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Izzy rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he walks into the arena, travel mug in hand, bag over his shoulder. 9 am on a Saturday would’ve been a luxury during his training days, he can’t believe he got this old.
He pauses at the glass to watch the fucking figure skaters doing jumps and whatever the fuck else they do, ruining the ice. He’s surprised to see a man on the ice today, who’s doing an actual routine and looks…professional. Izzy frowns. What the fuck ? What’s a professional figure skater doing at a kids’ practise? Besides putting deeper holes in the ice.
Izzy sighs and heads into the men’s change room to get ready. He fucking loves this sport, but this job is depressing as fuck. These kids don’t really care. Most of them are just here because their parents make them.
By the time Izzy is finishing tying his skates, the change room has a couple other men in it, tying their skates and talking quietly. This is why Izzy avoids the family change room. Too much noise.
He gets out to the ice just as the zamboni is starting, and he starts his stretches against the boards. He’s not young anymore, and he needs to take care of his body.
“Hey.”
Izzy startles and turns to look to his left, where the figure skater he’d noticed earlier is standing. He raises one eyebrow.
The figure skater grins cheekily. “I saw you watching me,” he says.
Izzy shrugs as he switches to stretching out his left hamstring. “Mostly just wondering what a grown man was doing at a kids’ practise.”
The man shrugs. “Recovering from an injury. My coach says I should get as much time on the ice as possible so. I’m crashing the kids’ practise.”
Izzy looks down and sees a knee brace. “That sucks,” he says. “One of my relay partners had one of those. His would pop out at the most inconvenient times.”
The man wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”
“Yep.”
“You’re a bit old for this, aren’t you?”
Izzy stops stretching to turn and fully glare at the man. “Are you always this rude?”
“Yes,” the man says, taking a long sip from the cup in his hand. “Sometimes worse.”
Izzy rolls his eyes and goes back to his stretching.
“I’m Lucius.”
“Don’t care.”
“Are you always this rude?”
Izzy shrugs. “Sure. ‘M old.”
Lucius laughs, and Izzy feels it in his chest, where he thought he’d numbed himself.
“See you around, I guess,” Lucius says, smiling around his straw as he heads away, toward a blond man Izzy had noticed and assumed was a parent.
Izzy finishes his stretches as the zamboni starts its final lap. He heads to the bench, ready to get the holes filled in and the mats set up as soon as he’s allowed on the ice.
Another day, another dollar, he thinks ruefully.
The following Saturday, Izzy doesn’t arrive until the figure skaters are off the ice and the zamboni is half done. He grumbles under his breath as he heads to the change room and ties his skates as quickly as possible while still being safe before hurrying out to the ice.
He lets the kids set up the mats, concerning himself with the holes in the ice.
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing the holes you dipshits left in my ice,” Izzy grumbles, not looking up at Lucius.
“Um excuse me, I object to dipshits!”
“Twats? Idiots?”
“That’s all rather rude.”
“So’s putting holes in my ice!”
“We’re figure skaters ! We have to practise jumps and shit.”
“Sure. But why do you have to do it on my ice?”
Lucius rolls his eyes. “This isn’t your ice when we’re using it. Then it’s our ice.”
Izzy fixes him with a glare. “Go away.”
“IZZY!”
Izzy groans, closing his eyes long enough to school his face into neutrality.
“Edward,” he says, and Lucius’ eyebrows disappear into his hair, which means Izzy didn’t successfully hide his annoyance with his former teammate.
Ed runs around the outside of the rink until he gets to the spot where Izzy and Lucius are standing, Izzy on the ice and Lucius on the floor. “Iz, why didn’t you wait for me? I told you I wanted to come today.”
“I didn’t think you were serious,” Izzy mutters.
“Course I was!” Ed cries. “Love hanging out with these little buggers.” Ed ruffles the hair of a child passing him, and the child glares up at him. “Anyway. Gonna go get ready. Meet you out there?”
“I guess so.”
Lucius watches Ed walk away and then turns back to Izzy.
“So. Izzy, huh?”
Izzy groans and skates away.
“So I guess that makes you Izzy Hands?” Lucius asks, following Izzy along the boards. “I googled the relay team.”
“God, you’re annoying, you know that?”
“I’ve been told,” Lucius says matter-of-factly, taking a drink from his ever-present cup.
Izzy straightens from where he’d been filling in yet another hole in the ice, to see Ed talking to the same blond Lucius had been speaking to last week.
“Who is that?” he asks. “Speaking to Ed.”
“Oh, that’s Stede,” Lucius says. “He’s my coach.”
“Course he is,” Izzy mutters under his breath.
He looks up at the clock, then back over to Ed and Stede. Ed is leaning against the wall watching Stede animatedly talk with his hands, the look on Ed’s face one of utter rapture. Izzy rolls his eyes.
“Looks like Stede’s snagged your friend,” Lucius says, sounding truly apologetic.
“Eh,” Izzy shrugs. “I wasn’t counting on him anyway. Never do, honestly.”
Lucius makes an annoyed sound in his throat and Izzy looks back to where Ed and Stede are – were – standing, moving his gaze further to see the two men walking toward the door, Stede still talking animatedly, Ed’s bag nowhere to be seen.
“Sorry about that,” Lucius mutters. “Never trust a gay.” Izzy raises an eyebrow and Lucius hastens to add, “I can say that. I’m gay.”
“A gay figure skater. Never would’ve guessed,” Izzy deadpans, and Lucius laughs.
“You’re funny,” Lucius says, grabbing his bag from the floor. “See you next week, Izzy Hands.”
“God I hope not.”
The following Saturday Izzy gets all the way to the change room before his stomach revolts. He groans as he leans against the wall, wiping his mouth with some toilet paper, pulling out his phone to text Fang.
Ed’s gonna come help , Fang texts back.
“Yeah I bet he is,” Izzy mutters. I’m in the men’s change room, I’ll stay for practise and then can you drive me home?
Sure, buddy , Fang texts back immediately. You good?
“Definitely not,” Izzy mutters, but texts back, Think so yeah. Probably.
That’s Izzy Hands for “no” , Fang replies. Don’t be a hero, okay, boss? Get yourself home and I’ll bring your car .
“How the fuck is that gonna work?” Izzy growls, but knows Fang is right. He needs to get out of the arena, out of this foul-smelling change room, before everything he’s eaten in the last week makes a reappearance.
He pulls himself off the floor, waiting a moment to make sure he’s steady before heading for the door. He opens the door and peeks his head around; he tells himself he doesn’t want anyone to see him when he’s just vomited, but the truth is he doesn’t want Lucius to see him. Which is utterly ridiculous.
He doesn’t see anyone in the hallway, so he makes his way slowly toward the back door. He texts Fang to request his former teammate grab his bag from the change room before hurrying out the back door of the arena to the parking lot. His phone rings.
“Fang.”
“I know I didn’t just see you going out the back door,” his friend snaps.
“I can drive myself home, Fang,” Izzy sighs. “It’s better this way. Then if I have to stop I can.”
“Sure, boss,” Fang says, sounding unconvinced. “And what do I tell the figure skater who’s asking about you?”
Fuck. “Nothing,” Izzy snaps as he reaches his car. “Tell him I’m fine.”
“Sure, boss. What’s the deal with you two anyway?”
Izzy's stomach roils and he quickly tells Fang he has to go, hanging up before his friend can respond.
The next Saturday, Izzy arrives late. He tells himself it’s not on purpose, but he can’t help hoping that Lucius won’t be at practise today, that his rehab will be over. Or at the very least, that he’ll be done for the day by the time Izzy arrives.
He groans as he enters the rink and sees Lucius leaning against the wall beside the men’s change room. He debates turning around and going back to his car, but decides the likelihood of him outlasting Lucius (especially since he has to coach) is small. He indulges for half a moment, watching Lucius reach for the straw on his cup with his tongue, before stopping his imagination from wondering what else Lucius can do with that tongue.
The moment Lucius notices Izzy, he pushes himself off the wall and grins at him.
“Hey. I thought maybe you’d died,” Lucius says conversationally. “Of old age or whatever.”
“Fuck off,” Izzy mutters, but he can’t keep the fondness out of his voice entirely.
“No but for real, your friend said you were sick. Are you okay? Do you need soup?”
“No I do not need soup,” Izzy snaps, though there’s less bite to it than there normally would be, because Lucius sounds actually worried. “I’m fine. Just had a stomach bug. Food poisoning, maybe.”
“You could’ve told me,” Lucius says quietly.
“I don’t even know you,” Izzy says, moving to go around the younger man to get to the change room.
“But you could,” Lucius says, stopping him with a hand on his arm.
“How old are you?” Izzy asks.
Lucius rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. Age is just a number, babe.”
Izzy laughs. “It does matter.”
“To you? Or to everyone else?” Izzy doesn’t have an answer for that. “Have dinner with me,” Lucius says softly. “Let me see you somewhere that isn’t this rink.”
There’s a slight desperation to Lucius’ voice, and Izzy wonders if his rehab is over. He’s surprised at the pang in his chest at the thought.
“Fine,” Izzy agrees.
Izzy’s pretty sure his assumption is correct, because the relief on Lucius’ face is stronger than it has any right to be.
“Great,” Lucius says. “Give me your phone.”
Izzy sighs and takes out his phone. Lucius stares at it.
“Okay. How about you give me your number and I’ll text you mine,” Lucius says, staring blankly at the flip phone in Izzy’s hand.
“Fuck off,” Izzy says, but rattles off his number.
A second later the phone in his hand vibrates with a text that just says “Lu 😘”. He saves the number and Lucius grins as he turns toward the bleachers.
“I’m gonna watch,” Lucius says as he sashays away. “See what all the hype is about.”
“Fuck off,” Izzy mutters under his breath, but he can’t keep the pleased smile off his face as he enters the change room to get ready for practise.