(Y/N) POV:

"You know... I dunno how I feel about you two hoarding my apartment." Jin remarks, voice light, slightly toying once I step out of the bathroom, padding towards the kitchen. Following the sound of movement.

"Actually it's Hobi's apartment first." I retort, easing onto a seat. Watching as he flits about, hands still towelling my hair dry.

"Actually it's my apartment first. Hobi moved in with me."

"But we knew it as Hobi's apartment first. You've always been the elusive flatmate who's too good to show his face."

There's something so odd and startling to watch him move so confidently, so surely in a space he knows is his, has always been his and yet it takes me a while to place him in regardless. Because it's a place I've known for so long and yet never quite placed him in it, never had the chance to until seeing it now.

"You mean too good of a face to show, so it was better to not overwhelm you with it." Jin says, adopting an air of wiseness into his voice, moving to pull ingredients from his fridge.

A flash of a memory flits quickly through my mind.

"You knew exactly where Hobi kept the good alcohol that night—and here I was thinking you had this bad-boy streak." I muse, leaning forward over the table, watching a grin play at his lips, eyes darting to the side as he shrugs his shoulders. A faint pink tinge to his ears.

Clearing his throat slightly.

"I didn't mean to mislead you."

"No?"

Watching as he rinses off vegetables at the sink, the broad expanse of his back on display.

"I didn't! I just—you said you wanted to take me back to your dorm."

"You could've mentioned you had a perfectly sized bed here—"

"I would've but you were eager to get me out—" grin and pink flush at odds, both amused and slightly flustered as he turns to peer at me over his shoulder.

"I didn't know we could've taken it to bed so much quicker."

"Impatient aren't you?"

"I'm a very patient person."

"Sure sure..." circling round towards the counter, no little amusement in his expression as he looks at me. Tilting his head in invited inclination.

"What?"

"You didn't think you could continue to be a freeloader did you? Now that you know this is my apartment too you gotta work for your stay."

"How absolutely ungracious of you... did your eomma never teach you hospitality? Guests aren't meant to do work." Drawing back from the pointed stare, expectant and waiting.

"Did your eomma never teach you there's an expiry on how long you count as a guest? You two stay and eat up all the food I prepare—the least you do is get off your ass to help me cook dinner."

"...you're..."

"Handsome? Smart? A man full of reason?"

"You're being mean! Hobi never forces me to cook."

"Hobi's too soft. I'm not. That's what makes us great flatmates—good balance. Now...towel down, chop these up for me." knife and chopping board clunking against the counter, the bowl of vegetables nudged forward.

"...how do you want them chef?"

"Sliced into thin strips then sous-chef."

And as I round the counter to move to where Jin was standing his grin widens, sparks with tease.

"You know what (Y/N)?"

"What?"

"You called me mean but you never denied that I'm handsome."

"You'll get a big head if you're not careful Jin."

"I think I got the shoulders to balance it... I'll be fine."

"And here I thought that cockiness was liquid courage."

He sighs deeply, exasperated-almost as he looks at me.

"One thing that's good to know..."

"Hm?"

"I don't need liquid courage to state facts."

[......]

"I just realised—Jin hyung is your brother the estate agent?"

"I've mentioned it to hyung to look out for two-bedroom apartments. Though I might tell him to increase the security deposit now that I know it's you two looking to rent."

"That's ageism." I state at the same time as Kook speaks up.

"I never pegged you as the discriminatory type."

Jin's brows rise, staring at both of us.

"They share the same braincells don't they hyung?"

"You mean she leeches off mine, she's got none."

"I been raising Kook off my braincells since day one."

"And you want to live off campus. Together? With—this..." Jin trails off vaguely, uncertainly.

"They stay over in each other's dorms all the time—sharing a flat means they don't have to sneak around all the time."

There's an inquisitiveness in Jin's stare, a question that hovers on the tip of his tongue before he voices it regardless.

"You've never tried... dating?"

Three things happen.

Kook chokes on the air, the sound strangled as his head twists sharply to stare with disgust at Jin.

Hobi cackles, whacking Jin's side as he laughs, face creased up with laughter.

And the words on my lips dry out, face twisting with revulsion before I make a retching sound.

"Me and him?!"

"(Y/N)'s the last person I could ever—wait what's with that tone?" disgruntled as he turns the full force of his stare towards me. Scowling as he stares up at me.

"Nothing to be offended about Kook—we both know you're not my type. Unfortunate though it is for you."

A familiar roll of his eyes, a scowl and then the thud of a cushion hurled at my face full-force, head knocking back.

"You shit—" rearing my arm back to toss it back at him.

"You didn't have to say it with such disgust—what the hell's the gagging for?"

"Listen we both know you'd be gagging at the chance to date me but—we know each other too well, too much Jin. There's no chance for chemistry when it's all in sync."

Waving a hand between us, watching Jin's face flit from tentative to bemused.

"And you're sure they want to live together?" he asks in a loud stage-whisper to Hobi, watching as he wipes tears of laughter from his eyes, looking slightly winded as Hobi straightens himself up.

"Nothing romantic, get each other and they work well together—you don't get a lot of athletes hinging their careers on a partnership...so you know they'll be in it for the long run." He lists off.

I nudge my foot against Hobi's side, watch him squirm with a ripple of laughter, hand catching my ankle, giving it a light squeeze.

"You're partners?" a renewed interest in Jin's eyes, something contemplative and wondering in his gaze, still figuring us out.

"We're a figure skating duo."

"They're going for the Olympic qualifiers this year." Hobi enthuses.

Surprise and awe.

An impressed look that feels different to receive when it's not from friends or family who've been part of the whole long-distance run towards it.

My cheeks warm at the look in Jin's eyes, the admiration as he looks at the two of us with a renewed appraising look. An athlete acknowledging, admiring another.

"We're aiming for qualifying for the Olympic-qualifiers." I mutter, a cautiousness bleeding into my voice, retreating into something softer, guarded and protective over that renewed-kindled dream.

"You'll get there." A confidence and assuredness in Hobi's voice that softens Koo's expression, that makes the look in his eyes soften as he glances at me. Warm.

"I'm sure you'll get it." the earnest warmth and sincerity in Jin's voice makes me pause, eyes flickering towards him.

There isn't a trace of tease in his voice, nor a flicker of it in his gaze, eyes staring back steadfastly in a way that makes my cheeks warm with the soft tone, the assuredness in it.

I haven't... we haven't even known Jin long. But there's a way that he looks at the two of us, an easy confidence that seeps into his tone as if somehow he already knows. And as if there's no doubt in his mind even though he's never had a chance to gauge our potential, our talent. As if somehow he doesn't need to because his own conclusion is enough. As if knowing us is enough for him to assert that confidence, that surety.

"Gonna be there to throw flowers for me?"

"If you want me to throw myself at you there's better ways of asking~"

"I never said you—" words pausing as his own sink in, lips twitching into an echo of the wide, smug grin curling across his own lips.

"Honestly (Y/N) what could be a pretty flower? Hm?" hands moving to cup his cheeks, batting his eyelashes at me, lips pursed and pouty, head tilted beatifically.

"A bouquet." I deadpan, just to watch his face flash with protest, watch the curve of his mouth deepen with amusement as he shakes his head at me.

"You think you know someone once you share a bed with them."

"But they go ahead and betray you if the price is right. I know how that feels hyung." Kook sighs commiserating, shaking his head wryly.

"Treachery." Jin sighs before straightening his head.

An offer sparking in his eyes.

"Tell you what (Y/N). Impress me and I will get you a bouquet."

"There's better ways to confess—"

"Confess that you being annoying makes me want to shove the flowers up your—"

"Kinky."

"Brat."

"You love it."

"Oh I absolutely don't."

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

There's a faint tremor in Kook's arm as he nudges me, muscles sore and overworked, a breathless look of satisfaction melting into a look of warm surprise as he turns his gaze to me and then past me to look towards the seats.

Lips curving up as I straighten, watching the two figures pick their way down towards the front, voice filling the space, echoing across the ice in a loud greeting yell.

"Looking good guys!"

"Hyung!"

"Seokie!"

Turning to slowly skate towards the rink's edge watching his face split wider, heart-lips stretched wide and eyes bright as he leans across the rink's edge.

"Thought we'd drop by to watch you practice."

"You both thought it?" Kook asks, slightly bemused as his eyes flicker over towards Jin, who shrugs loosely, head ducking into the neck of his sweater, burrowing into its warmth.

"Actually Jin hyung suggested it. And I realised he hadn't actually seen you guys practice before."

The slightly shy look in Jin's eyes quietly reflects the hesitance, the uncertainty, eyes sweeping over our faces, voice low and soft. Head straightening.

"Is that okay?"

"Got plenty of seats—the rink's always open for visitors." Kook says, nodding towards the empty rows of seats stretched out, row after row that fills up during competition season- during performance pieces and hockey matches.

Empty save for the two of them—the stretch of seats open wide with invite.

"I know but is it okay with you two?" Jin presses, voice soft with a hint of carefulness, a cautiousness and eyes full of a sincerity and willingness to turn and leave if we really wanted him to.

Wanting to watch but ready to retreat if we didn't want him there.

The consideration warms me, warms the overheated flush to my skin, softens the prickling sharp sweaty heat to something softer, something appreciative.

"It really is. Besides—this way you get to see exactly the type of person you took back to—"

An elbow pressed to my side, a twitch to heart-shaped lips and the flash of mirth in deep brown eyes before the corners of Jin's lips quirk with amusement, head tilting ever so slightly in cursory examination.

"I guess I've got to see."

"We were just practicing some lifts and jumps but that's not what you want to see." I lilt.

"It's not?" bemused, brows rising. Words a puff of breath exhaled in the cold.

"Well if you came to see us practice and you came to see cos you were curious then why not stay to watch something worth your while?" I offer, grinning as I lean forward, fingers tugging the neck of his jumper away from where Jin subconsciously burrows into it, watch the shiver of cold and the flash of protest as he jerks back.

"It's cold in here!"

"You get used to it." Hobi shrugs but the side-eye Jin shoots him, unimpressed as his eyes linger on the thick jumper and scarf wrapped around his neck speaks otherwise.

"Clearly. Why didn't you tell me to grab a scarf too?" a bickering tone to his voice.

"Your first time should be the whole experience."

"Including shivering in the stands." Kook grins.

"Part of the whole authentic experience of being a figure skating fan." Hobi nods along seriously, plucking his phone from his pocket and waving it with a proud smile.

"Fan?" Jin echoes.

"I got a lot of their practice videos or behind the scene content—"

"I think Hobi's part of the reason we even have people coming to watch us during competitions."

"They're amazing hyung and when you see them—you'll see, you'll see!" he enthuses, hand looping through Jin's arm to tug him into him, grinning wider.

"Setting high expectations." Kook puffs out a breath though it's laced with a smile and when he exchanges a glance with me, there's already that familiar spark in his eyes. That liveliness and burning thrill that's flared up.

I watch Hobi tug Jin towards the seats, watch him scroll through his phone, buffer as he decides whether or not to show Jin something before just shoving it back into the depths of his pockets again, shaking his head rapidly. Eyes turning towards us, hands curled into fists as he makes a cheering gesture.

"So...which routine do you want to go with?"

"Don't want to show the new one?" Koo teases though he already knows the answer to it. The unspoken agreement to work on our new routine alone, nurturing it and building it up bit by bit. Not that we hadn't already done that to all our competitive pieces in the past, kept it treasured and safe between the two of us... there was a newer level of carefulness, a newer vulnerability in crafting, practicing and honing this performance routine. Something about it felt more fragile and something about that sparked a protectiveness that I didn't know could exist for a sport, for my sport, my craft until now.

And that same carefulness bled into Kook's own movements, into the way he was equally breathless and overwhelmed by a sense of satisfaction and fulfilment when bit by bit the piece took shape and the ease with which he was willing to keep it under wraps for as long as we could—Coaches aside.

"Short program or free skate?"

"Short program- let's not overdo it."

There's a glimmer of approval that quietly flickers in his eyes, the curve of his mouth turns softer, the small nod is firm.

"What about the program we did for our debut skate for the National title?"

The program's sequences flash through my mind on a loop, a series of snapshots that flit by one after the other, frozen stills of each movement tracked out in my head as if watching it from outside of my body, watching it as if I was observing it again.

"Play the music once." I nod. The snapshots stream together in a more fluid sequence, the program still buried somewhere into muscle memory in the same way the other programs were. In the way that they were still frequently used to practice with or warm up with or just skate with. Indulgent and reminiscent and all the fun and breathless thrill without the pressure of the competition.

The hand that curls around my nape, that tugs me forward to press his forehead to mine, the same grin mirrored at me and eyes holding mine unwaveringly brings the same sense of deep ease, limbs loosening as we get into position.

His head straightening, the curled clasp of his hand at my nape keeping my own head angled into position, body tilted towards his before the music even begins.

The sequence brimming at the tips of my fingers and skates—waiting, waiting and even without him speaking I can hear Kook's voice count us in with the music.

3, 2, 1— go.

[......]

More and more, more and more the buzz of adrenaline begins to creep back over my limbs. More and more, it's more motion and movement than it is conscious thought. More and more, it's knowing where Kook's body moves and skates and dips and turns and knowing with each shift of his body where mine is to follow, draw back, tilt, curve and be airborne.

More and more, it's skating and it's all a blur. It's the brush of cold, cold air against warm stinging cheeks and lips stretched wide with a grin so wide that it hurts and eyes stinging with the cut of the cold air and limbs taut and then putty and then curving and melding so closely with Kook's that there's no surety where his body begins and where mine ends.

It's music and then it's movement and then it's us.

There's music, there's ice and then there's bodies an extension of one another, hands gripping his shoulders as he lifts me higher and then hands falling away, body weightless, suspended, twisting in slow graceful motions, the world whirling and twisting and blurring into the sleek white of the ice and the firm familiar lines and angles of a body that draws mine back down.

There's Kook and there's only him.

Until there's not.

Until everything bleeds back in, senses trickling back to an awareness beyond Kook.

Until it's lungs aching for air and eyes full of him. Until it's the sensation of skates finding purchase on ice once more, until it's limbs slowly becoming two distinct bodies once more and the sound of loud cheers reach out over onto the ice.

Until it's the rink, it's Kook, it's the music restarting and beginning again, it's Hobi and Jin's voices calling out and it's the ice slippery and worn out underneath our blades. It's a smile that feels too wide, too big for my face and a pulse that rings slightly in my ears.

And when I turn to look at the two of them, a hand slips around my waist, fingers squeezing in quiet, private praise and thanks.

But Hobi and Jin aren't sitting down anymore.

And Jin's leaning forward, body tilted as close towards the rink's edge as it can, eyes alight and filled with this entirely new feeling of awe that leaves the breath catching in my throat before it spills out into words. Voice bright and loud and wavery.

"Good enough of a show for you?"

"I can see where the stamina and flexibility comes from." He calls back without missing a beat, winking playfully before his face splits into a glowing smile.

"Yah hyung!"

"Yah?! You watch your mouth Jeon Jungkook—I don't need to be a skater to get onto the ice to fix that tone—" voice incredulous and pitched with exaggerated scold and a yell.

"I'd rather not hear the details twice hyung—besides aren't you a bit too old to risk slipping?"

"You insolent little shit—"

[......]

"Favourite flower?"

"Apart from this face?" hands cupping Hobi's cheeks, smooshing slightly, watching as his lips pucker into a pout. Making kissy sounds as he tries to tilt forward playfully.

"I was hoping you'd say this face but—" Jin sighs, eyes flickering towards the two of us, tilting his own face forward. A hand reaching out to squish his cheeks too.

His lips pout deeper.

"Why'd you ask?"

"I said I'd get you flowers if you impressed me."

"Oh? You holding true on your words?" surprised that he'd brought it up, surprised because I'd forgotten.

"A gentleman always does."

"I dunno if you're mature enough to be a gentleman." I tease.

Hobi laughs, pinching my side, hand falling away from Jin's face.

"Don't be mean to hyung and take the win. If he's getting his wallet out—you've done something right."

"That or you've gotten used to abusing my generosity." He sniffs, head turning away to tilt, a haughty expression on his face.

Something so huffy about the motion that it makes me laugh. Endeared and entertained by him.

"You don't have to get me flowers Jin~"

"Maybe I won't."

"I never said you had to!"

"Now I definitely won't!"

"Then don't."

"Fine!"

"...are you huffing Jin?"

"No! I'm too mature to!"

[......]

A small cluster of yellow roses thrusted forward with a grumble, ears pink and eyes staring ahead until I murmur his name.

"Jin... you're sweet. Real softie." I murmur, hand clasping the wrapped bundle of flowers, eyes sweeping over the deep yellow petals, counting out five.

"Thank you."

"Not a problem."

"Now have you seen Kook-ah? I got him some too." hand gesturing to where another small cluster of yellow roses lie.

Five of them.

"Why five?" I ask curiously.

"...one for each of us and one for luck." He admits.

And there's the hint of a bashful glimmer in his eyes, that softness that Hobi had mentioned. That laced together with the thoughtfulness of the act makes me appreciate, not for the first time, getting to meet Jin. Getting to know Jin.

"You're a real sweetheart. I can see why Hobi wanted to hog you."

"Don't blame the guy sweetheart—I'm a real catch."

But the pink tinge on his ears only deepen when my steps hurry forward the short distance to quickly wrap my arms around him, careful to not crush the roses as I hug him hard and tight.

"You really are. Really... thank you Jin." I murmur softly.

Carefully. Slowly his arms come round to wrap around me, hugging me tightly, something so soft and firm about the embrace that makes my eyes prickle slightly, squeezing him tighter as I look at the yellow roses clutched in my hand, body tilted to his, into his.

"You're welcome (Y/N)."

And for the first time since Kook, since Hobi, since—

And just like that the cluster of warmth from the people near me, with me, grows.

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

"...mhm?" voice relaxed, drawn out with a soft deep exhale. The rustle of sheets as Kook's voice filters through in the hummed sound.

"...."

"Icicle?" voice still hazy-soft in the way it gets when he's relaxed.

Knowing already he's stretched out across his duvet, knowing that he's been half-curved towards the pillows, aimlessly scrolling on his phone or watching something.

Knowing that in a while he'll let his phone fall from a lax grip and his eyes flutter shut, that he'll twist to drag the duvet over him and burrow into the warmth of his bed to sleep.

That in 7 hours his phone will go off with a wakeup alarm for a morning run, that in 7 hours and 30 minutes he'll be easing himself into my dorm room because I've slept through mine, and he knows he needs to drag me out of bed to get going.

"Sorry it's nothing Koo... go to sleep."

"You don't call for nothing—what's up?" a warm slow haziness in his words that makes my eyes flutter shut briefly, comforted by the low lulling depth of his voice.

"S stupid..."

"It's fine. What is it (Y/N)?"

"I know you've already gotten ready for bed... but do you think you could come over?"

There's no questions, no probing, no waited pause. Just the sound of shuffling, of quiet treads and the sound of movements- distant and tinny and yet not. Every movement and sound pressed to my ear as if he's wandering around my dorm room instead of his.

"I'll be there in 5 icicle."

"Thanks Kookie."

"Not a problem icicle."

And it's four minutes later the beep-beep of the keypad turns my head, that unsettled, churning sensation settling at the sight of Kook shuffling into my dorm, quietly slipping the door shut behind him. Movements quiet and almost noiseless, shoes being shucked off and his jumper being tugged off and tossed onto the armchair before he pads towards the bed. Quiet as he lifts a corner of the duvet to slip into bed, body quietly slotting up next to mine, turning to face me. Every line and feature of his face soft, soft and warm. Arm a heavy weight that drapes across my front, his body a line of solid heat against my side, body turning to curve into him.

"I just felt—"

"I know."

Legs tangling with mine, hissing soft between his teeth when my feet press against his legs, a brief flinch to the cold before he curls inwards too. Chasing my body heat just as eagerly as I burrow towards his.

My hand reaches out to brush rumpled dark strands of hair from his face, brush soft against his cheek, feel the soft puffs of breath with each light exhale, deep dark eyes tracking the movements with a lazy slowness.

"For the heating to work you've got to stop opening your windows at night."

"It keeps the room from getting stuffy."

"It keeps your feet cold."

"But you're warm."

"I'd like to stay that way. Should've come over to mine instead." Koo murmurs, face smooshed against the pillow.

Hand brushing against the low of my back.

And the tight pressure behind my ribs eases, the discomfort that'd been brewing there slowly settles.

"But you're here now."

The corners of his lips tug up in a droopy, slow smile.

"M here icicle...so sleep. Got a run in the morning."

"Maybe you'll oversleep." I mumble, fingers fluttering down to loosely curl into his shirt.

A quiet snort.

"You wish icicle."

Long quiet silence stretches out, body and mind slowly relaxing, sinking contentedly into the foggy warmth, the drowsiness that settles.

"Night bun."

"Night icicle."

[......]

It's late but it's not too late.

It's not late enough to wrangle in another practice if—if Kook's up to it.

And when I slip into his dorm, head twisting to check the hallway behind me before entering, his head's already turned towards me, not a trace of surprise there. Whatever he'd been watching has been paused and whatever he's doing has stopped—peering at me over the laptop's edge.

A bemused look on his face at the way his eye contact makes me feel caught-out before I've even said a word.

"Hi Koo."

"Hi (Y/N)."

"Whatcha upto?"

"I dunno... it feels like I'm about to be upto something though." Brows rising as he stares at me.

"...what makes you think that?"

"You haven't immediately gotten into bed or snatched an earbud or even taken your shoes off." He says, listing off the observations with a watchful patience, waiting for me to say.

I hover at the threshold of his dorm, stop from crossing over the space.

I watch as his eyes in turn watch me, skim over me before reaching a conclusion. One he still waits for.

"If you're not tired—fancy a skate?"

His eyes hold mine for several beats before closing his laptop and rolling out of bed, straightening quick.

"We're not doing any routine choreography."

"I wasn't feeling it—just... skating."

"Wanna call Hobi and Jin hyung?"

"Reckon they'd wanna?"

"Well we're just going for a skate. Why not?"

"Besides Jin hyung invited us to tennis practice. Hobi hyung always likes being Captain Jung and helping us during dance practice or watching his rehearsals. Why not?"

He crosses over to grab a hoodie to drag over his torso, shuffling towards the door once he's grabbed his skates and phone.

"Message them." As he crouches down to tug on shoes, peering at me with a knowing grin—as if he can see right through me, can see the bubbling antsiness under my skin. Can see it needs an out.

And he brings that restlessness an outlet. Plus three for company.

2Seok + 2brain cells

❄️: Knock knock

🐹🩷: Who's there

❄️: ...you don't have my number saved?

🐹🩷: I do... I was hoping you'd impress me with a good joke

🌞: Hyung loves jokes

🐹🩷: That's why I now have two of them bothering me at night

❄️: Hey!

❄️: And here I was about to play nice...

🐹🩷: Just teasing~ what's up flower?

❄️: You guys heading to bed?

🐹🩷: Not yet

🌞: Hyung's being annoying

🐹🩷: Hyung's *culturing you

🌞: We're playing Mario Kart

🐹🩷: I'm playing

🐹🩷: He's losing

🐹🩷: And sulking

❄️: Grab a scarf this time Jin

🐹🩷: Late night walk?

❄️: Late night skate—if you got the balance for it

🐹🩷: Hobi's the Bambi on ice

🌞: I am not!

🐹🩷: If anything I've got the perfect figure for skating

❄️:  ....

🐹🩷: See what I did there?

🐰: Touche

🐰: Very clever hyung

❄️: So you guys wanna come skate at the rink?

❄️: It'll be empty at this time

🌞: Are we even allowed on it this late?

❄️: It gets re-iced at 5...

❄️: Besides I know the Captain

🐹🩷: Rule-breaker is he?

🐰: He is the one who invited you

🐰: And he is the one who's waiting for you all to drag your asses out to the rink

🐹🩷: I don't own skates...

🐰: Captain perks~ I'll get you some

🌞: Give us 20 to get to campus?

❄️: See you there :)

[......]

"Do you do late night skates a lot?"

"I've been recently put on a... skating ban. Skating alone ban." I correct when Kook shoots me a stare.

When Hobi's eyes narrow, look disbelieving and reproachful.

Jin takes in both glances, eyes flickering between the three of us.

Mischief tugging his mouth up.

"Can't be trusted trouble?"

I shrug loosely.

The injury's gone, the pain's gone, the lingering aftermath it too. in most parts. There's no trace of it left, no visible mark of it.

Yet a shadow of something cautious and worried and aching briefly pools in Kook's eyes but he blinks, and it's gone.

"Something like that."

"She goes and gets herself injured if she skates alone." Hobi points out, unrepentant.

"Once. Once!" I protest.

I might be smiling but something in Kook's and Hobi's smiles are brittle, too feigned.

An echo of that achy, dark hollowness that threatens to settle in Koo's usual sparkling eyes in the brightness of Hobi's own gaze.

Something that fades the corners of Jin's smile.

"Oh trouble... looks like I joined just in time."

"Just in time for what?"

"Risk prevention... babysitting." Voice deceptively light, softening the edges of the quiet worry that simmers in the air. Something that makes my throat tighten briefly before it loosens with the easiness of Jin's tone.

"Babysitting. You're right hyung." Kook acquiesces. Jin's presence mellows out that cautiousness, softens it.

"She'll give you grey hairs—" Hobi warns.

"If your age doesn't." Koo teases, quipping in.

"Leave my Jin alone!" stepping forward in front of him, feeling his hands settle on my shoulders, squeeze before he slings his arms loosely around me.

"You heard her."

"Jin—"

"It's hyung to you."

I reach back to offer my hand to him.

"Wanna skate Jin?"

Hand slipping into mine.

"Thought you'd never ask trouble."

JIMIN POV:

My hand drags up the line of her calf, fingers squeezing at the tenseness in the muscles, in the limb, feel her body sink back into the mattress, watch her eyes settle on me. Propped up on her arms, a loose contented sigh of breath, head falling back with a low relieved groan—pure bliss as she sinks back. Lets her arms buckle and lets herself sink out across the blankets and sheets.

"You work really hard yknow. Too hard most days." I muse, feeling the stiffness in her calf, feel the way her muscles are locked up and tight, the way her leg feels stiff—overworked and overused. Hear the hiss of breath but feel it as a soft, sharp exhale, feel it ripple in the air, feel it as if she's curled into me and not spread out, loose-limbed across my bed.

"Are you calling me a try-hard? Or is this your way of trying to get the competition to ease up? Cos I'm not falling for that." a soft curved tilt to her mouth, amused.

"Not everything's competitive."

"Bullshit."

"It isn't!" fingers curling to squeeze her calf, thumb brushing against skin. Fingers dragging down her calf to curl loose around her ankle.

"If we weren't competitive, I wouldn't have spent years actively hating your guts and being so damn driven to put you in your place."

"And where exactly is my place?"

"Under me."

But the flicker of something teasing and heated briefly flares in her eyes, a jolt of molten taunt before it settles. Riles and then withdraws.

"Huh...you haven't been much of a complainer when the role's been reversed."

"Oh, I do that for your benefit." she nods sagely.

"My benefit? How is it in my benefit princess?"

"I've got to experience what it's like being under you—keeps the competitive edge to be better yknow."

And we both know she's not talking about skating, we both know she's not talking sports, we both know the thoughts running through both our heads are far from the rink.

"So you've got ulterior motives... that's cold ice princess." Hand squeezing around the low of her calf, dragging lower, thumb tracing the curve of her ankle, feel the soft jolt of a movement that stills the curl of her mouth for a brief, faltering moment.

"(Y/N)?"

"I'm good."

"I didn't even ask yet." Brows rising slightly at the way the words, the reassurance slips immediately from her lips.

"Well whatever you were going to ask—I've answered it." her own gaze pointed, she moves to turn, to slip her leg free from my grip. My fingers reflexively move to still her, mindful of whatever flare of something stiff and tight had slipped into her features.

"What's wrong with your ankle?"

"Nothing."

"(Y/N)..."

"I overworked it in training okay?"

"And what was it I was just saying? You're going to fuck up and get injured if you're not careful." The words come out harder, harsher than intended. It shifts the look in her eyes to something startled and then reproached, a defensiveness that's there even if her gaze burns as she looks at me.

Slowly sits up to tug her foot out of my hold.

Hand clasping it protectively, the line of her spine screams of the defensiveness even if she doesn't say it- lips pressed thin.

"I know what I'm doing."

"I'm just saying that you need to be careful—" I begin, feeling my stomach churn with an uneasiness at the guarded look in her eyes, the distance now that she's sitting up, staring at me, jaw set.

"I know what I'm doing. I know just how careful I need to be so just leave it—"

"Let me get you something for that."

"It's fine."

"Let me rephrase that. I'm getting you something for that."

Leaning over the bedside to pull out a medicated patch, hand reaching for her ankle again, her movements stiff, wary and then reluctantly letting her own fingers fall away.

Watching as I peel the patch, press it to the curve of her ankle.

"Do you need an ankle brace?"

At this her ankle eases back, eyes-rolling as she stares at me with a soft snort of amusement.

"Calm down the doctor act Park. It's an overworked ankle. It'll be good as gold in the morning."

"Why'd you work it so hard?"

"You're telling me you don't get an ache after a hard day of training?"

"I'd rather the good kind of ache." I simper, words teasing and drawn out, her foot darting out in a solid kick to my leg before it's drawn back.

"I didn't know a couple of rounds was enough to leave you feeling me for the rest of the day." Words taking on an amused, slightly breathy, slightly taunting tone.

Despite the way it could teeter, the way it so easily does, my eyes search her face for any tells, for discomfort, for a pinched look as her hand absently massages her calf, fingers rubbing at her ankle and then smoothening again. Despite the teasing edge to her voice my eyes flit over her, searching quietly, gaze snapping to hers by the soft laugh. The amused tilted appraisal.

"Those aren't your bedroom eyes."

"No? What are they?" a heat flushing briefly at the way her grin deepens.

"Dare I say it looks like you care for me Jimin."

My pulse skips a beat, hammers up rapidly and for one moment it feels like she hears the betraying thudding.

"If you misread Jungkook as easily as you misread my eyes it explains why you take tumbles on the ice"

Indignation flashes in her eyes.

Riled and hissing.

"I can take more knocks that that padding could ever shield you from. And I do it bare."

A flash of indignant competitiveness. So easily teased.

But it distracts her.

It distracts her from hearing the way my heartbeat echoes loudly in my ears, a growing thundering of it.

Eyes snagging onto the way her face shifts from mirth to fire. Soft warmth to molten flames.

Tilting forward to lean into her space. Tilting willingly to the fire, willing to be burnt by it.

"Bare? Tell me more."

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

It's late so technically I shouldn't be out of the dorms heading to the rink in the first place.

It's late so technically I shouldn't be heading out for a late-skate to get the restlessness out from under my veins, to calm it enough to fall asleep when I head back.

It's late so technically I shouldn't be going to head onto the ice.

It's late so technically I hadn't known anyone would've been there, I didn't realise the dimmed lights would be on the rink and the sound of loud, raucous music would be thumping out of the speakers—loud enough that the sound immediately reaches me when I pull open the rink doors.

It's late so technically I hadn't meant to intrude on whoever's practicing.

And I should've turned away, I should've turned then and there and left and gone to one of the smaller rinks.

But something inside me lurches up, hammers against my ribs, something inside me twists and upturns my stomach with a tsunami of wild fluttering butterflies—nervous and trepidatory when I hear the sound of laughter and cheers, of voices tumbling into one another and something...something inside me recognises one of them.

Steps moving towards the edge of the seats, eyes falling to the view before.

To the figures skating... dancing on the ice. A cluster of four bodies weaving around each other and even from this distance I can see the grins stretched wide across their faces, can see the bright breathless grin on her face, head tilting back with laughter that even over the music I know how it sounds, hear it ripple across the space. Letting her hand be guided to twirl around in quick spinning circles.

They're dancing on the ice with no regard for the music, nor in staying in sync to its beat, they're dancing and slipping around on the ice and clutching at each other, faces so bright with laughter, bundled up against the rink's chill and something inside me twists sharply, painfully with pure want and longing as I look at one face in particular. Eyes unable to drift off her.

It's been weeks since I've seen (Y/N) and now that I see her... my eyes are unable to move past her, move away from her. Drinking in every feature, every moment of her with a parched desperation, with an ache that gnaws at me from the inside... that begs me to go closer, to see her, to be nearer to her.

It's been weeks since the same ice—my throat tightens, a clenching vice, the flash of red pooled on scuffed up ice flashes in my mind. Visceral and sudden. Blanks out the sight of her for a few moments, breath rattling slightly in my lungs when (Y/N) reappears, when my eyes stay focused on her.

Flit over her frantically, a pressure behind my chest easing with relief that she's fine, she's unharmed... she's okay now.

There's not a trace of an injury on her... nothing that tells of what had happened to her that fateful day weeks ago—when everything went wrong, when I ruined it all, but she's here, she's skating and dancing and smiling and laughing—

It loosens a pressure I hadn't known had been sitting behind my sternum, weighted and leaden, until it unwinds a fraction. It gives me a breath that lets my lungs expand. Eyes filled with the sight of her and it grows, that sharp pang of wanting...wanting... feet moving nearer before I still, before my limbs lock up and a sharp stinging voice slithers into my consciousness. Venom and barbed.

She's happy now so leave her alone. The last thing she needs is you. The last thing she wants is you after the last time you were on the ice together. So leave. Leave her alone. Leave her be.

But still... still I can't leave. I don't leave.

And their voices ring out across the ice, weave themselves into the heavy bass of the music, laughter echoing.

"No wait, wait I'm going to fall!"

"You're not going to fall!"

"Just hold still!"

"No wait—Hobi stop, stop!"

My body jerks forward at the tumble of a body slamming into her, sending the two of them toppling onto the ice. The thud of their bodies rings in my ears.

Flinch at the way her head knocks back onto the ice, a hand frantically trying to half-soften the fall. Body crumpling on top of hers.

A sharp cry stuck in my throat, muffled by the sound of wild, loud laughter, an inked hand gripping an arm for balance as he laughs.

Body shaking with the force of it as he bends down not to help the two of them up but creased at the hip.

"Jungkook stop laughing you dipshit and help us—Hobi stop... STOP!" laughter laced into her voice as another figure moves to help them up, watch as she flounders, pushing the crumpled figure off of her before clambering upright. Gripping at an arm for purchase, leg kicking out to hit her skate against Jungkook's.

The panic and alarm that hammers wildly in my throat, eyes wide and rooted there swells up before it deflates, slowly cedes.

Watch with a racing pulse as she brushes the ice off of her, skate around giving the three of them a wide berth, eyes tracing and tracking the movements, a flinched recoil when (Y/N) slows. When her eyes flicker from the cluster near her to wider, eyes trailing across and pausing.

Abruptly, my steps backtrack, recede back into the shadows of the backrow and away from the steps, skate thunking hard against one of the seats, skin burning, burning, scrambling back—caught, red-handed. Heartbeat echoing harder and louder in my ears, she won't have seen me, she won't know, she won't know—stepping back and scurrying further until it's shadowed where I stand, and the spotlight remains on her figure staring up for a few more moments before turning away.

She won't have seen me.

Steps backtracking to place more distance from the rink, steps uneven, faltering...

I can't help dart a glance back. The view of the rink obscured by the row of seats but the music continues playing and the figures moving around on the ice continue to circle and weave around each other—their laughter infectious, their giddiness warm, warm.

But there's a coldness that seeps into my veins, a surety in the realisation that I have no place in it. That she's better off without me in her life.

She's all the more happier for it.

But I can't help wishing that despite it all... I'd gone forward. I'd moved forward.

That despite it all... I shouldn't have run like a coward. I should've gone forward.

I should've wiped the slate clean, let it be reset, let her know how wrong I was and how unfair I'd been.

But the ice has been reset. The slate's been wiped clean. And their skates have etched away any trace of us.

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

She's changed her entire training schedule.

It's a conclusion that's hovered in the back of my mind but that's cemented more and more—it's not like chasing shadows and glimpses... it's hunting for a ghost, (Y/N)'s presence seems to have melted entirely from sight, nowhere to be seen. That odd off-chance encounter that other night a rarity.

She's changed her entire training schedule. And I'm the reason for it.

But still my eyes sweep over the gym, searching for a phantom. Because she's not there at the weights, she's not there on the treadmill, feet stepping up to vacant machines, she's not there on the pull-up bars. She's gone. And there's no trace of her skating partner either. As if he too has melted from view alongside her.

"I don't see Jungkook around anymore." I mention conversationally. Treadmill beeping up to a slow ambling pace.

Joon's eyes flicker to me.

"Nah me neither. And he looked like he'd be a good gym buddy to spot us—I was hoping on asking him."

"I'm really sorry I ruined it for you Joon."

"What did you ruin?"

"You and Jungkook were becoming...friends."

(Y/N) and I were becoming friends. (Y/N) and I were becoming something.

But when we ended, I also ruined whatever chance Namjoon and Jungkook had at becoming friends.

I ruined that.

There'd been a fine line between enmity and rivalry that'd hardened over the years between the hockey team and the figure skating team. And looking at Namjoon now, I realise I've reforged it again—I've made Jungkook loathe Namjoon. That because of me, their friendship... budding and new had turned brittle and then disintegrated entirely.

"He needs time and space I guess. The same way (Y/N) does... or not the same. What you need to sort out is..."

"Myself first." I say resolutely, letting the speed build up on the treadmill, let the shift of pace let my eyes drift from his, to let the loud thumping of steps and the electronic rapid beeping of his own speed chasing up to mine... distract from it all.

Because after costing myself...

All I could do was build up myself. Because I threw it all away for myself, I threw it away for my career... I gave it all up to

I had to make it worth something. I had to make the sacrifice all worth something, I had to make it worth me. Title, profession, career.

But the loud thumping of the machine isn't enough to drown out the knowing firm softness of Joon's voice, a hand darting out to lower the speed and incline.

"You first. And then once you've figured yourself out... figure out what it is you want."

As if Joon's already aware of it but he's waiting for me to find out at my own pace.

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

"You could talk to her."

"She doesn't want to see me again Tae." my voice is exasperated, worn out, hand roughly gripping at my hair, carding through it. Head tipping forward to lie in the cradle of my palm, slumped forward. Unable to meet the soft gentleness in Tae's eyes, unable to meet the hopeful optimism there, the voice that just urges me to give it a go, give it a try.

"But how will you make things right if you keep skating in circles?"

"She's done with me. And she's got competitions coming up... I don't—I won't fuck it up for her. I won't ruin her focus and her chances. I won't get in the way and make everything fall apart."

Because it seemed the more time stretched by, the more weeks stretched between that... that fateful day on the ice and now... more and more it feels like I've lost my chance, I've lost the timing, I've lost the moment to go back.

"You could talk to her after the competitions." The reassurance is there, the comforting offer of it too. Because in Tae's eyes it's as simple as that.

Because in Tae's eyes I'm not distorted and disfigured—his perception of me isn't ugly and marred by the worst parts of myself that I let show that day. He doesn't know it because he didn't see it.

(Y/N) saw the worst of me. The most insecure and vapid and twisted parts of myself.

The ugly messy angry part of myself that'd been bitter and pained and insecure... that'd lashed out because at that time... in that moment... I hadn't been in the right headspace, I hadn't been in the right frame of mind. I hadn't been in a place to keep a relationship... was it even that, going when there was too much to do and it was either hockey or her. I—I wasn't good enough at balancing the two.

And stepping away from it only makes me realise how fucked it all is. How easily I let myself force an ultimatum on myself. How in the end I chose what I wanted but I had to hurt her in the process.

Tae doesn't know the ugly. Would Tae even be comforting me if he did? Or would he turn away disdained and disappointed at the part of myself so messy—straining at the cracks, that he'd draw back from it too?

"Tae just—just..."

"You can't give up—you can't mourn what you've lost until you've given it every fighting chance."

"I have." I stress.

"Have you?"

[......]

"This feels like babysitting duties." I muse dryly.

"Is it? Should it?" a dryer voice, eyes flickering to me, steps slowing a beat more, hands shoved into the depths of his pocket. Trudging along slowly towards his apartment.

"Since when do you drag your ass out your apartment... head over to campus only to hang around and then drag me back to your apartment too? I can get there myself hyung."

"I wasn't on campus for you." Yoongi hyung brushes off, eyes flickering away just as quick.

Words evasive.

"No? You never train this late."

"I wasn't here for you." words pointed, trying to brush off the tease in my voice, eyes fixed ahead.

"Oh you can tell me hyung~ you can admit you have one tiny, tiny bit of softness for us."

"M not soft."

"Oh you're soft. A soft, soft squishy marshmallow."

"I'll whack you with your hockey stick."

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"You wouldn't."

"Jimin-ah..." voice warning, amusement laced into his words, eyes flickering across the street before he begins walking.

Careful, watchful—eyes flitting around as if they're not quite sure where to settle or when to settle. As if there's far too many things for his eyes to settle on.

It almost seems flitty. Almost.

"I wasn't just here to drag you over for dinner." Yoongi hyung admits after several minutes.

"You weren't?"

Because it'd been odd but not unusual enough to see Yoongi hyung turn up to a random practice. It was odd and yet not rare enough for it to raise a question.

But my eyes settle on him now, curious, wondering where he's steering the conversation.

"Why were you on campus hyung?"

A faint, crawling sense of trepidation begins to creep into my veins. In the way that now, in those few beats of silence, the way his eyes remain on the pavement, on the bustle of traffic, on anything but me... somehow now it feels intentionally evasive, avoidant.

"I met up with (Y/N)."

Faltering, my steps slow then falter and then try hurry forward, hand gripping his arm.

"What?"

Her name rings in my ears.

But hyung's stride doesn't slow nor stop. My fingers curl in tighter, gripping onto his arm, breath in my throat, condensing in a sharp puff of ice-cold breath.

"Hyung you met up with (Y/N)? You came to campus to see her?"

Pricky cold crawls across my skin, a gnawing want that makes my skin feel tight, makes my blood flush hot and makes the air tremble. Fraught. Ice-cold veins and a burning, rapid pulse that flares to life—a mixture of something so deeply wanting to know any glimpse or news of her that my eyes hunger onto his words. Vultures waiting for information to swoop down and seize. To clutch in a starving grasp.

"What's wrong with that?"

"What? No...nothing's wrong with it. I just—I guess I didn't realise you guys were that close."

And it stings. It burns.

A mixture of jealous want and painful aching longing, eyes pinned onto hyung to scour over the minute tells of his face with a feverishness. A hungering desperation.

To glean information from him.

Any. All. A scrap of it. A shred of it.

Anything he's willing to give, to offer up.

"I met her a couple of times before I realised who she was." And he had, hadn't he? At the medic bay. Right after her injury. Right after she'd gone. And left scuffed ice and blood on the rink.

A cold sense of horror washes over me, abrupt, plunges me into a brittle iciness. Twists the scene I'd seen, a glimpse of her laughing and skating morphing into a sharp piercing scream and the loud tumble of a body crashing into the ice. The horror flashes in front of my eyes, visceral and bloody. It sends my heart lurching at the possibility that my mind conjures up.

"Is she okay?" voice betraying me, a faint tremor to it. But my mind twists with terror at the prospect.

"What? Yeah...yeah, she's okay Jimin-ah. She's not injured."

Concerned eyes flitting to me finally, a softness in hyung's voice that in turn softens every feature of his face into something knowing...something that's painful to look at. To be confronted with, even if it's truth rings through me, loud and dissonant.

"She was getting a massage, she's not injured... she's been practicing hard for the competitions."

Hands kneading at her calves, groaning softly in contentment, sinking back against the sheets when my hands replace hers, a lazy relieved bliss shining in her eyes and gratitude curling her mouth into something soft.

The memory flashes through my mind and then fades, melts into the darkness of the street as I keep pace with Yoongi.

"I didn't-- she's always worked herself too hard."

"We're all guilty of it. We're all trying to be the best." Yoongi hyung shrugs, face half-shadowed with something achier, something that resonates with (Y/N) on a personal level. Knowing full well the cost of it all, the cost of perfection, of pushing a body past its limits.

He knows.

And he understands her on a level, in a way that I won't.

"And... what... what did you talk about?" I hedge carefully even though every part of me aches to know how she's doing, how she's been, how practice has been going, how prep for the competitions is. A hollowed-out cavern of space where for a while... for a while it'd felt full, full in a way I hadn't known it'd needed to be until there's a noticeable emptiness in its wake.

"Sports. Checked in on her...she's— she's in a better headspace now. She's doing well. Really well." and the exhaled smile, the upturn of his mouth that softens the line of his lips, a flash of gums. Eyes softer.

Proud of her.

Supportive of her.

A kindred spirit in her, an echo of understanding for her, a quiet empathy that's... that's melded into something protective and caring.

And the ache makes my chest feel tight, the longing strikes so deeply that it in each thudding heartbeat, the pain only seems to grow, clawing its way across my lungs and throat.

Swallowing down the misery to dredge a wobbling smile up to my lips.

Happy for her but... but reminded of that emptiness so vividly. Reminded that if an aching nothingness sat in the depth of my chest, that space that'd been hers—I'd torn it out.

But that didn't mean her life was left with the same gaping bereft void.

She'd filled that space and patched up the ugliness of it all with support and strength.

She was building herself back up.

And bits of me are crumbling off bit by bit.

"I'm glad. I'm really glad of that hyung."

But he sees through me, sees through the words, sees that despite it all, despite being the one to ruin it all... a selfish ugly part of me aches for her presence so much that the mention of her tears open the jagged gaping wounds I'd inflicted on myself, on the both of us.

"I think she's giving herself the time and space to figure herself out. To build herself back up again as a skater... I think sometimes we can all do with taking a step back before taking steps forward again."

His apartment block grows closer and despite the softness in his words, despite their quietness, they carry over the cold and bitter wind. Eyes settling on me briefly.

Bolstering and encouraging and prompting in a way I didn't know quiet eyes could push.

And I realise it wasn't just to meet (Y/N) he'd turned up to campus. He'd wanted to get the message across, the comfort and solace in his words, the support there and quietly waiting for me.

Give yourself time to be in a better place and then talk to her.

As if Yoongi hyung had figured that just the two of us would make for a better conversation, would allow the privacy to let the pain seep back into my chest, ugly gashed wound re-tearing itself back open. Anguish and misery where there's only emptiness, where she's not there anymore.

Hyung's comfort is soothing, grounding. It's protective and gentle. A hyung looking out for his dongsaengs.

(Y/N)'s comfort had been knowing, understanding. It'd been staring at the same overworked, worn out pieces of myself on the other side of the same coin. It'd been the feeling of being known and seen and understood without having to say and share what the cost of perfection was, why it was more than just competitiveness and a need to win... because she saw, she witnessed, she knew.

And her comfort's gone.

And hyung tries to soothe the weeping ugly mess left, tries to be a balm to a wound I'd self-inflicted and that by letting time stretch by, as she'd wanted, as she'd wanted, as she'd wanted, as I'd let it, as I'd let it pass by... there's nothing I can do but try let time scab over the ache, try to let it distract me.

Hyung pulls open the door to the apartment building, warmth seeping into skin, worming its way past clothes to try burrow into my limbs, spine loosening a fraction at the familiarity, at the comfort, at the safeness.

And I let my lips word the fear I've had. Let it hover between us.

"I think I've lost it all hyung."

I've lost her.

"If you've lost it... you're telling me you won't try find it?"

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

It yanks my steps to drift off course to be pulled instead into the orbit of the heavy loud thumping of a beat that feels like it shakes the rink, makes the ice tremble with its volume and force and strength.

I know before I've stepped through the rink doors that the music commandeers the space, my senses without care. That it pulls me further and deeper into the rink, moving down the steps, following the heavy booming pulse of the music knowing full well that that's not what I'm here for, I'm done practicing...I'm done practicing... go, leave, go, go—but my steps follow a pull that seems to push my feet in a direction that strays from the one I'd intended to take.

Moving towards the music rather than away from it.

I know before I've stepped into the rink what's on the other side. As if some part of me recognises the heavy pull of loud music spilling out from the slithers of space between the shut doors, as if some part of me feels a flash of déjà vu, moving towards the sound. Hoping somehow that what's on the other side of it is what I want it to be.

I know before I've pulled the door to the rink open that I already know I won't be able to pull myself away, won't be able to bring myself to turn. Not when a tight, twisting painful ache thumps heavy and pleadingly behind my ribs. Hammers there with a hurting need to be confronted with the sight that haunts me every sleeping moment.

I know who I'm being tugged to, I know who my eyes are searching out before they even land on her.

I know that at the centre of this orbit, of this force that yanks me nearer to the sight of her... I know her pull is inescapable and that I've long since stopped fighting it. That I'd been losing the fight to it for some time yet.

I hear her presence, feel it thick in the air, charged and heavy, a hypnotic drag that pulls my steps one after the other, pulled nearer towards the ice. To the figure carving it up, scouring out chunks of ice in all of her intensity.

The weight behind my ribs feels leaden, feels like it drags me downwards, feels like my legs will crumble and fall weak, as if I don't have enough will to keep myself upright because the sight of her rattles me right down to my bones.

A wild frantic energy thrums in the air, electric and thick.

And commanding the ice, tearing it apart with sharp movements, body rippling with the movements and limbs jagged and harsh angles, carving her place onto the ice and scouring at it, sharp chunks of ice torn by the dragging cuts of her blade is (Y/N).

Wilder, fiercer, sharper than I've ever seen her.

My body aches, throbs with the pangs of a failed, long-drawn-out practice. Muscles and limbs ache, weary and the exhaustion had been a bone-deep tiredness dragging every step away from the rink. And those same weary, worn-out limbs pulse with the loud, commanding intensity of the music, from the force of her movements.

Sweat dripping down her skin, eyes blazing with a wild inferno that seems to pour off her skin, makes her moves crackle, spark with embers as she twists, body rippling, sharp moves that nails every beat, hits every note with a flawless wild execution.

My body aches, throbs with hours of trying to hold onto a feeling of satisfaction, of feeling fulfilled and yet something molten and hot...hot enough it burns from the inside as it surges up looking at (Y/N)... looking at the way she stands, spine tall and body set, body stretching out across the ice, spinning across it in a sharp twist.

It's as (Y/N) lands, blade solid and unwavering on the ice. Body twisting upright, limbs curling in harsh curled lines that I'm struck by the force of her movements. By the sheer strength in them. Her movements, her dancing on the ice, a whirl of blades and ice, is bold, daring, defying. Her posture confident and strong and tall in a way that dominates the ice and seizes it for herself.

An air of untouchable power that radiates off her. A bold demand to watch, see, look at the strength, the unyielding force that she tears the ice up with.

Because when she looks at me, she condemns me. She looks at me with all the blaze of a fire that's reignited after crumbling to its last embers...she looks at me, an inferno that's been revived and fuelled again and claws its way back up, roaring and fiercer than it was before. She looks at me, as if she's fed off the pain and disgust, the anger and fury and forged an armour of icy flames, a burning heat so deep, so powerful it burns my skin cold to look at her and be reminded with the condemnation of her stare of what I threw away, of what I broke, and she built back up stronger.

Look at me, look at me, look at what you tried to do and look at what I became. Look at what you did and look how you couldn't break me. Look at me, look at me, look at me.

Her gaze demands it, the fiery fury in it dares me, goads me. Bores into me, scouring away at every layer with a sharp crackling rage for looking at her in the first place, for watching her, for seeing her skate with all the fiery-roaring pride of her growth, her celebration of who she is now.

(Y/N) stares at me with a vengeful blistering wrath for looking in the first place but I can't look away and her eyes dare me to even try, to try look away from the wild, raw energy that pours off her, from the bold twists and jumps, from the sharp spiralling twists, hand curling to grip at the sharpness of her blade. The air crackles and burns with the intensity of her performance, with the confidence that rolls off her, smile sharp and a wild baring of teeth, eyes glowing. The bared grin morphs into wild fizzing delight at the loud hollering cheers egging her on, the voice that seems to wrap its tendrils around her, seems to cling to every single movement and cloaks her, an armour of fire-engulfed steely will around the figure of ice.

She's fire and flames and heat. She demands every particle of air, every particle of space and commands it. Owns it.

And watching her skate, watching her dance and scour the drag of her blades into the ice, makes the air in my throat stick and catch there. Makes my lungs seize and tighten, air strangled out of them as I watch her perform. Every nerve cell feels set alight, a blazing heat that licks at skin and bone and swallows it whole with its roaring intensity.

There's a moment where in all that fire, that heat, that feeling of burning whole as I watch her, as I stand there—rooted to the sight of her body carving flames into the ice where her eyes snap onto mine. Where in the snap and twist of her hips and legs, the ripple of limbs as she straightens and—

And when her eyes snag onto mine, they don't drift or tear away. There's no flare of shock or surprise; the only flare of recognition is the way her gaze seems to harden.

The slither of breath in my lungs rattle. It's pulled out of me, lungs constricting tightly, a vice-like grip that squeezes and pushes the air from my throat in a rough exhale.

Throat closing tightly at the way she looks at me. Eyes boring into mine unflinchingly, unwaveringly, unyieldingly.

(Y/N) looks at me with proud fiery vindication.

You left me behind but look at me now.

I'm better without you.

I don't need you.

I grew past you. I grew to be more than you could ever dream to be now that you're gone from my life.

Look at how strong I am, look how strong I became once I left you behind.

Where she'd been smokes and shadows, where she'd vanished and gone from sight—now she consumes it. Now she overwhelms it. Floods my senses with the sight of her on the ice, fiercer and sharper than she's ever been. The set of her jaw is glacial but the fire burning in her eyes drowns me in its heat.

Where she'd been gone from sight—a phantom of mind and memory alone, she burns a trailblazing path all over it, scours into those memories of her with the sharp scraping drag of her blades cutting into skin.

Looking at her makes my limbs ache with a want to be closer, wanting nothing more than to be nearer, wanting to be beside her and yet they lock up. Remain imprisoned in the ire and venom of her stare. The damnation that screams look what you did to me, look what I became, look how you tried to tear me down and look how I clawed my way back up again.

Her eyes don't waver, her stance doesn't wobble, she doesn't stop or falter for an instant. She whirls, landing on the ice with the stretched lines and balance of a bird in flight, arms outstretched before she spins into a whirl of quick pirouetting turns that blur the sight of her but doesn't soften the crackling edges and angles. Doesn't hide the vitriol seeping off her.

"Let's fucking go (Y/N)!" A loud voice cheers, lungs alight with pride and amazement as the figure at the edge of the rink tilts forward, loud hollering whoops that melt the glacial stony-eyed fury into a breathless grin as her eyes finally tear from mine to move towards Jungkook.

A thousand tells in the way her body softens imperceptibly, and her hands stretch out in invite to the inked hand that reaches for hers, for a body that clambers onto the ice to grip her tight and strong, hold her to him—a whirled toss of airborne limbs and an exuberance that I watch from the outside looking in.

Her joy is a damnation.

It's a fuck you. It's a I'm happier now you're gone from my life.

And even though the cold shards driving wedges into my heart bleed blood and ice, I know looking at her, I deserve it all. And she deserves everything and more.

I lost her.

But I want nothing more than to undo it all. To find her again.

The miserable sound of something in my chest cracking rings in my ears, a stinging sharpness in my eyes, throat tight where the breath in it is still caught, still stuck.

Find her again. I want to find (Y/N) again.

I want nothing more than to find her again.

But in front of me, is a vision of her that's already moved on and moved past me.

She knows it.

And today she lets me know it too.

(AND JIMIN'S CRASHING AND BURNING AND MISSING HER AND QEIUGUBWEGWEGWE THERE'S SO MUCH TO COME BECAUSE WITH HER RISING GROWTH HE SEEMS TO BE STUMBLING AND YET WOEGWEIGBEWUGBWE YOU'VE NO IDEA WHAT'S NEXT AND HOW THE ANGST WILL BE ANGSTING.... OH THE PAIN THE PAIN!! NEXT UP IS *CENSORED* ISNT IT Midiiplier ENJOY AND LET ME KNOOOW~)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3