JIMIN POV:

"I'm only trying to help you, you understand that?"

"I understand Coach."

"But the matches haven't been your personal bests you know? This isn't the quality you're capable of. The quality I've seen from you."

"I know Coach."

"Last season you were the best athlete on the ice. And there was no match for you. There was no competition... last season the figure skating Coaches had no standing, nothing to throw in my face because their so-called prodigies couldn't even get through the first match of the season."

His voice is thick and full of pride and passion, eyes bright as he looks at me. Tilting his screen towards me.

Replays the end of the final match we'd had.

The one that's been the reason that this year...this year we had a shot of qualifying as the national team for South Korea. To represent the nation in the Asia Cup.

And he plays out the final stretch of the match, mere minutes of it, but it's an entirely different feeling to watch a match as an observer. Easily distinguishing our team by our uniform's colours.

"Watch number 13."

My number.

Watching as he weaves swift and sharp on the ice. The movements clean and precise. Each movement practiced, rehearsed and executed to perfection. Shooting the puck into the goal from a distance, the puck careening past the goalkeeper.

That's what he's trying to show me.

Perfection.

Something I am-something I was capable of.

And then he switches to a more recent match.

The last game we'd played as a team, two days back.

The very match he'd been displeased by.

Because looking at it now, looking at it how Coach had seen us, how the other teams had seen us... I realise the difference Coach has noticed.

The team had had to work to push forward for a win towards the end. Towards those final minutes. Refusing to let the match close on a draw. An intensity in the team's plays, a jagged edge to everyone's movements. Watching as I skate unevenly, sweeping between the opposite team's defence, trying to find an opening.

A difference to the match Coach had just shown me before this one.

Pausing on a frame.

My posture a far cry from the one I'd just seen.

"What was the difference?" Coach asks, eyes looking at me expectantly.

"The first match was cleaner. Sharp."

"Practiced down to a t." Coach interjects.

"And the next match?" he asks.

"Messy."

"Unpracticed. You all looked unprepared. Even if your opposition is a rival for the skillset of our team, the athletes I scouted and chose were ones I knew would be able to overcome challenges without faltering." Words heavy with a disappointment, eyes staring at me, through me, making me feel two inches tall as he looks down at me despite just being on the other side of the desk.

And his words sink in, knife to skin, reminding me that he'd paid to sign me on.

He'd paid for players he thought were capable.

And right now he's reminding me that I haven't proven myself capable.

"We'll... we'll do better with the next round of matches Coach."

Coach stands.

"I need you to do better Park. I need you to cut out any distractions you have, whoever she might be, and focus on ice hockey again. The way I've seen you focused."

The guilt and shame that'd been swirling thicker and heavier from the moment I'd stepped foot in his office is dragged to a screeching halt.

Eyes flashing up, flaring wide.

How?

A grimness in Coach's voice.

"I've told you boys to keep your ways of coping with pressure and the intensity of training away from affecting the sport itself."

"Coach I haven't-"

I haven't let (Y/N) affect my sport, my performance as an athlete.

I haven't let her distract me from how hard I practice, how hard I review my own training, how diligently I make sure that I'm being the best player I can be for our team.

"I don't care which two-bit pretty pair of legs you wanted to get between. But it's fucked with your focus, and you need to end it."

"End it?"

"No fucking around is good enough to sabotage your own career Park."

"Sabotaging it? It's not like that Coach... I haven't been doing-"

A defensive rush of breath, voice rising with it.

His words stinging and roughly harsh.

The look in his eyes sharpens to a glint. Aggressive and berating.

Immediately demanding that I back down, unspoken disdain pooling clearly in his stare.

Harsh abrasion in his voice.

"You're sabotaging your career and everything I've done to make you the best if you continue to waste time fucking around with whatever "athlete" you're so busy working out your frustrations on."

"Coach-" disbelief and disgust bleeds into my tone, half-rising from the chair.

"I get it Jimin-ah. I know a guy needs an outlet. I know it's exhausting training day after day. It's endless. But do you know how close I am to bringing you to being the nation's hockey players? Do you know how close you are to being Korea's star centre?"

Words full of an implore that makes my insides twist, churn with the unease his words leave.

And yet a faint, faint stirring of a restless want.

To be part of that vision he sees for our team.

But it's not like that. It's not what Coach is saying. It's not like that, it's not like that, it's not-

"I want that Coach." Voice hoarse. Distant.

"And I will get you there. But you can't let minor distractions set you back, set the team back. You know how much effort and time you need to give this sport. It's ice hockey. It's not as easy as the dancing and prancing that "team" those two Coaches parade about. It's so much more. it's another league, another level."

Coach moves.

Circling around his desk to clasp my shoulder. A firm squeezing grip, hand nudging me to sit.

Standing over me, looking at me, seeing me, the worth that scouted me in the first place.

And the grip on my shoulder feels punishing, rebuking, keeping me sitting there. From the ground under my feet from lurching, being yanked away.

As easily as he says it can be.

If I don't fix up.

If I don't stop being distracted.

"Their sport-"

"It's an insult to call it a sport. You know that. You're levels ahead of their so-called "top skaters". There's a world of difference between your capabilities and talent and then... theirs."

You're levels ahead. The praise, laced with another squeeze to my shoulder and the blazing pride in his eyes affirms it.

"I'll win the next match."

"You will."

"And I'll stay focused I swear Coach, I'll practice twice as hard as anyone else, I'll be in better condition than I've ever been and-"

"And you'll end it." words firm. Absolute.

"End it?" hesitant. Because there had to be a better way, because Coach wasn't right about it, but he was right about everything else. Coach knows what works and what doesn't.

"You'll end it for the good of the team. For your own good. Because your team deserves someone with his head on straight. You deserve a chance to win and compete in Nationals without the easy lay you've been messing around with."

"Coach I don't know-"

"I know. I know what's best for you Jimin. That's all I'm doing. The best for you. And even more important, the best for the team."

"The team." I echo with a nod.

"No girl's ever at the level of it. No girl is your level."

The clasping pressure at my shoulder loosens. Eyes looking down at me with an unwavering firmness there.

"If you want to ever make anything of yourself, if you want a chance at your career, if you want to ever be anything Jimin then wake up. And stop fucking it up for yourself. For your Captain. For your team."

"Yes Coach."

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

Coach's words are a mantra, an endless ringing in my ears that sink in heavier and heavier. And the more I think about it the more I realise he's right. He's right to act in the best interests of the team. He's right to notice when one of his players are slipping up. Because one person can make the team. As I should, as my position demands me to.

Or it can fuck it all up. Like I was. I was ruining the team's chances.

And I couldn't afford to.

I wouldn't.

They're there, driven behind each press of my lips bruising to her skin. Ringing in my ears.

End it for the team. For you.

"You needed that huh?" mussed lips dragging slow against my collarbone.

Breaths uneven against my skin, hot where my skin burns hotter, residue traces of pleasure and release and need simmering under my skin.

Skin not feeling as tightly stretched over my limbs, hands loosening their rough grip on her, fingers dragging over marks that'll darken. A twist of hot-white arousal at the thought that they'll remain, hand sinking into her hair to angle her head back. To press my mouth harsh against hers. Swallowing any words, any conversation, the roar in my mind quietening further when her mouth parts, tongue chasing mine. Moan swallowed up, fingers entangling tighter. A harder tilt of her head back. Bruised lips parted as my mouth drags to her jaw, teeth sinking in against her throat. Hissed breath and nails raking down my back.

Coach's words are there still.

End it.

End this.

This haze. This mindlessness.

The way she so easily drags me into her, eyes sparked with a vibrancy that feels carved out and hollowed from in. That from my plays has been missing from some time if it's come down to this.

"Needed to clear my head." I murmur against her skin, feel her body arch, mouth pressing lower. Red blooming against her collarbone, against the curve of her chest, breaths shuddering under my touch. Touches rougher, harsher, firmer than they've ever been. Needing it, needing her, needing to bury the voice in my head. The harsh whisper that I needed to end this.

One more time.

One final time.

"Does it? Feel clearer?" dazed eyes looking down at me, lips curled up loosely.

Skin aglow and eyes slowly skimming over me.

A careless ease in them that at that moment, envy claws thick in my throat.

Lips and teeth pressing another mark against her skin.

Keened pleasure spilling so readily, so easily from her lips. Body arching away from the locker door.

"Yeah... my mind's clear."

[......]

The sight of (Y/N) shouldn't elicit such a viscerally strong sense of so much... of everything all entangled together, so messy that looking at her...glancing at her wells a heavy thick feeling of something being lodged in my throat. That makes it burn to draw a breath.

Skating past her, the sight of her drawing a thousand words to echo and clash, dissonance ringing so sharply in my ears that it makes my head spin. Chasing the cold rush of air to cool the heated mix of anger and confusion that surges up.

Frustration that wells up at the sight of her moving in front of me, trying to block me off, weaving past, hockey stick striking at the puck with a stronger force.

Skin feeling as if its tingling, sparking with fire, so hot and vicious it burns my skin under all the layers, it makes it sting and ache, stretched painfully over my flesh. Body feeling caged within itself. That discomfort and frustration only growing, amplifying the more she's there. The more she hovers and flits in my vision. Gaze focusing past her, on the goal at the end of the rink that I skate towards.

But she's there. She's there and in the way.

She's there and she's stopping me from being able to skate, from practicing.

Just like Coach said she would.

A distraction.

That weaves itself in front of me, voice soft and beguiling. Trying to distract me, lull me into that false crafted sense of security. Just like Coach said. Just like Coach said.

The words echoing in my head.

Coach knows what's best for you.

Coach knows what's best for you.

"You haven't been answering my messages and you've just been so distracted, so I wondered..."

Distracted.

Just like she wants me to be.

To fuck over my focus.

To fuck over my game play.

Her excuse seems hollow.

Empty.

I just wanted to make sure you were okay.

I just wanted to make sure you were fine.

Did I seem that weak, that unfocused, that off my own game that even she needed to check?

Another step to play out in her own mind games?

To see just how ruined she was making me to see how easily she'd gotten under my skin and now she wanted to bask in it-

And I want to claw out that feeling. Of how deeply she's settled into my skin, into my mind, into my thoughts. I need to get her out.

Because she needs to know that it's just as easy for me to get out of this all as easy as it was to fall into the mess in the first place.

Just like Coach said. End it.

"Just because you let me fuck you doesn't mean you know me." words thick and sharp.

Stinging in the same way my insides prickle, lungs feeling raw as I draw in a breath, jaw tight as I look at her. Voice lofty. Light in a way the burning frustration in my chest isn't.

"Oh don't worry. I know that." A cold edge to her voice that condemns me.

And the sharp bite to her words, eyes tearing away. Skates twisting sharply as (Y/N) moves away.

Moves to leave.

A harsh cut of blade to ice as she turns back.

Abrupt. Sudden.

Stills.

A distance between us but her eyes burn me where I stand.

And it's a feeling that makes my skin prickle and itch.

Even though there's a distance between where she stands and where I stand... something swims in her eyes. A hesitance. A pause.

Waiting.

What for I don't know.

The very sight of her, a raw edge to her gaze, to the anger and pain there.

The sight twists my insides and batters at the crumbling dam, words a frustrated outpour, something feverishly hot bubbling in my veins as I find my feet cemented there, ice seeming to snake around my skates and keep them anchored to the rink. Unable to move. Because it's not fair for her to look like she's owed something in turn. That whatever we had is something she needs an answer for.

"Why're you being such an asshole Jimin?"

"I'm not. All that's happened is I'm realising how entitled you are princess. And how fucking unfair that is."

"Entitled?" incredulous as she echoes me. A sharp half-step forward, the sound of her blade against the ice is rough. Grating. A vicious heat in her voice that combats my own. But this time hers isn't enough. It won't be enough.

A derisive sound slips past my lips.

"Pretty little princess has everything happening for her without lifting a finger. Not everyone has everything handed to them on a silver platter."

"Go on. Tell me what makes you think I'm so entitled? Go on... tell me who makes you think I'm so privileged. Because that's not you... the Jimin I know... he knows it's not easy for me..." words pushing for an answer, pushing for the name that sits ready and accusatory on her tongue.

"Because the stakes just aren't the same for you. Because it's so much more to play for, to gamble with... but you don't get that, you've never had to get that-"

Eyes blazing. A fury in them that wells like burning flames, fuelled hotter, spilling out. But the fire on her tongue is cold, flames of ice that scald my skin with their chill.

Each word driving in deeper and deeper, a blade to the gut that the cold emptiness of her expression twists.

"You're doing it again Jimin. You're doing exactly what your Coach wants. You're playing right into his game. You're right under his control aren't you? His obedient little puppet. Parroting what he wants you to say."

And that twisting sensation then burns. Liquid ice morphing into lava. Molten hot. Leaves the anger to bubble and well up, corrosive and harsh as it pushes words past my lips.

Because once the words are out, they don't stop, they can't stop. Once they're out every single moment of resentment and bitterness and fury pours out. Vicious hot as it burns in my throat, spewing sharp abrasiveness as I stare at her. Stare at the very person who in dragging me into her has dragged me away from everything I've worked for. Everything my life and career has been invested in building, in becoming.

"This again. You have no idea what it means to earn the respect of your Coach. You've no idea what it means to earn the approval of your team. Not have it handed to you because you're the Captain's partner, because your Coaches baby you and hold your hand through it all."

Because not once had I seen her Coaches berate her or correct her.

Not once had I seen her truly train and be pushed because her partner was Jeon. And Jeon not only worshipped the ice she skated on, but she's had him backing her all this time.

She doesn't know what it feels like to be pushed to be the best because she's never really had to try to be the best.

Not in the way I have.

"I work just as hard as any athlete. I work harder to prove myself. I have to watch every step, every decision, every mouthful and make sure it doesn't ever get too much, too far. I work twice as hard as a man does to build the same type of muscles and work twice as hard to make sure I'm never, ever slacking or falling a pace behind." Words a rush of breath, laced with a sharp unevenness that pushes her closer, each step digging her blades deeper into the ice. Gaze enraged, eyes wild with it.

"All I'm hearing is... is that you know you fall short. You know why ice princess? You know why (L/N)?"

"Go on. Enlighten me." the cold derision of her voice yanks the words out of me. An entangled mess of words and thoughts that I want to hurt her with, I want her to know. I want her to know exactly where she stands in comparison to me.

Just like Coach said.

"Cos you can pretend all you like that you know what it feels like to work hard and push yourself. But you won't be at the same level... until you start working at the same level. You can sit out a routine... a whole fucking season and it's fine and little Miss Prodigy comes back next season all sparkling and doted on. I ruin one move and my neck's on the line. I constantly prove myself. You? You couldn't be more coddled if you tried."

Something molten-hot and dark pools in her eyes. Something that rears its head, hackles out. Fingers curling tight at her side. And for a moment she looks like she'll punch me, draw her fist back and slam it into me.

For a moment I want something... anything than the cold disdain or composure. Something about it rankles me all the more. Because she's just so... she's just so...

Suffocating. Looking at her makes me feel like I'm suffocating.

"You've no fucking idea what you're talking about." The rapid unevenness of her breath grating, close enough that I can almost feel the exhales-hot and enraged.

"You've no idea what it means to bleed for your sport. Don't act like you know the costs a sport can demand of you. Don't act like you know what I've... what I've...you don't know the first thing about me Park. Don't act like getting into my pants meant you know what's in my head... what's on the line, what I know is on the line for me."

My skin feels alight. Burning and stinging, skin stripped raw by the intensity of her stare.

Makes me feel cornered and trapped, threatens to choke me under that look. Under what it means. So I claw myself free.

Lungs shuddering for air. Hearing the thundering of my pulse echo in my head. Blood singing, roaring, screaming as it courses through my veins with an electric sharpness.

And to wrench that tight feeling around my neck, that feeling of her words trying to close in on me, I yank myself free of it.

Breathing ragged, every inhale sharp, drawing in cold gusts of air.

Because I don't know her do I?

I don't know how far she'd go to mess with me, to ruin me.

I didn't know what I was getting into.

And yet looking at her now, seeing her... that inflated sense of self that pushes back as if I don't know what it means.

She'll never understand. She'll never know what it's like to feel the team and Coach silently judge, hold you accountable, each failure, each missed goal, each victory that slips away to weigh heavier and heavier on your shoulders, crushing from the inside out. But she won't know that.

"Coddled ice princess. She doesn't know the first thing about skating. And she's what? A prodigy? Their cherished talent?" words hissed into my mind. Disdain as Coach looks at the skaters move across the ice, grim-faced and tight-jawed.

It's easy to let those words spill. Because they push their way up.

"Don't talk about sacrifice to me (L/N). Don't talk to me like we're the same... like what we do is even comparable. You're not at my level because you've never truly worked a day in your life earning your place and keeping it. If you fuck it up it's fine cos Jeon will make it all better. He'll pull your weight. No-one pulls mine."

Because it's better to push back than it is to try understand the flash of something dark and raw and stripped back in her eyes. Something cracks.

Because it's easier to breathe if I'm not the one whose air stutters out.

Win. At any cost.

End it. For you.

"Is that why? Because you felt like dead weight to your team, to your Coach, you had to tear me down to feel the same?" eyes glittering with a sharpness that scours at my insides.

That twists that rapid pulse into something that resounds in my ears, makes my blood pound with it.

"I'm so fucking stupid. I wasted my time, cutting practices, giving you my days, my ice for this... this is the real you. Your Coach's parrot. His obedient little centre. This is who I wasted myself on. This is who I let play me like a fucking fool. I can't believe I thought you'd changed, I can't believe I thought you were honest and genuine when you came to watch me practice. I can't believe I thought you could be someone I-" words cut abruptly. Harshly. The jagged swallow of her throat as she lets them fall away.

The rawness of her voice makes that fire in my veins burn until I feel like it'll swallow me whole. Consume me from the inside out just looking at her.

And the longer I look at her, the longer I see her, her words ring in my ears alongside Coach's. Battering for space, snarling and twisting round and entangling messily.

Ears ringing. My hand clasps the hockey stick tighter, touch clammy. Weak.

But then the fight, the anger, the resentment falters.

Cracks in a mask that's so polished, so smooth, so perfect.

An empty cold laugh that cracks as it bubbles past her lips.

Body moving back one step.

And then another.

"I guess that makes this easier then. You don't have to worry about keeping me out of sight anymore... because we can't ruin the image of the star centre. Because now you can throw away your dirty secret. Someone lower that you degraded yourself by fucking."

A harsh unforgiving glint in her eyes, merciless and condemning, the ice around me seems to crawl its way up, find its way under my skin, burying itself in painful shards that leave pain rippling in its wake.

Words spat out aching and bitter as she turns. The emotions seeming to leech her of any strength, the curve of her shoulders hunched inwards. A glimmer of dampness at her eyes before her face turns away entirely, back to me. The line of her spine folded.

"You win Park. Congratulations." Hollow listlessness.

And for the first time the sound of her blades against ice are clunky. Heavy and unmeasured. The sound scraping against my ears.

Watching as she slowly grips the edge of the rink to clamber off. The sight of her receding, growing smaller and smaller.

Body trembling as the air rushes out of me. Lungs shuddering and seizing, contracting painfully, squeezing around that echoing pulse, squeezing around the emptiness. Rink left alone.

Just as I'd wanted.

You did well, you did it for the team, you did it for you. You've made me so proud, made the right decision and ended it.

Ended it.

Ended it.

Good.

Good.

It was good.

No distractions.

Nothing stopping me.

Good.

Just like Coach wanted.

Each breath, each exhale does nothing to ease the tightness in my chest, the way my heart twists, wrenched painfully as if someone's taken it in their hands and squeeze the very blood, the very life out of it.

A tremor that begins weak and then wracks my body, trembling with its aftermath.

It's good.

Exhale.

It's what needed to be done.

Good.

Exhale.

I didn't need her.

I didn't need her.

Exhale.

"You win Park. Congratulations."

And it's laced with the sharp pride of Coach's voice.

[......]

For a moment the world stills. Leaves behind only the harsh unevenness of my own breaths, each inhale and exhale laced with desperation, with a wobbly unsureness the longer I stay there. Standing there.

Staring out at the rink's edge where she'd clattered off, body slowly growing smaller and then vanishing from view entirely.

Skates moving forward a few fumbling steps, lips parted with her name on my tongue before I'd faltered. Because she'd long gone.

And what else did I have left to say?

And she'd left me behind with the restlessness that claws at my skin from the inside, that simmers restlessly in my blood, makes the words echo in my head as a resounding thundering beat of noise.

It's only quietened slightly somewhere after the sixth lap I take around the rink, blades digging deep into the ice. Scouring the messiness of the conversation into the ice. Ugly jagged chunks carved into the surface.

Hockey stick harsh against the puck, chasing it through the jagged cuts of the ice, trying to suffocate the noise in my head by replacing it with the sound of my skates moving faster, faster, faster.

Needing to dispel the bubbling heat that pushed at my skin, the frustration that rings in my ears, eyes stinging hot as my breath shakes.

Work harder. Be better. Be better.

Her words leave a poisoned, bitter taste on my tongue. Breaths constricting around nothing, trying to swallow past the sharpness.

And some part of me is left feeling rattled to the core. Hollowed out. Empty in the aftermath.

Ice empty.

Rink empty.

Continuing to skate around the rink, pushing to go faster, faster, faster.

Willing my mind to empty too.

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

"You're on the ice early." Words laced with concern, dark eyes looking at me.

"Good man Park. Nothing beats the first ice of the day. Clean slate of ice all reset." Voice approving as he nods, stepping onto the ice.

My head dips into a quiet nod.

Sweat trickling down the back of my neck, snaking under my training kit, shaking my head to dispel the damp strands out of my view. Breaths ragged as the others file out onto the ice, ignoring the stare I can still feel at my side, the furrowed expression I can sense without turning.

"Thought I'd get some warm-ups done before everyone arrives." I answer, breath slightly uneven, chest burning for oxygen. The rink's icy air cooling my lungs with every inhale.

"You look live you've done more than just warm-up Jimin-ah, are you-" voice laced with a tinge of worry.

"We've had a few days of low-intensity training to allow for recovery between matches but now that the next round of matches are over a month away we're going to spend time building up team stamina and speed." Coach announces, my head straightening to look at him, reading the determination in his expression.

"We'll continue our own practice games and we'll be hosting some at this rink too with some of the teams also advancing to the next round."

"Won't this let them get a read on our teamplay before the actual match Coach?" JB asks, voice interjecting.

"I'm not fussed about that because it's a good chance to show them where they stand in comparison to you boys." Pride puffing his chest out, an easy assuredness in his voice that tries to rouse confidence in the team.

It subconsciously makes us straighten, postures taller.

Because Coach sees that worth and wants to laud it in the other team's faces.

But that anxious ball of nerves knots itself tighter, stomach clenching and churning at the knock of a shoulder against mine. Voice a jeer, a taunt, trying to get under my skin.

"And why would Coach not want to show off his prized star centre? Gives you one-on-one's enough."

A hint of envy and disdain lacing Lee's voice, my head turning towards him, watching his head tilt to look back at me.

As someone distinctly more "typical centre build", as he liked to remind everyone and anyone, being labelled as the team's substitute centre had left a sourness in his personality. Had engrained itself so deeply that I can't dissociate Lee from the sharp bitterness and mockery. I can't remember a time when he wasn't like that.

But now, currently where we stand with a month or so to go to the next rounds of matches... with just weeks to go to determine whether or not we make it, whether I'm enough to help the team make it... that substitute label seems more flimsy and more easily torn off and handed over than it's ever felt-

"You can ask for more sessions if you want to Lee. No-one's stopped you."

Brushing past him, circling round to fall into the same formation with the team, moving through the motions as easy as breathing. As familiar to us as it is to breathe, to skate, to move.

Another shoulder nudging against mine.

Lighter.

Comforting.

Voice low and soft.

"Are you sure you're okay? Did Coach have you turn up early to-" voice laced with a protective edge, a gentle softness.

Head shaking no, turning to look into soft brown eyes. The faint furrow in his brow doesn't even out.

If anything it creases deeper.

"I just wanted to get the first ice. So when practice starts I can beat Lee's ass." Voice light, lips curling up at the corners. Though it feels brittle. Moments from fumbling.

"I know as Captain I shouldn't encourage it but hand it to him Jimin-ah."

And for some odd reason, his smile doesn't look like it reaches his eyes either.

[......]

Coach's words are still fresh in my head, their ringing rising louder every time the noise inside my mind seems to quieten for a few moments during practice. Stubborn and firm, lacing itself into the very fibre of my brain as if trying to fuse there. The same hard-headedness Coach acts with his words echo with inside the corners of my mind. Woven within my thoughts. Into the very motions of my skates weaving through the ice.

"Jimin! You missed an easy open pass from Yugyeom. Your eyes are open so let's get them fixed on the drill." Coach's voice barks out, reproachful and disappointed. Skates pushing forward quicker to try regain control back over the puck that skitters across the ice, apology quick on my tongue, cheeks heating at the faint brush of laughter. The teasing jab to wake up Park.

"Sorry Coach. Won't happen again."

Sensing Bambam and Yugyeom skating forward, their figures growing closer in my peripheral. Angling the puck towards them, skates pushing forward to cover the ice quickly, to reach towards the goal end of the rink, aware of the defence line; poised and ready to break down the approaching offence.

The silent intensity of the defence line is enough to rankle the opposition. But knowing them... having played and trained with them for years means I've got a read on them, on their tells.

Yet it's the intense examination in Joon's eyes, silently lingering and watching... as if he sees right through me, makes me stumble two steps, body righting itself immediately. Push away that consciousness by making an aim for goal.

It's embarrassing how Jackson doesn't even need to try deflect it, the puck clanging against the goal's edge.

Stolen away by the defence.

By a move made too hastily.

"Park-try find a break in their defence before shooting!" Coach calls out.

The shame makes my skin burn.

"Yes Coach."

Circling round to retry all over again.

[......]

It's easy to ignore something you don't want to be confronted with.

It's easy when you truly let yourself sink so far down, so deep into that mindset, that game-focus as Coach likes to call it... that everything else begins to sink into the background. Fade.

It's easy to forget when it's all you want to do.

Burying away the shitstorm, the harsh cleaved snap of what had happened on the rink, nothing left to witness it. The ice reset the next day, wiping clear the traces that another pair of skates had ever joined mine... that I had even been there. Leaving behind no remnant, no reminder.

Easy to let straining muscles and exhaustion tug me down to a dreamless sleep every night, skin slick with sweat, burning with it under my uniform, head pounding with Coach's voice still ringing there, pushing me to go, go, go, keep going every time my lungs burn for air, for a reprieve, for a break.

Because I won't hand it to Lee, I won't fuck up my chances and find myself benched by the one guy who I've won and earnt my position over. I won't let it slip out of my hands now.

Not when we're so close.

Not when the national title is just within reach of grasping fingertips, when competing for the Asia Cup is just on the horizon...

"You look like you've finally sorted your priorities out. It's guys like you-this winner's mentality, this fighter's headspace that's going to put my team... put you on the map Jimin." Words laced with pride and approval that make the tightness in my chest ease, that make my body sing and soar at the praise, the strained muscles and overworked limbs... that fatigue peeling away.

Because Coach was right.

We could do it.

I could do it.

I was going to become Korea's star centre hockey player.

And nothing... no-one was going to get in the way of that. It couldn't.

I was on the brink of becoming something, of being recognised and acclaimed for being the athlete Coach saw in me.

I couldn't fail him now.

I couldn't fail myself now.

"Thanks Coach!" a flutter of relief that slightly...only slightly loosening the tight knot around my lungs. A slither of breath, cold and weak. But the feeling in my chest is too tight as if the very straps of the padding and uniform have been laced too tight, a straitjacket that crushes the breath from my lungs, chokes it from my throat.

It's only a slither of breath, of salvation, of relief. But the words in my head ring. A noose that tighten up my throat again.

Skating forward in a clean motion under Coach's watchful stare.

It's never enough to let yourself settle.

Complacency gets you benched.

And I couldn't afford that.

Not now.

Not now.

(Y/N) POV:

"All I'm hearing is... is that you know you fall short. You know why ice princess? You know why (L/N)?"

Words laced with a sharp venom, with a goading viciousness that yanks that pain to the surface, that bubbles and wells up and then spills out with a coldness, trying to combat the feeling of my stomach plummeting. Of his voice making my heart twist sharply.

"Go on. Enlighten me."

And his words are snarled and bitter and sharp, his lips twisted cruelly. As if he knows it hurts. As if he's trying to make it hurt.

Ripping the ice from underneath my feet.

"Cos you can pretend all you like that you know what it feels like to work hard and push yourself. But you won't be at the same level... until you start working at the same level. You can sit out a routine... a whole fucking season and it's fine and little Miss Prodigy comes back next season all sparkling and doted on. I ruin one move and my neck's on the line. I constantly prove myself. You? You couldn't be more coddled if you tried."

Little Miss Prodigy. The title spat out with disdain. With a cold hardened edge to his voice. With a glimmering sharpness to his eyes that seems to revel in the way my balance teeters, body containing a flinch, containing the violent tremor that wracks my body and makes my spine stiffen in defence.

Braced for the impact of his hard words, hurled without care, without thought, without knowing.

Striking hard.

"You can sit out a routine... a whole fucking season and it's fine."

"Doted on."

"You can sit out... a whole fucking season and it's fine...you're doted on." Words hissed with a bitterness, with a bite to his words as if he loathes it, detests the treatment....as if... as if I'd chosen to sit out a season, as if I'd willingly surrendered the season with a careless disregard for everything I've built towards my entire life.

A whole season...a whole season... a whole season.

Doted on.

As if I chose to sit out of the season.

As if sitting out was an indulgence... not the cycle of torture and torment and feeling constantly sick to my stomach with the thought that this was it... that I'd never be able to step foot on the ice again and it would've been a fuck up that ruined my entire career.

Doted on for it.

As if I didn't know that they'd treated my coming back to the ice with a delicacy, kid gloves that we'd all worn driven by the paranoia and cautiousness that almost... that almost had kept me off the ice despite a recovery.

And for him to throw it in my face.

There's a clawing urge to watch the coldness from his eyes be torn away, hands trembling before they curl tight, knuckles aching with the force, nails digging into my palm. A bruising sting where they sink in harder.

"You've no fucking idea what you're talking about." Breaths wavering, feeling the heat of each exhale burn my throat, my lungs as the air's pushed out. Forced out.

As if he knew what it felt like. And yet he stood there... he stood there parroting that... that Coach to throw it in my face that somewhere... somewhere he agreed.... Somewhere some part of him agreed with what his Coach said. That I'd done nothing, that being where I was cost me nothing.

When a season ago I'd been sure everything had ended for me.

And I can feel the familiar sinking sensation, feel a mix of nausea and hysteria wind itself around me, tendrils that begin to snake along my skin-leaving it feeling prickly and sensitive, raw as if even the very particles of air against it make it spark uncomfortably. Flames scorching skin.

"You've no idea what it means to bleed for your sport. Don't act like you know the costs a sport can demand of you. Don't act like you know what I've... what I've...you don't know the first thing about me Park. Don't act like getting into my pants meant you know what's in my head... what's on the line, what I know is on the line for me."

You don't know. All this time... all this time when I thought maybe you knew me, maybe you understood me... all this time you don't know. You'll never know. You've never really wanted to know.

All this time...

Yet his eyes are defiant, blazing and enraged, fuelled by something viscerally bitter and sharp and the intensity of it drowns out any semblance of softness, any semblance of Jimin I'd ever seen in them.

This person... this person who stares back at me is more stranger than the person I've kept at rival's end for years. This person is more stranger to me than ever before.

And the thought of having been so close, so intimate, so near... the realisation that I shared parts of me with the stranger standing there makes my throat sting, makes it close up with a nauseating realisation that... did I ever know Jimin at all? Properly?

Did he know me-or was it easy for him to pin on me whatever his Coach saw me to be, assumed to be? Did I know him or was everything an echo, a reflection of the very voice I hear-distorted, harsh and cruel.

Feeling raw and exposed under the sharpness of his stare, the vitriol in his voice that pushes and pushes and pushes... as if wanting me to break. To shatter.

Wanting nothing more than to physically increase distance between us, wanting nothing more than to claw that look off his face, wanting nothing more than to do something... anything to make that twisting, lurching sensation stop.

And if the burning feeling of being swallowed up whole had been scorching... it drags me into its inferno now.

"Don't talk about sacrifice to me (L/N). Don't talk to me like we're the same... like what we do is even comparable. You're not at my level because you've never truly worked a day in your life earning your place and keeping it. If you fuck it up it's fine cos Jeon will make it all better. He'll pull your weight. No-one pulls mine."

The feeling of the ground dropping under me, being wrenched away, leaves my vision briefly blurring. The sight of him crowded with a red-hot shame and fury that makes my blood feel like live-wire, as if the very echoing pulse of my heartbeat sends sparks of pain, electric and sharp, coursing through me. Trembles contained within the way my body stiffens. Refuses to relent, to show him how much his words make my lungs burn, heart ache as if he's taken it into his hand and yanked it out of my chest, gripping it in a vice.

"If you fuck it up, it's fine cos Jeon will make it better. He pulls your weight."

"He pulls your weight."

"You've never truly worked a day in your life."

"Never...earnt your place."

Never earnt it, never earnt it, never earnt it.

The harshness of his voice spits out the words, corrosively. That burning heat that tears me plunges into an iciness. A cold that leaves its burns like lances across my body, battering my throat with each inhale.

A shard of ice plunges itself into my chest. And twists, the force leaving my lungs burning... pleading for air, ears ringing as I take a step back. Choking down the strangled sound that wants to tear itself free of my throat.

I don't know whether I want to laugh. Or scream. Or cry.

Don't know which would give him more satisfaction.

Don't know what to do except knowing that letting him see, letting him know after this... after everything...

I will not break... I will not break... I will not break. Not in front of him.

Not in front of him.

Not when... not when to him... not when he's so easily able to throw it in my face that my efforts weren't enough, that whatever I did... I was a crutch.

I didn't do enough.

For him I was deadweight for Jungkook.

For him I didn't work to the same level, I didn't have to try to.

Is this what he's always thought?

Has that idea always festered in the recesses of his mind, stifled and swallowed down but now it tears past his lips easily. Snarled words with all the intent to sink into my flesh and tear.

To rip off that look-haunting and unfamiliar.

The words... the words an echo of someone else but spat out by him.

As if Jimin believes them. As if he's always believed them.

Words numb, distant to my own ears, unable to hear them over the rising crescendo of ringing that echoes in my ears. Dissonant and painful. Breaths tight in my chest, lungs feeling too tight until a sound carves out that ache. Empties it.

Hollow distant laugh that's frail and moments from shattering into splintering shards.

"You win Park. Congratulations."

Eyes burning as I twist hastily, moving to skate off the ice, motions heavy and cumbersome, body weighed and being dragged down by a weight that sinks through me.

The ache in my chest grows, leaden despite feeling as if everything's been wrung out of me, drained.

Limbs heavy. A poisoned hiss Jeon will pull your weight echoes in my ears.

Has he been?

[.....]

Shame burns into anger.

Anger scorches to a fury.

Fury sets my lungs alight with each breath.

[......]

No matter how quickly I clatter off the ice, it's still not quick enough to escape the presence behind me, the person who's dragged my entire worth down, body radiating with fury, skin hot with an enraged humiliation. Needing to get away from him and needing that to happen this very instant.

Hands tugging at laces and yanking off my skates, body trembling with anger, a sting at my palms as I grip onto the skates and hurry off. Desperate and intent to put more and more distance between me and Jimin. As much distance as I physically can.

Heat burning my skin from the inside out. The ground shifts from ice to carpet to pavement. Shifting unsteadily under my feet. Moving to get away from the rinks, away from campus, away from him. Away from the way it makes me feel, stomach twisting itself into knots, the air in my lungs tight and painful, each exhale ragged, trying to calm the hammering pulse that rings in my ears. Each thudding boom of it seems to amplify the sound of Jimin's words.

Crowds of students at some point dwindling, crowds to stragglers to roads that slowly empty.

The mocking derision only stoking the white-hot fuels that continue to gnaw at me from the inside.

Nails digging into my palms.

Eyes briefly clenched shut, trying to shut out the image of hard eyes and harsh words spat out, gaze looking at me as if I was lower than him, as if looking at me was already too much. Trying to will the sound of his voice as it echoes in my ears. Trying to forget but it's there- repeating on a broken loop over and over.

Jeon pulls your weight.

You've never really had to try.

You can miss out a season little Miss Prodigy and it's fine.

You don't know...

Not on the same level.

Not on the same level.

Not on the same level.

And no matter how much I want to escape his words I can't.

They refuse to leave, refuse to quieten, refuse to let me push back the strong surge of nausea and anger and shame and humiliation that swirls around, knotting messily.

The road under my feet tilts, steps turning uneven, blinking the blurriness out in my eyes, one step after the other, pace slowing, trudging forward one foot then the other.

Continuing to walk, everything around me seeming to slow.

The noise of traffic, of people brushing past, voices interweaving into a cocoon of sound that swamps my ears. And yet they're not enough to drown out the way Jimin's voice had sounded, the way it had become hard and sharp. Poisoned venom seeping into each syllable, a barbed razor-sharpness that wanted to cut me down, wanted me to bleed, wanted me to hurt.

A voice that not only stings but makes that coil of anger wind itself tighter. A noose that closes in around my throat. Humiliation that makes my skin burn hot, makes that heat try to claw itself past the tight constriction of my throat. That makes my vision spin.

And when my breath wavers, each inhale and exhale feeling strangled, feeling as if it's forced past my lips, the ache in my chest amplifies, swells to a painful pressure. A heaviness that makes the pain in my chest grow as if his words have reached in to twist my heart in a fisted grip. A vice-weight that seeks to crush my lungs, crush the breath from them.

And alongside it a strong surge of anger wells up. Hot-red as it bubbles up in my veins, rage that makes my blood burn as Jimin's dismissal rings in my ears, flashes in front of my eyes. Eyes stinging sharply with it, hands quick to brush back at forming tears. Refusing to let them fall for Park Jimin of all people.

"Fuck you Park. I can do better" breath hitching as I sniff, hand dragging over my eyes, steeling myself, willing the angry hammering pulse to settle. But the look in his eyes won't go.

Trying to ignore the way my heart hurts. Battered, bruised and bleeding.

Ignore the way it feels like the ground teeters, moving forward. Breaths harsher, forcefully inhaling and exhaling loudly. Palm grinding against my eyes, angry that I'm letting his words get to me.

Don't. Don't let them.

He doesn't deserve a single tear I think furiously, clenching my jaw tightly to control the wobble of breath, the way my throat constricts. Swallowing past the lump settling there.

No.

Not for him.

Not after everything.

He doesn't deserve a single tear. A single breath.

"This is what I get for caring..."

Voice bitterfully achy.

"Coach's pet. Fuck off back to your Coach. I don't need you." words muttered furiously, teeth grit.

Walking further and further away from the source of that shame, further and further away from the rink, from the ice, from everything. As great of a distance as I can put from it all. Feet moving without destination in mind... only one thing's clear, the mortification and hurt that makes my skin rankle with the thought of staying. Gut twisting into knots at the thought of what would've happened if I'd have stayed... how pathetic he'd already made me look and how staying...staying a second longer would've made me look and feel worse.

Fingers digging into my sides as my hands wrap tighter, bruising grip trying to force a feeling... anything but what swirls ugly and messy in my chest. What makes each breath painful to inhale as if shards of ice tear at flesh and leave a biting coldness behind.

At some point...

At some point my steps falter, beginning to slow. The restless buzz of energy that'd been pushing against skin, drained from me. Body curving inwards.

At some point my steps drag, the motion of putting one foot in front of the other heavy, weighted, cumbersome.

The fight drains... the indignation recedes, scorch burning so viciously, so entirely that its aftermath leaves a bad aftertaste, bitter and poisoned, barbed words having torn at flesh, body aching and an emptiness that's been hollowed out. Carved out.

Dead weight.

Dead weight.

Dead. Weight.

"When you fail Jeon will pull your weight..."

Is that what everyone thought?

Is that what Jimin had thought this entire time... for my entire career? That I was where I was because I was coasting along?

All that effort...and training because I was dead weight, who'd had an easy climb to this point in my life?

Was my effort...nothing?

Dead weight, dead weight, dead weight... the words buzz in my ears, constant and endless.

Until the words aren't just buzzing in my ears, it's a buzz I can feel pressed against me.

Fingers slowly unwrapping, stiff hands clumsy as they sluggishly fumble for the incessant ringing, the buzzing that somehow permeates through my consciousness. Hand slow as it reaches inside my pocket, moving to thumb it shut as I draw it out.

Motions stilling, slowing, breath hitching when I see the name flash up on my screen. Heart crumpling, weeping blood, as my thumb drags across the screen. Drawing it up to my ear, a choked sob spilling past my lips. An achy ugly miserable sound.

"Koo."

"(Y/N) where are you? Did you head out for some training at this time? Do you know how late it is? You're not in your dorm... I swear to god (Y/N) if I have to haul your ass back one more time from a late session-"

"Koo." voice helpless, echoing with the same misery.

Voice cutting off abruptly. A sharp intake of breath.

And then softer, gentler. Coaxing.

"(Y/N)? (Y/N) what is it? What's wrong? What happened?"

"Koo I-"

"(Y/N)? Icicle, what is it?" mind slowly comprehending that underneath the calm voice there's a tinge of panic. An edge to it.

A rough broken needing sound pushes past my lips. Clinging onto the grounding comfort all the way, too far away, on the other end of the phone.

Not recognising the sound. Something that's wrenched out my chest. Past the tightness there that makes it hard to breathe normally. Wavers that sound hollow and distant to my own ears. Splintering ache and shame making my eyes blur, cheeks damp when tears spill over. Sniffling brokenly.

"...(Y/N). (Y/N)... (Y/N)... (Y/N)!" Urgency bleeds into his voice, turns it sharper with desperation, cuts through the unevenness of my breaths.

"Mhm?"

A sound of relief.

"(Y/N)... (Y/N) where are you?"

My eyes slowly turn to skim round, the area around me entirely unfamiliar. Unable to place where I am. A kernel of fear sinking into the depth of my stomach.

"...Koo..."

"(Y/N)...where are you?"

"I don't... I don't know."

Hearing the sound of a door clicking shut, the electronic lock beeping into place. The sound of movement, rushed steps.

"Okay I need you to look around. Is anyone there? Any shop names? Any road signs?"

"I don't know... Koo it's... I'll try get a cab. I'll be fine."

"No!"

"Wait where you are...stay somewhere safe, somewhere around people. Stay on call with me... I need you to turn your location on icicle."

And his voice remains, low and soft. A murmured cadence that brushes against skin that prickles painfully, brushes over it with the soothing hum of words that filter out the speaker, thumb clumsy against my screen.

"Okay-I've gotten into a cab. I'll be there soon (Y/N). Stay on call with me okay icicle?"

"Mhm." not knowing how much that sound would take out of me, hearing a rushed exhale of breath on the other end.

A low stream of chatter, of his voice against my ear, hand clasping onto the phone. Clutching at it like a lifeline.

Hand gripping at it tighter as the noise around me swells. A growing wave of sound that I become more acutely aware of, skin pebbling with goosebumps as it hunches inwards. Feet cemented where I stand. Unable to drag myself forward another step now that every limb in my body has come to a still.

Everything around me blurs into an indistinguishable fog, a mass of sound and colour and movement, head briefly spinning. Nauseated.

Breathing shallow as I stay still, unable to take a step forward, unable to continue walking into the hive of noise.

Hands clasping at my sides, jolting me out of my stupor, head turning towards the sudden presence that swarms me, alarm briefly flaring before my limbs seem to sag, energy and alarm draining out of me.

"Koo you came." eyes drifting up to look at him, voice wobbling when he murmurs my name quietly.

"Of course I did." arm wrapping around me, a steadying balance, hand clasping me to him, slowly standing with me, straightening up. Body tilted to mine, turning to duck his eyes to look at me, searching, searching and then finding whatever he's looking for. Dark brown eyes deepening with a heaviness, fingers gentle against my cheek.

Thumb brushing underneath my eye, tracing dampness.

My body hunches into itself, shrinks inwards at the look in his eyes, at the way his gaze so soft and light and gentle is at extreme odds with the harsh glare burned into my mind.

Gentleness where cruel derision rings in my ears.

Carefully trying to combat it, ease it away.

"Let's go home icicle."

The same arm wrapped around me in the cab, the side of his leg pressing to mine, comfort in the hand lacing with mine, squeezing tightly, reassuringly, the brush of a thumb across my knuckles, voice low in my ear, keeping my attention rooted to him. A tendril of warmth, of something that's purely, entirely, wholly Jungkook that pierces through the entangled mess of thoughts and words, emotions all jumbled up, scrambling the cacophony of sound ringing in my ears. Slowly coaxes them to quieten.

The same hand tugging and drawing me out, body nudging lightly to mine, steering me towards the dorms...his dorms.

Steps slowing, a clammy cold that sinks into my skin.

Twisting my stomach into painful knots.

Clutching back at the hand laced tightly with mine, gripping onto Jungkook, steps half a beat behind his, the tension in my spine and shoulders loosening as the door shuts behind us. Lock clicking into place, body seeming to sag as the tight coil of nervousness drains away just as sudden and instantly it'd set in.

Seeming to move on auto-pilot, drained of battery, of energy, and on its last reserves as I move through the room, letting Jungkook guide me to bed, a mannequin that's manoeuvred listlessly, clothes being replaced with pyjamas, fingers fumbling where his own are careful and certain, thicker layers replacing the thin. Blankets over my body, his own tucking behind mine. A press of limbs melding to mine, arm wrapped around me, slotting the two of us together. Quietly, his legs entangle with mine, his hand curves protectively and settles across me and his lips press briefly to my shoulder.

"I'm glad you picked up." Koo murmurs into the darkness.

Voice so soft that it almost gets swallowed up by the room, the words pressed into me.

Silently my hand drifts up to briefly squeeze his, clasping before it falls away.

Thank you for finding me.

Unspoken words shared in the silence that stretches out endless. Infinite.

Curled close to each other. Tucked to Jungkook.

Sinking into the comfort he offers. Clasp at it tightly.

A quiet sound slips past my lips. Breath wavering shakily.

The sound is loud in the silence.

Stifling it, swallowing it back down, quietening it even though it's the dead of the night. Even though the arms around me have long since stilled and the breaths I can feel faintly brush my nape, soft and even, as it has been for what must've been hours.

But then the arm around me shifts, hand brushing gently across my stomach, fingertips light. A stir of movement, so slight, that it could be that he's moving in his sleep. That it's comfort I crave that reaches out, somehow sensing it.

But then his head shifts, lips soft against my nape.

Voice hoarse with disuse, from lying in silence with me.

"I'm here (Y/N)."

Head curving forward, bowed and tucked to my chest, eyes stinging at the gentleness of his voice, featherlight and yet it makes my heart feel achingly full. Overwhelmingly so, hand reaching to grasp at his, fingers threading through his and clutching at the hand that cradles me. Gripping onto him. Feel his hand return the strength of the grip just as tightly, a shuffle of movement from behind me that presses him entire flush to me. Spooning me, holding me.

The pressure that'd been pushed back, held back and kept at bay wells up, brims up. Trying to find an out. Desperate for it.

Endlessness that stretches out. Infinite. Dark. Deafening in its quiet. Because the quieter it is around me, the louder my head sounds. The louder it is inside, every word hammering itself in on an endless loop, driving itself deeper, further, harder into the very crevices of my brain. Lodging itself there, a poisoned root that digs its way deeper.

And because it's quiet... because it's quiet... there's nothing to stifle or suffocate or silence the voice that rings in my ears. The scathing cold anger in his voice, the sharp disdain in his eyes and the venom he'd wanted me to hurt with, burn with.

It melds with the anger, the misery, the shame, the humiliation and it pushes up, pressing against the back of my eyes until they sting, until I clench them shut, until that hurt pours out, spills down my cheeks from under clenched eyes. An ache that rattles my chest with a sound that doesn't muffle against the pillows.

That makes the arms around me wrap tighter, lips pressing tight and firm to my nape, name brushed against skin. And comfort without question, wrapping me up tighter as if willing the two of us to physically meld into one another... he holds me as if he wants to hide me into him entirely.

"Koo- I-"

Feel like shit. Feel like I've been used and tossed aside. Discarded. Feel like dirt. Pinned and cut open underneath the sharp edge of his skating blade.

I feel worthless. Tears trickling down in the silent shame of it all.

That I was made to feel worthless, that today... today I was shown my worth in Jimin's eyes. And that was that I was worth nothing to him.

A fuck to toss aside.

A body to use to get off.

Someone to reel in, make me feel good, make me feel something... as if... as if we had something. And then strip me bare.

To reveal that really... really I wasn't worth anything.

That when it came down to it... he saw me how his Coach wanted him to see me.

I don't feel the soft soothing murmurs against my skin, don't feel the way I cling desperately onto Jungkook's hand or the way he clings back just as harsh and fierce, letting my nails dig into his skin, in return his grip a grounding weight keeping me tethered to him. Eyes blurred as my chest cracks, the sound of it splintering and falling around me, the sound torn from my mouth as my head curves forward.

Head pounding as his head rings louder, a crescendo of harsh ice that drives itself deeper. Lodges itself into my lungs and heart so it's harder to breathe around the way my chest feels tight, as if the air from me is being strangled out, hand curling tighter to grip onto the anchor wrapped around me.

Grief and pain that streaks down my cheeks, the darkness of the room pressing more solidly around me, swarming closer so it can snake itself around me further.

Breaths wobbling. Uneven.

"I've got you icicle. I've got you."

[......]

"Where are you going?" arms shifting slightly, wrapping more securely. A soft nudge of a head against mine, breath warm against my skin.

Hours spent trying to fall asleep, fitfully dozing in and out, words ringing in my ears blaring and forceful-harsh and cold, eyes flaring open again, head throbbing.

Hours spent, restless, awake, mind too heavy, needing to claw that feeling off. Needing to not think.

"Gonna go for a run." I whisper, trying to extract myself from his arms, trying to draw myself up. Not expecting that the arms to loosen, straightening up, head pounding and eyes sore, only for the body behind me to also sit up.

"Okay, let's go." voice a drowsy murmur of breath, heavy and laden, still not quite entirely awake but he sits up with me. Moves to draw the blankets off.

"I was going to go for a run. You don't have to come with me."

"I know...let's go." he repeats, voice low and mumbled. Sluggish hands tugging the blankets off before half-stumbling, half-clambering out of bed.

Shuffled dragged steps, fingers twisting the light up to a soft dim, shadowed silhouette moving around the dorm room. His eyes heavy, tired.

Looking as if he's slept just as badly. As if he's laid awake too, hours stretched out, arms never once unfurling from around me.

"Koo, I meant me-I was just going to get an extra early run in before the usual training starts." voice hoarse, cracked and sore.

"I know." he just repeats.

"I'll go with you." an easy slope of his shoulder, accepting without asking, supporting without waiting... the tightness in my throat returns, a hard lump that makes it hard to swallow. Lungs constricting with a painful ache of tenderness and gratitude.

"Koo-"

"Don't go all soft on me now icicle, we're a team. So if you insist on being the Spartan trainer this time, I'll go with you." a casual easiness in his voice, a gentleness that I try not too hard to focus on otherwise I know I'll crumble, I know I'll cry.

And that's the last thing I want.

I want to just... empty those thoughts, those feelings clean out of my mind.

A blank slate.

Wipe everything away.

Wipe away every trace.

Until nothing's left.

Until nothing aches.

Train it clean out of my mind, work it out of my system.

I want my body to ache with working out, I don't want my heart to ache. I don't want to ache with the reminder of yesterday.

Wishing I could erase it from memory.

Erase him away entirely.

But the taint of it lingers, an ugly smear that's plastered clearly across my face, that might as well be branded across my skin.

And yet...

A small nudged shove moves me from the bed, slow fumbled movements as Jungkook sits up groggily, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Voice croaky.

"Go freshen up-I'll get you your running gear."

Yet my steps linger for a few moments, turning slightly to glance back at him.

Heart clenching at the quiet gentleness there.

Unspoken.

But there.

"...thank you Koo."

The slight tilt to his lips as he nods.

"Anytime."

Looking as if for a moment he's about to say something more, throat reflexively closing with a flare of panic... strong, thick and cloying... but then that look in his eyes seems to recede, seems to choose to quieten. The questions, the urge to press receding, being reeled back, drawn away by choice.

I see the words unspoken in his eyes.

And I see the way he decides not now.

A ripple of gratefulness that eases the pressure from my lungs slightly.

Body already feeling too raw, stripped bare.

I nod, the lump in my throat swelling wider. Heavier.

Swallow around it, breath pinched.

Thanks.

Anytime. Head nodding back towards the bathroom.

"Go on icicle. We'll go together."

As if he knows... as if he worries that letting me be alone again... that at least this way he can pick up the pieces.

But some are too broken, too splintered, some part of me left behind on the jagged ice.

Some part of me cracked open, a gaping emptiness where for a while it'd felt full.

Eyes lingering on the faint traces of tears dried against skin.

Hand moving to scrub at my cheek, the look in his gaze deepening, lips turning downwards.

Body twisting away to clench my eyes shut against the renewing sting at my eyes.

Breathing shallow. In, out, in, out.

Get over it.

Get over it.

You have to get over it.

Whatever it takes.

Will you manage dead weight? A poisoned hiss echoes in my mind.

(A N D BOOM. THE BEGINNING OF THE ANGSTY BOOM FOR THEM! Midiiplier YAY NAY TOSS? THERE'S SO MUCH ANGST AND ACHE AND GROWTH TO COME AND I CANT WAIT FOR THE NEXT WIPGNWEIGW CHAPTERS COMING UP BECAUSE IT FEELS LIKE I'VE WAITED FOREVER FOR THEM AND OGWEOIGIOE SO MUCH. SO MUCH COMING UP. JIMIN HOW COULD YOU!?!?!? THE PAIN...THE ANGST... BUCKLE UP! BECAUSE ITS ACHIER AND ANGSTIER NOW!)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3