The knock on my door draws my eyes up from my trainers, shoelaces still undone as I clamber up, unlocking it and tugging it open.

Lips curving into a smile as I lean against the door, peering up.

"Koo! You're up bright and early. Should I be honoured the captain is making a personal call to my dorm?"

Watching as he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, gesturing to open the door to let me in.

There's a flush on his cheeks, already ruddy with exertion, that tells me he's already gotten a head-start on personal training before the next season's group training starts again.

"First you pester me to not abandon you after becoming captain. Then you're not ready on time." He shakes his head, damp waves of hair brushing against his cheek, inked fingers absently pushing his hair back, twisting to rummage in his bag for a headband.

"Well misery loves company. If I have to go on runs... might as well have some good eye-candy in the meantime." I laugh, bending down to finish tying my laces, securing them and double-checking under his watchful gaze.

"That and you need baby-sitting, or you won't get your daily cardio in." a soft tutting sound, words teasing and light but his eyes are sharply watching as I tuck my laces in before straightening, nudging the door open for me to pass through first. There's a part of him that's always been extremely attentive, even more so now ever since an injury had taken me out during the final stretch of competition season. And even though his voice is light, I know how attentive he was the entire time I was stuck healing up, how much he kept me company and how much he went out his way, as best friend and skating partner, to make sure I was in nothing less than prime condition before he'd let me back onto the ice. That too under his watchful gaze.

The electronic beep clicks into place as the door locks behind the two of us, falling into stride with him as we reach the elevators.

I bat my eyes at his reflection in the elevator mirror.

"How lucky to have the captain personally oversee me."

"Got to keep our coach's protégé in top condition." Hand nudging at my back to prompt me to step out, the air vaguely warm, the weather too ambiguously torn between late summer and early autumn still.

"...you're planning on making training hell aren't you?" eyes narrowing with suspicion, the wide scrunch of his grin disarmingly sweet and playful, laughter lines crinkling as he looks at me.

Head tilted.

"Whatever do you mean? We're going to have fun doing core workouts. Can't even begin practicing lifts until we get your core strong again."

"Jungkook!"

"Captain." He corrects with a teasing glint in his eyes, arm winding around my shoulder, a sprawling weight that makes the contemplation of bolting back fall apart in front of my eyes.

There's no way I'll outrun him.

Or even make it to the lift or stairs before he drags me back out again.

"You're a sadist Jeon."

"You love that about me. Let's start with 5 laps around campus."

My face blanches.

Trying to tug back but his arm remains around me, grinning as he tugs me reluctantly towards our usual running courses.

"Cute that you think you'll outrun me as you try escape."

"I can try."

"5 laps (Y/N)... I'll buy you breakfast if you keep up."

Bolstered by the offer, my eyes flash, lips curving into a grin as I nudge at his side, disentangling as we reach our usual running track that winds round campus. Marking the starting point at the gyms.

"Deal."

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

"I feel sick." Stomach working itself into churning waves of nausea, heat pouring off my body, a furnace. A disgusting, sweaty, overheated furnace even as the sweat cools against my skin, throat and lungs raw with every ragged breath I draw in, groaning as I slump down, head almost hitting dab-smack against the table. Barely avoiding it as I sink my head against my arm, body feeling like it's burning with how much heat pours off me.

Hobi's face glimmers with sympathy, heart-shaped lips twisted into a pout, eyes flashing as he half-glares at Jungkook.

"Let the girl eat before you go all Spartan on her!" protectiveness and sympathy bleeding into his voice.

"She's exaggerating! She's sore she couldn't keep up the last lap." Breathless and grinning, words goading as he sets his tray down next to my own, nudging at me, glittering doe eyes crinkled with amusement.

"Sick I tell you. How could you make me run before breakfast?" I protest vehemently, words impassioned as I stare at him.

Watching the amusement settle on his features.

"You'd have thrown up if you'd eaten then gone running." He points out, already eagerly digging into his food.

"...You intended on draining me dry with breakfast didn't you?" eyes narrowing, half-heartedly glaring at him. Choosing to gloss over his reasoning for now.

My stomach continues to churn, wilting at the sight of the smaller portion of food compared to Jungkook's tray beside me, loaded up with food. To help add and maintain his bulkier, denser frame.

I had to maintain what I was as I was.

Lips jutting out.

There's an exasperated sigh beside me before he clunks down his shake onto my tray, a peace offering, lips quirking at the corners as I gain energy at the sight of the thick shake, hand clasping gratefully at the cold, cold glass.

Slurping it down loudly, groaning around the straw, feeling the icy trek it takes down my throat, soothing burning lungs and settling in my stomach.

Settling the violent churning and the deep, aching pangs of hunger.

"Drama queen. Maybe you're in the wrong uni. Maybe you should train for a different stage."

I turn my pleading eyes towards Hobi instead, watch heart-shaped lips waver, eyes flashing with protectiveness, nudging his fruit bowl towards me.

Already swinging his leg round to move back towards the queue.

"That's a captain JK." I nudge, feel his own elbow against my side, laughing as I hiss, even though the jab is barely felt.

"Suck it up (Y/N)... I'm all you get."

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

Training with Jungkook is every bit the Spartan training I always knew it would be, especially when now he's examining me with the scrutinising intensity of a captain as well as my skating partner, core burning as I continue to do hip-raises, the weighted disc balanced in place by pure, sheer will, the muscles in my abdomen tightly clenched, burning as I continue to lift my hips up for the mat, holding the arch of my body still even as I feel my limbs tremble with the familiar ache of the workout. Arms trembling underneath me but determined to hold the position for the timed 15 seconds before sinking down to repeat again.

"One rep left." He murmurs, voice low and focused, pushing me through the final round of hip raises, the muscles in my calves and thighs coiling tight alongside my stomach, sweat plastering flyaway strands of hair to my face, feeling the angry flush of my skin as I continue to follow his guiding voice, trying to measure my breathing as he counts, eyes bolstering and sparked with pride and encouragement, quick to lift the weight and let me slump down against the mat, breathless as my lungs race.

But the Spartan training, the intensity of it all was everything I was missing-exercises and workouts strictly cut back to let the sprain heal up, working on upper body strength but having to sit out the competitions and duet performances-a mix of shame, guilt and frustration at watching other sport universities compete, other pairs from our uni compete and the flushed feeling of bitterness and disappointment, the feelings shoved aside by the purposeful distraction Kook had been the entire time.

And because we're duet partners there's no-one else I trust to push and extend my limits like Jungkook can, there's no-one I'd trust more with my body, with my training than the very partner I've grown up around, the very person who's grown with me from best friends to an official duo.

A cold water bottle nudging at my cheek, hand reaching down to draw me upright, sinking down next to me, smile loose and curled across his face.

"You did good."

"My muscles are going to be weeping."

"Your muscles need to be built up again before we try any complicated lift again-"

"Missing the end of the competitor season doesn't mean we'll have lost our rhythm." But the silent fretting edge in his gaze hasn't vanished entirely.

"I'm not lifting you on the ice without knowing your balance is enough to steady you isn't a risk I'm willing to take." Voice non-negotiable and even though a part of me remains frustrated, itching to get onto the ice, I know he's right.

There's no point in self-sabotage, in trying to speed back the process in getting back onto the ice just to risk a potential injury or to put Jungkook at risk either.

"You must be turned on by pain. There's no way you're not getting a kick out of this." He grins at me, laughing at the screech I let out when he presses the ice cold water to my throat, body jolting.

Grin widening.

"Wouldn't you like to know~" he lilts playfully, as if he hasn't shared every sordid detail of every hook-up and relationship, the boundaries between the two of us long since erased and every mortifying detail about one another known.

"No more." I splutter, shaking my head at him, watching his grin widen, lips parting in teasing threat to share as I down the water in deep gulps, but he just waits for me to finish before moving towards the weights, sinking down into the seat, hands adjusting the weights he's going to shoulder press. He doesn't need me to spot him, doesn't need me to help with the weights but as training partner and friend I stay to motivate him, counting him through his reps, admiring the effortlessness he trains with, weights steadily being added, increasing the intensity of the workout, the muscles and tendons at his throat tightening and straining, the same undoubtedly for his arms, the large broad bulk of his body hidden away under the oversized full sleeve t-shirt he wears.

"It's a shame you wear such big shirts you know." I muse, watching as his hands unfurl as he shakes out his fingers, rewinding the straps tighter around his hands for him, watching the experimental clench and unclench of his hands before he reaches for the bars again.

Eyes drifting to me.

"Why's that? You seem to enjoy stealing them anyways." a half-grin on his face, head tilting back to peer at me.

"You're denying the entire campus of your workout glory--"

A soft amused snort before he begins shoulder presses again, face furrowed with concentration, jaw clenching unconsciously as his posture coils and tightens with focus, drawing the weighted presses up over his head before extending them out again. Voice tight.

"Just sharing it with you is enough." he teases between half-sharp breaths, words gritted out with exertion, but his eyes sparkle with mischief and amusement.

"Aren't I the luckiest girl on campus?"

"Don't forget it~".

But at some point, his face shifts from the intense focus of his workout to a flicker of something indecipherable.

And I follow the brief flicker of his gaze as he eases the machine back up, before shuffling forward, follow it to where some of the ice hockey players have begun to crowd the weights and benches, somehow having tuned out their voice until I can't because now I'm acutely aware of their presence in the gym. Even if they're a... tolerable stretch of distance away it just makes a part of me rankled by the conscious awareness of their presence in the shared space.

"Don't." word warning as much as it is amused, a wry grin curling his lips.

My head whirls back to face him, falling into step beside him as he steers me from the weights to the treadmills instead. Steering my steps away from it. Changing track so we're not in the same bubbles of space.

It's always, always competing for resources and space-to work and train at the best facilities the uni had to offer. It's always about being the best, always outdoing one another.

"So you're not thinking of trying to purposely rile up Park?"

"....no. How would I even? Besides we were going to do weight training" I protest, feigning ignorance at his question, gaze drifting from his unconsciously, feeling his grin deepen, feeling it trained on the side of my face as he continues to nudge me forward.

"Anyway you can you do. What is it that won't let you not take a dig at him?" he laughs, unbothered at adjusting our workout to drift to other machines instead. To work on cardio training again.

"He's started it! Every single time!"

"Got to level the playing field?"

"Of course!" I laugh but I let him tug me away, let him draw me from the possibility of confrontation even if I had only... briefly entertained the idea.

"You don't need to. You're a different level entirely (Y/N). Don't let Park get under your skin and let you think otherwise."

And I know fiercely, unwaveringly that even in the face of this rivalry, even in the midst of the sometimes pointlessness of it-Kook has my back unfailingly. Without a doubt.

My hand skims up his arm to squeeze at his bicep appreciatively, lips curling up at the corners as I bat my lashes at him.

"What a sweet talker." I lilt.

A lopsided bunny grin as he tilts his head, nudging me to the machine.

"You'll be calling me a sadist soon enough." Eyes glinting.

"Maybe I like a bit of pain." I tease, amping up the incline to match his, foreseeing the protesting ache in my legs already, but meeting the challenging delighted gleam of his eyes head on.

"You're on."

­----------------------------

I need time. To get used to the ice again. Time to steady my footing once more.

Because an injury might be physical, might be temporary and heal with patience and rest.

But half of being an athlete in training, half of any sport was the mental game. Was the game with your will, your ability to bounce back and keep going.

I don't miss the way my legs wobble for a brief moment when I step onto the ice, nervousness briefly bleeding through when I still myself to draw a deep breath, to let my footing steady because I'd already been on the ice before, I'd spent most of my life on the ice and I'd stepped back onto the ice countless times after my ankle sprain had healed up.

It's my own brain that briefly tries to trick me, tries to make me falter after weeks of restraining myself, of reigning myself in from going onto the ice.

Even now as I skate forward, slowly...slowly I test the limits of my own mind, of my own body, only gaining speed and ease in my movements when muscle-memory kicks in and the motions my body goes through is natural, turning more and more fluid. At ease and confident in each movement.

It's that time alone with the ice do I get to return to it, to reacquaint myself with the ins and outs of my favourite rink on campus, that coveted time alone to the vastness of the space.

I still don't dare attempt a jump move, practicing caution in Kook's absence in my solo practice, preferring to wait out the jumps for now, focusing entirely on spins.

Body gaining momentum as I quicken the pace I skate with, left leg lifting to be suspended and angled behind me, arms extending out, the lines of my body precise and elegant. The angle down to the way my hands are curved slightly to the way I keep my fingers pointed; adding to the length of my silhouette in the spin.

Transitioning from move to move, content to skate around, weaving in and out in quick patterns and shapes, pushing the barriers of where I skate further outwards but drifting back towards the centre, it's more than second nature to immediately twist into spins, controlling the lines of my body as I spin, one foot curved and lifted off the ice, my entire balance resting on the momentum and pace I'd used to push into the twisting pirouetted spins, body whirling, cold air brushing against my skin, against heat-flushed cheeks.

There's no routine to practice, no order to the countless spins I execute, nothing but me sinking into the familiarity of routine and technique- silently picking up the small discrepancies that keep the moves from being flawless, an internal commentary as I remind myself of the steps, count myself down towards them.

It's in that headspace, so utterly rooted within my own mind, that I don't register the second pair of skates and the heavy clack of skates cluttering onto the ice until I spot the curved end of a hockey stick and the sweep of a puck sent careening towards me, the unconscious split-second move as I let my skates whirl as I spin past the obstacle, the rougher screech of my skates as I come to a halting step to shoot an unimpressed glare to the newcomer, to the uninvited person who disturbs my practice.

Scowling at the sight of full lips curved into a lazy smirk, eyes sparkling as he tilts his head at me, an unrepentant grin curling deeper.

"Oh? Did I disturb something?" saccharine grin and words lilted with a honeyed sweetness that makes my stomach twist, the soft lilt of his voice at odds with the smug grin he sports as he skates forward, weaving the puck easily with his hockey stick, body moving closer to mine, circling with an ease, with a mocking thrumming sense of taunt and mischief.

"No shit." I deadpan, lips twisting with a scowl when I skate forward and he follows albeit a step behind and in weaving, winding circles around me, playing with the puck, the hockey stick an extension of his movements, whirling in and out of my vision, compelling me to skate further out. Veering and drifting in and out of my orbit, my space-purposely riling me up.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to practice Park." Words snapping when he veers too close, having to push my skates further out over the ice rather than twist into the spin I'd been building into.

"Looks a lot like just skating around." He retorts, brows raised, unimpressed and curious and purposely provoking.

Lips parting in an empty sneering smile, eyes narrowing before letting them trail down his front, examining him with a disinterested fleetingness.

Suddenly veering close to him, a sudden push of speed as I skate towards him, body threatening to crowd against his, the sudden jolt of movement and the rush of my body hurtling forwards enough to make his skates clatter as he jolts back, fumbling with his balance as I lean into him.

Lips curled triumphantly at the wobble to his legs as he straightens, shit-eating grin melting from his face, the wicked spark of mischief in his eyes abating only to flare in my own. Words coy and slow, reaching towards his zip-up hoodie to tug at the hoodie strings, head tilted as I appraise him.

Damn you Park.

"With that balance maybe you're better with training skates on still Park." A flash of a smile curling my lips deeper watching as he juts his chin out, the skates adding to his height, posture towering but the expression on his face floundering before he replies easily.

Smooth honeyed words.

"Not everyone can spend time being dainty on the ice. I can survive a knock or two doll." Brushing it off.

That nickname. Shoulders unconsciously tightening, skin rankled by the honey-smooth way it drips off his lips, watching them twitch and quirk at the reaction it elicits.

So smug and self-centred.

"Sure about that? Sure you don't need your training pads too before it hurts your ego too? Dainty as it is." Relishing in using the same faux-sweetness in my voice as he had too, turning the tables back to him.

His lips twist into a scowl before he lets himself lean inwards too, bodies hovering close to one another, crowding each other's space because neither of us are willing to be the first to back down, to let the other be satisfied that we've managed to get under each other's skin.

Leaning inwards until I can feel his breath warm against my skin, can see the flash of teeth as his lips part in a low laugh, the sound rich and full.

The worst part about Park Jimin.

Is that he gets under my skin, he makes my skin rankle and my blood boil. The worst part about Park Jimin is that as he makes me fume, he's undeniably attractive too.

He's infuriating because everything he does is to make my skin itch and burn with frustration and that stupid smug smile across his lips makes me want to whack him even as I might ever briefly entertain that notion of what it'd feel to kiss that infuriating smirk off his face.

And if he wasn't so annoying at the same time, attraction might've won over ages ago. But it's always that line being toed, skated over brutally that makes my skin and blood boil and any scrap of attraction or appeal to him be erased in the face of the rivalry.

"You wound me Ice Princess."

"Far less than boys playing with sticks do no doubt though." Skating around, brushing past to leave, not feeling defeated or angry with practice being cut short-with Jimin's presence resulting in me leaving, not when it leaves him with lips parted slightly in surprise and his body rooted to where I've left him.

Gaze briefly flitting to him as I clamber off the rink, lips curling into a grin that he hasn't moved an inch.

His grip loose on his hockey stick and despite the added height of the skates he doesn't tower and command the space of the rink.

Reeling where I've left him on the ice.

I'll take the silent win.

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

"You'll have a weekly training session with the ice hockey team." Coach Seo announces once everyone's gathered at the end of the training session, cheeks flushed and hot, bodies brimming with a renewed restless energy that flares at the mention.

Loud, vocal dissent, faces twisting with displeasure and anger at the news.

The entire time Coach Seo doesn't speak, waiting with an impassiveness as the skaters all argue, voices overlapping. She was expecting the backlash, expecting the protests and anger.

And with good reason. The rivalry between the figure skating and ice hockey team has only ever spiralled and accumulated into something ugly and messy. The competitiveness has only seemed to flare, and the current hockey team are full or arrogant players.

I don't have words to morph the anger and dismay that sears through me. The growing frustration that sharing and competing for the same space wasn't enough but pitting the two rival teams together, in the same rink, at the same time was a recipe for disaster. And chaos.

And one specific instrument to that chaos, to that carnage in particular is one person. One Park Jimin.

I catch Jungkook's eyes briefly, see the bubbling frustration, the first one to speak when he signals for quiet. The team falling into a hushed, crackling silence.

The air thick with a cloying tension.

"There's nothing we can practice together Coach."

Words level and restrained.

"There's always something you can learn from one another."

"But Coach, the ice hockey team hates and belittles our sport, our talent." And there's a defensive protectiveness bleeds into his voice, makes it heavy and firm. Unwavering when it comes to defending his team.

But her smile is glacial and sharp and her eyes flash with pride and challenge.

"So teach them a lesson. Show them our sport, our talent. Make them see." Words ringing with pride and a fierce, fierce strength, her posture tall and firm, Coach Kim's smile bolstering and encouraging but the two of them stand side by side with resolve.

There's pride and hardness in her words. The glacial hardness coming from years of battling head to head with the ice hockey coach, with hearing her sport and talent be demeaned in the process.

But the way she says it, she says it with the bolstering courage of telling us to claim ownership and pride in our sport the same way she always has. The strength her posture and body language radiates telling us she has every single one of ours' backs.

"And if they cross limits?" A testing, gauging tone in Jun-Hwan's voice. He's the youngest talent on the team, a first year. But even so he's already started to ease out of his shell-blooming further under the attentiveness and care that the coaches give in training. He's one of the promising young talents that the uni had scouted. To extend the invite to apply to the sporting university in the first place. And because he's younger... because he's still got that slightly flustered expression to his face, cheeks pinking under gazes flitting to him-there's a fierce protectiveness for him and the other juniors. The younger students who aren't entangled in the rivalry with the same fierceness we are, who aren't aware of just how deep it runs.

Head ducking when Jungkook gives him an approving nod, a smile curled on the edge of his lips as he looks at Jun-Hwan.

"Then push back. Every single one of you deserves your place on this ice. Every single skater has carved their paths here. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise."

"Lace up skaters. And have fun. Even if it involves pushing buttons." Coach Kim laughs, his words warm and softening the blow slightly, eyes sparkling with mischief and conspiration.

The greenlight to go enjoy ourselves above all. That though this training was an attempt to bridge gaps, mend the rivalry...or make it tolerable... or whatever plan in the greater scheme of things it's meant to build towards, but it was a chance to prove every snarky remark wrong.

And skate them clean off the ice.

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

"Don't stay too long and overwork yourself... still need to keep up that stamina for the first training session this week." Coach Seo says as she steps outside her office, spotting me slump against the seats, cheeks flushed hot with colour, tugging a bottle free from my bag. Catching me mid-training as I sink down to catch my breath.

"I won't Coach." I promise, watching as she lingers for a bit before coming down the steps to sink into the seat beside me, a flicker of pride curling her lips as she silently examines me.

"You're letting it get to your head but your injury's all healed up you know." She murmurs a while later.

"I don't want to risk it just yet... and it's not that. Just-playing it safe."

I see her nod in my peripheral, body twisting to face her gaze.

"I can understand that. It's that and Jungkook isn't it?" lips stretching with amusement.

"Ever since you've given him captaincy-he's even bossier." I sigh, sinking back into the seat.

A soft laugh as she shakes her head at me.

"I don't believe I've ever seen a unanimous vote from the team before. And he's a perfect fit."

"If I didn't know any better I'd say I was being replaced under your tutelage Coach Seo."

Her grin widens, softening the sharp delicate features into something warmer, tilting her head towards the ice.

"I want to see if you've kept up with your spins and pirouettes because of that. Up you go (Y/N)."

I push myself up at the instruction and challenge both, carefully easing myself onto the ice, surprised that she doesn't remain seated or behind the rink's barriers, re-emerging from her office with her own skates as she pushes herself onto the ice.

She's always commandeered attention and had a presence on the ice and even as a coach after her own professional career, she has that strong powerful aura that's in the way she stands simply to observe.

Voice ringing out loud and clear.

"Show me what you got."

And as she watches me execute the spins, her voice filters through that razor focus with her small adjustments, skating forward to help extend the lines of my body further, guiding the point of my hand further up, or the specific angle my foot should take as I spin.

Content to spend time training with me to show me the adjustments herself, flawlessly executing the death drop spin, breaking it down with me again, over and over in repetitive cycles of the movements until my foot no longer wobbles as I land, until my body is fluidly pushing forward and using the force that builds from spinning on the ice to push up and twist, leg over the other, briefly airborne before landing and spinning back around.

Eyes attentive and sharp, spotting the small wobbles or slips and coaching me through them, watching as I execute a series of spins, focusing even harder under the coach's watchful gaze, the muscles in my core tightening at her instruction, arms extended in elegant lines as I weave my body into a series of pirouettes.

Feeling more and more in control of my body and more and more confident and settled back onto the ice.

Even if I haven't executed a jump yet since my injury's healed, the assuredness I land with, a steadiness in my legs and that fear of my ankle giving or a flash of remnant pain to suddenly rear up where there was none... none of that happens.

And I let the injury, the memory, the recovery of it roll off my shoulders, let that tension dissipate because I belong on the ice.

And as I skate on it... I've never felt my feet more secure and steadied than I do right now.

And it's cheeks singing with prickling heat, body gross and uncomfortably sweaty and sticky and body slumping into myself as I come to a still that I look up over at her and find the proud gleam in her eyes and Coach's lips stretched wide.

And this... that extra coaching, the instructing and carefulness-that'd been her checking in on me, making sure I was fine on the ice. And reminding me that I could do it all, running through the motions with me only for me to realise and come to understand that I had no trouble with it.

And helping me quash that final tendril of faint, faint barely-there panic. It's with the roaring of my blood and heartbeat-wild and loud ringing in my ears that I see her eyes gleam as she tilts her head at me in silent unspoken words.

Told you so.

And I've never been more pleased to have those words, even unspoken, ring in my ears, whirl around in my mind.

Figure skating is a sport, a talent, an art.

But it's one of the most complex mind-games there is.

And here-on this ice, I'm finally standing with no doubt left post-recovery.

JIMIN POV:

"The figure skaters will be on the rink today too. Coach mentioned shared training." The captain's voice rings out through the locker room, loud and clear, his expression revealing just how displeasing and sudden the news is to him as it is to the team.

Grumbles and vehement protest breaking out, a resigned heaviness to my movements as I tug on my uniform.

"Cap that's not fair! What practice could we have to do with them?" voice sharp and resigned, angry at the prospect. There's grumbles of agreement and even though Joon tries to salvage the situation, tries to bring peace or some sort of neutrality to it-it fails and crashes and burns as the locker room dissolves into dissent.

There's a general consensus that the next few hours of targeted training have been distorted into a badly executed, hurried attempt to salvage some sort of camaraderie, the skating team's coaches smiling as we trudge out, despite the stiffness, despite the grumbles.

But there's something knowing and sharp in her smile, particularly when she directs it towards Coach, the curl of her lips turning near glacial.

The female coach's gaze is cutting as it sweeps over the hockey time, her own team stands on the ice huddled together, a distinctive feeling of otherness radiating off one another, sizing each other up, foreign and alien. But sharing the same ice. A distinct divide between the two teams, the two sports, a wince curling my lips, already foreseeing how the next few hours were going to play out. On opposite ends of the ice.

The rivalry runs long and deep. It runs beyond the riling, the jibes, the taunts.

In some it runs angry and vicious. Especially in a lot of the subs.

"Skating isn't a sport-it's basic balance on the ice." There's a sharp angry mutter behind me and when I half-turn there's unfiltered anger in the team's expression, a sharp resentment that makes the team abrasive. Prickly.

"We've been sharing a lot of the same facilities at KSU as ice sports..."

A derisive snort comes from behind me, loud and jeering, the sound makes her pause, eyes flashing with a brief moment of searing anger that thaws the glacial hardness of her expression because of the heat of her stare.

Immediately-I can tell she's someone who commands respect and authority without even saying it. And her eyes flash hot before a loose smile curls at her lips.

"How we've managed to not skate you off the ice and still share I know-" she sighs with faux dismay and sarcasm, smile turning pleased and proud when it makes the mutters from the others quieten. Falling silent at her intensity.

"We've been sharing a lot of the same facilities at KSU but we wanted to try stop the rivalry-it's gotten... ugly these past few years... and so we wanted to try-I wanted to try some team training." Coach Seo says, smile warm but sharp around the edges when our coach remains standing on the side, an unwilling participant in the charade, the farce of amicability and sportsmanship the skating team's head coach is trying to play. Not able to... not bothering to hide the heavens-ward look he shoots, lips thinning but standing in silence as the other team's coach speaks.

"We'll only be having one session a week, but I want you to try understand the other's sport. You're all here as athletes- so put yourself in each other's skates literally. You'll be trying to learn skills from one another."

Coach's face expresses nothing but distaste-and already it feels like a one-sided effort that's going to crash and burn, the fury and protest from the male hockey time, the glowers and disgust that curls my teammates' lips and hardens their eyes with haughtiness is only thrown back with the same flintiness from the figure skating team staring us down unimpressed.

I feel dismay flicker through me, the feeling only intensifying with the churning, twisting sense of resignation when the two team captains are called up.

Namjoon skates forward, body tall and imposing but somehow not enough so to intimidate the figure skating's captain, despite the fact I'm near certain he's too young to be captain. There's a disorienting realisation that his features scream a delicate disposition and gentleness, but he stands appraising and tall, the bulkiness of his form emphasised by a fitted uniform in the way the padding adds to Joon's own stature. And I immediately recognise him, place him alongside (Y/N), remember seeing the two standing together, seeing them often with one another.

A flicker of curiosity and disdain at the thought-- (Y/N)'s boyfriend? But the thought comes and just as quickly goes, melting away, attention tugged towards the unspoken confrontation between the two captains.

There's no doubt the two of them are sizing each other up. Neither of them backing down, neither of them displaying a single shred but firm resolve and close, narrowed scrutiny.

It's Namjoon who takes the first step of holding out a begrudging hand, stiffly professional and courteous, a flash of ire burning through me at the disdained, haughty look, lips thinning and quirking with unveiled humour at something before a hand stretches out, grip tight to draw in a squeezing shake.

Lips curving at the almost jostled movement of tugging too hard, eyes crinkled and silently laughing.

Voice low and polished.

"Captain Kim Namjoon, fourth year."

"Captain Jeon Jungkook, third year."

My brows rise.

He is younger.

It's almost entirely unheard of for the captain to be younger than half the team.

And exceptionally talented if the way he carries himself and the way his coaches look at him is any indication.

Snidely putting Namjoon in his place. Somewhere below the figure skating team.

A soft scoff slips past my lips, eyes raking past the almost shielding flank the skating team make behind their captain, eyes dragging slowly over the team members, lips curving crooked at the sight of a familiar face. Proud to flank their captain, my eyes lingering and stilling on the lines and curves of (Y/N)'s body, fitted training clothes dragging my gaze over her.

Gaze settling on her. Stilled. Rooted there.

Waiting and watching with flickering amusement as she seems to sense the gaze on her, head slowly tilting to look at me, sharp and cutting.

Eyes narrowing.

Chin jutting out as she stares back. Hard.

Gaze questioning and demanding both.

What? Mouthed at me. Scowling lips twisted with confusion.

I shrug my shoulders, head tilting.

Grin widening at the flash of annoyance before she wrenches her gaze away.

So easy to rile.

Eyes dragging slowly over her once more, only this time she's already aware of my eyes trained on her, acutely aware now, and even from the opposite side I can feel her rankle, can see how her lips thin.

"....split off into pairs with someone on the other team."

The instruction is damning, and no-one makes the first move to step forward.

There's always something so viscerally satisfying at teasing and riling (Y/N) up and this time is no different, watching as her scowl deepens as she rakes a disinterested, slow raking gaze over the hockey team, the shift of her body language as she straightens, spine stiffening and coiling tight.

Gaze burning and holding mine confrontationally, a flash of fire and challenge.

Finger pointing to her and crooking in a beckoning motion, head tilting to my side, tuning out the conversations around me, lips curling into a grin when her eyes burn. Sparking as she looks at me. The lazy roll of her eyes, derision and disbelief making pink lips twist before she grins.

Wicked and molten and burning.

A small wry tilt of her head as she looks at me. Contemplating and assessing with an intensity I can feel scouring at me.

She taps the bottom of her skate against the ice, and I can hear it even across the distance, can hear the scrape of metal and ice just how clearly I can see the mirth in her gaze. Taunting.

The tapping motion of her skate beckoning in the same way my head tilt had been. Tapping for me to stand by her if I really wanted to pair up.

And I take the bait.

Take it for all how blatantly she dangles it in front of me.

Is it bait if I know she's done it intentionally?

Skates pushing forward towards her, eyes dropping to the curve of her bottom lip, the flash of pearly teeth stretched into a triumphant smile, eyes glittering and bright.

There's very little distinction between just how equally irritatingly her smile is-snagging my gaze and manging for a brief moment to keep it. Halt it. Whether her lips curl in provocation or in flaunt of her victory.

"Good boy." (Y/N) croons. It's a rasped croon that's low and heady. Mocking and enthralling and infuriating in equal, conflicting measure. A faux softness in her words that's at odd with the fire that brims under the surface.

I ignore the faint tingling of heat her words threaten to elicit, tamping it down.

"I'm not your dog."

"Never said you were~ but look at that...you listened for once. Can't say the same for your... teammates-haven't heard of sportsmanship before?"

Eyes dragging unimpressed over the stilted stiffness that seems to have created a divide between both teams, eyeing each other up, predators sizing one another before attacking, a thrumming undertone of tension crackling in the air.

Her words tug a scoff out.

"Sure... your captain set such a great lead~" I say dryly. Eyes flitting over and seeing that the coaches have ushered Joon and the skating captain together, their bodies unconsciously-or not, posturing, proud and confident in their own sport, their own skin. Gazes challenging and assessing.

"I know. Glad we're in agreement about something Park." She hums, eyes following my line of sight before she moves.

Skating backwards and further out from the group, her side profile lithe and graceful, features softening as she shoots a warm smile towards the figure skating towards her.

Hips nudging against one another, stare wary as she takes in the hockey player, tall and looming behind her svelte, petite friend. Intimidated by him more than displeased.

I watch as Yugyeom grins, the curl of his mouth cocky and alight with mischief. Watching the petite skater with a rakish intensity.

And as I move forward towards (Y/N), I catch only a slither of conversation, my smile taken as a baring of fangs, more animal than human if the way the girl's expression hardens is anything to go by. Her own smile tight-lipped, a grimace. Turning slightly stony.

"...don't bite. And if they do-bite back ten times harder."

My brows raise.

"Now if that isn't some team-boosting morale. Ice Princess has fangs?"

Her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, dragging slowly against her teeth, against the plush fullness of her mouth.

"Why? Want to play?"

There's something enticingly instigating about the fire in her eyes, both daring and snaring... a warning and invite both.

But a guardedness around her, a cautiousness that makes my own instincts prickle for reasons I don't even know where to begin deciphering.

There's a sharpness to her smile as we drift towards a corner of the rink, the teams splitting out into pairs.

The sight of the skating coach with a hockey stick makes trepidation trickle down my spine, tapping the stick against the ice.

The air crackling with tension and a bristly impatience as she eyes me up and then down, posture loose and slouched.

Making my skin itch with a prickly defensiveness.

"So Ice Princess~ what do you think you could teach me?"

"My team, try see if there's strategy behind... brute force and hockey players-let's test how pretty you can whirl." Coach Seo interjects, voice carrying easily over the rink.

Her words echoing the same derision and remarks we've heard our own coach repeat over and over.

Scathing and dismissive.

Except she owns them, a bite to deep red lips.

(Y/N)'s eyes glow. Amused and proud and entirely in agreement. A low hum to her words.

"Well like Coach said-it wouldn't hurt for you to try look pretty on ice... it seems to be something your entire team lacks."

I let out a derisive snort, amusement bleeding into the sound.

"Think I'm not pretty?" lips jutting into a pout as I look at her, feigning dismay.

"Gotta earn that-so... going to give me a whirl?"

An amused sound slips past my lips, tilting my chin out, gesturing to the rest of the rink.

Every single hockey player trains intensely. Every hockey player has taken more than his fair share of body slams and tackles and injuries. Every hockey player has grinned with a bloody injury and staggered upright to keep playing.

How does whirling around on ice even begin to understand the literal blood and sweat we pour into the sport?

"Look around you doll. We certainly haven't won competitions by spending our time twirling around all delicate. We certainly aren't going to regional qualifiers to show how pretty we can skate. We'll leave you to do that whilst we're winning games." A taunting jeer in my words, a flash of competitive fire searing through me when her eyes burn with a sharp glint.

The curl of her lips a mix of emotions but cold sharpness lingers the most. Words hard when she speaks.

"I was wrong. Guess there is teamwork in your sport. Do you also practice at being assholes or is that something you all needed to qualify for this sport? Needed it to get your big boy sticks to smash around?"

Her words goad and infuriate and make a brimming gnawing anger and annoyance well up. Scoffing as I draw back, jaw clenching tightly at her belittlement.

"So why don't you show me if you've learnt to play with the big boys." Echoing her words to throw them back at her, to rile her.

Her eyes gleam. Wickedly proud and confident, her smile maddening. Damning.

"It'd be my pleasure Park."

And I fight to acknowledge the way her low croon twists my insides with something other than challenge.

Refuse to name it. To name the feeling of molten heat, searing and intense burning its path through my lungs and coming to settle in the low of my gut when her posture straightens.

Because giving in to it first, acknowledging it first even if it's to myself is a fight I'd lose without her even knowing but a loss regardless. And it's one I refuse to give in to. Prickling heat and annoyance and a myriad of entangled, messy sparks that fly when our gazes meet.

Confronting and pinning.

And she tilts her head to my skates first, eyes assessing and contemplative.

"Got a smaller size in hockey skates?"

Taking that first step, taking charge of the unwanted partnership, this feigned, bad attempt at making two rival teams clash and confront each other on the ice-she takes it. And she takes the reins with it too.

Not waiting for me to follow when I nod, skating ahead for me to re-map the trail her skates skim over the ice to follow her off the rink, feeling multiple gazes tracking me but one in particular. Piercing and sharp and watchful.

Head turning to see that the captain of the figure skating team-that Jeon Jungkook watches me as I leave and when he catches my eyes the grin he gives is all ice, all wicked amusement... and maybe pity too.

But somewhere behind it all is a fierce unwavering sharp glint that promises to have (Y/N)'s back and a reminder that he's got his gaze fixed on my own.

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

There's fire and competitiveness and a hint of vitriol; strong and inescapable in Joon's eyes, jaw tightly clenched as he heads for the showers, snatching up his towel and clothes; eyes blazing with shredding control.

There's fire and competitiveness and a hint of begrudging respect. But an annoyance lingers, visible in the tight clench of his jaw, muscle ticking as he heads for the showers. Snatching up his towel and clothes; eyes blazing with fury and recognition. Acknowledgement.

"What's the problem Joon?" slowly drawing off my skates, body flushed and burning, the prickling heat of dissatisfaction and embarrassment still fizzing in my veins. Still strong enough that the moment I let my thoughts drift-the wicked curl of (Y/N)'s haughty proud smile rebrands itself against the inside of my eyes.

"Jeon."

"I thought you were all for sportsmanship and team spirit~" I tease, tugging off the insulated layers, watching as his head jerks to the side, eyes flashing with warning, lips pressed tight and a frustrated low sound slipping past his lips.

"I am. And it messes with my head that we barely did anything today yet I can already tell he's going to be a strong rival. There's no way he made captain so young without insane talent."

I tilt my head back.

Examining him.

"You like challenges." I lilt.

His eyes roll but the tension from the tight lines of his face loosen slightly. Lips quirked into a wry, begrudging grin.

But a tiny faint hint of worry and swirling doubt flickers in his gaze.

"But what if-"

"Ah Joon don't say you're threatened by him. We barely tolerated each other on the ice... what kind of rep are you setting up captain?" voice teasing.

He lets out a shuddery sigh before nodding.

That this was the first lesson in an unknown mass of more lessons to come. To learn to feign amicability at most is all I could see coming out of it.

"Not a good one I guess. I'm just in over my head. I'll see you back at the dorms?"

I nod, tugging off my shirt, hair mussed and ruffled, fingers carding through it. Slumping down and leaning back against the changing room bench.

And just before he leaves-he turns, dimples appearing as he grins.

"But guess it's not just me who's bothered. I saw her skate rings around you."

I roll my eyes, lips curving into a grin.

"It's about lulling her into a false sense of security. Then I'll outskate her."

"That's the spirit."

Grin confident and bolstering and somewhere-somewhere teasing too.

­---------------------------

Getting the main ice rink is always a competition-always a rush to be there quicker, to take it first. Knowing full well that neither time is ever willing to surrender it-that if one team manages to snag it first then the other team can abandon the hope that there'll be the chance to get the rink that same day.

Most days that competition narrows down to spark and clash between me and a certain figure skater. Revelling in the triumph of stealing the ice from one another, from coveting it and watching the other's face flash with annoyance and a scowl-only more determined to try snag it the next time.

This day-this day I slip out later, a thrumming antsy energy bubbling away under my skin, clawing and itching restlessly that I know only skating will be able to satiate.

Not burning hours at the gym, not by going for a run. Just skating.

To empty my mind and body of that restless energy.

Of course it'd be a damning twist of luck that of course the rink is occupied-the main spotlights glaringly bright-eyes squinting shut to try brace myself against the intensity of the lights casting the rink in full illuminating glow.

And onto the lone figure that dances on ice, body weaving across seamlessly and fluid. Movements precise and delicate and... and aimless.

Simply drifting and moving without a coherent sequence... just drifting. She must've been here for some time because even from this distance, even without moving into her line of vision I can see the way her body is curved with slight fatigue-worn down by the amount of time she's spent practicing. I can tell by the way sweat gleams on her skin, the way her skin's flushed with a deep pink hue. The way tendrils of hair escape the way she's tied it back.

And somehow-for the briefest of moments, suspended and halted where I stand I watch as the slow languid pace of her skating begins to speed up, building momentum before she skates further out in larger circles and nonsensical patterns. As (Y/N) begins to skate and the music she'd been playing as I'd entered grows to a louder volume, near deafening-body flinching sharply with how suddenly the music bursts.

And watching her skate-watching her move against the ice, weaving in and out, half-movements and a deep contentment in her posture it simultaneously makes my body feel at ease and even tightly coiled with a restless ache to let the same achingly impatient energy out. Feeling it gnaw at me.

Carefully stepping down to approach the rink, sinking down onto the seats to tug on my skates, the protective guards on them keeping them from blunting, keeping them covered as I sink back, still out of her sight-though even if I was she looking right at me she'd stare through me.

Lips curling at the thought.

I don't even focus on the repetitive motion of the song streaming out over and over, eyes flickering to the time over and over, easing up when the precise second my booked slot starts.

And sensing my gaze on her somehow her eyes briefly flits up before her motions speed up, a sudden whirl of speed, her fingers fiddling with the small remote she tugs out her hoodie pocket before the music soars loud and ringing-even from the distance I can see the proud gleam to her eyes, mocking and laughing as rather than skate off the rink she whirls to twist towards the centre again.

[......]

It's infuriating how cocky her smirk is, curling across her lips as she finally skates to a still-eyes dragging slowly over me as she approaches the edge of the rink, watching the impatience tap-tap-tapping of my hockey stick against the edge, watching as she grins. Wide and infectious and amused.

"Park? Didn't know you liked watching me skate." She muses, the words rolling off her tongue with an indulgent mirth, the glittering joy in her eyes... her features settling into a preening expression.

"You've skated into my time." Words blunt and coarse.

The only reason she has bothered to skate to the edge is because I've cut the music from the main speakers, disconnected the song that fills the rink space.

But far from being pissed, she looks smugly at me, lips pursing in contemplation as she tilts her head.

Angled in curiosity.

"You had a booked slot?"

"No you know I like skating at this time-" I begin, words dropping into a hiss.

"If you don't have an official booking then the rink is fair game to anyone who makes it here first. Haven't you learned?"

My jaw clenches at the mocking sympathy in her words that ring false.

"You knew."

"Did I?" her grin says it all.

She moves to step past me, my hand snags at her before she can leave, straightening up to block her path, the seats on the outside of the rink, the carpeted space giving me the added height to her figure. Staring down at her.

Her gaze trails down to see where my hand encircles her arm, the fluttering of her lashes coy and demure but her lips are curved with mischief.

"Can't even wait for me to get off the ice before you get your hands on me?"

My grip briefly tightens, tugging her forward and leaning inwards, eyes narrowing as I look at her, head angled down to drag my own eyes down the fitted form of her practice wear. A low rumbling hum emanating in the back of my throat.

"Don't you just wish doll."

"Who knows~" words damning and saccharinely sweet, crooned in a low murmur, her head tilted to confront my gaze, meet it head on.

Eyes skimming almost feverishly over the lines and features of her face, drinking in the sight of her skin flushed and glowing-dewy and damp with perspiration, tracking the way sweat beads at her temples, the way her throat is arched, the way the glistening sheen to her body trails down to under the layers. A prickling flushed violent heat scouring at me from the inside.

"But maybe it's just so easy and so fun to get under your skin Park. And I didn't even have to lift a finger to do it." She adds.

For two people who practically live on the ice, who spend most of their time on it-there's something fiery and hot and feverish about the way her gaze scours me, piercing and sharp.

But despite that all- there's a smoothed polished shine to (Y/N). She gleams. Glows with pride and confidence and that fire.

And then she's reaching for my hand, settled briefly on my forearm before she draws it off, letting my arm fall to the side before she steps forward, suddenly filling my space, before she's brushing past me, a knock to my shoulder that has my gaze turning back.

But she doesn't.

Hand raised in a wave. A greeting or farewell or both.

"Enjoy."

And as she leaves I don't know whether I'm more amused and slightly, slightly so turned-on by her or more annoyed that she had the last word.

Or worst even that as she leaves I feel her touch still branded across my arm and a different restlessness grow to entangle alongside the ache.

A raw unadulterated mix of attraction and annoyance.

And more and more, more than ever, it claws at me.

(AND SCENE! THOUGHTS?? THIS FIC IS GOING TO BE THE FURTHEST THING FROM A SLOWBURN SO THINGS ARE GOING TO HEAT UP-AND HEAT UP VERY QUICK SO EYES PEELED FOR...STUFF NEXT CHAPTER! I HOPE I'M GETTING THE QUICK BUBBLING TENSION IN THERE HAPPENING PROPERLY!! Midiiplier IF I'M BEING SLOW WHACK ME-IT NEEDS TO BE GAHHH AND BURNING AND NIOWGOIWB SO MUCH STUFF I CAN'T SAY! CAN'T WAIT TO SEE WHAT YOU ALL THOUGHT~)

Borahae!💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3