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“Something’s just off with it today,” Hwanwoong said as he studied the patterns left on the ice left by countless attempts at the jump he’d been practising all morning. “I think I just need to drill the transitions into it some more and then-”
“Woong, you’ve been jumping Axel’s for the past 45 minutes. Give yourself a break. It’s not like you need it for next week’s competition.” Seoho said, leaning back against the boards as he watched the smaller man marking out the jump’s rotation on the ice.
“I am perfectly aware of that, Lee Seoho,” Hwanwoong sighed as he extended his leg out in an arabesque, feeling out his landing posture. “I’d just like to land it once at a competition on home ice before I have to try it out anywhere else! Sue me.”
“Well then don’t blame me when you inevitably injure yourself from overtraining, dummy.” He said as he watched the smaller man still fixated on the surface beneath him. “Come on Woong, we all have our off days. Give yourself a break.”
Hwanwoong sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the older man, his face shining with sweat despite the chill of the rink.
“We’re not leaving until I land this, just to be clear.” He gave his ultimatum as he launched off across the ice, generating speed as he ran through his steps leading up to the jump.
Seoho could see it coming before it happened. Gliding back on his right foot, looking over his shoulder, arms outstretched - Hwanwoong was ready.
But just the slightest moment of hesitation seemed to flicker in his motions, and that was that. He landed barely a few inches back from where he started, flat on his ass and decidedly butthurt in more ways than one.
Seoho skated over casually, reaching out his arm to help his poor friend up.
“Now will you give it a rest? Or have you decided you actually don’t need your lower body working properly in order to skate next week?”
Hwanwoong rolled his eyes, begrudgingly accepting Seoho’s gesture as he got up from the ice.
“Fine. But I’m not letting you off the hook, hyung. Now it’s your turn to flop.” He said with a mischievous grin as he skated over to the boards where Seoho’s phone was hooked directly into the rink’s sound system.
Yeo Hwanwoong and Lee Seoho had an easy-going friendship, even if their constant bickering suggested otherwise. While Seoho had begun figure skating in his teenage years, far too old to think about competing in a sport dominated mostly by people practically half his age, Hwanwoong had taken to the ice and run - or more accurately, skated - with it in his childhood.
He easily picked up medals in his junior years, known for his incredibly flexible spin positions as well as his captivating performance quality. Now, as a university student, he didn’t have as much time to devote himself as wholly to his sport as he might have liked, but that didn’t stop the bleary early mornings and dark sleepless nights drilling jump after jump while his coaches or friends looked on.
Seoho, on the other hand, started at a significant disadvantage by being such a relatively late beginner. Coupled with being taller than average for most men in the sport and certain injuries from other childhood endeavours leaving him somewhat inflexible, his determination to continue through the pain never faded, even though his frustration with his own body seemingly fought against him at every turn.
Both fell into an easy, trusted friendship with one another as a by-product of too many hours spent in the same sessions on the ice, eventually even attending the same university for different majors - Seoho for Physics and Hwanwoong for Dance.
When one of them struggled, it seemed that the other wouldn’t be far behind to lend a hand - even if they had something snarky to say to one another along the way.
Their rink, located inside their university campus, was where Seoho spent practically all of his time outside of class - either working part-time or skating himself - while Hwanwoong made some cash on the side by choreographing programs for other skaters.
And when Hwanwoong, who had practically bribed him into unlocking the rink for some extra early morning practices unobstructed by the general public in exchange for choreographing his next gala program for free, Seoho couldn’t refuse.
“Come on, hyung, you’re not lifting your leg up high enough. It’s ruining your lines!” Hwanwoong shouted over the music as Seoho completed his spiral across the rink, the music swelling with his movements.
The piece he was working on was for an exhibition later in the month, a classical piece with a grand finish that included many choreographic elements that Seoho had never dared to attempt prior. Hwanwoong was a talented choreographer, yes, but his creations were anything but easy.
Finishing the program with his arms aloft, the music came to a halt as Seoho panted from exertion, moving to rub his lower back to alleviate some of the tenderness incurred from his final spin.
“I think it’s really coming together!” Woong exclaimed as Seoho skated over, the choreographer already scrolling through the footage of the program he had just filmed. “A few notes, when you exit the double Lutz here, you need to be more careful about how much room you’re leaving between yourself and the boards because-”
“Hwanwoong! Seoho-hyung!”
A frantic voice from the opposite end of the rink called out to them.
Lee Keonhee, stood in an oversized padded coat, his face bright red as he gesticulated wildly in the air trying to catch their collective attention.
“Keonhee, what’s wrong?” Seoho asked, his voice easily carrying across the empty rink. He looked at the clock above the rink displaying 7:58am in bright red LEDs. “I thought your shift didn’t start until 9 o’clock?”
“It doesn’t, but that’s not why I’m here. I knew you and Woong would be here practising, but I got word from Yonghoon-hyung that-”
Keonhee was interrupted by the rumbling voices of a large swath of men dressed in bright red and white uniforms emerging from the doors leading to the car park - skates, sticks, and protective equipment in hand.
Hwanwoong let out an annoyed sigh, slapping the boards lightly with his hand in frustration. “Of course, they have to show up...”
One man led the pack, his short black hair neatly framing his angular face and his already impressively wide shoulders made broader still by his gear. He was carrying a stick in one hand and a small whiteboard in the other, marked with the positions of different players on the ice. Seoho, begrudgingly, recognised him immediately.
“Yonghoon-hyung said that the ice wasn’t booked this morning, so we were free to have it.” Kim Geonhak, captain of their university’s prestigious hockey team bellowed out to them, his low voice echoing across the surface of the ice.
He strikes his stick against the boards for dramatic effect, the sound ringing out across the ice as if it were lightning, both of the figure skaters flinching slightly at the gesture.
“But that’s not the case, I suppose, if you two are here?” Geonhak smirks as he stares directly at the pair already on the rink.
Seoho gives him a cold, unfriendly smile in return.
“No, it’s fine. We were just leaving.” He said, unplugging his phone from the speakers and shoving it hastily in his pocket. “Let’s go, Woong.”
“But hyung, we didn’t finish going over-” He argued as Seoho began to skate away towards the exit.
“It’s okay, Woong,” Seoho said, back turned towards the crowd of players behind him as they sat on the benches lacing up their skates, his voice deliberately loud enough for others to conveniently overhear. “The team clearly needs to work harder, if they’re up so early for practice on a weekday. We should give them all the help they can get.”
He heard a soft noise of annoyance from Geonhak behind him, Seoho’s mouth curling up at the corner at the thought that his comment got through the seemingly thick skull of the other man.
Grinding to a halt, Seoho and Hwanwoong both stepped off the ice, the younger taking a second to brush the excess snow off the sides of his blades before snapping his guards into place.
Seoho, on the other hand, walked straight through the barriers’ exit, conveniently bumping into Geonhak’s shoulder on his way out and knocking over his stick as he did so.
The hockey player rolled his eyes as he knelt down to retrieve it, a smirk playing upon Seoho’s face as he looked down upon him, his dark hair casting a wicked shadow across his features.
“Sorry, my bad.” He said, voice laced with insincerity as he gestured to his own skates. “It’s a bit hard to walk in these.”
For a fleeting second, Geonhak glared up at him from his position crouched on the ground, already small lips pressed together into a tight line of obvious annoyance before his neutral expression returned.
“You’d think figure skaters would be more coordinated.” Curt and rough, he walked past the both of them to enter the rink, his hockey skates seemingly grinding the ice beneath him in frustration. “Alright team, let’s get started with warm-up! Come on!”
The other players hurriedly took to the ice as Hwanwoong closed the rinkside door, handing Seoho his bright orange blade guards as he tried to smile at the older man, whose expression was somewhere in the range of offended to furious.
“You know you’re only going to make your life more miserable if you keep acting like that, Seoho.” He said as Seoho clipped the guards on his blades, Keonhee walking over to join the two of them, his nose already running from the cold.
“Why should I? It’s not as if he ever extended me that courtesy.” Seoho replied, flicking the excess water off of his hands.
“Hyung, a reminder that he works here too. You’re unfortunately guaranteed to continually run into each other. Why the baseless aggression?” Keonhee asked as the three of them walked into the locker room together, Seoho and Hwanwoong’s bags stashed in a corner amongst a sea of red and white paraphernalia.
“Baseless, my ass.” He gestures to the mess left behind by the team out on the ice. “Those boneheads practically think they own the place. They leave everything a sweaty, gross mess and constantly ruin the ice with their stupid hockey skates - and Yonghoon-hyung always gives them special treatment for ice time just because his bandmates happen to be on the team!”
“That’s not true, hyung, there’s enough ice time for everyone-” Keonhee tries to argue but Seoho is, unfortunately, on a roll.
“And every time I seem to run into that stupid captain of theirs, Kim Geonhak, he always acts all high and mighty!” Seoho practically seethes as he looks towards said champion's mess of personal belongings and workout equipment sticking out of his university-branded backpack at strange angles.
“Just because they won a singular championship doesn’t mean they own the place. I mean, god, they spent plenty of years doing so poorly that practically no one gave a shit about-”
“Seoho, that’s enough.” Hwanwoong snaps. Seoho falls silent, his train of thought screeching to a halt. The smaller man sighs defeatedly, pulling his messy blond hair out of the beanie it was stuffed into for practice, as he walks over to his skate bag.
“Look, you know that I’m not particularly fond of them either, but there’s no use starting fights without a real cause, right?” Hwanwoong begins to unlace his skates, sighing defeatedly. “Like it or not, they do have clout in this instance. It’s not like our rink is churning out championship-winning figure skaters or anything right now...”
It’s the subtlest of movements, but Seoho’s eyes are sharp enough to see the way in which Hwanwoong tentatively removes his right foot from his boot, careful to not move it more than it needs to.
“Besides, we did sneak in here, I suppose.” A small, tired smile forms upon the smaller man's face as he takes off his other boot, gesturing to the other skater to do the same. “Not our fault we practically live in this place, huh?”
Seoho’s expression evening out, the pinching of his eyebrows relaxing, he begins untying his skates alongside Hwanwoong in silence. The blonde smirked all of a sudden, turning to elbow Seoho sharply in the side.
“What do you think would happen if we hid just one of those?” Hwanwoong gestures to a set of heavy looking dumbbells in the corner of the room. “Do you think Geonhak would mind?”
Seoho smiled wickedly at his co-conspirator.
Out on the ice, Kim Geonhak turned his head as he heard the choked, snorted laughter of Keonhee carrying even through the closed locker room door.
It’s not like Seoho wanted to fall into that seemingly stereotypical rivalry that most believed existed between hockey players and figure skaters. It just seemed to happen naturally.
Going from basketball to soccer to figure skating was certainly an interesting decision, one that his parents supported him through unwaveringly.
But the egos of teenage boys obsessed with trying to act as tough as possible meant that Seoho had endured every possible sneer in the book by the age of 25.
That figure skating was a girl’s sport. That he was too feminine for doing it. That if he were to play games on the ice, he should pick the more manly option. The one with violence and blood, not hairspray and sparkles.
To Seoho, this couldn’t be further from the truth.
Figure skating, to him, was beautiful. Works of art out on the ice for all to see, for anyone to enjoy and participate in no matter who you were or where you came from.
It bridged the gap between sport, which he always had an affinity for since he was young, and performance, the inner artist within himself springing free enthusiastically at the opportunity to be let loose.
The comments, the judgments, the reactions - of course, they still hurt. But he was doing what he loved, so why should he care what other people think?
Especially those hockey players, who would often watch the figure skaters practice while waiting for their turn on the ice. Sneering and laughing whenever someone would fall or imitating their choreography or posing overdramatically to the testosterone-filled laughter of their teammates.
On more than one occasion, he had seen Geonhak sitting by the rink, laughing at his friends imitating Seoho’s choreography with the clear intent to mock. His eyes turned crescent-shaped as he threw his head back in reckless amusement.
Yes, Seoho hated hockey players.
Unfortunately, his job made them rather difficult to avoid.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, not even trying to disguise the annoyance in his tone.
Geonhak stood by the entrance to the ice with a clipboard in hand, a small group of children waiting to go on with helmets, elbow, and knee pads already equipped. His uniform of a bright blue long-sleeved polo shirt emblazoned with the rink’s logo and black pants was identical to Seoho’s, with the exception of the chunky red and white hockey skates adorning his feet, in contrast to Seoho’s sleek black leather figure skates.
“Dongmyeong’s sick, so I’m covering for him. He usually teaches the beginners with you today, right?” Geonhak said, not even bothering to look up from his clipboard.
Weekends meant parents throwing their screaming children in the car, dragging them out of the house into a freezing cold building to be taught how to fall the right way, while they grabbed coffee with their friends at the comfortably heated in-rink cafe.
Weekends meant countless directionally challenged people making it their personal goal in life to crash into and swerve violently around as many people as possible, causing havoc wherever they went.
Weekends meant the ice getting so torn up before resurfacing every hour and a half that you could practically make snow cones out of it.
Seoho did not care for weekends.
Nor did he care for the man he seemingly had to put up with during one.
“Fine,” He said, begrudgingly, as there was nothing he could do about the present situation. “Have you ever taught these lessons before?”
“No, but I can’t imagine it’s hard.” Geonhak laughs as he finally tears his eyes away from the clipboard to look at Seoho directly, the passive aggression clear as day across his face. “Plus I think we both know that I could skate circles around you if I tried.”
Seoho lets out a stilted laugh, his hands resting on his hips as he glances around in his peripheral vision, unable to look at the man in front of him for much longer lest he do something he might later come to regret.
“Right, coming from the guy whose stick probably has more of a personality than he does.”
Geonhak steps closer, their personal spaces suddenly intermingling with one another.
It catches Seoho off guard, flinching backward slightly at the sudden closeness.
The corners of Geonhak’s mouth turn up ever so slightly as he seems to size Seoho up, his gaze practically boring a hole through the other man’s skull.
“Are we going to have a problem, Seoho?”
A pause.
The ambient sounds of the pop music blaring from the speakers and the sniffles of impatient children drown away as the hockey player seems to practically invite Seoho to try and take another swipe.
He finally meets the other man’s gaze, glaring daggers into the deep brown eyes that meet his own.
“Depends on if you want one, Geonhak.”
Another pause, this one seemingly lasting a lifetime as they each stare at each other. Static electricity seems to crackle in the air around them, goosebumps threatening to form on Seoho’s skin in protest.
Seoho could almost swear he saw the corner of the other man’s lip turn up in amusement.
Geonhak exhales sharply, quickly stepping back before glancing down at his clipboard and then to the group of children anxiously waiting to get onto the ice.
“Alright, kids, let’s get this show on the road!” He begins, as he guides them slowly towards the entrance to the ice, all hand-in-hand.
Seoho can’t tell if Geonhak’s ears are red from the cold or from something else entirely.
“Alright, kids, so the easiest way for you to get started is to point your toes out” Seoho demonstrates as he points down to his feet. “And waddle like a penguin!”
He overemphasises the movements so that the children, who are all grabbing onto the boards for dear life, can get the gist of it.
“You’ll want to hold your arms out wide so you can stay balanced, and just take little steps so you can get used to it.” He waddles around in a small circle before turning back to the children, who are slowly seeming to get the idea and have begun to let go of the barriers.
One of the girls takes an overconfident step and ends up flat on her face.
“And be careful not to trip on your toe picks when you walk, kids!” Seoho adds as the children start to gain a bit of confidence.
“Of course, if you had hockey skates, that wouldn’t be a problem.” Geonhak adds, gesturing to his toe pick-less boots.
One of the more daring boys waddles up to Seoho.
“How come his skates don’t have those sharp pointy toes like yours do?”
Seoho smiles mischievously at the kid, leaning down to meet his eye level.
“It’s cause his sport is lame and doesn’t need them,” Seoho side-eyes Geonhak, who currently looks like the dictionary definition of the word annoyed. “He doesn’t get to do cool jumps like I do.”
“You can do jumps? Can you show us?” The boy’s face lights up as more of the kids crowd around him, wanting to hear what Seoho has to say.
Seoho stands back upright, hopping away immediately into crossovers, dodging the other rink-goers seamlessly as he gathers speed. Doing a series of turns to get into the right edge and direction, he plants his left toe pick into the ice, launching himself in the air for two rotations before landing gracefully back on the ice.
A few of the children clap and cheer for him, clearly impressed by the free show.
“Wow, that was awesome!” One of the girls exclaims, her pigtails bobbing as she tries to balance on her rented skates. “Can you teach us how to do that?”
Seoho smiles, patting his hand on top of the kid’s helmet. “Not until you can actually walk without wobbling, kiddo.”
The girl turns away from him, seemingly determined to do so, as she sticks her arms back out and takes tentative steps across the ice.
“What about you, sir? Can you do any jumps?” One of the boys asks Geonhak, who was keeping an eye on the other kids until now, his back turned away from Seoho’s mob.
“I don’t know. Can I, Seoho?” He smirks, thrusting the clipboard violently over to Seoho’s chest as he takes off at full speed. He careens around the rink, the sound of his blades digging across the ice akin to nails upon a chalkboard to Seoho, gliding backward for a moment before thrusting himself up in the air into a backflip.
He lands back down on the ice a moment later, the thud of his blades reverberating throughout the rink as onlookers both on and off the ice look to see what’s going on.
The children whoop loudly, seemingly even more excited by Geonhak’s flashy trick, as he skates back over to the crowd with a smile.
It seems like they’ve started a game now, one that Seoho desperately wants - no, needs - to win.
“What about you now, sir?” Another one of the small boys asks Seoho. “Can you beat that?”
Seoho’s eyes narrow, a brief flash of pure unadulterated annoyance filtering through his normally serene customer service face, as he takes off again, dropping Geonhak’s precious clipboard onto the ice in his place.
Rather than generating the speed needed for a jump, he sets his sights on the middle of the rink, keeping aware of his sense of centre as he does so.
He starts to spin, extending his free leg out once, twice, three times before stabilising his momentum on the ice - into an elegant camel spin. He can hear the oohs and aahs from the crowd as he hops to change feet, dropping down swiftly into a sit position.
Coming out of the spin upright with both arms in the air, he looks over his shoulder at Geonhak surrounded by their visibly impressed skating class. The hockey players’ expression is almost unreadably blank, if not for the telltale bunching of the space between his eyebrows.
Just the tiniest of lines giving his inner annoyance away.
Seoho can’t help but smirk victoriously.
“What about that, kids?” Seoho’s expression turns more friendly as he skates back over to the lesson, towards the kids who are effectively the judging panel in this brand new sport for two. “Now who do you think has the better tricks, huh?”
“I don’t know... I liked the backflip more.” One of the younger boys mutters, the other children around him nodding in agreement. He turns back to Geonhak, eyes bright and wide. “Can you show us something else that’s cool, sir?”
Geonhak smiles softly at the children, before throwing his own look of personal triumph over at Seoho, as he once again jumps into action into a swift series of crossovers to generate a surprising amount of speed.
Seoho, arms crossed tightly against his chest, is practically beside himself in anger.
As Geonhak sweeps right by the children on his way back around the rink, his blade deftly carves up the top layer of the ice, producing a flurry of snow that showers over the kids, who excitedly stick their hands out to try and catch the sudden snowfall.
Geonhak dusts the ice off his hands as he smiles once again at the kids, only taking a second to throw possibly the most self-assured look in the world towards the figure skater.
Seoho has never wanted to punch a look off someone’s face more than he does right now.
“That was so cool!” One of the young boys says as they all crowd around Geonhak asking curious questions. “I want to be a hockey player when I’m older.”
Seoho turns around, unable to face the scene for another moment longer, and quietly storms off the ice.
The burn of a certain cruel kind of static electric tension running up and down his body as he did.
-
“I mean, what do they see in him?” Seoho complains into his hot chocolate, which has almost gone cold now that he has practically refused to stop talking since he got off the ice for his break. “All he did was make it snow. I don’t see how that’s more impressive than a toe loop or a spin.”
“I don’t know, hyung.” Keonhee, who has taken time away from manning the register to instead console an annoyed Seoho, says as he stirs his coffee. They sit in front of the windows of the cafe, watching the public out on the ice go around and around in endless circles. “But seriously, what’s your beef with him? Did he do something to you?”
“Yeah, hyung, like you guys always seem to be at each other's throats whenever you’re rostered on together. What gives?” Dongju, their other coworker, chimes in as he lazily braids his long, shiny black hair as he mans the counter. The cafe is surprisingly empty for the middle of the morning, the three of them having the entire space to themselves to evidently bicker to their heart's content.
“He’s just...” Seoho starts, but can’t find the right words. “He’s... He’s just a dick. I can’t explain it. We can’t be friendly with one another.”
“Have you tried?” Dongju asks, looking up from his now completed hairdo. “Because all I’ve seen is evidence to the contrary.”
“Dongju’s got a point, Seoho. It’s not even been a year since he joined us and the amount of negative energy you two create together when you’re in the same room is enough to form storm clouds, I swear.” Keonhee says, trying to catch Seoho’s gaze in the hopes that might give him some answers.
Seoho doesn’t give him that chance.
“I’m allowed to not like someone, guys. It’s not against the law.” Seoho states, taking a sip of his now lukewarm hot chocolate, the grainy too-sweet taste filling his mouth with disgust.
“Come on, Seoho, even you have to admit this is getting kind of ridiculous.” Keonhee sighs. “You told him off for using the wrong colour pen on the staff whiteboard yesterday.”
“It was pink, Keonhee! The roster is supposed to be written in blue, everyone here knows that.” Seoho retorts.
“You almost dropped his phone onto the ice while it was being resurfaced, and would have been caught if Woong wasn’t there to stop you.” Dongju adds.
“How is it my fault that he likes to put his phone on the edge of the boards? Where it could easily fall off into the path of the Zamboni?”
Keonhee ignores his protests, seemingly on a roll now. His eyebrows practically move an extra centimetre up his forehead with each passing second as he recounts Seoho’s apparent misdeeds.
“And the Christmas party last year? When the entire hockey team showed up and you got so annoyed that you played ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ 12 times in a row - scream-singing along every single time - before someone had to drag you away from the sound system?”
“Who doesn’t love Mariah Carey?” Seoho snaps back, the conversation instantly grinding to a halt.
“Alright, you two. No creating drama in the cafe, I forbid it.” Dongju says as he walks around from behind the counter towards them. “Listen, Dongmyeong’s bandmates are in the hockey team and, by the way they talk about him, it sounds like they’d practically go to war for the man.”
Seoho rolls his eyes dramatically, pushing the little wooden stirrer around in his paper cup.
“You know what he majors in?” Dongju gestures dramatically towards Geonhak, who is on shift minding the public session skaters. “Early childhood education. They don’t let just anyone become preschool teachers, Seoho.”
Seoho snorts as he looks out onto the ice, Geonhak circling the rink watching out for those who need help. A stoney, unapproachable look across clear as day across his face.
“A preschool teacher, right. And I’m going to become the Queen of England.”
Keonhee sighs dramatically, picking up his coffee as he moves to stand up.
“Look, Seoho,” he starts. “No one’s saying you have to become best friends with the guy. Just maybe try to not actively murder each other while you’re at work, okay?”
“Just give him a chance, hyung.” Dongju sighs as Seoho continues to stare out blankly onto the ice.
Dongju puts a small star-shaped cookie down on the table as a gesture of good faith as he follows Keonhee back behind the counter, a family of four coming in through the cafe doors waiting to be served by them.
It’s in that moment where Seoho spots Geonhak leading the small girl in pigtails from their lesson off the ice, the girl in tears as she wobbles on an unstable, very bruised-looking knee.
Quickly realising she’s in pain, Geonhak picks her up in one swift motion, a task rendered easy by his strong frame. He presumably calls out to the child’s mother, since Seoho cannot hear him beyond the glass of the shop, who hurriedly runs up to thank him.
The little girl's tears do not seem to stop until Geonhak moves to brush the ones trailing down her cheeks with the gentlest of touches.
An expression unlike one Seoho had ever seen on the usually stoic and closed-off man now present on his face as he tries to calm the child.
One of comfort, of warmth.
Something unnamed stirs inside Seoho’s chest as he watches Geonhak hand the child off to her mother, as he continues to smile warmly as he waves goodbye in the tiniest of gestures.
Seoho’s nerves are instantly set alight.
Unwilling to let whatever’s bubbling inside himself grow from there, Seoho downs the remainder of his frigid hot chocolate and heads off towards the staff room with a need to escape unlike any that he had ever felt before.
He doesn’t notice Geonhak’s gaze following him as he swiftly disappears behind the door.
Luckily for Seoho, his path with Geonhak managed to stay uncrossed for the rest of the weekend. From the rush of customers renting equipment, to the multiple teenagers he had to kick out after they knocked over three different people by feinting collisions, to the sound system breaking down and having to run all the way to the university’s theatre department to borrow a tech to fix it - he had certainly kept himself thoroughly occupied.
Needless to say that when closing time arrived Sunday evening, Seoho was thrilled.
“God, I’m going to be late to band practice.” Yonghoon, the manager of the rink, muttered to himself as he turned off the booking computer at the front desk, then threw the Zamboni keys over to Seoho. “You alright to close up on your own?”
“Yes, hyung, I’ll be fine.” Seoho runs his thumb across the keychain of a bright blue penguin hanging off the assortment of different keys to the rink. “Now go, before you meet your untimely death at the hands of your band members on account of being late again.”
The older man smiles back at him as he slings his backpack over one shoulder, running out of the front door to the rink while yelling his thanks as he goes.
For the first time practically all weekend, Seoho is alone.
Just how he likes it.
It wasn’t uncommon for him to be the last one left at the rink. Very few of the employees here could actually drive the Zamboni, on account of not having their licences, and even fewer still preferred to stay late to do the last ice cut before closing.
Seoho didn’t mind though. In fact, it was one of those simple things in life that he took great pleasure in.
Hopping on the back of the machine, he started the engine, hearing the contraption sputter and then whir to life beneath him. Driving out onto the empty rink, he set himself the task of making the ice as spotless as possible for the morning sessions tomorrow, driving in slow concentric circles as the resurfacer did its job. The roar of the machine's engines and hissing of the water jets cleared his mind as if it were a white noise machine, the stress seeping out of his shoulders as he rounded the final corner.
Parking the machine in the adjoining garage once the job was done, the only thing left to do was to turn off the rink lighting, lock up and head home. The overhead fluorescent lights illuminated the ice in a pale glow against an otherwise dark space, the closed cafe, rental desk and reception area all closed for the day.
The pristine mirror-like shine of the newly resurfaced ice tempted him as if it were an oasis in the desert - perfect, cool and just fit for his purpose.
He quickly ran towards his bag lying on one of the benches next to the rink, retrieving his skates from within and lacing them up with lightning speed.
It’s not as if the morning session would care if the ice wasn’t totally fresh, he thought as he stepped out onto the ice, his blades beneath him carving fresh lines into the surface with a satisfying zing.
He quickly ran through a warm-up, stroking around the rink with ease as he woke up his muscles, letting the blood flow throughout his body before daring to attempt anything. He was accompanied by nothing but the sound of his skates, of the figures being imparted upon the crystalline surface as he drilled his footwork.
A simple spin and a few single jumps followed, awakening his body and his mind as he gathered his bearings and went to stand in the centre of the rink.
He didn’t need a sound system.
He had memorised the music by heart.
Visualising the gala lighting in his mind, he saw himself in a costume of striking blue and silver, adorned with tiny crystals as if raindrops were suspended upon silk.
He lifted his arms in one swift movement and then began. His choreography was slow at first, to match the softness of the beginning of the piece. No jumps, just footwork, to show a more delicate side of himself, Hwanwoong had said.
He went into a sit spin, his arms flaring out and accenting the beats of the music echoing in his head, syncing perfectly with the heartbeat of the piece itself.
The program was beginning to reveal itself now, as was Seoho, slowly coming out of his shell as he gathered speed from one side of the rink to the other. Entering his Lutz, he landed satisfyingly with minimal stuttering or spray - being conscious of the boards as Hwanwoong had reminded him.
Just one jump remained, as the music continued to swell and build, he travelled in sets of turns right into a loop with both arms aloft - a jump that had taken him months and a near-hip injury to perfect.
All that was left was the spiral, extended to the best of his abilities, a change of edge halfway through for flair as the music reached its crescendo. Hopping into his final spin, his leg extended outward as he tried to match his changes of position to the music reverberating inside his head.
He swore he could almost feel the warmth of the spotlight against his back as he threw his arms aloft up towards the heavens to finish, panting from the exertion, small beads of sweat forming along his brow.
He stood there frozen for what felt like hours, just basking in the feeling of a skate well-performed.
Until...
Clap clap clap.
It rang out across the empty rink, emanating from the staff entrance behind Seoho. He turned around as quick as lightning to try to see who it was, but the darkness of the lobby obscured their figure in its shadows.
“Who’s there?” Seoho called out, squinting to try and gain a better look at his audience. “Yonghoon, is that you?”
“You know, I had never actually seen you skate a full program before.”
Seoho would know that deep, rumbling voice anywhere.
Geonhak stepped out from the darkness and into the pale light of the overhead fluorescents, his face adorned with a gentle expression that Seoho couldn’t quite place.
Seoho scoffed.
“Well I don’t suppose you’re the type that goes to the galas, so it’s not surprising.” He kicked one of his legs out as he slowly glided towards the exit, a small smirk playing across his face as he placed both of his hands on his hips. “Why? Impressed?”
“Very, although I’m sure it’s more enjoyable with the music.” Geonhak answered, a strange amount of honesty present in his tone. “You seemed so absorbed, I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
Seoho didn’t attempt to hide the shock from his own face at the gesture.
“Why are you here after hours, anyway?” He asked, snapping himself out of his momentary stupor as he reached the boards, now within only a metre of where Geonhak was standing.
Geonhak reached into his pocket and retrieved a phone, the case decorated with the logo of his own hockey team.
“Left this at the front desk by accident. Only realised after I got back to my dorm.”
“And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow? What if the rink was locked?”
Geonhak’s smile grew fond. “You and I both know that Yonghoon-hyung keeps a spare key hidden under the giant plastic polar bear outside.”
Seoho chuckled. Yonghoon had a lot of heart, but his security protocols left something to be desired.
“So you came to get your phone and thought you’d stay for the show? I see how it is.” Seoho knocks the boards gently with one of his toe picks, his gaze now trained thoroughly on the ice below him. “You still haven’t properly told me what you thought of my skating.”
Geonhak takes a second, focusing beyond Seoho to seemingly stare at the markings on the ice left by his endeavours.
“That move you do with your leg, the... I think it’s called a spiral?” He taps his phone against his bottom lip as he thinks, eyebrows slightly scrunched in thought. “I thought that was really impressive. The way you moved from one edge to another so easily without tripping... It was cool.”
Seoho doesn’t think he has ever heard Geonhak say something so genuine before in the entire time he’s known him.
He freezes for a second, unsure how to respond before his brain somehow kicks back into gear.
“The fundamentals aren’t that hard, it’s the extension that’s difficult.” He says, his gaze trailing downwards to his skates before rising back up to meet the other, a spark of playfulness awakening behind his eyes. “I’d like to see you give it a go.”
Geonhak narrows his eyes, but in amusement rather than annoyance.
“Really, then...” He trails off before all of a sudden bolting off in the direction of the locker room.
“Running away then, are we?” Seoho yells at him, amusement colouring his voice as Geonhak runs inside.
“Hardly.” Geonhak raises his voice as he swings the door open holding his prize in his arms.
Red, white, and shining silver.
“You could at least let me go get you some rental figure skates-”
“Absolutely not, those will be dull as hell. If I’m going to fall, I’m going to do it with the dignity of wearing my own boots, thank you very much.”
“Right, cause your dignity is clearly the most important thing in this particular moment.”
Geonhak is holding onto the barrier as he attempts to hold an arabesque position, Seoho laughing at how Hwanwoong would probably die at his attempt at proper extension.
“You need to lift your leg higher or else it won’t look right-”
The space between Geonhak’s eyebrows crinkles again in concentration.
“I’d rather not lose my front teeth if I can help it, Seoho.”
“It’s fine, you need something wrong with your face to match your personality anyway.”
Geonhak lets out a short, slightly frustrated exhale as he lowers his free leg towards the ice, Seoho nonchalantly leaning against the boards as he watches the other man.
“Tell me something, Seoho.” He begins with sincerity. “Why are you always like this?”
Seoho blinks.
“Like what?”
“You know what I mean.” Geonhak crosses his arms over his chest, mirroring Seoho’s own stance. “Stand-offish. Snarky. Guarded. I swear you’ve been like this to me since day one.”
Seoho mulls it over somewhat, the corners of his lips drawing out in thought.
“It’s nothing personal, I suppose.” He concludes. “You’re a hockey guy. I’m a figure skater. We’re just different.”
Geonhak takes a step forward, closing some of the distance between them.
Seoho instinctively backs away but Geonhak continues to advance, less than a stride’s length between the two.
Geonhak studies the other’s face, his eyes softly squinting as if to make the other out more clearly.
“Says who?” He says, voice so soft that, coupled with his low tone, it is rendered practically inaudible.
Seoho blinks again.
“What?”
Geonhak doesn’t even bother to give him an answer as he takes off past Seoho, the sudden burst of speed almost knocking the figure skater over.
He watches as Geonhak gathers enough speed to be stable on his footing, before gathering his strength and shifting his centre to one foot as he bends his upper body forward, extending his free leg out behind him.
A half-decent spiral, given the circumstances.
Seoho is nothing if not pleasantly amused.
Geonhak grinds to a stop next to him, the playful smile across his face reaching his crescent-shaped eyes.
“See? Not so different after all.”
Seoho can’t hold in the laugh that bubbles up and escapes his mouth, echoing across the empty rink. Geonhak joins him, the two of them basking in a rare moment of shared joy.
Seoho sniffles from the condensation after he finishes laughing, wiping away at his nose with the back of the gloves he’s wearing.
“I’ll only accept it once I see another one of those from you with your toe pointed this time. No more, no less, mister.” He challenges, leaning back against the boards once again, waiting for Geonhak to make a move.
The other quickly catches on, once again jumping to attention, gaining speed as easy as if he were breathing. Reaching his leg out, he points his toe as much as he could given the rigidity of his boots, all before he runs over a particularly deep groove in the ice, causing him to lose his balance and fall forward, whacking his chin on the way down.
Seoho springs to attention, immediately skating over to him, as Geonhak lets out a pained groan.
“Shit, Geonhak, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Seoho says, extending his hand out to help him up.
He doesn’t even think twice about it.
Geonhak blinks, seemingly taking in the sight of Seoho standing above him for just a second, mulling it over whether or not to accept his offer.
His warm hand encloses Seoho’s own as he uses the leverage to pull himself back up, the heat of Geonhak’s palm radiating through Seoho’s glove.
Their hands stay connected even after Geonhak is standing, until the hockey player realises that the moment might have outstayed its welcome as Seoho stares at their interlinked fingers blankly.
Geonhak lets go, bashfully scratching the back of his head with his now freed hand.
The residual heat provides a strange sensation as it dissipates from Seoho’s hand, leaving a tingling in its wake.
“It’s just my pride that’s bruised, that’s all.” Geonhak chuckles, the redness underneath his chin slowly developing.
“I think it’s a bit more than just that. Let me go get you some ice.” Seoho skates away towards the cafe, quickly taking a second to snap his guards on before running to fetch some of the ice they use for their cold beverages.
“You do realise we have a whole rink’s worth of the stuff, right?” Geonhak yells out as he rubs his chin softly.
Seoho beckons him to come off and sit at the bench by the rink side, holding out a plastic bag filled with cubes of cafe ice.
“Funnily enough, I am aware of that, but I thought you might have preferred this to belly-flopping on a freezing cold surface.” Seoho jokes as he kneels in front of Geonhak, holding the ice up to where the swelling stems from.
Geonhak winces slightly but otherwise puts up no fight towards Seoho’s actions.
“You don’t know me, maybe I would have liked that.” Geonhak jokes as the tension from his brows slowly dissipates as the ice works its magic.
“You’re right, I don’t know you.” Seoho agrees.
The air between them once again falls silent as he continues to hold the freezing cold pack up towards Geonhak’s chin. The two of them now too nervous to meet each other’s eyes.
“I’m sorry I pushed you into doing that spiral again, it’s my fault you got hurt, I-”
Geonhak cuts him off by once again taking his hand, gently cupping it over the one holding the ice to his chin.
Their gazes finally meet with a soft kind of sincerity that Seoho has never known.
“Seoho, it’s okay. You don’t need to apologise.”
The almost searing warmth of Geonhak’s palm and its contrast between the ice in his hand sends a shiver down Seoho’s spine, a single melted trail of moisture dripping down his forearm from where their hands meet.
“Okay.” Seoho practically whispers as he looks up at Geonhak. “I won’t then.”
The other smiles gently, with a small exhale in place of a laugh.
Seoho pushes the weight of the ice he’s holding back into Geonhak’s hand, as he all of a sudden stands up on slightly shaky legs.
“I need to... get going.” Seoho tries to scrounge up an excuse in a now rather flustered state, grabbing his bag and shoes left stranded nearby the bench. “Got a test tomorrow that I need to cram for...”
“Right, sure, I get it. It’s late.” Geonhak stands to his feet. “Would you like me to lock up for you then?”
“I don’t know how I feel about the idea of you owing me something.” Seoho says bashfully.
“Consider it payback for the impromptu figure skating lesson.” Geonhak smiles and that funny feeling in Seoho’s chest returns in full force. “Which was fun, by the way. Apart from the slight head trauma.”
The casual air they had from the beginning of their nighttime encounter returns in full force, tension seemingly breaking as quickly as it arrived.
“I would say that you were in need of a flaw, but from where I’m standing, you’ve got plenty.” Seoho jokes as he turns to walk towards the foyer.
Geonhak lets out a surprisingly high-pitched, breathy laugh that has Seoho glancing back at him in surprise.
“Maybe next time I’ll bring my gear out and teach you a few tricks, Tonya Harding. Get you on some hockey skates for a change.” Geonhak says as he watches Seoho walk away, a sway in his hips and a smile plain as day on his face as he tosses a playful look over his shoulder.
“In your dreams, puck head.”