JIMIN POV:

"Okay what are the three first things you think of when you receive the puck?"

"Whether my offence line's there, any openings or breaks in the opponent team's defence and whether it's in the best interest to pass the puck or keep it."

Joon nods, approval in his eyes.

"And if your offence line isn't there or just one of them is?"

"Partner work with them until there's a clear line of attack for any of the three of us to take a shot for goal."

"So in both of them... what's your biggest strength? Or the highest chance of scoring a goal?"

"...with my offence line. With Bam and Yugi." I breathe, the realisation stares at me in the face, looks at me with careful eyes and slow words drawn out and chosen. Tone level, easing the answers out of me.

"There's been one consistency in your playing that's been lowering your goal-scoring rate. Have you noticed what it is?"

I stare at him for a few beats, the answer dangling in front of my eyes and yet I can't word it, can't bring myself to knowing the flicker of shame that'll course through me.

His fingers rewind the game footage, press play to let the two of us watch last week's practice game replay on the screen. Particularly the footage of when I'd been trying to score.

Keyword... trying.

The result? Failing.

The puck's intercepted by the defence line and shot swiftly towards Lee and his offence team. He doesn't rely on them much... if at all, so used to playing as an individual, so insistent on monopolising the puck, the chance of scoring. A one-man team, an individual force that charges through the ice, rough and bulldozing his way towards the goal.

He doesn't score.

JB and Joon intercept it cleanly before he does.

But the motions are a rougher, more abrasive reflection of the way I had just played on screen, the same one-mindedness intent to score... whatever it took. That I hadn't bothered to rely on my offence duo, I hadn't utilised their strengths to play to our team's favour. I'd done what Lee is known for doing. I'd tried scoring alone, scoring without using my team. And it'd failed.

"I've not even tried to pass to Yugi or Bam. And they were open to receive at any point." Remarking at the large pockets of space around them, they'd been right there, one pass could've easily enabled both of them to steer the puck towards the goal before passing it back. Or taking a shot at it themselves. They'd been right there... but I'd chosen to stick to the insistence that I could do it. And that I could do it alone.

"Why not?" Joon's voice is level. Curious.

"I thought it'd be easier and quicker to go to try shoot than to pass." I shrug, but my eyes are drawn back to the screen. To the sight of Bam and Yugi skating nearer towards me, having my back, in position and ready to assist without forcefully interjecting.

They'd been ready. And I blew off the most basic rule of common sense in ice hockey. Use your team.

It's a team sport for god's sake.

And I'd tried to solo it.

"What it did—is pits three offence-players against you or the offence line go for Bam and Yugi and then defence only need to focus on you. It leaves gaps—see?"

And it's clear Joon's taken the time to review the game footage from the past couple of weeks. Broken down sequences and repetitive plays overlapping on the screen. All pointing out the same thing.

I was slipping into the flaw of leaving myself unguarded, I was breaking up the offence line by doing my own thing whilst the other two stuck to what we trained with.

Oddly enough, what I'd been doing is what I thought Coach wanted me to be doing.

And as Joon replays a few old clips, I start to notice what else consistently keeps happening.

Every time I come close to faltering, or our team misses a goal or someone scores or the opposite team manages to break past the defence line... I keep trying to fix it, to compensate for it by trying to do it alone.

Fingers tapping the screen to rewind it again.

Noticing the same fault, the same error being made over and over again.

"What're you picking up?" voice low, wondering, peering over my shoulder as Joon shuffles closer.

"...nothing."

"No go on..." shoulder shrugging loosely as if to say I won't judge, I don't care.

"I... I've been playing to cater to... to cater to Coach. Rather than truly focusing on playing for the team. And because I'm so invested in making sure Coach isn't—that." gesturing to the glimpse of hard eyes and set expression, razor-focus as he watches us from the rink's edge. Pointing out that I was in fact guilty of letting my gameplay be affected by the expressions flitting across Coach's face.

Because angry and pissed meant we weren't doing enough.

Because examining and intense meant he was looking for flaws, looking for our shortcomings.

Because a tight jaw and narrowed eyes meant he was displeased, he wasn't impressed at all.

And above all... when his eyes flit around, drag and trail over each player is because he's resigned and disappointed. He's given up on watching the game and seeing it through. He's done with us.

"Your focus is off because you're too busy anticipating what Coach might think of the game rather than what the other plays are thinking." Joon surmises.

I nod, the tension in my shoulders stiffens my spine, sets a dull ache between my shoulder blades as if they should try hunch and make themselves smaller, curve inwards to not be so there.

It's a cautiousness I hate feeling. A wariness that only bleeds in uncertainty as my eyes trail over to Joon.

"It's hard... it's hard not to... when everything we do relies on Coach's decisions at the end of the day."

"No they don't." a bluntness in his voice, a dismissiveness so easily done as Joon continues to look at me, looks through my words.

"They do matter." I stress.

A tension begins to lock into my limbs the harder I stare at Joon, the more I notice the look that confronts me back. Eyes firm and certain and serious.

As if he truly doesn't believe it, as if he truly doesn't care what Coach thinks when he's out on the ice.

But how? How is that even possible?

And the only plausible explanation my mind draws is that Joon knows how to manage the stress better, he knows how to manage and uphold the expectations Coach has for each of us.

That's what makes Namjoon such a great leader. Strong and unwavering. Solid and assured in himself.

It's an enviable trait but one that makes me ache. Wishing that it could just be a fraction easier... to train and not be so hyper focused on what Coach wants, what Coach is looking for or how Coach watches us. So aware of his presence on the edge of the rink that recently all I've been doing is screwing up my presence and role on the rink.

"I know me saying it doesn't matter doesn't erase that thought from your head. But think about it this way..." Joon proposes, shifting slightly as he straightens up, hand reaching to tug the phone out of my lax grip.

"Like what?"

"I know Coach plays a big part in why any of us are on the ice... at this university's ice rink in the first place... but when you're playing on the ice. When you're competing on it, who matters the most?"

"The team." The answer comes without falter or pause. It takes a fraction of a second to say it. Without a doubt the team is the most important during a match.

"Good. Stick to that Jimin-ah." Nod encouraging. Proud and pleased.

The look in his face sends a ripple of warmth through me.

Stick to that.

To the team.

I could do that.

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

The burn of muscles is familiar, hands gripping onto the rod tighter, sweat making my grip falter, loosen before I readjust it. Follow the same breathing pattern, the lifting in sync with the rise and fall of my chest.

Lift with each exhale, draw it back down with each inhale.

But with every lift I feel the burn in my arms streak down to my shoulders, heat snaking its way down my chest, my abdomen, every muscle in my torso coiled up with the focus of going through the rep of lifting the weights steadily. Ignoring the way sweat trickles down my skin, hyper aware of the way heat pools in the dips and hollows of my body, makes the fabric cling grossly to skin. Feeling the dampness press into flesh, feel the gust of air-con occasionally brush across overheated skin, doing little to nothing to cool the burning heat rising up hotter and hotter.

And the moment I finish the reps, Joon's there. Ready to help tug the bar back up, setting it back on its frame, hand grasping mine to tug me up, another hand pressing a cold bottle into my hand. Eyes glinting with approval.

"Your rep time's solid."

Rolling out my shoulders, feel my limbs sag, upper half of my body slumped and curved over on myself now that there's no strain, there's no weight to lift. Feel the phantom grip of the bar still, the burn of lifting the weights. Smell the metallic tang of it cling to my hands as I swig down water.

Metallic tang mixing with the heated curl of sweat trickling down my chest, down the sides of my face.

Skin burning as if it's been a while since I've done gym training with Joon.

In retrospect, it has.

But with Joon, the sharp hiss of do more, more, more is quietened. Satiated. Because the way Namjoon looks, intense and driving forward with the partnered training, muscles aching with the thorough satisfaction of well and truly working out... even the voice in my head can't argue with that.

"Gotta be consistent." Lips tugging up into a winded grin, dragging my hands across my shorts, desperate to wipe off the clamminess from my skin, breaths still racing and uneven, shuffling along when Joon nudges at me to swap places with him, grimacing at the line of sweat left behind.

"Grab a towel that's gross."

"You're going to sweat over it."

"A towel Jimin-ah. We're friends but I don't want to lie in your sweat." Hovering beside the bench until I toss him a spray and cloth to wipe it down, watch as he meticulously clears up the bench before taking on the same position.

Unbidden, quietly, a voice slithers into my mind. A cursory glancing observation that Joon is built like a hockey player. He's built like he's made for defence, all muscles and bulk and height. That when he adjusts himself on the bench, it draws my eyes to observe the sheer buff-bulk of him, the muscles in thick biceps already prominent before he's lifted.

I've always know Joon's built like a tank.

I've always admired his physique.

It's the first time the insecurity whispers that he's built for the sport and I'm not.

That maybe I should do more to change the physique I do have.

It's a whispered remark the dark recesses of my mind makes before it quietens, silences. Lost in the sound of the bar being repeatedly lifted from its hold, a quick set of reps before I'm moving forward to adjust the weights. To add more.

"Damn Joon you could bench-press twice my weight." The admiration and awe is genuine, flits through me with a buzz of approval as I look at him. The muscles in his arms bulging and flexing with each lift, face furrowed with a concentrated focus.

Maybe I should increase the weights I lift, maybe I should train more like Joon and bulk up a bit more.

After all... it's not like I have the typical centre's build.

It's not like I have a typical hockey player's build either.

"What's your lifting PB?" I ask, curiosity lacing my voice.

Body hovering nearby to spot him, ready to lift the bar off him. Though the way he's quickly completing his reps make me doubt that he'll need me to help until the bar needs to be lifted at the end.

"Tryna beat it? I go for my body weight." Breaths sharp, pinched as he continues to lift.

I frown.

I go for my body weight too.

But I don't have the same muscles he has, the same bulk that his build adds on seemingly effortlessly.

And as if he reads the question in my eyes, his eyes flicker over me.

"You bench your body weight don't you? But you're leaner. Works to our advantage." Eyes narrowed in the cursory examination, words dragging my train of thought to an abrupt halt.

"Doesn't seem like a real advantage hyung."

"You're leaner which means you're quicker. More agile. It means we've put our quickest reflexes in the centre of the game. What's not an advantage about that?" the tension in his muscles taut, prominent. Breathless as he nods, gesturing he's done with the reps, my hands assisting the bar being lifted back onto its stand again.

Hand tugging him up, sweat-slick skin against mine. His grip is firmer, less slippery. Hands dusted with remnants of chalk.

"You really think it works to our benefit?"

His eyes blaze with certainty, a proud curl to his mouth as he nods and stands.

"Damn right it does. Coach scouted you for the team didn't he? And you hold your position after every yearly try-out... star centre."

But instead of it feeling barbed as it has been recently. Rather than the word feeling like a crushing pressure, the weight of the title sets across my shoulders, sinks in. It's heavy... but it's not impossible to bear.

And as he grabs his towel and bottle, straightening up—his gaze falls slightly beyond the two of us. The easy grin on Joon's face falters slightly. Stills. Eyes focused past me.

My head turns to track his gaze, limbs turning ramrod stiff. The heavy churning sense of nausea and guilt creeps back in. Seeps into my veins, into my nerves, yanks me back into the sensation of suffocating, suffocating, suffocating.

Ink and muscles. Body taut with focus. A churning unease at the sheer mass of him. Somehow it was easy to overlook on the ice, easily overlooked during shared training or the glimpses I'd had of him on the rink.

Somehow seeing him here, confronted with the full bulked sight of him, benching easily more than Joon does, not a glimmer of exhaustion on his face, something about Jungkook is so fucking terrifying and intimidating this close up.

Joon's body subtly angles closer, hand gripping my arm in warning? Protectiveness? Cautious of what might happen?

I tug myself out of his grip, steer out and turn away, shame prickling my skin, a thousand knives scraping across flesh, leaving pinpricks of pain sparking in their wake. It feels like my skin is live-wire. And the sight of Jungkook just brands his voice, snarling and furious, into my ears all over again. The look of hatred and venom burning into me.

The sickening lurch of nausea as everything sweeps back in, the guilt choking me tenfold.

Move away, steps quicker, shame propelling me further away, head pounding with Jungkook's voice heavy against my skin, threatening and vengeful.

Through the pounding echo of his voice, almost distant and tinny I hear Joon's voice. Hear the clang of metal cease, he's stopped lifting, when Joon asks.

"How's (Y/N) doing?"

My steps turn leaden, feet freeze where I stand. Unable to turn back, I don't have the right to, but unable to move away. Without knowing, without hearing what he has to say in response.

I can feel his eyes drift to me, burning holes into my back. Condemning and sharp voice dripping with disdain, with a protective icy-fury that burns his gaze deeper into my spine, that makes my shoulders tense.

"What's it got to do with you Kim?" voice void of any amicability he might've had towards Namjoon.

"I just wanted—to know if she was okay." Words hesitant, slowed. Tone careful erring on the side of caution, voice so light and softspoken that I don't know how it pierces through the echoing snarls in my head.

"I don't think it's something for you to bother about. Anything got to do with my teammates, my skating partner is my business. Not the hockey team's captain." Words blunt, hard.

There's a painful stuttering of air rushing out of my lungs, heart yanked and twisted into painful knots.

"...I know. I know that Jungkook. I was just worried."

The heat burning into my skin scours at my flesh but still I don't manage to uproot my legs from where they seem to have cemented to the ground. Kept them trapped there, mind flashing with more and more terrifying thoughts.

She always trained with Jungkook and yet... she isn't here. They're joint at the hip and yet... he's here. Without her. She's always been here and there and now... now she's nowhere.

"...didn't see you around....hoped...okay."

"Listen. I'll say it one final time Kim. (Y/N)'s fine and it's no fucking thanks to the hell your teammate put her through. So stay away. If you can't keep your team under control then I suggest you do a better job at it. I won't let your team cause any more pain, any more troubles for mine." The thud of the bar clanging harsh, and the rise of his voice is sharp with vitriol.

I can't look at him, but I know the disgust and hatred directed towards me. Feel that same revulsion, the same hatred roll through me, crush my bones in a vice-grip. Crumble them into nothing.

And he doesn't direct his words to me, but I know right there and then they're a warning for me and me alone.

"You don't ever come after (Y/N). You knew how hard she worked to be here, you knew how much she's gone through to get where she is, and you still shit on her effort.... Fuck you, Park Jimin. Not a single trophy justifies what you've done. At the end of it... you're the biggest loser (Y/N) was unlucky to have met. Stay away from her."

Stay away from her.

The warning hangs present, looms over me.

Chokes me with the reminder that I have no right. Stay away from her. You're the biggest loser she was unlucky to have met.

My legs unstick at the press of a hand squeezing my shoulder.

"Jimin-ah let's go to the other side of the gym."

But my stomach twists and churns, threatens to upend itself, bile crawling its way back up. The sweat on my skin feels sickly and clammy.

"Actually I... I've lost my focus."

"Jimin-ah..."

"I think I'll come back later."

Wanting to shrink away from the quiet concern in his eyes, wanting nothing more than to leave.

Nothing more than to sink into the ground and vanish.

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

"Yknow... you're an alright player Park. Decent even." Voice slow, drawn out, eyes fixed overhead when my head turns to look at her.

Feel my lips quirk up, a flutter of warmth rippling through me at the words, at the compliment she gives but can't seem to meet my eyes whilst she says it.

The second flutter that echoes through me is warmer, leaves a melty sensation in the centre of my chest, ebbs its honeyed-warmth out with the slow thud of my pulse. For a moment that pulse flares, thuds louder and quicker, for a moment that pulse skips a beat, eyes flitting away quickly.

"Took you long enough to wake up to facts doll."

Stretching out across my bed, feel her leg nudge mine, silently telling me to move up, a soft huff of laughter.

Even now... even though getting to see this side of her, the increasing glimpses of something that feels truly like (Y/N) and less like the rival I've competed against for years... even though these glimpses of her are more frequent, more easily slipping through cracks that I think both of us are too cowardly to address, too afraid to mention... too hesitant of what those splintering cracks could mean that we simply... don't address them... even then seeing her like this makes that aching weight in my chest lurch with a dizzying somersault.

"Nah... you gotta keep my attention on you long enough to observe your practice rather than kick your ass off the rink."

"So you can't take your eyes off me then? Is that what you're admitting?"

I feel her eyes flicker over to me, sense her head turning in my periphery, lips tugging up at the glance she shoots me, heat skimming across the side of my face. I don't need to turn my head to know she's half-glaring. But the heat feels different. It is different. It's the taunting brush of a flickering flame—playful and amused.

"Your uniform doesn't do much for me."

Liar.

"But I can see you stare at more than just my ass when I'm in training kit."

My eyes flutter.

"Is there a reason you wear such form-fitting kit to practice?"

"You mean apart from trying to give you a boner during practice when I bend?"

The laugh that bubbles past my lips is amused, head turning to meet her gaze face-on.

"Think you got that much of an impact on me?"

"Oh for sure." Lips quirked with an entertained grin.

"Getting cocky are we?"

The subtle brush of her hand against my side, brushing against my hipbone is so soft, so light, so barely there that it shouldn't make my body give a slight jolt.

The grin on her face tilts into the beginnings of a smirk.

"And what does being cocky look like?"

My eyes drop to her lips, tracing the curve of her mouth, gaze lingering.

"Makes you mouthy."

"Play nice Park or you won't be getting my mouth later." The warning gleams in her eyes.

The playfulness simmers there, makes the air crackle before something in her eyes shift. Playful heat to curiosity.

"Form-fitted clothes means our blades don't get caught on fabric during lifts or jumps or turns...what does padding do?" rolling her eyes, a faint quirk to her mouth that tells me she's got something else to say.

"Keeps me from getting bruised up."

"Aww... does Park need to be wrapped up to make sure his pretty, pretty skin doesn't get roughed up?" a lilted tease.

"You think I'm pretty?"

"Like a princess." She deadpans.

[......]

Fabric clinging to skin, every curve outlined, fabric tracing the seam of her thighs, the curve of her hips and waist, skin glistening and seeming to glow as she skates, breaths sharp but somehow...somehow she measures them carefully. The flash of surprise and then skates twisting to move towards me, fingers almost... almost brushing against the side of the rink before she dips away. A mischievous slant to her mouth.

"Yknow there's a kink for people who get off on watching people... care to elaborate Park?" voice calling out, full of amusement as she twists her body into a spiral, body twisting towards the ice, limbs seeming to melt into each other, the stretch of her thigh curving as she straightens, movements rapid and flawless.

"I don't get off on watching you doll." I call.

Her eyes glitter.

"No?"

"Nope."

"Huh."

"What's that mean?" eyes narrowing on the overly casual expression on her face, the slackness of her shoulder as she shrugs it off.

Something goading about the way she doesn't elaborate.

"What does what mean?"

"That huh."

"Huh?"

"Don't play dumb smartass."

"Is it playing dumb or being smart? Pick one Park."

"What's your game doll?"

"I'm disappointed Park." The skating loops of her body, slow and circling tugging me to the ice's edge, luring me out onto the rink, voice lilting in that honeyed dangerous softness that I don't trust one bit.

But like a fool, I skate nearer.

"Why?"

"As a centre... as someone who's all about the gameplay you can't see the move I'm going to play next?" voice soft, coy but her eyes are sharp, amused.

"You're hard to get a read on straight away." I murmur, body skating nearer to her, hand outstretched in offer before she draws it in, curls it in an elegant line as she skates out further, patterns wider across the ice.

"Good. Take your time getting a read Park."

"Is that an invite to your bed or your way of saying you'll be in mine."

"Either. What's the point of using dorm rooms if we can't take our time?" smile wicked, so lofty and at ease when the look in her eyes makes a vicious heat burn its way through my veins at the promise and offer her words and eyes propose.

"Got a point there. I'll message you?"

"I'll message when I get back with Kook." A flicker of something twists in my gut. At the notion of being just someone she falls into bed with, that she has plans and I'm the end of them.

But it's what we've asked of each other, it's easy, it's not messy.

But the rapid thrum of my pulse when she skates nearer, body circling mine, that damned outfit leaving no line of her body to imagination, pressing flush to me from behind for all but a few moments. Curves pressed to my back, lips hot against the curve of my ear.

"Wanna skate?"

"When you're playing cat and mouse?"

"Who said skating can't be more than one thing? Call it a warm-up."

"For later?"

Her eyes sharpen as she nods.

"When I win?"

A ringing bubble of laughter, cut short as her lips curve up.

Amused.

"When I win... I'll be on top."

"Suddenly losing doesn't seem like I'll really be losing." My brows lift.

Her body tilts closer as she winds around me, fingers curling into my shirt, skating backwards and drawing me nearer to her, lips a hairsbreadth away from tasting the amusement off her mouth, feel the heat of her mouth drag itself across my jaw.

"C'mon Park... I don't like an easy win. I don't like it handed to me."

That flare of competitiveness burns through my gut, burns to life with an easy riled tug of her expression, of her voice prickling against my skin.

"Don't like a pity victory?"

Her eyes flash dangerously.

"I don't take handouts. And if you go soft on me there's no way I end up in your bed. Play to win Park. Whether that's me on top or me with you tonight at all."

A goading fire that roars at the sharp fiery edge of her voice.

Body tilting in nearer, the air heats with the fiery challenge burning in her eyes, reflected in my own.

"Game fucking on."

[......]

I clutch onto memories lined with grey, blurred around the edges, so fucking bright that in my mind it burns my eyes to see them, make my eyes sting and prickle with the weight of something immeasurably haunting that chokes the air from my lungs and the blood from my veins. That strangles me from the inside and makes it hard to sleep at night. Haunted with what I've torn down and cast aside, plagued with the reminder of what I could've had, hand stretching out across the sheets for a warmth that's long since gone cold now. Emptiness carving its space inside my chest, a dark rotting cavity of space that stretches out wider, makes my lungs and ribs crack and splinter, dark misery spilling from it. Dragging me back into dreamless sleep this time.

[......]

"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."

And her eyes stare at me, condemning and hardening. Slowly, slowly her eyes freeze over and the ice in her stare seeps into her limbs, turns her into a figure carved from stone and ice.

Slowly in front of my eyes the person I thought I knew, the person I'd wanted nearer and nearer is shoved aside, pushed back, steps backtracking. But her eyes never drift, her glacial stare never falters. Roots me where I stand. And I don't like the way it makes me feel.

But instead... instead of letting her go, the words pour out, lava against her ice, desperate that if I'm choking then she suffocates in the crushing sensation of everything being too much, too much, too much.

"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."

And for a long, long while she stares at me. Stares at me as her expression shutters, behind the cold... something inside her drains away. Something shutters. Vanishes.

Something in her fades. Something in her I don't recognise, don't know replaces it.

Cold, hard indifference. Not a trace of recognition left as that cold iciness stares me down. Twists the heat under my skin into shards of ice that drive themselves into my flesh.

"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."

But for all that she's ice, her words are corrosive acid. She wants me to burn.

But instead of leaving, instead of leaving me behind, instead she moves forward. This time her words are spat out, closing the distance so that every word strikes me with the full force of a blow, knocking the air from my lungs. Makes it harder and harder to breathe.

And this time... this time it works. This time something distorts the sight of her. This time her words burn. This time my insides twist. And the air from around us seems to be sucked out of existence, choking on the stillness. Unable to breathe as she moves closer, until her words are sharp knives against my skin.

"You win Park. Congratulations."

And when she turns, my body remains standing. Stock-still.

Cemented to the ice.

Cemented as she twists. But this time... this time her blade gets caught in a divot of the ice, this time she twists and falls silently. But the thud of her head hitting the ice, the thump of her body hitting the rink's floor is deafeningly loud. And this time... I can't unstick my feet no matter how much I try to lurch forward, how much I scream her name she remains motionless, blood seeping out onto the ice. Body motionless and broken.

"(Y/N)! (Y/N)! (Y/N) NO! NO NO NO... (Y/N) NO!"

"(Y/N) NO!"

The fire in my lungs lingers, the scent of blood so thick that when I bolt upright, eyes flashing open, body tangled in sheets and blankets, yanking myself free, I can taste it. I can taste the metallic tang of blood that lingers in the air. A phantom that stays on to haunt me.

Throat stripped raw, trembling with the scream that's torn itself out my mouth, lungs constricting painfully, burning, suffocating in that blazing inferno, head darting around, blindly searching for her in the dark.

There's a pressure that builds and builds and builds behind my eyes, searching blindly for her, as if the darkness that's coated my eyes will recede, that when it does I'll finally... finally be able to see her, reach for her.

But I can't. I can't.

She's not here, she's not here.

But the sight of her motionless on the ice stays.

The sight of her stays until that same feeling of my limbs on fire, of everything crashing and burning around me, streaks its way down my face. Hot trails that burn my cheeks, breaths sharp. Ragged.

"(Y/N)..."

Her name aches to say.

What aches more is knowing dreams or not... twisted memories or not is that they're all true.

I'm the reason she's hurt, I'm the reason she's vanished, I'm the reason she's gone, I'm the reason that everything's ruined. I'm the reason, I'm the reason. It's all my doing.

What aches more is knowing she's gone. And I can't apologise.

She's gone.

Congratulations Park.

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

"You're here early." Coach observes, stepping out of his office, a look of surprise and then approval etching across his face.

"We're getting in some extra training Coach." Joon's voice interjects, voice slightly distant before he moves closer, a training bag slung over his shoulder.

"Captain and star centre. Sharpening up the game?" approval nodded towards the two of us, moving to tug his office door shut behind him, to follow us down to the rink.

No doubt to watch over the practice before the rest of the team filter their way down for afternoon practice.

"Actually Coach... we're just going to go ahead and practice some gameplays and partnered drills."

"Still I can—" an offer on the tip of his tongue, eyes bright with an anticipating gleam.

"I was kind of hoping of some one-on-one practice. A good challenge. Without any tips Coach."

Though there's a flicker of something briefly in Coach's eyes, it recedes.

Nods.

An approving smile on his face that's focused on Joon.

Something indecipherable in Joon's own voice. Something that melts and fades, lips tugged up amicably but there's no trace of dimples. A fake smile.

"Alright Captain. I'll leave my two best to train hard before the team gets here. A good warm-up."

And Joon doesn't wait for a response, arm slinging around my shoulder, tugging me down towards the rink, voice low for me to hear.

"Got some steam to work off don't you?"

"Rough night." I admit. Fatigue fading to give way to a restless, antsy energy that pours off me, that makes my skin feel stretched tight uncomfortably over flesh and bones.

"How bad?"

"I just... I need to train until..."

"Until?" tugging me down towards the rink, training bag set aside at the rink's edge.

Stepping onto the ice in fumbled unison with me.

Somehow... even though I'm undeserving, Joon makes the shadows recede slightly. Body faltering and steps freezing when I stare at the ice.

The blood's gone. But it's tang clings to the air. The blood's gone. But it's somehow still there- staining the ice red. She's gone. But somehow I can still see her, crumpled and unmoving.

Breathing wobbling, stuttering in my lungs.

"....Jimin-ah? Min?" a hand shaking my shoulder, dark concerned eyes look towards me, trace my eyes over the ice.

The hand at my shoulder tightens. Squeezes in unspoken understanding.

"Got it." voice slightly rough.

"Let's train."

Until the shadows aren't blinding me entirely, until it's easier to breathe. A tiny bit.

Just a tiny bit more easily.

And it's only with sweat pouring down my skin, lungs rattling for air and body aching for reprieve does my mind breathe. A bit more easily.

Numb to anything and everything but practice.

The images in my head stop haunting me when I practice until my mind numbs. Until the ice isn't marred with the phantom stain of her blood anymore. Until it's torn up and gouged at.

(Y/N) POV:

"When will you be back noona?"

"Hyunie I'll be back at the end of the year... you know that." I say softly, heart squeezing in painful longing and fondness in equal measure as I let him wrap his arms tightly around me. Arms reciprocating the hug just as tightly, feel him burrow into me. Cling with an achiness, the muffled noona sounds broken and cracked, sounds like it's on the verge of tears as he hugs me.

"Hyunie..." fingers carding through his hair, clutching him nearer, blinking back the sudden wave of want that echoes through me. it'd be so easy to stay. So easy to not go.

But I can't stay.

Not when I'm not done.

Not when I'm far, far from done.

Tear-filled wide eyes that look up at me.

Despite being my little brother, the look on his face is so strikingly Koo, an echo of what he used to look like...

"Noona and me will be back for summer. Now—Jeon Jeong-Hyun." Kook's voice interjects with a loud brightness, overjoyed and giddy, hands steering him by the shoulders.

He's not a Jeon by birth but he's Jungkook's brother too.

"Yes hyung-ah?"

"What you need to do is keep practicing your skating and cause a bit of trouble here and there for eommas."

Hands tug him into a tight hug before eomma's hands steer him back with a look of fond exasperation and warning towards Koo.

Shaking her head at him, blinking back the glossy sheen in her own eyes.

"Don't go teaching my youngest son your tricks now." Koo's eomma warns with a watery laugh, opening her arms up for a final parting hug, the touch lingering even as we draw out of her arms. Kisses lingering against our cheeks. Soft mwahs pressed there.

"Train hard, work hard, play hard. Don't forget the balance aegis."

"We won't eomma."

Her stare turns chiding and pointed as she looks at me with a warning look even though her voice remains feather-soft. Sugary warm.

"Take care of each other."

"We will."

"And the moment your competition dates are finalised—you call us straight away."

"We will."

There's a sheer confidence and strength in her words that refuse to waver for even a moment. Not a matter of if but a matter of when we made it through to the final rounds of the competition—the title of the Asia Cup... the potential to go further, do more... it glitters in their eyes with a sparkling certainty.

It solidifies the line of my spine more, nodding, a tight lump in my throat, a hand at my shoulder squeezing gently before the two of us turn to leave. To board the train.

It felt different coming here.

It feels different leaving here too.

There'd been an aching burden sitting in my chest, leaden and suffocating, when I'd disembarked the train.

There's an aching weight that still sits in the centre of my chest, heavy and crushing, when I board the train to leave.

"They're not wrong yknow." Koo murmurs, knee nudging mine as we sit down, eyes looking at me intently.

"About what?"

"I got your back (Y/N)."

My lips dredge up, wobbly and fond.

"I got yours too."

This time I'll do better Koo. I'll do better.

[......]

Sometimes it's better to hit the ground running.

And ideally... ideally that's all I want to do.

But something about approaching the ice, about hovering on the edge of the rink, blade scraping across the ice featherlight and hesitant—testing the waters of my own limits, my own mind, Coach's words filtering through my ears once more.

"What's the biggest block coming back? Your self. Your mind is your biggest strength and your biggest opponent."

"I can't do it." my voice whispers, hushed, wavering as I stare down at the ice. An echo of words that I've heard myself say before.

"Your body is telling you to go for it. You're healed. But your mind wants to play it safe, play it cautious. And there's nothing wrong with being safe. Nothing wrong with caution. As long as you don't let it stop you."

Eyes heavy with knowledge and understanding.

"What if I fall again? And re-hurt my ankle? And ruin it for good?"

"You won't. You've already experienced the terror of losing your chance... it trains an innate cautiousness. It shouldn't make you shut down though (Y/N)." hand nudging at my shoulder, voice warm and prompting.

"Go on... try."

My foot settles on the ice, a brief wobble that's immediately stilled, a voice at my ear, loud and eager and warm and giddy.

"Bambi? You planning on getting a move on?"

"Bambi?" my voice echoes, incredulous, head whipping back to stare at him grinning, nose scrunching as he laughs.

"Wobbling before you even take a step? Wanna hold hands?" the offer there, palm outstretched towards me, expectant and waiting.

It's cold on the rink, it always is. But it's a cold we're long since accustomed to.

It doesn't stop the theatrical shudder Koo makes, a bodily shiver as he huddles nearer to me. He's used to training in shirtless tanks, but he milks the feeling of being cold to hurry me along despite wearing a hoodie on top. Smile turning toothier when my hand laces with his and tugs him forward with an exasperated sigh.

Jump right into it, the longer you doubt yourself, the longer you let yourself falter... the more you will.

Take the plunge. Worst comes to worst... you both go tumbling down.

Fingers gripping me back more solidly, tugging himself alongside me, nearer to me.

Slow and steady... slow and steady.

Hand in hand we skate around the rink, slow and steady.

I grip onto the feeling of familiarity. Of the movement of blades against ice having been done a million times before, of knowing the ice more solidly than I've ever known ground. I grip onto the feeling of his hands, that have grown alongside mine, and even now slot perfectly to my own. I grip onto the feeling of the cold air against skin. I grip onto the feeling I'd gotten, breathless and exalted, skating around the rink back home, hands clasping Hyunie's and Koo's—the rush of it all pure enjoyment and nothing else. No expectations, no need to perform and deliver.

I skate hand in hand with Koo, slowly warming up, with no expectation other than just getting used to the rink. Greeting it like an old friend. The ice gliding flawlessly under my skates. No chips, no scratches, no divots. Clean and crisp.

The first ice of the day.

Newly reset.

It's seamless against my blades, welcoming me back, drawing the two of us in slow circles around the rink and then weaving gliding patterns as we etch our traces back into the ice.

I'm home, I'm back, I'm skating.

And there's no crushing weight of expectancy with the empty stands and the world narrowing down to the rink, to the two of us, to the ice and the patterns our blades trace out in synchronised symmetry.

It greets me warm and familiar, it knows me as well as I know it.

And the hesitance I had of stepping onto it slowly bleeds out, a smile slowly, slowly tugging on my lips to stretch upwards, feel myself skate and just skate. No tricks, no turns, no showcased moves. Just us. Just the ice. And just skating.

[......]

You've got two days (Y/N). Two days before Coach Seo and Coach Kim are going to review your skating again. Two days to get back into schedule, fall into line and practice. Two days to get myself sorted and better prepared than I had been the last time I'd gotten reviewed.

The shame of that review clings with me, the faltering words and expectant gazes falling short from being impressed. Entirely unmoved and uninspired as they'd observed me and Koo.

The technicalities had been there.

They also exist on paper. Stationary drawings of sequences.

That's how it felt to them to watch. As if they were watching someone go through the motions.

There'd been no emotion, no connection to the piece.

I had two days to fix that. Two days to figure out what I wanted to embody in the piece, to pluck out specific emotions from the entangled mess of feelings that still wound themselves into messy knots around my stomach, flashing in searing pains across my chest.

I needed to know what I wanted the music to resonate with. What our piece was trying to capture.

So on an endless cycle, repeated on a loop over and over and over again the piece of music for our competition I listen to it. I listen to the music to pluck out the feelings that grip me the strongest. Pour over the music with Koo, picking out the sequences to match to the music, adjusting the skeleton of our routine, shoulder pressed to mine. Eyes intense and brows furrowed with focus.

"Verdict?"

"We've done romantic pieces before. We've done seduction... we've done pieces that feel very, very physical. But this one feels like it would match a more darker vibe." I muse.

Fingers toying with the wire of the earphones, winding around it loosely.

Beside me Koo's focus turns to look at me and it takes a few beats of mustering up the strength, the hesitance is new...slightly wary (and I hate it), eyes turning to hold his.

Finding curiosity and excitement flickering in his stare, gaze prompting. Nudging me to keep going.

"We played out this piece as a sort of mirrored piece haven't we? Why don't we fiddle around with breaking the mirroring?"

"A sort of losing synchrony? Losing control?"

"We've played with the concept of being mirrored halves that unite... that despite it all... connect again. What if..." I muse.

"What if? Go on..." the eagerness flits into his voice, eyes glimmering with the anticipation.

"What if we break the mirroring to show that the reunion is jagged and messy and rough and ugly. That push and pull... that contrast of light and dark. Wanting to be nearer and the pulling to be away..."

The glimmer in Koo's eyes shift to a glittering wild thrill, lips curling up until they're stretching wider, silent as he looks at me. Silent as I look back at him in turn, stomach twisting with a fluttering anticipation for what he thinks... for the verdict he needs to give. For whether he agrees or not... for whether he wants to test it out, try it...

I yelp at the sudden tackle of his body against mine, pinning and then rolling onto his back, hands clasping at me and staring up at me with wide shining eyes. A breathless laugh tumbling out his throat, eyes giddy as he grins.

"There she is." He crows.

"What?" cheeks warming at the sight of the infectious grin, the way his whole face scrunches as it lights up.

"There's my (Y/N). Reimaging our concept to bring something new to the ice." Eyes shining with the prospect, grinning up at me.

"You like it?"

"I fucking love it! You absolute beauty—" hands gripping my wrists and tugging me nearer, breathless laughs muffled against my skin, an exaggerated big mwah pressed to my cheek as he beams.

"Really?" a flicker of warm-warm-sweet-warmth pools inside me, banishes away the flicker of hesitance and uncertainty, pushes back the remnants of shadows from my mind, chases them back until all I see is the glowing excitement on Kook's face, earbuds tangled and tugged out our ears. Laughing as he nudges his nose to mine, body astride his own.

"Really really. Looks like the voice in here..." fingers trailing up to tap at the side of my head. All too knowing, all too aware of what happens when that voice distorts. He also knows what it feels like to have a different voice combat the one inside your head.

He knows... that for a while the voice in my head has been silenced and replaced with a malicious one, one that goads and taunts and hurts.

"The one that's always been there is finally speaking up again. And the voice that's started to speak up there has no chance against you icicle." Lips curved wide, nose scrunching as his fingers trail back down, cupping my cheek to tilt his face up, to brush his nose against mine.

"You really think so?"

"It's not easy to make that voice stop... but you're the toughest and strongest person I know. If anyone's gonna kick ass... it's you."

I blink down at him, as if seeing him clearer than I've ever truly really seen him. Find myself in the dark warmth of his eyes, find myself looking at Koo with a renewed rush of fondness and admiration for the man he was growing into. For the person I'd entrust myself to in every way, for the person I know has my back unwaveringly, my biggest shield, my biggest defender.

Lips pressing a kiss to the curve of his cheek.

"Ready to kick ass on the ice?"

His eyes glow.

"Hell yes."

[......]

"We're going to take it slow."

My brows rise, an impatient retort ready on my tongue when his stare turns pointed, meeting mine on full-force.

"I know we're essentially performing the same routine but the order of it is different. So we're going to break it down into its new pieces... try them out a few times before we put it all together."

"Alright alright." I concede.

Surprise and then approval flashes in Koo's eyes.

"Knew there was common sense in there too." a playful lilted tease in his voice that drags out slowly.

"I have common sense!"

"You don't tend to use it."

"I do!"

"You don't!"

"I do—"

"Do you wanna get onto the ice or stand here arguing?"

"And if I said this argument isn't done cos out of the two of us I'm definitely the one—" a soft oof when his body barrels forward, the slam of his weight into mine, almost sending me teetering before his hands are reaching for me, scooping me up to clamber onto the ice with a sudden burst of speed that immediately locks my limbs around him, koala-wrapping around him as I screech.

"Jeon Jungkook you put me down this instant!" a protesting shriek as he skates quicker, laughing in my ear as he clutches me to him, twisting around with a sharp turn of his skates.

"Jungkook!"

But his laughter only wells up louder, pealing giggles as he continues to skate until my hands stop clutching at him so tightly, until his laughter tugs that light airy bubbly feeling in my lungs to let them expand, relaxing in his hold, legs still locked around him.

"Cmon loosen up~" he teases, continuing to skate around, changing and alternating his pace. Continuing to skate, arms wrapped around my back until my limbs slowly loosen, until they unwind from around his waist, the tips of my blades skimming across the ice. Until it's not so much as Koo's lifted me as it is that he's holding me, body slightly airborne and off the ice. Something just as exhilaratingly flighty and thrilling about skating like this as if I was being lifted overhead in a complex move.

Eyes glittering with the beginnings of excitement and adrenaline by the time he slowly sets me down on the ice.

"Okay. Ready?"

"Ready."

[......]

Baby steps. Until they don't feel like baby steps.

Baby steps. But they don't make me feel like I'm being babied.

Baby steps. As I realise that it was Koo's way of easing us both onto the ice, holding onto that sensation of just skating, nothing but a warm feeling bubbling up in my veins, fizzy and thrilling and giddy in the same heady way it'd been all those years ago when we'd first started skating.

Some part of me clings onto that sensation because I've been reminded of the novelty of it, of how exhilarating it'd felt to skate for the first time and how that feeling had stayed every single time I'd skated after that.

It's been a while... but I feel that exhilaration again. I feel that feeling well up inside me again.

Pushing upwards, combatting the dark pocket of emptiness and slowly replacing it. Filling it rather.

Baby steps.

"You ready to try it out?"

Eyes glowing with excitement as he looks at me, hands careful and light on my waist, fingertips flexing before they curl around me, skates nudging against mine in unspoken encouragement.

"Mirrored half first?"

I nod.

But before we even start, before the music begins there's just silence. Quietly looking at one another, his hands resting loosely on my waist, my own hands curled around him, arms wound around his back. Holding him just as he holds me.

Counting down my breaths, counting them in sync to his, letting our breathing fall into a shared pattern where each inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale is identical. Bodies syncing up before we even start to skate. Forehead coming to rest against mine. Holding me closer.

Just still.

Unmoving.

Together.

Becoming mirrored halves of each other, a shared whole in the way that I can feel the rise and fall of his breaths, feel his lungs expand, feel his pulse slow and regular and even against my palms against his back.

"We'll start off with the mirrored half first."

I nod.

Holding onto the feelings of connection, unity... of being a shared soul.

Those feelings aren't hard to emulate. Those feelings for the person in front of me aren't hard to create in skating with him because they've always been there.

Jungkook's the other half of my soul. The other half of my everything.

Translating that into skating with him comes as easy as breathing, hands disentangling from around each other to take hold of each other instead, fingers laced together.

Bodies connected by an unseen tether, forming an extension of one another as the music begins to seep out. Slowly moving to the winding pull of the slow melody. There's no Koo and there's no me. There's only the two of us connected, rooted together. No beginning or end to where his body starts and mine stops.

Slow and steady... slow and steady.

It's okay...it's okay...it's okay...

"Don't worry about following the beat perfectly... just... focus on us." Koo murmurs, hands slipping from mine to slide up my arms to guide the twist of my body melding to his movements, to the guidance of his touch. In turn his body follows the tug of my own.

Focus on Koo, focus on Koo, focus on Koo.

Each movement is either a push or a pull, the winding tether between the two of us slowly, slowly, slowly brings me back to Koo. Over and over. It all comes back to Koo.

A faint tremble in my hands as I clutch his, as his fingers lace tight and use the moment to propel me upwards, lifting me up and overhead, twisting as he skates. Body suspended in air, held there purely by the strength in his hands.

My hands tremble. But his don't.

And my fingers grip his tighter, body straightening further as he turns slower and slower in rotations, the rush of being lifted of being airborne. That giddiness... I hold onto it just as tightly as I hold onto him.

Eyes bright and sparkling and iridescent with pride and exaltation as he looks up at me, the world slowing down to the speed of his skates, to the music he matches to his movements. To the slow turns of our bodies.

"You good?"

"Never been better."

And for the first time in a long time it's true. There's nothing better than this. No-one else I'd rather feel like this with.

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

"Is your ankle flaring up again?"

"Hm? Oh nono... I just wanted to get a full clean bill of health." I brush off the look of concern that flits across Koo's face.

But he seems uncertain, unconvinced, eyes skimming over me with a renewed sense of worry and concern, gaze sweeping slowly over me, lingering on my ankle, tracing its way back up, fingers brushing against my temple.

The bruising's gone, the flares of pain that were linked with it are gone too.

There's no trace of an injury on me yet Kook looks at me, searching for one. Ascertaining that there isn't one to be found, the look of wariness and caution calming when he finds no injuries, no tells of discomfort or pain.

"Are you sure you're okay? Your nose doesn't look swollen." Fingers carefully prodding the tissue around my nose, testing to see if it elicits a hiss, hand batting at his gently.

"I'm fine. Really. Just... clean bill of health before we show Coach our performance again. I don't want to leave anything to chance...plus. The heat massages are just—fucking awesome." Eyes fluttering at the gentle sweeping brush of a fingertip tracing itself up my nose and across my eyelids. Brushing across my brow.

"I'll come with you."

"You don't have to."

"I can walk you to the medic bay. I won't stay... there's plenty of athletes that need the care."

"Then by all means. I'd love that." Lips quirking up.

Feeling no shortness of fondness when I look at the easy expression on his face, that concern and care hidden under the loop of his arm slinging around me, the nudge of his hip bumping against mine as he tugs me into him.

"Wanna grab Hobi hyung and go to get some food afterwards?"

"Sure."

There's a proud tilt to his smile that he'll deny if I ask but some quiet part of me observes that he looks happier at the smaller things, at letting him tag along for a visit to the medic bay, at going out to meet Hobi rather than retreating back to the four walls of my dorm room.

It seems like baby steps, steps that perhaps don't even need to be thought over, but they're steps Koo takes as if they're large strides I'm making. As if it's a massive improvement rather than the choice to tilt towards the two of them for company rather than easing away.

When it's quieter the voice threatens to come back. When I'm alone it's easier for the voice to try find its claws to sink back into me. When I'm alone is when the voice tries to slither back out.

So the best way to try to avoid it... is not be alone.

The same way that I'd been staying with Koo at his dorm since... since the rink. Since the accident at the rink Koo hadn't let me stay alone long enough for the voice to rear its head and do further damage.

The same way that when I head out for the medic-bay, Koo tags along.

As if to quietly say, unspoken comfort and strength that as long as he's around... he won't let the voice in my head gain strength again.

[......]

"Back again so soon? Yknow I'm starting to think you might just be careless as an athlete." Voice light and musing. A curious tilt to his voice as his head tilts from its upwards staring to watch me sink down onto one of the seats on the side. Waiting for one of the on-campus masseuses to be freed up for a session.

My eyes track the voice, trace my way back towards the bed he's stretched out on, propping himself up on one arm, favouring his left side as he slowly drags himself upright with a bitten hiss. A flicker of pain that makes his expression harden with a grimace before he smoothens it out.

Eyes appraising me intently.

"I'm careless? You're the one back with the injured shoulder. Thought I told you to go easy on it."

A flicker of something, dark and shadowed and aching briefly... oh so briefly flits through his eyes and then vanishes. As if he's heard those words before, as if he hears them again.

A ghost of a smile tugging on his face, weary and resigned as he sinks back against the pillows, his left side all strapped up and kept immobile.

"It's been feeling off sorts for a while. You look... you look better than the last time I saw you." voice soft tinged with an approving lilt to it, the corner of his mouth quirks up.

"The last time?"

He nods towards Koo who sinks down next to me, knee knocking against mine.

"With your teammate. Your face was... rough." A frown mars his expression.

I still.

Look at him again.

Eyes lingering on his shoulder, on the pinch of discomfort on his face, on the intensity of his own eyes as they look back at me. Meeting my gaze head on.

"You look worse off. My ankle isn't sore. My face... is fine." Healed. Not a trace of purpling, not a scratch remains.

It's a trained cautiousness I haven't been able to remove yet. That's why I'm here.

"Sure I look worse now." he concedes.

I look at him again. Something about the way he's speaking... that I remember meeting him once. But the way he speaks... makes me realise that we've crossed paths and I've been so zoned out, so out of it... that I hadn't noticed.

The expression on his face is light. Brushes off his own discomfort as he stares at me.

"Overworked it again?"

"It's got some good days... some great days. And then some days that are..."

"Shit?"

My ankle had felt like that. More bad days than good. More days where it felt like it just wouldn't work again.

A raspy laugh, tired and worn out.

"Exactly. Some days are just shit. Caught me on a bad day."

"And what do you do on a good day with a good shoulder?"

"Basketball. Shooting guard. What do you do when you don't look roughed up and your ankle isn't banged up?" voice carrying a hint of tease.

"Figure skating. Part of a duo."

"Makes looking after the ankle important doesn't it?"

"You can't play for shit either with your shoulder flaring up." A commiserating laugh, shared understanding and empathy flashing in dark eyes as he looks at me, nods.

Because he knows exactly what it feels like.

"(Y/N)—can you prop your leg up on that next bed over? I'll be right over to take a look and bring a heat pack." A doctor calls out.

There's no trace of ache or soreness or stiffness in the limb. Yet I feel his eyes, curious and careful, watch me make my way over to the bed next to his.

A quirk to his lips.

"Could be roomies at this rate (Y/N)." Echoing my name.

"Can't be if I don't know your name shooting guard."

"Yoongi."

"No offence Yoongi but we'd be shit roomies. One hobbling about and one who can't lift."

"You got a point there." There's a good-natured tone of tease in his words, sinking into his pillows more comfortably. But he can't turn to face me properly, can't put weight on his strained side, my own head turning to look at him. Wincing at the sheer amount of heat pads applied across the limb, trailing their way down his shoulder blade, lower on the side of his back.

"I would say we can always catch up here... but I don't think being here all the time is the best thing for either of our careers." Drawing my legs up, stretched out across the bed. Smiling towards the doctor who makes quick assessment of my previous injury, the lack of it, before drawing my foot in careful rotations. An easy pattern, an easy repetitive cycle that I'm so careful to still include in my own warm-ups and cooling downs.

One that still makes me tense as I watch the doctor's face, watching for any shift in his expression, a relief that unravels at the sight of the approving smile. At the hands receding after a quick assessment.

"Ankle's fine. You haven't strained it with overdoing the practices this time."

My shoulders hunch defensively.

"Captain's got a tighter leash over my practicing schedules." I shrug.

"Or a closer eye. Whatever it is... good. Overdoing it makes the tissue swell sometimes, it pushes on pressure points... whenever it starts to twinge, keep practice light."

"Yes doctor."

"Same goes for you Yoongi. I thought we'd have to up your meds when I saw you back at the end of last week."

My eyes flit to him, curious. A ripple of concern.

Eyes catching sight of a faint pink tinge to his cheeks, the avoidant way his eyes don't actually look up as if they sense mine, shifting his left shoulder as he nods.

Clears his throat.

"I was fine Doc."

"Playing it careful?"

"Stayed a while. Just..."

"What?" but I find my view obstructed, a light shone in my eyes. Blinking at the harsh glare, flinching at it directed at one eye then the other. Face turned slightly. Fingers probing pressure points, the tips of my temples, my sinus points before he draws back. Nodding.

"No swelling."

And over the doctor's observation, voice slightly muffled and quieter, Yoongi admits softly.

"Just wanted to make sure you weren't back with another injury."

My head turns. A jolt of surprise.

"You came back to check on me? I haven't... I've not been on campus, or I'd have come back for a check-up earlier."

The pink warms.

"Just being careful. Cos it seemed like you weren't." gaze pointed. But something tells me he's trying to keep his voice level and low, to draw attention away from the telltale pink on his cheeks that suggest he hadn't meant for it to come out. That to some level... he'd been worried. He'd cared.

I didn't even know Yoongi properly. I hadn't even known his name and he'd cared enough.

"Thanks Yoongi."

He brushes it off, but the dark intensity of his eyes softens.

"Sorry you've had such a screwed up time recently. It looked like things were getting tough." He hedges carefully.

And something else other than sympathy pools in his eyes. Sorrow and apology and contrite as he looks at me. As if some part of him is bothered by the mess I've been going through, the mess I've been slowly pulling myself back out of.

But his sympathy and sorrow, the kindred spirit I seem to have found in him finds comfort there.

Shaking my head as I straighten up.

"Nothing you could've done. Nothing that I can't pull myself out of." I assure.

The corners of his mouth soften. And then stretch. A warm gummy smile with soft dark eyes as he looks at me. Each syllable in his words certain. Knowing.

"Yeah I think I'm getting that."

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

"She's back." Coach Kim cheers, eyes bright with delight as he steps closer, circling the two of us with a look of pride that shines on his face.

But Coach Seo's silent.

Silent as she takes the two of us in.

Quiet.

Unmoving.

Staring at the two of us.

Eyes heavy with their intensity.

The labouring unevenness of our breaths dip, my own waver and shake slightly. Eyes meeting hers back head on.

It hadn't been perfect, it hadn't been perfect, it hadn't been perfect, but I know that. I'd known it as we'd started the routine that it wasn't going to be 100%. It was going to be far from that.

I knew that before I'd stepped onto the ice to show both our Coaches what we'd changed.

I knew it.

And this time the voice in my head that goads me, that mocks the faults, the wobbles, the fact that we'd twisted around our concept... this time I don't care what the voice has to say as nearly as much as I care what Coach Seo has still to say about it.

There's less nausea and more anticipation. More impatience than there is the sickening lurch of the ground under my blades being torn away. There's more need to know than there is terror.

I need to know what she thinks... I need to know what she thinks.

That it played to Jungkook's strengths because you have none. Leaning on him again? Pathetic—

No.

No it wasn't.

I needed Coach to say. Not the harsh voice in my head.

"Coach? What did you think?" I finally ask.

Feel Koo's hand squeeze mine. Feel the faint flutter of his fingertips against mine. A shared nervous eagerness at finding out what Coach thought about the concept, about the new angle we wanted to frame the same moves with. Adjust them to match the narrative we saw in it.

"You two have strong... strong chemistry. That's always played well to your pieces before. To the narratives you've enacted."

"I know. We know Coach. We wanted to use that chemistry for this side of it. The darker half of it all."

"There's no shadow without light. That's what we want our chemistry to show this time." Kook adds.

"You wanted to add? Who wanted to refresh the concept?"

"We both did." he answers.

"Who proposed the change? Jungkook you? Or you (Y/N)?"

"I did."

And I bet she thinks it's stupid, bet she's regretting partnering you with her best skater, bet she pities her team's captain for being handed someone who doesn't take things seriously...

"Why?"

"You said our emotional resonance wasn't there. I've... I've spent a long time listening to the piece again Coach. I've spent a longer time listening to what I've been feeling these days."

A glimmer of sympathy pools in Coach Kim's eyes. Unspoken understanding as he gleans what he needs to from the piece we've just performed. Rough and messy around the edges.

Unpolished.

"And you thought it was a good choice (Y/N)? To switch around the order of your routine? To change its narrative?" words questioning. Careful. Her eyes even more so.

"I felt like what this narrative fits it better. Chemistry can be messy and obsessive and about remaining connected even whilst you're not each other's mirrors anymore."

"What do they become then?"

"Shadows...they're always connected. Even if one exists in light. And the other in dark."

Her eyes remain contemplative, assessing.

And then when her expression shifts, it shifts gradually.

Like ice coming to thaw, like sunlight emerging behind storm clouds. Smile warming up her face and approval shining in her eyes, brightening her entire expression.

"You're right Coach. She's back."

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

"Oh baby come on~ I'm throwing the party for you. You can't not come!" voice wheedling, eyes bright and wide, lips jutted out into an imploring pout.

Lips shifting from their heart-shaped curve to a full beam when I nod.

"Really? Really really? You've said it now! No takebacks!"

"I'd rather you didn't call your party as my party." I grumble.

"I haven't thrown a party since moving out the dorms... now there's really something for us to celebrate!" he cheers, voice pitching louder with excitement, body shifting eagerly. Yanking me into a tight crushing hug. Laughing as he sways the two of us together from side to side, a happy hum that reverberates against me, a big mmmmwah pressed to the curve of my shoulder before Hobi holds me at arm's length.

"I figured... why not? It's been a rough couple of weeks."

"Exactly! We've gotta celebrate your comeback! And besides it's a party at mine... I'm not dragging you out to clubs and bars and then you can crash at mine after." He exclaims, voice loud and enthusiastic.

Hobi grins at me and then to Koo, a wide beam stretched wide as he tugs me closer to him with a brisk jerk of his hand, arms gathering me to him. Twisting me around in an abrupt lift-twist-twirl, tugging out laughter as I clutch at him, hands wound around his neck.

"No offence Hobi-hyungie but you're a lightweight when you start drinking. You're not gonna remember if we were there if you've already started drinking before we get there." He teases, voice lilting, nose scrunched into a laugh when Hobi stops twirling. Eyes flashing as they stare at Koo over my shoulder.

"I'm the hyung..."

"Yet whose gonna be handling your tipsy ass when you're at that silent drunk stage. Or the one where you just want to be fed?" voice sounding faintly resigned and amused, he only gets a moment's notice as Hobi puts me down and a hand yanks Koo into a tight hug, cooing in his ear.

"So mature and sweet Kook-ah. Let your hair down. Have some fun. Dance drunk on the tables with (Y/N) and me... that sort of thing." Fingers fluffing up Koo's hair, carding through the messy waves, nothing but sheer fondness, lips stretched into the widest smile I've seen on his face recently.

"I don't intend on being blackout drunk but drinking and dancing with you Seokie? Sign me up." Arm loosely curving around him, body tilting into his, caught up in the bubbly infectiousness of his laughter and smiles, at the sheer radiance of his grin as he looks at the two of us, proud and pleased and oh so happy.

It's hard not to be caught up in everything that is Hobi. It's hard to resist it.

So I stop trying to.

[......]

Arms slinging around me tightly and then Koo, yanking the two of us to press us into tight hugs, squeezing slightly before he tilts back to appraise the two of us.

A loose wide smile stretched wide across his face as he tugs the door open wider in invite. Somewhere beyond the hallway the sound of loud music already spills out, laced together with the din of voices.

"You're here~ I thought you'd be here before yknow—" he starts off accusingly, grinning too widely to show he doesn't really mind, not really offended at all.

"To help set up?"

"No! I'm great at setting up. I was going to introduce you to my flatmate—I dragged him out for the night but he's either hiding or lost in the crowd. I'll come find you guys and grab you—" eyes turning distractedly to the sound of his name being called.

A final squeezing hug, calling loudly over his shoulder.

"You're allowed the good stuff in the cupboards!"

Kook's arm slings around me with a wide grin.

"Wanna break into it now?"

"I think in the spirit of being at a party we should have at least a cup of whatever shit's been mixed together first." I laugh. Letting him draw me further into the flat.

[......]

"You didn't really come out to let loose... by deciding to stay hidden in my kitchen did you? Everyone's dancing there." Hobi says into my ear, plucking the glass from my hand to taste, a grimace before he decides to down the shot. The glass plunks on the counter, body leaning into me, leaning past me to pour a different drink. Neon bright and looking like it tastes sickeningly sweet, Hobi clinks his cup to mine, the taste like molasses as it trickles down my throat. A faint buzz left in its aftermath.

"I know I'm just..."

"Feeling sorry for yourself in the corner?" stare pointed.

"Feeling sorry?" I echo, spluttering as I stare at him, soft eyes slightly sharper, brown turned darker, deeper, heavier. Intense and unwavering. Inescapable as he looks at me. The deep pull of his eyes and words, the close proximity of his body angled into mine doesn't let me consider silence or vanishing into the crowd. The look in his eyes, staring and knowing, expects an answer. I take another sip of the drink, liquid courage more than anything.

"I think I've earnt the right to have a bit of a pity party Hob-ah." I admit, staring at the neon depths of my drink.

His shoulder brushes mine.

Voice low and light. Just for my ears to hear.

"Sure you have." He shrugs easily.

"You've definitely got the right to feel down and sorry for yourself. To want to stay by the edge rather than brave the floor. You're right."

Then why does it feel like he doesn't agree?

"But?"

"What makes you think there's a but?"

"There's always a but."

"But..." he drags out. A glance at his side profile reveals the flicker of a smile playing on his lips, staring out ahead at the people dancing, at Koo in the crowd, face flushed and lips wide. Tipsy and happy and dancing.

Like I was meant to be doing.

"But it feels like you're feeling sorry for yourself because you think you should be."

"Like I want to feel pitiful?" the buzz in my veins turns antsy, aggravated by the words stinging. I grip the glass tighter.

"Not pitiful... but like... you're here. To have fun. After working your ass off for weeks. And having a rough time... but you're holding back. From letting yourself have fun." His voice turns softer, even more low and hushed. Barely audible. But his words brush across my skin, across the curve of my shoulder.

My grip turns lax. Loosens.

"I don't do that... I'm not doing that am I?"

"You've done so much these past few weeks. You've overcome so much these past few weeks... what's holding you back?"

"That maybe..." my eyes search out Koo, snag onto him and stay there. Watch as he dances slowly, limbs loose and smile easy.

"Maybe I've gone through so much shit because I brought it onto myself. Koo didn't. He deserves the night off."

"So. Do. You." words pointed. Heavy.

"You reckon?" though both of us can hear the trace of doubt in my voice.

"Yes! You've managed to avoid a full-slump... you've come back stronger than you left and from what I heard... you impressed the hell out your Coaches. Now drink up." An incredulous laugh laced into his words, nudging me into drinking before he's refilling my cup.

Staring into the open floor of the flat, the bustle of bodies flitting around each other. The heavy thud of music that pulses in the air.

"Now get that cute ass out of the kitchen. I expect to be dancing with you in a bit." Eyes shining, nod encouraging as he watches me leave the kitchen.

"...Thanks Hoseokie."

"Any time baby."

[......]

The first time I feel a pair of eyes flicker of me, it's somewhere in the mass of people weaving past each other. The first time I feel a pair of eyes flicker to me, they're lost before I can find them.

There's something decidedly different about these pair of eyes. Dark and intense and curious and glittering with something as I find them briefly, find them as my body moves to the pace that Kook's hands at my waist sets. Body moving in time to his, a hand dragging up my waist, lips upturned against my throat, a low laugh and a "there's my girl (Y/N)" as Jungkook dances with me, as he holds me to him, reeled into the way it's so easy to lose myself to a mindless beat, to him. And I feel flickering eyes, different gazes sweep and then brush past. Some linger. Some go. But this stare is heated, appreciative. And in the blur of it all I briefly snag my eyes to his. They hold mine. And then in the brush of bodies... they vanish.

And then... then the next time I feel them it's because my eyes fall on him first.

Eyes tracing over the lazy slouch of his body against the door frame, body hovering just out of reach, out of orbit of the others, toying with the boundary of the space. Part of the music, the drinks, the voices, the cluster of bodies... yet so, so apart. Eyes tracing over a tall, broad frame, over features of his face half-shadowed, half-illuminated. Glimpses of a face that makes my steps falter, makes the voice in my ear recede, distant as I look at him. Unabashedly drinking him in when suddenly dark intense eyes flit across mine, head turning as if he's felt my gaze fixed on him. Something under my skin burns at the way his eyes hold mine. The way they don't tear away. The way he looks at me and then slowly... tilts his head in a curious appraisal. A quirk of his mouth before he raises his glass to me. Something playful glimmering before he lets his gaze sweep away.

[......]

The next time... the fourth time our eyes briefly meet... it's in the kitchen, body stumbling into mine. A hand darting out to steady me, eyes widening with surprise.

[......]

"Do you spill drinks on every girl you find attractive?" I muse, gingerly shaking out my hand, setting the cup aside.

"Two things. One—bold of you to assume it's my way of making a move. Makes a clumsy first impression rather than a good one." Brow arching as he looks at me, voice lower, smoother than I'd expected. A flush of heat that suffuses itself under my skin, that makes something in my gut coil at the low confidence in his voice. At the unabashed way he tilts in, leaning in towards me rather than away. Contemplating dark eyes holding mine captive.

"And two?"

"You make it sound like I've found multiple girls attractive tonight."

"No? Well if it isn't your way of making a move and it isn't you've found me attractive...could've easily left."

"Well that would make me look like an asshole." Shaking his head ruefully before he hands me a napkin to wipe the drink off me, where it'd sloshed over when he'd bumped into me.

"Well you're ridiculously broad...should've watched where you were going." I mutter, dabbing at the stain before giving up. Eyes flickering up to find his have sparked, lips quirking up.

"Broad huh?"

Ridiculously so.

Broad and big and buff.

The question practically invites, demands a thorough once-over, eyes tracing over broad, broad shoulders and the muscled build that his shirt gives a few glimpses of. Eyes lingering on the line of his throat, trail down his collarbones, something hot and wanting and desiring burns at the sight of him, eyes trailing lower.

"Broad. You work out?"

"Do you ask every attractive guy that?" words a playful echo of my own, head tilting as he looks at me. As if he's appraising me.

"What makes you confident I find you attractive?"

"Could've walked away~" voice lilting. Tit for tat. Echoing my words without faltering a beat, something delighted flits in his eyes as he lets his eyes dart across my face.

"Besides... I know I'm attractive."

"Yknow usually people wait for others to tell them that."

"Well you were taking so long in staring I wondered if you'd lost your words." Lips curling into a deeper tilt, playful and sharp and inviting.

Full lips all invite and prompting... just begging me to tug his bottom lip between my teeth and—

Fuck.

My eyes dart up to his.

Find amusement lingering in his.

"So?"

"So what?"

"Like what you see?" eyebrows wiggling playfully.

"Depends."

"On what?" something curious flickers in his eyes.

"Whether it's all for show or whether..."

"Whether what?" words coaxing, trying to pull the answer from my lips, eyes lingering briefly as if he can find the answer on the tip of my tongue, as if he can reel it out—

Distracted, my eyes flicker down to trace the movement of his hand bringing his cup up, trace the bob of his throat and the glimpse of skin. Eyes lingering on the sheer breadth of his chest.

"Sounds like you want an invite to feel me up." eyes sparkling with mischief and tease, brewing heavier with a thrumming pull of attraction. Lips slick and damp and it'd be so easy to close the distance to chase away the taste of his drink, the teasing push and pull of his words by pressing my mouth to his and—

"If you're offering..."

"Is that a yes?"

"Got an exhibitionism kink?"

Delighting in the brief expression of startlement, the way his eyes widen before they narrow. And it might be dark, but it seems like his ears tinge pink. A mix of cMuriosity and sharped interest and deep flickers of heat accost me. Sharp flames that graze ever so slow against my skin. The sensation feels like the slow taunting brush of fingertips skimming across my flesh.

Voice level firm. Unwavering, solid.

"No. Far from it." and there's an almost taunting, flirting edge to his voice. No... I'm sure of it. And it's a dangerous thrall, a dangerous game that toys with the sparks he seems to pull out without really... truly trying. Something tells me there's so much he's holding back. Something tells me there's just so much more that his dark eyes promise, that they beckon me to find out.

Dare me to.

"Why's that?" words probing, pushing.

And as if he's waiting to give way, waiting to give me the in, he toys with the weight of his eyes holding mine, toys with that tether of connection that even without touching me feels like the air between us buzzes. Something electric and fizzy and sparking hot.

"I don't like an audience... I don't like the idea of others watching whoever I'm with."

"Got a jealous streak?" I muse, body tilting closer.

"It's not so much about feeling jealous. It's more...when I'm with someone I don't want to waste a moment of my attention... or theirs on anyone else. It's when I'm with someone... I want to be selfish about making them feel good. I want them to be selfish about me too." and as he speaks, his body gravitates closer, as if he feels the same tug that sparks with the close proximity. That pulls him nearer, that makes his eyes this close seem darker and heavier.

And then...then those same eyes spark. Flash with an echo of heat.

His lips curl. Curve into a deep smile, one that's inviting, beckoning. One that's knowing of the effect his words have. On the offer in them.

"So... if... if the offer... to feel you up—"

"Mind stuck in the gutter?"

"Calling yourself filthy?"

"Aren't you the one admitting to having dirty thoughts about me? Fantasising about me when I'm right here?"

I can't quite disguise the snort of laughter, head tipped towards my cup. But when my head dips up, when my eyes flicker to his, when his grin is wide and amused, and his words carry that playful lilting edge—

"I dunno~ what sort of fantasies do you think you could play out? I barely even know you."

"You don't. I don't know much about you either."

"I didn't even catch your name."

"I never threw it."

"Touche~ got a name for the night or you want me to guess?"

"What would you guess?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Whether you'd go for the cliché of being mine even for a little bit. Or whether you have a thing for praise. Cos someone as stunning as you deserves to hear it."

He seems close enough... close enough that I can almost taste the saccharine thickness of his voice, can taste the buzz of his words fuelled on further by alcohol. And yet... yet he looks at me with disconcertingly sharp eyes, stripping back the layers one by one without lifting a finger.

"Well see the thing is..."

And it's a test of patience, of wavering control, of who surrenders first. It's a familiar push and pull game but it's one I already know how to play. One that his eyes say he won't mind playing. But something tells me he plays his game his way with his rules. That even with me feeling solidly in my depth, something about his stare promises to wrench me onto unsteady ground. Or one where he levels the playing field.

It's dangerous to feel the heady buzz of lust, arousal, desire fizz in my veins. And yet... yet the voice that's ever so prominent in my head has nothing to say. Yet when I look at him I want to feel like that again. I want to feel desired and wanted, I want to be the reason for the flickering lust in his eyes, I want to be the reason he wants too.

And why shouldn't I?

Why shouldn't I indulge?

"You've done well... if anyone deserves a night off it's you."

If anyone deserves it... it's me. If anything... I deserve to feel good and attractive and strong in my own skin. I deserve to have that effect on the attractive man in front of me.

"I don't need you to tell me I look good... I don't need you to offer words of making me feel good... I don't need someone who's all talk and no show."

His eyes glitter.

Flash.

Darken.

Dilate.

The flimsy plastic of his cup creaks and shifts under his tightening grip. Eyes tracing over the line of his fingers, the angled crook of his knuckles, the veins across the back of his hands.

Hands... hands shouldn't be such a fucking turn on.

And yet something about his hands...

I swallow tightly.

Willing that he doesn't catch the bob of my throat, fighting the urge to bring the drink to my lips because suddenly my throat's dry, parched as I look at his hands, trail my gaze up his arm to the breadth of his shoulder.

An intake of breath at just how big he is.

How easy it'd be for him to—

"And how do you want to put that to the test?"

"You can start with your name. Shame that you've talked an awful lot with that mouth—" my eyes trace the full curve of them.

"And not even told me what I should call you."

"Seokjin."

"Seokjin." I test the name out on my tongue. I like the way it tastes on my lips, relish the way his eyes darken at the way my lips curl up.

"(Y/N)." I offer in turn.

Watch his body move closer. All but two steps.

But it brings us closer. Close enough that if he wanted to his hand could reach out and—

"(Y/N)." he echoes with a flash of a grin.

(ABOGEWGBEWIUG YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW FERAL I'VE BEEN AND HOW IMPATIENT I'VE BEEN WAITING TO BRING IN JIN AND HE'S HERE HE'S HERE OHMYGOD HE'S HERE WGIIWEIGWE AND NO-ONE'S READY NOT EVEN YOU Midiiplier AND WSDGOINGWI THE AMOUNT OF TIME I GAVE JUST TO JIN'S MEETING AND FIRST INTERACTIONS AND AHHHHHHHHHHHHH I HOPE IT'S STILL GOT HIM IN IT AND JUST WHEW WEIOGWEIGBWEGB BUCKLE UP PEOPLE! LET THE NEW ARC OF WEGUBWEOGBWE BEGIN!)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie