Work Text:
Cindy doesn't particularly like working at the ice rink. It's salt to the wound of giving up hockey this year, seeing all the people enjoy something she had to give up. However, it does give her something to do, distracts her from her overactive thoughts.
She's manning the skates counter with a coworker when they meet, taking shoe sizes and hauling skates to what seems like a neverending crowd. It's winter, mid-early-December to be exact, and so the ice rink is at its busiest.
"Size seven, please."
Cindy barely clocks in the young girl before her body's automatically moving, turning away and grabbing size seven skates, but the after image lingers. She's shorter than her, Asian— Korean Cindy's almost a hundred percent sure, and wearing one of those figure skating jackets. Sometimes it's hard to tell but she's almost certain this girl's a FOB, based on the general accent of her English, the way she wears her makeup, how she holds herself. Either way, she's definitely younger than her.
Yeah, as Cindy moves back to the counter, there's no denying it. Whoever this girl is, she's not from America: Fresh Off the Boat through and through. Cindy flashes her customer smile and notices that the girl looks terribly alone. There's no one else who seems to know her, and... Cindy's never seen that. Ever. Queens is big and there's lots of solo skaters, true, but if this girl's visiting there should be at least one family member or friend showing her around.
The girl stands aloof and murmurs thank you, but Cindy sees the slight tremor in her hands and the unsurety in her eyes, and she's a little sympathetic. It doesn't make sense — where's her family? Her older sister instinct is activated.
"Ya." Cindy calls out right as the girl turns to leave, letting her coworker greet the next few customers. She doesn't know why she does it, why she breaks the rule she's been keeping for months. The girl twists, probably surprised at the unexpected Korean (even if it's just a syllable the tone is completely different and distinct from the voices around them). Cindy tries to soften her words and enunciate, she has a tendency to slur her Korean when she speaks. "Are you alone?"
There's no other way to put it other than to say the girl seems surprised. Her mouth drops open slightly and she furtively looks around. "Ah..." she straightens and takes a step forward, replying formally. "Yes."
Cindy glances at her coworker for permission. Chris is a Cuban-American dude with ear piercings and the coolest tattoo on his shoulder. He's older than her and technically her superior. Luckily, he's nice so he waves her off to go help.
But help how, exactly? Call her parents? Tell her where to go? They're at a ice rink, it's pretty straightforward. Instead, she slides to the edge of the counter to get out of her coworker's way. The girl follows.
Cindy hesitates, feeling like this is a bit too direct. She asks anyways, "are you alright? Do you need anything?"
The girl squares her shoulders and Cindy catches something in her eyes that she didn't before: pure steel. She gazes at the rink almost longingly, then turns back and nods. Cindy knows that feeling all too well: the want to feel the biting chill on your face, the sound of skates cutting the ice, the adrenaline. She gets it.
"Okay." It's a deliberate choice to switch back to English. A concession of some sorts, understanding that in English there's no difference in the formalities they're speaking and acknowledgement of the girl's wishes. Actually, it's not that deep, it just feels weird to be spoken to formally. "Have fun."
The girl gives a grateful dip of the chin and walks away. Cindy goes back to renting out skates and realizes she never got a name.
"Thank you." The Korean word is spoken quietly, a mix between the formal and informal way. 고마워요. Cindy looks up to the last person to return their skates as the rink closes and sees the young girl from earlier in front of her.
She's rusty at the whole being social business, but she replies in English, "no problem," then she switches, a bit more at ease. Chris takes the skates from them. "Was it fun?"
It's not even a question. As Cindy was working the skate rental, she caught glimpses of the girl skating, lithe and smooth on the ice. She saw circles so clean and crisp they look easy, but Cindy knows better — those only come with practice. Her flow's good, really good. Too good to not be a figure skater. Most of all, Cindy saw her face at complete ease on the ice. The girl was lost in her own momentum, sweeping out and around people like she belonged. Ice wasn't a foreign country; ice was her home.
This time, the formality in her words drops completely. Her eyes become crescents and it's the most genuine smile Cindy has ever seen. She emphasizes the single syllable like a little kid who wants something. There's the steel Cindy saw earlier wrapped in the word, a steady burning flame of determination. "응." Yeah.
Cindy grins back, switching to English and back to Korean again. "I'm glad. What's your name?"
"Seol Hee."
For a moment, Cindy panics. She never tells people her Korean name, and she doesn't want to start now. Back to English it is. "I'm Cindy — Moon Cindy. Nice to meet you, did you move here recently?"
It's nice to have a name for the girl. Seol Hee shakes her head. "I'm visiting, skate camp."
Right, Cindy remembers her manager telling them something about that. "Cool, for how long?"
Seol Hee frowns, and it's an expression Cindy immediately understands. She has the same expression every time she has to count the months on her hand to tell her mom the date in Korean. She starts, tilting her head, "twe—" and then falls back to her comfort zone. "Twenty one days."
"Ah, I see," Cindy tries to look reassuring and matches her. "I hope you enjoy your stay." Chris calls her. "Sorry, but I have to go help close up."
Seol Hee nods and they say their goodbyes. She walks out the door with a bounce in her step, and Cindy's happy to have put it there. She should've stayed away, she knows, but there was something so familiar about Seol Hee standing alone in a sea of people — something achingly personal. At least her isolation is self-wrought, Seol Hee's isn't.
Chris whistles for her attention and Cindy heads to the backroom to finish closing up.
She's back. Cindy's not necessarily surprised about this, she took one look at Seol Hee skating the last time and knew the girl wouldn't stay away for long. With some people, you just know.
This ice rink is bigger than the one she used to play hockey in, situated in the middle of Queens rather than the outskirts. Partly the reason Cindy applied to work here is the benefit of not seeing faces she knows, a constant struggle at her old one as a result of growing up in it. She couldn't stay away either.
Seol Hee brought a black bag this time, and Cindy's unsurprised about that too. Of course Seol Hee has her own equipment. The bag reminds her of her own hockey bag and Cindy can suddenly, vividly, see it wasting away in the corner of her closet.
Cindy receives another set of skates to put up and she does. When she's back at the counter, she sees Seol Hee watching her. There's a small, shy, wave and Cindy waves back. Seol Hee's shoulders lower and she goes back to lacing up her worn skates.
Her closet door opens with a quiet click and Cindy peers in. She grabs her clothes and starts to go, but something makes her pause. In the corner is her hockey bag and stick gathering dust. It's dark and barely visible with the closet light not turned on but she knows it's there. She feels its presence every time she goes in.
She stares at it for a beat longer before she turns her back to it. Her doorknob becomes covered with white strands. She leaves.
The rink is loud and boisterous during the open skate sessions, and Cindy's glad for it. Zipping around on the ice helping people up and giving pointers is a great distraction from how much she misses hockey. The figure skates she's wearing aren't quite the same as hockey skates; when she first started the job, she was stopping all wrong. Cindy tripped a lot at first.
Sometimes she considers bringing in her hockey skates to wear instead of the provided ones, but she never goes through with it.
She helps a little kid up and advises middle schoolers to go a bit slower, weaving through the crowd with her head high. There's nothing much to sessions like these, you can really just treat it as a free skating session. It's probably Cindy's favorite part of working here.
Seol Hee's here again, she's taking up the center circle, making tight, perfect circles, while balancing on one leg. She's in her own world, leaving behind a sharp trail on the previously clear ice, an ear bud in one ear.
Whenever Cindy goes inside centre ice, crossing one of the two blue lines on either side marking the border, she's close enough to see the lines of concentration on Seol Hee's face. Her hair whips around whenever she spins or jumps, long black strands of hair longer than Cindy's own.
Towards the last thirty minutes of open skate, Cindy's near the circle as she reaches to steady a boy who seems a bit younger than her. The boy says his thanks as Cindy warns him to go slower and skates away. As he does, Seol Hee skates towards her.
"Oh, hey." Cindy greets her, noting her pink cheeks from the cold and windswept hair.
"Hi," Seol Hee beams. "How are you?"
"Good, good." A nod to the younger girl, as if to convince herself as she scans the rink. No trouble at the moment. "You?"
"Yes! Camp starts soon."
"Oh yeah, right. We got the schedule for that today, seems like fun."
"I'm really thankful for this opportunity," Seol Hee nods. There's something in her eyes Cindy can't place, like there's a catch to being here. Cindy knows all about those. "The teachers are really nice."
"That's good, did you come here alone?"
"Yeah, my grandma couldn't make it." Seol Hee shrugs. "And it was expensive as it was."
Cindy nods. The airplane tickets alone are brutal. She hopes Seol Hee has been provided a good place to stay. "I bet. Have you enjoyed New York so far?"
"It's very different from Seoul." Seol Hee tilts her head and Cindy laughs. That much is an understatement. "And not much. Central Park was nice though."
They fall into conversation, as the people on the rink start heading to the exits. Open skate is closing, but Cindy has to go pick up the cones and stick them in storage. Seol Hee waits for her, playing with the strap on her duffel bag as Cindy first puts the cones away then exchanges her skates for shoes.
"Want to go for some ice cream?" They're stepping out into the city, and it seems that Seol Hee's taken off guard. Cindy continues, "I'll pay, think of it as a late welcome celebration to America."
Ice cream tastes so much better after skating, it's a well known fact. Something about being trapped in a freezer before eating a frozen dessert makes the whole thing sweeter. Cindy knows she'll get in trouble for coming home late, knows that even though she broke the rule of reaching out, this is so much worse. Yeah casual conversation isn't bad, but actively making a new friend?
Cindy doesn't want to think about it.
She tamps down her anxiety and reassures herself with the fact that she'll never see Seol Hee again after this month.
Cindy's manning the skate rental again when Albert and his friends walk in. They aren't anyone she recognizes and Albert only spares her a look when he gets his skates. A look that says it all: pretend you don't know me.
The offer to tie his skates dies in her throat when Albert pivots and walks away. He completely ignores her, chattering away with a laugh Cindy hasn't seen at home since... yeah.
Shaking herself, she plasters on her customer service face for the next person and continues her job. In the back of her mind, she wonders if their parents dropped Albert and his friends off here to try and patch things up before Cindy has to go. If they did, it didn't work.
She catches Seol Hee looking at her and gives a watery smile. The figure skater looks concerned, but there's not much she can do while she's at skate camp. It started a few days ago and half the rink is dedicated to the camp whenever open skate is available. Seol Hee's in one of the player benches, watching her instead of the instructor. Cindy points at the instructor and Seol Hee turns away. She kind of wishes she didn't.
Albert pretends that he doesn't know her the whole time and Cindy pretends she's not dying inside. It's alright. It's been this way for a while.
"My brother." Cindy tells her after the camp. "He doesn't really like me right now." That sounds much better than my little brother is currently terrified of me.
"But you're so nice!" Seol Hee exclaims, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. They're sitting on the skate rental counter, it's after hours, and Seol Hee's waiting for everyone to get out of the lockers so the camp bus can take them back. Cindy's waiting for them to go so she and Chris can close up.
Cindy struggles to shrug. "Puberty."
Seol Hee giggles and Cindy basks in the sound, momentarily forgetting the pain of everything. Her fingers flex, become sticky, and Cindy clenches them into fists. "I gotta go." The next words of her excuse stumble out over one another. "Help Chris and all."
She runs.
The stick is lighter than she remembers it being. She handles it like it's fragile, forgetting for a moment it's carbon fiber and made to last. Everything she handles is fragile anyways.
Slowly, she places it on the ground, like how she would when she started drills. Left hand on top and above the stick — never underneath, right hand on bottom.
Imagining a puck in front of her, she starts doing figure eights with her stick. She goes slow, in control. She grips the handle till her knuckles go white. Control it, control.
The stick splinters.
"I used to do hockey," Cindy confesses. It's halfway through the skate camp. They went out for ice cream again.
"Really?" Seol Hee perks up, visibly interested. There's something about her that's charismatic, this kind of born energy that's expressed in every part of her body.
"Yeah." Cindy focuses on her ice cream, strawberry flavored. "I quit months ago."
"Why?"
Cindy freezes. Maybe she shouldn't have talked about this after all. "I couldn't," she says vaguely. "Too much on my plate."
Seol Hee nods like she understands. "Me too, after this."
"What?" Cindy's voice goes high, surprise overtaking her melancholy. "You're quitting?"
There's a moment of silence as Seol Hee mulls over her next words. She brings her spoon to her mouth. Her voice goes quiet. "Yeah."
"Why?" Cindy's mad now. "You love figure skating, don't you?"
"Of course!" Seol Hee makes a face at the thought of not loving the ice. "But it's already too late for me to be competitive." She waves her hand. "I don't want to compete; I just want to have fun."
"Oh." Cindy says, somewhat bitterly. She tries to fix her tone, tries to hide what she would give to be able to compete in hockey again. "That makes sense."
"Plus, money." Seol Hee's nose wrinkles and Cindy suddenly understands a lot more. Figure skating is expensive — salary inconsistent too — and she's noticed before: how Seol Hee's skates are well worn, how her jacket is a size too big and her duffel bag has holes. Seol Hee lives with her grandma and takes free skating lessons from an uncle. It's not hard to connect the dots.
"I hope you make the most of it then." Cindy says instead, giving a wry smile. "Make good memories and all that." She doesn't know if she should be giving that advice when she's not taking it herself.
"I hope so too. Then I can focus on school." Seol Hee's lips quirk down and Cindy gets the feeling that it's not the whole truth. Her own secret stirs inside.
Christmas comes and goes without fanfare. Cindy celebrates it by spending all her time at the ice rink. Seol Hee does the same.
Maybe she became friends with Seol Hee because there's an expiration date.
The weight of her hockey bag feels both foreign and like home at the same time. Cindy gulps nervously and drops it onto the bench before unzipping it. Her hockey skates are nestled in it along with her mouthguard, helmet, and other equipment. She stares at it, unmoving.
Seol Hee comes up behind her and looks down curiously. Camp ended yesterday and she leaves tomorrow. Cindy took the day off for that reason, this will be their last skate together. "Are they yours?" Her English has improved significantly in the last month. So has Cindy's Korean.
"Yeah. Cool right?" Cindy attempts a smile and lifts her skates out of the bag.
"There's no toe picks," Seol Hee comments. She sits down and pulls the skate she hasn't put on to her lap, studying the construction of it and comparing it to Cindy's hockey skates. "And it's uglier."
"Hey!"
Cindy sits down next to her to put them on. It shouldn't be a surprise — her feet haven't changed in the last four months, unlike the rest of her — but she's astonished that they still fit perfectly anyways.
Seol Hee transitions from concrete to ice like she's gracefully stepping into a new world, unlike everyone else who wobbles around like baby deer. Cindy comes onto the ice with the skates she belongs in and grabs onto the wall, having gotten so used to figure skates in the last some amount of months. She feels the wall creak under her grip, takes a deep breath, and lets go.
After, they go for their tradition of ice cream. Seol Hee straightens abruptly in the middle of devouring hers. She looks at Cindy straight on. "You've been avoiding your family."
"Huh?"
"Your family." Seol Hee repeats. "Why?"
Cindy stares down at her cookies and cream. She remembers talking about Albert, the brief, tense mentions of her family Seol Hee definitely picked up on. It's easier this way, she wants to say, but that wouldn't make sense to Seol Hee who doesn't know what'll happen come the end of the school year. "It's a long story."
One thing about Seol Hee is that she doesn't pry. She simply says, "I hope you make the most of it."
Her hockey bag burns into her side. She remembers the freedom of skating, the biting chill and the wind in her face. And she, for the first time this school year, gets it. Huh, she really should take her own advice.
She's the one grateful this time. "I hope so too."
"I mean, is this the best way to spend some of your last moments outside? Skating with your old man?"
"There's not going to be an ice rink in the bunker, dad... and there's definitely not going to be you in there."
"Hey, Albie."
Albert stills. Cindy hasn't called him by that nickname in a long time. He turns around, peering up at her warily. "Yeah?"
Cindy bends down to reach his level. She holds out a scrap of fabric, a peace offering. It's obviously made of her webs: long, thick, white strands clumsily woven together. The edges are frayed, some strands knotted awkwardly, but Cindy's proud of it. She's never made anything with her curse before, only destroyed. And for a split second she entertains the idea of being able to make actual clothes just from her webs.
His curiosity overtakes his fear. "What's this?"
"I made it." She whispers conspiratorially.
Albert's eyes go moon-like in wonder. It's been so long since Cindy's seen that expression that she almost starts tearing up. "You did?!"
"I'll make a better one when I get out," Cindy promises -- she hates how frail the words are on her tongue. Empty promises won't do a nine-year-old any good, but she can't bear the thought of telling him they won't ever see each other again. "Okay?"
He clutches the makeshift handkerchief tightly and his brows draw inwards, not needing to point out that the deadline draws closer each passing day. They've already pushed it back as far as they could. "Okay."
Cindy steps onto the ice for the first time since her escape for a stakeout. As soon as she does, the constant voice in her mind quiets. It's like learning to skate all over again, except that her body still remembers the years of constant hockey practice. She's reminded of a girl named Seol Hee and wonders how she's doing.
"By the way, I saw you at MSG during your "Cool" world tour and you were amazing!"
"Oh, wow. Thank you."
"Oh, you're weL—LLLLCOME!"
Cindy supports Luna Snow by wrapping an arm around her waist and tries not to freak out. If the freaking out is because she's right next to an international superstar who's really hot or because the world is about to go up in flames, she doesn't know.
Something about Luna Snow seems so familiar now that she met her in person. She just can't put a finger on what and those musings are promptly forgotten about when the new heroes attack them.
A gust of wind tears through them and Cindy's instinct takes over. She shields Luna Snow with her body, pulling in Crescent too. Luna Snow's a bit taller, but Cindy's able to buffer most of it, sandwiching Crescent between them in the process. She waits a second after the attack to release Crescent and adjusts so that she's back to Luna Snow's side instead of in front.
Luna Snow's staring at her in shock and Cindy ducks her head. A thank you would be nice, but seeing as they're all heroes — maybe they're offended. The idol opens her mouth, but the big fire goddess lady starts talking and they both turn to pay attention.
When Cindy pulls down her mask after they get inside the Atlas headquarters, Luna Snow's eyes widen. Cindy doesn't notice it though, too busy searching for a place to set Luna Snow down.
"You rest now," she murmurs and steps away. She feels eyes on her but doesn't let that distract her from scanning the room. Maybe she took off her mask prematurely, everyone now knows what she looks like. She starts towards Amadeus.
"This is bad, isn't it?"
Cindy stops in her tracks at the question. Crescent's young, too young, and she doesn't sound like a hero right now — she sounds like a kid. It's hard to look at Crescent and not see Albert from before she went into the bunker. She never pretended everything was okay to Albert before, she doesn't see a reason to start now with Crescent. "Yeah, I think so."
They're the only ones at headquarters right now. Most of the non-Korean heros have left for their own homes after Sindr and the ones that stayed are at different events. Cindy's surprised that Luna Snow's still here instead of with her group members.
Cindy, by now, has had this inkling for a while. The white hair and blue eye have thrown her off, but Cindy's photographic memory can't forget Seol Hee. The resemblance is almost uncanny, despite the new eyes and hair. Still, it seems almost impossible that the young girl from years ago is now world famous. And insanely pretty. And Cindy really shouldn't be thinking these kinds of things about a coworker.
Even back then Seol Hee had the energy of a star.
"Hey Luna." Cindy greets her, hanging from the ceiling.
Luna Snow jumps, turns, relaxes. A soft, shy smile appears on her face. It's the same smile even after all those years. "Silk."
There's familiarity in those eyes, and Cindy's almost a hundred percent sure Luna Snow has connected the dots before she did. Although she calls her Silk, the K-Pop star knows her full name since she had to share it in order to visit her entertainment company's building.
"Small world, eh?" She asks casually.
"Very."
"It's been a while, Seol Hee."
"Everyone calls me Seol now." Seol Hee grins and Cindy lands on the floor to properly hug her. They linger in the hug, both out of uniform, and Cindy suddenly finds it hard to breathe. Seol Hee runs cold, but it's not bad, it's actually really comfortable. Her arms wrap around tighter, not wanting to let go.
Cindy doesn't know who breaks the hug, she just knows that the next moment they're staring into each other's eyes, Seol Hee holds her at arm's-length. "Tell me everything," Seol breathes, and Cindy's all too aware of how much taller she's grown.
Something must be in the air, it feels electric, charged with an energy Cindy can't place. Seol Hee's eyes are sparkling and there's something like poorly disguised interest in them. Butterflies flutter into her stomach at the mix of familiarity and newness meeting Luna Snow brings. There's that steel in her gaze she never lost layered with a new deadly confidence Cindy finds ridiculously attractive.
Either way, whatever the future brings, that's a thing for future-Cin to worry about. She covers Seol's hands with her own and gets lost in stunning eyes, round nose, pink lips.
In the distance she hears the sound of metal blades on ice, cold hands on warm cheeks, some sort of freedom akin to flight. And maybe she doesn't get it immediately like all the other times, but she will.
Her face is burning. "Wanna go ice skating?"