maybe I don't." grinning as she straightens out my hoodie, eyes tracking the sway of her hips, the curved lines of her legs as she moves towards the bathroom.

A buzzed warning of her phone from somewhere under the pillows, the vibration muffled.

And it's as she's tugging the hoodie off, eyes dragging up to trace the taut stretch of her torso, the curve of her chest, dark lace against skin, when the electronic beep of the door twists my gaze away.

Hands lazily stilling in her ministrations, hoodie rucked about her messy and dishevelled, tugging it down lightly as the door opens—face creasing into a warm radiant smile.

"Koo!"

Jeon.

Again?

A clawing harshness that twists my gut, morphs that contentment into something ugly and sharp.

"We're meeting out front of the studio—why do you look like that?" a grimace in his words that I feel offended at, the hockey-team hoodie on her an immediate quickfire way to get the heat under my skin simmering just by looking at her. And he sounds like that as if the sight of it immediately makes his expression twist.

"Let me get showered." Head tilting to the door she'd pushed open.

"Good idea. I don't want to dance with someone who reeks of eau-de-Park."

"The fuck is that meant to mean Jeon—" the loose sprawl of my body locking up with defensiveness, pushing myself up on a hand.

"You. Shower. You... (Y/N) deal with your boy toy when you're done." A hand waved dismissively in my direction as she moves to the bathroom, door closing behind her. Calling out that she'll be quick.

"You know my name Jeon—"

"Park on the ice. Fuckboy sidepiece off the ice. Though why I need to bother with your name..." trailing off uncertainly, a smug curl tugging at his lips.

"A sidepiece..." voice sharp with a defensiveness, a harsh jaggedness to my voice. The surprise of being walked in on in bed with her replaced with the irateness of Jungkook being the one I'm stuck dealing with. That it's him here.

"What? Am I wrong?"

No strings attached sex. A way of venting, a means of burning off energy, of channelling that antsy restlessness, that itch under skin by satiating it in each other.

The term sidepiece leaves a soured taste in my mouth, thick in my throat and pulsing with a flare of prickling heat in my chest.

A sidepiece.

Not enough to be someone key in her life.

A swirl of bitterness drags that burning sensation downwards, lips twisting into a defensive snarl.

What Coach's words hadn't managed to do, it stings slightly to somehow know that in another dynamic, another role there's some parts of (Y/N) and me that don't match, that don't click, that don't seamlessly slot together. An enviable trait that for some reason stings just a bit sharply.

Watching as Jungkook moves to her wardrobe, rifling through the drawers to tug out a set of workout clothes. A domesticated ease in the way he already knows which drawers to reach for because he's familiar to the space. He's a part of the space.

Unfazed, when (Y/N) walks out the bathroom, hand clasping the towel around her to move to change. And yet, rather than my eyes being focused on her, on the toss of the towel as it's discarded, they're fixed on the sight of Jungkook sprawling onto a seat, comfortable and waiting, a loose slouch to his posture.

And as if sensing my gaze, his eyes drift up.

Brows rising in silent question. Silent challenge, my mind whispers.

"Are we doing a warm up before we get to the studio or when we get there?"

"When we're there."

"You can stay if you like Park~" the lilted offer laced with sparkling eyes and mischievous intent, with pleased want in her eyes revealing just how much she'd like the idea, eyes drifting over the breadth of my torso. Gaze lazy with heat.

"Warm the sheets for you?" fingers absently adjusting the twisted strap of her sport-bra, a playful twang of it against her shoulder, laughing when her head twists with a half-scowl, batting at his hand.

"Getting jealous?"

"No thanks."

"Jealousy is a perfectly normal emotion. Quite healthy to work through it though."

"I'll be happy to work out that inflated puffed-up ego icicle." Poking lightly at her side, face scrunching with laughter, darting out his grip. Rounding the bed to feel for her phone, face looming close to mine when my head turns.

A furtive tilt of her body, pressing briefly closer to me, hand clasping her phone, lips against my ear.

"You look good in my bed." A silky murmur, lips brushing skin lightly. Breath skimming light, the caress akin to the fleeting trace of fingertips against my arm.

Not so much sidepiece when she says it like that. That sting thumbed over by the brush of her fingers curling to grip lightly at me.

But before she can draw back, my head tilts slightly, nose brushing against hers.

Eyes dipping to her lips.

Dipping lower to the generous sight the angle of her body gives. Lips curling up at the warning squeeze of her hand.

"You looked good in my hoodie." Though the sight of her now is no less powerful in making me want to drag her back into the sheets, to twist to press her down against them, to crowd against her.

"I look good in less too." words laced with a tease.

"Oh I know."

"I'd say get a room but we're in one and we need to go—"

"Okay...okay. Stay if you want."

"Nah...I'll get going. Drawing myself up.

Revelling with no little satisfaction at the way her attention drifts from turning to Jungkook to trace the plane of my body with her eyes. Darkened irises growing heavier with intensity.

"Dance. You do enough eye-fucking on the ice as it is."

"Okay... see you Park." A laugh as she lets herself be steered out.

A glance back.

A grin.

Drawing myself up as the door locks shut behind them, the very space still so (Y/N) that in the short time it takes to redress and leave it's not weird to be there.

It's oddly comforting in its familiarity.

It's odd that (Y/N) is familiarity.

A constant.

One I'd not calculated would have this sort of impact.

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

❄️Good luck tomorrow.

🏒I'll need it

❄️Where's the confident ego gone Park?

🏒Cockiness can cost a game

❄️Cockiness aside...

❄️You'll be fine tomorrow Park

🏒You think that

🏒You've been having a good run of performances and training

❄️So have you!

❄️I've seen you practice

🏒I can't cost the team

❄️You won't

🏒How can you be so sure?

🏒So certain?

❄️You live and breathe ice-hockey...

❄️You've lived on the rink just as much as I have since we started KNSU

❄️You got this

🏒Thanks doll

❄️Anytime pretty boy

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

"That game was a close-call."

A play-off with a sports university out of Seoul. A game that was too close to truly revel or enjoy the victory of pulling through just in the last minute. A victory that Bambam scores us, breaking past their seemingly impenetrable wall of defence to send the puck careening hard into the goal.

A victory that wasn't secured by me, a victory Bambam had secured for us because of me.

Mind distracted, headspace disturbed by the hours of game footage I'd spent reviewing, the flaws I'd ended up picking apart endlessly... until that confidence for the game the following day had frayed at the seams. Had sent me to the rink for a late night practice that'd ended after the sun had come up. When the ice had been a torn up battlefield of frustrations and plays and attacks of a pair of blades gouging through the rink until only the ragged painful breaths had echoed the space instead of the sound of furiously paced skating.

A practice that when it had come down to it had been fruitless. Not successful in the way it should've been. The sound of the puck hitting the goal's edge ringing in my ears loudly, a haunting echo of it flashing through my eyes even as the team had cheered. Tugging off their helmets, bodies careening towards each other. A mess of limbs, body tugged into a group hug to celebrate a victory that not one, but two failed goal-attempts had almost slipped through our hands.

And it would've been my fault.

"Ease up Coach—we won!" Yugyeom laughs, eyes bright with adrenaline, cheeks flushed with colour.

A scowled disapproval as Coach shakes his head, eyes sweeping with a weighted beratement as he looks at each and every one of us.

I'm not imagining it that his eyes linger more heavily on me, the frown on his lips deepening. The lines around his mouth harsher.

Dissatisfaction carved into the lines, scoured deep into his expression.

"It looked like a few of you had eased up quite a bit before today's matches. Is it because it's competing as rival universities? Not professional enough? Not big enough of a deal to play and compete like athletes?"

The words cut deep. Batter at that already stripped-raw feeling of guilt that I'd fucked up the game. I hadn't been enough.

And Coach's voice, hard and unyielding, only drives that knowledge in further. Cementing the thoughts that swirl through my head, a nauseating fog.

The grin on Yugyeom's face dims. Slips slightly off his face.

Guilt twists my guts tightly, a hand wrenching deep and yanking.

Lungs tightening.

"I didn't train a bunch of slackers. The formations were shoddy at best."

"Coach—"

"What kind of team are you leading Kim?" words cutting through whatever Joon was going to say. But rather than batter him down, the flash of something defiant and hard burns in his eyes.

"Coach you know that all the strategies we practice aren't written in stone to play out in a game. Sometimes it's instinct. And the team did that." a defensive wall for the players under his captainship.

It's a protectiveness that I don't deserve.

A shield that covers each and every one of us regardless.

"Your coddling approach is part of the reason Namjoon. It's softening the players up."

"It's not coddling—every player needs to train within limits. Every player is—we're human Coach. And we won."

"Complacency makes you lax. Being lax costs points."

"Coach we'll review the tape. We'll work harder." Jackson reassures, voice trying to ease the tension, the heavy oppressive weight of guilt that makes my stomach sink more heavily.

That post-match buzz not getting to last long, fizzing out, the locker room full of nervous, flitting glances. And every time a glance happens so skim over me that feeling that this is my fault sinks more and more heavily.

A stand-off that shouldn't even be happening but is. Coach and Namjoon.

"Today's match was a blip. You cannot perform as clumsy as you did today for the pay-checks you comfortably cash for every game."

As if it all comes down to a monetary value.

That when scouting us, signing us on for the university. To train and put forward to compete... as if that value he'd placed on us at the time is one he doesn't see bearing its profit or rewards now. Not the satisfactory win that should've put us clearly above the other university semi-professional teams. Not one that'd scraped by.

Coach didn't like feeling even.

He hadn't trained us to like or accept it either.

There's a sense of weighted understanding that sinks in. That dims the spark of victory.

And there's a tenseness as Joon rolls his shoulders, trying to dispel the heaviness in them as his gaze tears away from Coach to look at all of us.

"It's not been an easy win. But that proves we pull through. That we fight until the last minute for the win. So good game team. Rest up. We'll review tomorrow."

"We'll do individual reviews the day after." Coach says, nodding with dismissal that finally scatters the team.

A team that spends its evening celebrating once we've all filtered out quick, unwilling to stay in that heavy cloud of disappointment and reprimand.

Tipsy and buzzing when the night's over, sharp and attentive the afternoon after. And sick to my guts with nerves when I finally walk in for my one-to-one review with Coach.

A sense of doom slowly sinking into my bones, the beginnings of nausea twisting my insides at the heavy sigh and the expectant look.

"Sit down Jimin-ah. Let's talk about your performance shall we?"

(Y/N) POV:

I don't know what it is I feel when my eyes find Jimin's, lips curving up as I weave my way forward, a group of skaters walking towards Rink B as the hockey team leaves the main rink.

Lips tugging up further when they grow closer and then falter when he brushes past without a glance, head tilted and angled towards the hockey player walking with him.

An arm looping through mine to tug me towards Rink B, voice in my ear, distracting my attention from the brief moment of faltering confusion. Eyes turning back to face Ari, eyes bright with excitement– with a giddiness that the rest of the female skaters have. Entering the rink to see the harnesses already set up– the larger industrial harness perfect for practicing lifts and twists and new manoeuvres; the promise of more to add to our routine dangling there. Waiting there in the shape of Coaches Seo and Kim, the harnessed machine and an expectant bright look on their faces.

"I can't wait to see what you and Captain are going to practice next." Ari enthuses, voice bubbling with excitement.

The sheer exaltation in her voice is more than enough to drag my attention back, lets me get swept away in the bubbling anticipation of it all, elbow nudging her side lightly.

"Not fun if you see straight away. See if you can figure it out from the moves I'm practicing." voice teasing.

The excitement in her eyes only spark all the more brightly.

"We're going to practice some twists– and make sure they're as clean as they can be and then we'll move onto posture-training with the harness. You get awarded points on the presentation too under program components. That means the cleaner and more polished each sequence, each move looks the more you score for how put together it'll be as a routine." Coach Seo calls out.

From a glance, the clipboard's already got a detailed tabled system that she'll be scoring us against.

"And then after some adjustments and practice on that, we'll have your partnerwork training in the afternoon. The main rink's badly roughened up so stay off the ice there. Clean ice means clean skating. Rough ice is a risk no one ever considers." Coach Kim warns, a protectiveness in the firm voice.

"Yes Coach."

The words strong and agreeing.

Never a risk of an injury.

Never again.

Coach claps his hands together, voice rising with volume.

"Alright– do we have someone to start off first?"

The few darted glances are already knowing as I clamber my way forward.

"Me Coach."

A knowing grin on his face as he gestures to the ice.

Head tilting to it.

"Let's go. Keep pace with me for three warm up laps and then we'll get you harnessed."

The air is cold and brisk, sharp against my cheeks. Thorough in banishing away that split-second sense of something being off.

He hadn't seen me. That was it.

And by the time I'm stepping up to the harness, practiced, quick deft movements in strapping myself in— checking the tightness of it around my torso. Testing it habitually, hand tugging at it and head tilting to peer overhead.

Satisfied before I turn towards Coach.

Catching movement in my peripheral, another figure stepping onto the ice. Not approaching, leaning against the rink's edge. Grin on his face, arms crossed as he watches me from afar.

But I notice the moment the expression in his eyes shift to an attentive carefulness, I know that despite the looseness to his limbs, he's ready to act within a fraction of a second if he needs to.

"I should feel offended that a Captain I've also helped choose doesn't trust his two coaches with his skating partner." Coach Kim teases with a low laugh.

Stepping back once he's confirmed the secureness of the harness himself.

"You should but?"

"But you're his partner." and that's that.

That's all it needs.

Chin tilting out as he nods at me.

The same mirrored anticipatory rush of adrenaline in his still-form and mine as I begin to slowly push forward. Skating lightly.

Knowing without him being next to me, the moment he'd stepped onto the ice, stepped into the rink, he was silently affirming a fact I knew as innately and easily as breathing. He had my back.

In every moment of this all.

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

Adrenaline makes me skate quicker. Falling into pace and catching up to Jimin without a single falter, a brief pulse of surprise that I hadn't needed to actively push, push, push to be quicker. Pace adjusting to fall into rhythm with his, steps in skated sync.

The next flicker of surprise is a stronger pulse of it when he doesn't even turn his head. Doesn't acknowledge that I'm there.

"You've been hard to get a hold of. You've been practicing like crazy that most days I didn't want to bother you."

"What made today different?" a casual indifference there that makes my steps falter for two beats, makes me fall out of skated-sync with him.

"You've been practicing with your teammates most days."

And both distracting him or placing myself in a situation that pitting one figure skater, myself, against a cluster of his teammates spelt a pissing contest I wasn't in a mood to start.

Not when I wanted to go to watch Jimin practice.

And seeing him skating alone, practicing alone for the first time in over a week– it hadn't been a decision that'd taken long to contemplate. Moving to the ice, tugging off the skating guards and moving to catch pace with him before even really deciding what I wanted to do.

"Finished training over in Rink C. Was passing by."

A curt nod.

"How was it?"

A fixed furrow of determination set between his brows, in set shoulders.

"Great! We're training for this new lift... it's a ballet move so it's got a bite more technical difficulty..." skates weaving to drift into his space, his pace slowing abruptly, hand clasping my arm, a hot-flash of something riled in his expression.

"Wish I could say the same. Practice's been kicking my ass lately." a rough frustration laced into the quick shuddered exhale. Into the way his fingers flex and tighten around my arm and then loosen. Move to continue practicing.

"Anything I can do–"

Dark, frustrated eyes flitting to me.

Frustration sharpening his features, a crackling intensity in the way that restless energy seems to burn anew, burning-heat in his stare. The muscle in his jaw ticking.

"After practice?"

Interest sharpens my own appraisal of him, lips quirking slightly.

But knowing that burning need in his eyes is to empty his mind of thoughts and if that's with me, through me–

I know the feeling too well.

"Doubt we'll make it to the dorms so I can wait until you're done."

A lightness in my voice that's at complete opposite to the restless fire simmering under his skin.

It just needs to be stoked enough, it just needs to be drawn out. Needs to be riled.

But it seems whatever control, frayed and wearing away, that he had seems to dwindle of its own accord. The restless jaggedness to his skating, one that my eyes intently– focused to make sure that in that stubbornness he doesn't accidentally fumble or hurt himself.

But it turns out that frustration wins over his own focus.

The abrupt yank of a hand at my wrist when he clatters off the ice, sudden in the way he tugs me forward. Yanking me out of the seat I'd been in, steps rushed and impatient. The clatter of his hockey stick, the sound of the door being shoved open and then the rough twist and slammed press of my back to the nearest locker door.

"Couldn't wait until you were done practicing?" voice breathless, air caught in my lungs, startled and dazed, hand tilting my face up, the touch rough, the grip of his fingers at my jaw tight.

Eyes consumed with want.

With that need of an outlet.

The breath shudders out of me, heat simmering in my veins.

Mouth a hot brand against mine.

Lips pressing feverishly to mine, chasing away whatever thoughts he'd tried to banish by working it out through practice. Fingers keeping my jaw angled up, body pressing hard against mine. Hand gripping tight at my thigh.

As if he's trying to lose himself entirely, trying to blur out his mind and reason. To lose it all.

Let me forget. Let me be distracted. Let it just... blur.

My head tilts back, exhale wobbly at the harsh sting of teeth at my throat. Back arching at the drag of his tongue against skin.

Welcoming the haze, the fog of blinding reckless pleasure. Hand tugging him closer.

"I'm done practicing." Words pressed into skin.

[......]

The next time I see him.

Something's changed.

Something that's wrong.

It's apparent from the moment I see him on the ice. Movements choppy and rough.

Each strike of his hockey stick against the ice, the puck harsh and aggressive.

And it's the first time seeing him after days of messages left. It's the first time seeing him since that day in the locker room.

And it's different and he's... something's off and I can't quite figure out what.

So I move towards him, skating forward carefully.

Because days of vanishing entirely, as if he'd been wiped clean off the surface of the ice, of the campus... suddenly he's there.

"We need to talk."

"Do we?" His gaze flits briefly over me, glancing disinterestedly as he continues to skate. Hockey stick steering the puck, bypassing me as he moves to continue running the obstacles.

"Yes." my voice turns heavy and firm, insistent. The way he moves past me, continuing to skate as if he hasn't heard me stirs up frustration. As if he's chosen not to hear me, as if whatever I have to say just isn't worth even pausing for.

As if when I move in front of him, he skates to the side to weave past like I'm just another obstacle.

"What's there to talk about? Can't be so important that it has to happen now. Can't see I'm busy?" Puck shooting across the ice and into the goal. The sound of it harsh and loud in my ears. The drawled blankness of his words makes something inside me twist to hear.

Circling back to repeat the course again.

"Yes right now. You've been blowing me off." I try not to let it bleed into my voice, but it comes out heavy... it comes out hurt.

Because I don't know why he was ignoring me. I don't know why he can't even stand to stop to look at me, this conversation a waste of breath and time... enough so it doesn't even require him to just look at me.

"No I haven't."

"You haven't been answering my messages and you've just been so distracted so I wondered..." if you were okay. If practice was too hard too much. If you were too busy but needed a reminder to stop and breathe.

"I didn't realise I was someone to keep tabs on."

"You're not."

Just someone I wanted to make sure was okay. But the way he says it now feels humiliating. As if I was acting on feelings or concerns I didn't have the right to feel towards him. As if it embarasses him.

My skates have never wavered on the ice.

But for a moment they wobble.

For a moment the rink feels unsteady. Stepping back because being this close and hearing the way he speaks. Voice low and hard and blank of any inflection. It stings to know it's for me. That unfeelingness in his drawl. Skin burning hotter with humiliation.

"I was just checking that you were okay Jimin." Words weak and light to my ears. Falling short. Body twisting to try follow the quick harsh motions of his skates. My own rooted where I stand.

"Who are you to care though? To check?"

"What?"

The question stuck in my throat. Slightly rough.

The impatient way his skates stop, kicking up ice, chipped flakes of it cold against my skin.

A rough exhale. Eyes staring hard.

"Since when have we ever been anything remotely close enough to care about each other?" Eyes hard, gaze unyielding, scouring at me.

It's cold on the rink but it's the first time I feel it, his words cutting and sharp. A cold burning sensation of confusion, hurt and shame.

His gaze staring me down.

Ridiculing me for being the only one who thought that there was any sort of connection or relationship there. That even the friendly banter and jokes and thawing rivalry had been all in my head. And not his.

"I know we're not anything really–" because whatever we are is too vague. Undefined.

What he is is unlabelled. Not just rival. Not exactly friend. Not only a fuckbuddy anymore.

And yet.

Nothing.

Nothing defined or solid or real.

Very clearly not.

"So that's it. Now. If you don't mind I'm trying to practice. And right now you're messing it up for me." gesturing impatiently. The tone of his voice turned sharper. Jagged around the edges.

Dismissive in the way he looks at me,

"I'm messing it up? I just came to ask if you were okay Jimin—you're practically ripping out chunks of ice." words rising with exasperation, with defensiveness, hand gesturing to the jagged unevenness of the rink.

A flash of impatience and brimming energy, restless and welling up, a dangerous mix because I read it in the harsh twist to his lips, the expression angry and frustrated. The intensity in his eyes a sharper gleam. The look he has on his face as if somehow in that moment I'm nothing more than a nuisance. A hindrance.

As if right now all he wants is for me to be the furthest away from him as I can be.

My hand, that'd wanted to reach out for him, stays limp by my side.

A prickling hurt that flashes through me, sears painfully through my chest.

"I'm fine but I'm trying to practice, and everyone seems hellbent on trying to fuck me over. First Coach, then Lee and now you." The accusation on his tongue is sharp, cutting.

"I didn't know that you wanted to be alone. You looked like--" you were having a hard time. Like you needed someone to bring you out of your mind. And maybe I could be that someone the way you had been for me. You looked like you needed someone to bring you back. You looked like the last thing you needed was to be left alone.

The words lie heavy in my mouth, a laden weight that I swallow down, throat feeling tight for a few moments.

"Well some of us have got competitions coming up and these matter y'know? We can't all just put on a pretty face and twirl our way forward to the next rounds."

"Seriously? You're really saying it like I don't practice, like I don't have competitions?"

Tongue unable to form the question that sinks heavily.

Like my sport doesn't matter?

Unsure I could stand what the barbed sharpness of his tongue would say in return. Afraid of it.

"So go then (L/N). Go do something about it rather than whining because I know my position matters. Because I know in a team I matter."

My skates slip back a few paces.

Slow.

Retreating.

Conceding.

And hurt and bitterness seeps into my voice.

Defensive where his words have struck, where if his hockey stick had struck me with the full force and strength of his body, it would've left me less winded than the harshness of his eyes and words.

Stomach churning. Nausea inching its way up my throat. Clawing at me.

Swallowing down the way it chokes me from the inside.

"All I wanted to do was be there for you. Because I thought you'd want company. Because I thought you might need it."

"Well I don't. I don't need it. I don't need you."

"Understood. Loud. And. Clear."

Eyes holding his for a few more moments, swallowing the rough strangled feeling of my throat closing up around the words that want to pour out. A vicious screaming wrongness that carves its way through me.

And then my eyes tear away.

Because I can't stand to look at him.

I can't stand to look at the person I thought I'd understood.

The words uttered without realisation, the flash of something dark and heavy and vicious in his eyes.

"Just because you let me fuck you doesn't mean you know me."

And somewhere in that voice it sounds pitying.

Condescending.

"Oh don't worry. I know that."

(AND SCENE! WEGWHEIOHGWEIOGWEG DON'T KILL ME Midiiplier I SWEAR WGWEIGBWEIUGWEGWE... THIS CHAPTER TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE BECAUSE I REWROTE IT SO. MANY. TIMES. AND. SO MUCH WAS HAPPENING AND YET SO MUCH NEEDED TO HAPPEN AND YET NOW I HAVE NO CLUE HOW IT ENDED UP BEING ANYWAS AND WEOIHWEIGWEG WHO KNOWS? WHO. KNOWS. LET ME KNOW WHETHER THE TENSION, THE BUILD TO IT AND THEN THE BEGINNING OF IT ALL GOING WRONG HAPPENED RIGHT! AHHHHHHHH IM NERVOUS AND WOINGIEGN CANT WAIT TO HEAR WHAT YOU ALL THOUGHT! ENJOY... THE ANGST!)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3