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The rink was alive with energy, the kind that vibrated in the air, making everyone’s nerves tingle with anticipation. The roar of the crowd reverberated through the arena, mixing with the sharp scrape of skates against ice and the heavy thud of sticks tapping the boards. The overhead lights shone harshly on the white surface, reflecting in blinding flashes off helmets and visors, casting fleeting glimmers of brilliance across the rink.
Leehan stood at the edge of the rink, his eyes narrowed as he traced the familiar lines of the ice with his gaze. It was cold, colder than usual, and the biting air cut straight through him. His gloves were warm enough, and his helmet was securely fastened, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the stands in search of a familiar face. A face he’d been desperately wanting to see for the past few weeks—his boyfriend's face.
But there was no sign of Sungho anywhere. Or if he was there, Leehan couldn’t find him. He searched the area thoroughly, expecting to see him front and center, easy to recognize with that silly knit hat he adored. Yet the spot where Sungho should have been sitting was completely empty, leaving Leehan with a sense of unease he couldn’t shake.
Not that Leehan blamed him. Midterms had kept him locked in his dorm, buried in textbooks and notes, and he completely understands that architecture wasn’t exactly a major that left room for distractions. Sungho had always been apologetic about missing games, but this one? This game was supposed to be special. The most anticipated match of the season. The game that could determine their future in the league.
The Iron Hawks weren’t just rivals; they were the team that had crushed Leehan and his teammate's hopes last year with a last-minute overtime goal. This year was supposed to be different. This year, Leehan was supposed to be unstoppable. And this year, Sungho was supposed to be in the stands to see it.
But now, the stands felt empty. Not literally, of course. The bleachers were packed with students draped in their team’s colors, parents clapping enthusiastically, and local fans waving signs and banners—all gathered to witness the fierce rivalry between the Iron Hawks and the Thunder Sharks. Yet, for Leehan, something was missing. A certain brown-haired boy with glasses, and whose smile could light up the dreariest of days, wasn’t sitting in the seat Leehan had saved for him. No.
And he had promised to be there too. Just this morning, Sungho had sent him a text—a simple, I’ll be there tonight, I promise, followed by a heart and a hockey stick emoji. Leehan had read it over and over, the words looping in his mind like a comforting mantra. But now, with the game about to begin, the seat he had saved remained stubbornly vacant.
Leehan pulled his helmet tighter as he skated onto the ice, his focus narrowing to the game ahead. The Iron Hawks were a fierce team, aggressive and relentless. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that, even though he was surrounded by a hundred people, it felt like he was alone. Without Sungho in the stands, the whole arena seemed dimmer.
"Hey, you good?" A voice broke through his thoughts.
Leehan flinched, his head jerking up. His friend, Riwoo, had skated up beside him, his strides smooth and confident. His helmet was tilted back just enough to reveal the creases of worry etched across his face.
"Yeah," Leehan forced a smile, his lips twitching into a halfhearted curve that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He glanced around the rink, looking anywhere but at Riwoo. "Just, uh, thinking about the game."
Riwoo tilted his head, raising a skeptical eyebrow. The disbelief in his expression was unmistakable, and his tone followed suit. “You’re distracted, man. You’ve been like this since we got here. C'mon, what’s up?”
“Nothing,” Leehan muttered, his voice clipped and defensive. He shoved his stick into the ice, as though grounding himself would help him sound convincing.
Riwoo snorted as he skated closer to Leehan. “Yeah, sure. ‘Nothing’ has you staring into space like you’ve just seen a ghost.” He leaned in, nudging Leehan’s elbow teasingly. “Spill.”
Leehan hesitated, his gaze instinctively flicking to the crowd once more. The noise and movement blurred together as he scanned the sea of faces. His shoulders slumped slightly under Riwoo’s unrelenting scrutiny, and the weight of his own thoughts.
“Your boyfriend?” Riwoo guessed, his voice low enough to avoid prying ears but firm enough to break through Leehan’s defenses.
Leehan sighed, lowering his head slightly, the metal bars of his mask framing his downcast expression. “He said he’d be here, but…” He gestured vaguely toward the crowd. “I don’t see him. And I don’t know, I just feel like…” His voice trailed off, the unspoken thoughts lingering in the air, making him feel heavier with each passing second
“Like he’s too busy for you?” Riwoo finished.
Leehan’s silence spoke volumes. The brief flicker of guilt that crossed his face was enough of an answer.
“Hey, man, I get it,” Riwoo said, his tone softer. His usual teasing edge was absent as he stepped closer, his gloved hand hovering just over Leehan’s shoulder in an almost-comforting gesture. “But you know how he is—probably drowning in schoolwork. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”
“I know,” Leehan muttered, his words tinged with frustration more at himself than at his boyfriend. He adjusted his helmet as if it might help him readjust his spiraling emotions. “ It’s just… this game’s a big deal, you know? We’ve got to show them we’re not the same team they beat last year.”
Riwoo clapped a gloved hand on his shoulder. “Exactly. And we’re not the same team. We’ve got you, our star center.” His grin was small but genuine, meant to lighten the mood. “You can’t let this mess with your head. We need you focused.”
Leehan nodded, though his chest still felt tight. His attention was divided, drifting between the ice and the stands, as if his mind couldn’t decide where to land. He knew his team needed him, but a part of him couldn’t shake the nagging emptiness. He was surrounded by teammates, by fans, but none of that mattered. What he really wanted, what he was really hoping for, was that one smile—the smile from the one person who always made him feel like he was worth rooting for.
“Alright, boys!” Coach Woo barked, his voice cutting through the noise of the arena, pulling Leehan out of his scattered thoughts. “You know the drill! Play hard, play smart, and don’t let them push you around. We win this, we secure our spot in the playoffs. Let’s go!”
The sound of the whistle pierced the air, signaling the start of the first period.
Leehan crouched low in the faceoff circle, his stick firm in his hands, eyes locked on his opponent across from him. His breath came in shallow bursts, the weight of the game settling heavy on his shoulders. The puck dropped, and without thinking, his body moved on instinct. He flicked the puck back to Riwoo, who was already speeding toward the opposing goal.
The ice felt different tonight—heavier, almost reluctant to give him the speed and fluidity he usually thrived on. He could feel the burn in his legs as he surged up the rink, but his focus wasn’t fully there. His gaze kept darting to the stands, scanning the crowd, searching for Sungho—his Sungho. But there was still no sign of him.
“Leehan!” Riwoo’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent, snapping him back to the game. Leehan’s head snapped forward just in time to see the puck sliding toward him, but he wasn’t quick enough. One of the Iron Hawks players intercepted the puck, breaking away toward their goal.
Leehan cursed under his breath, pushing himself harder, his skates biting into the ice as he tried to close the gap. His legs screamed in protest, but he didn’t slow down. By the time he reached the defensive zone, the shot had already been taken. Their goalie, Taesan, was there, but just barely. The puck ricocheted off his pads and skittered dangerously close to the net, but Taesan recovered in time to stop the rebound.
“Get it together, Kim!” Coach Woo's voice boomed from the bench.
Leehan gritted his teeth, frustration simmering beneath the surface as he skated back to the neutral zone. He could feel the pressure mounting with every second. Why couldn’t he focus? This was his moment—the game where they could finally redeem their entire season. It was supposed to be a turning point, but right now, it felt like his mind was miles away.
The first period ended in a tense, scoreless tie, and as the buzzer rang out, Leehan skated off the ice, his shoulders heavy. He tried to shake the fog in his head, but it lingered, thick and oppressive. His teammates were heading to the bench, exchanging quick words and adjusting their gear, but Leehan felt detached from it all, moving in slow motion, every step feeling like a burden.
As he reached his spot, he could feel everyone's eyes on him. Slumping down, he yanked off his helmet and took a quick drink from his water bottle, trying to push aside the growing sense of disconnection.
Their coach paced in front of them, his face flushed with frustration. “What the hell is going on out there? You call that hockey? You’re playing like you don’t even care!”
His eyes zeroed in on Leehan. “And you! You’re supposed to be leading this team! You think this is some kind of practice session? You’re playing like it is, Leehan!”
Leehan couldn’t bring himself to look up at Coach Woo. His gaze remained fixed on the floor, feeling the weight of the words sink in. “I’m sorry, Coach,” he muttered, the apology barely leaving his lips.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it!” Coach Woo snapped, his voice rising. “You’re not just out there for yourself—you’re representing the whole damn team. Get it together, or you’ll be sitting this one out!”
Leehan swallowed hard, his throat dry. He nodded, feeling the burden of his coach’s disappointment pressing down on him. His heart sank even further as the realization hit him that he couldn’t afford to let the team down. He clenched his fist, trying to force himself to focus on the second period.
Riwoo, sitting beside him, didn’t miss a beat. He glanced over at Leehan, face creased with genuine concern. “You good?” he asked for the second time that day, quieter now, his expression more worried than before.
Leehan took a long sip from his water bottle, the cool liquid offering some relief. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the action feeling robotic. “Yeah,” he replied, but the word felt hollow, like a mask he was wearing. “I just… don’t know, man. I feel like I’m messing everything up.”
Riwoo’s gaze softened with understanding. “It’s Sungho again, isn’t it?”
Leehan looked down, biting his lip. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. He wanted to brush it off, to say something that would make it seem like he was in control, but the truth was too heavy.
His friend didn’t respond immediately. He just gave Leehan a solid clap on the back, the gesture simple but reassuring. “He’ll be here, man. You’ll see. And when he does, you’re going to play like the beast you are. Just give it time.”
Leehan nodded, the words sinking in but not offering the comfort he needed. His chest still felt tight, his focus still fractured. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Sungho wasn’t there, wasn’t there when he needed him the most, and without that anchor, everything felt unsteady.
The second period wasn’t much better.
Leehan’s frustration only grew as the game went on. The Iron Hawks were relentless, their passes crisp and their hits harder. Leehan tried to pull himself together, to shake off the weight in his chest and play the way he knew he could. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. It wasn’t like him to be this off his game—his movements were sluggish, his passes were misfiring, and his shots felt like they lacked their usual precision.
Coach Woo’s gaze burned into him from the bench, but Leehan couldn’t escape the tension building inside him, the fog that clouded his thoughts. With each passing minute, it became increasingly difficult to concentrate.
Midway through the period, the Iron Hawks took advantage of his mistakes. They scored on a quick rebound, and Leehan’s stomach dropped. He had to be better than this. He was supposed to be the one to lead his team to victory. And he was supposed to have his boyfriend there to see it.
The puck was pinned against the boards, and Leehan was battling for possession when an Iron Hawks defenseman came at him with a full head of steam. There was barely any warning before the hit landed—Leehan was sent sprawling across the ice, the impact rattling through his body. His shoulder absorbed most of the blow, and the pain was instant and blinding. It felt like a jolt of electricity shot through his arm, seizing it in a vice-like grip.
Leehan’s breath hitched as he slammed into the ice, his body skidding several feet before coming to a halt. He felt the cold seeping through his pads, the sting of ice against his skin, but it was the searing pain in his shoulder that hit hardest. It spread quickly, sharp and unforgiving. Every attempt to push himself up sent waves of agony through his arm, making his vision blur at the edges.
"Kim, off the ice!" Coach Woo's voice sliced through the haze of pain.
Leehan wanted to protest, to prove he could push through, but the pain was overwhelming. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to slide to his knees and push up onto unsteady legs, his shoulder throbbing intensely with each shift. His body felt like it was moving through molasses, and every step toward the bench felt like an eternity.
When he finally reached the bench, he collapsed into his seat, yanking his helmet off with shaking hands. He winced as his fingers brushed over the sore spot on his shoulder, the pain flaring up again. He rubbed at the spot, trying to ease the burning sensation, but it was no use. He had never felt this kind of pain before—not in a game, not like this.
As he sat there, trying to steady his breath, a sharp knock on the glass behind him made him turn.
Leehan's breath caught in his throat.
There, standing just beyond the glass, was Sungho, his brown hair tousled and peeking out from under a beanie. He was bundled up in a thick scarf that wrapped tightly around his neck, the ends tucked into his jacket, which looked much too big for him. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and his eyes, framed by his big glasses, were wide with concern. He knocked again, this time with more urgency.
Leehan leaned closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at Sungho. His heart raced a little at the sight of him, standing there with his hands pressed against the cold surface, his breath fogging up the glass. He motioned for Sungho to speak louder, hoping he could hear over the noise of the arena.
“What happened?” Sungho’s voice was muffled, but there was no mistaking the worry in his tone. “Are you hurt?”
Leehan’s lips twitched into a small smile despite the ache in his shoulder. The sight of Sungho was like a lifeline to him. He leaned closer to the glass, trying to reassure him, even if his own body ached from the hit. “I’m fine. It's not that bad,” he shouted back, though the strain in his voice betrayed him.
“You don’t look fine!” Sungho shot back. His brow furrowed, and his hands pressed harder against the glass, as though he could reach through it. “I saw that hit—are you okay? Does it still hurt?” The worry in his words made Leehan’s heart tighten. He saw that.
Leehan opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. Before he could say anything, Sungho quickly added, his tone softer but no less sincere, “I came as fast as I could… got stuck with midterms and stuff, but I didn’t want you going through this alone. I’m really sorry I’m late.”
The sincerity in Sungho’s voice struck Leehan harder than he expected. The weight of the night—the frustration, the disappointment, and the anxiety—seemed to melt away in that moment. He felt the tension in his chest loosen, his nerves calming just a little. Sungho had come for him, just as he always had.
“You’re here now,” Leehan said softly, his voice thicker with emotion than he intended. Even though the words were quiet, Sungho could hear the shift in his tone.
“I’m here,” Sungho repeated firmly, his voice unwavering. His eyes locked onto Leehan’s, full of sincerity and an unspoken promise. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Leehan couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. The pain in his shoulder suddenly felt so distant, almost insignificant in comparison to the way Sungho was looking at him. “Good,” he said, his grin widening. “Because I’m going to win this.”
Sungho’s lips quirked upward, and he nodded, pressing his hand against the glass one more time. “Alright then, hockey star, get back out there and show them what you’ve got, okay?”
Leehan chuckled for what seemed like the first time that day. “Only because you asked so nicely,” he shot back, his confidence rising.
With renewed determination, Leehan pushed himself off the bench and made his way toward their coach, the pressure no longer there. His gaze was steely, focused. He wasn’t about to let anything, not even a bruised shoulder, stand in his way now.
“Put me back in,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the lingering burn in his arm.
Coach Woo hesitated, his face a mix of wariness and disbelief. “Your shoulder’s not even healed yet,” he said, his tone edged with caution.
“I’m fine,” Leehan interrupted, not giving him a chance to finish. “I can play.”
For a long moment, Coach Woo didn’t say anything, his eyes scanning Leehan’s face as if searching for any sign of doubt. But there was none. After what felt like an eternity, Coach Woo sighed and finally gave in. “Alright,” he said gruffly, “But don’t make me regret this.”
Leehan didn’t need any more encouragement. He nodded sharply, a fire igniting in his chest, setting his muscles alight with purpose. Without wasting a second, he pulled his helmet back on, the feel of it comforting, and he could sense his resolve growing. There was no more room for distractions. This was his time.
As soon as his skates hit the ice again, it was like flipping a switch. Every part of him felt alive, more awake than he had since the game began. The energy coursing through his veins drowned out the ache in his shoulder. He was all in now.
The clock was ticking down, less than a minute remaining, and the game was tied. The sound of the puck sliding across the ice snapped Leehan into full alertness. It came toward center ice, and without a moment’s hesitation, he intercepted it. The world seemed to slow down, the defenders around him becoming mere obstacles to weave through. Each move was instinct, pure muscle memory taking over as he danced around them, not allowing anyone to get in his way. His breath was steady, his mind locked in.
A defenseman lunged, trying to block him, but Leehan was already one step ahead. He spun out of the way, his body fluid, effortless, like he had all the time in the world. In that split second, everything clicked into place. He lined up his shot, feeling the burn in his legs, the strain in his muscles, but it didn’t matter. He pushed through it. His shot was clean, precise, and powerful.
The netting behind the goalie rippled as the puck hit its mark. The lamp lit, and the arena erupted in a thunderous roar of triumph.
“Leehan! Dude, nice shot!” Riwoo’s voice broke through the buzz of the crowd, and he slapped Leehan’s back with a grin.
Leehan nodded absently, the force of the slap barely registering as his eyes drifted to the stands. Sungho was smiling at him, mouthing something, but the words were lost in the deafening cheers and the announcers’ commentary. Sungho was really here. What happened earlier wasn't just a figment of his imagination or a dream.
Even from this distance, Leehan could feel the warmth of Sungho's gaze. The way he looked at him—the pride, the admiration—it was as if nothing else in the world mattered to him but Leehan.
I really need to kiss him senseless after this, Leehan thought, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Not long after, the third period began, and it was everything Leehan had been waiting for. The game had become a battle of endurance, skill, and heart. The Iron Hawks fought hard, their players throwing themselves into every play. But Leehan wasn’t going to let them take this from him—not now, not when Sungho was watching.
He could feel the rush of adrenaline surge through him as he glided effortlessly across the ice, the wind biting against his face. The familiar sound of his blades carving through the surface was almost a rhythm, grounding him in the moment. Every movement felt fluid, like the game had slowed down just for him. He was back. There was no hesitation in his body now. The fog was gone, and the game was in his control.
The puck came to him like it had been waiting. With a quick, fluid motion, Leehan snapped it forward, sending it skating toward the center of the ice. His stick connected with the puck with perfect accuracy, and he barely had to adjust his grip. The defenders on the Iron Hawks made their move, but Leehan saw it coming. He spun effortlessly, the force of his pivot letting him evade the lunging defender by mere inches.
His eyes were locked on the net now. He saw the goalie tracking him, trying to predict his next move. But Leehan had already made up his mind. He aimed carefully, his body tense with the effort. Every inch of him was focused, from the way his legs were bent to the taut line of his arms, his grip firm on the stick. He could feel the ice beneath him, slick and unyielding, and it was like everything had led to this moment.
And then, without a second thought, he shot.
The puck sliced through the air, a blur of motion, and within an instant, the net bulged with the impact.
The lamp lit up again.
Leehan’s heart soared with the roar of the arena. They had done it. They had won.
"Hell yeah!" Riwoo shouted as he skated past him. "That’s what I’m talking about!"
The buzzer rang, and Leehan felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him. The weight that had burdened him all night was lifted. As the rest of his team skated off the ice toward the locker room, Leehan stood still for a moment, his mind wasn’t on the score, the strategy, or the game itself. His gaze fixed on one person—Sungho, still cheering, his face alight with joy.
Leehan ripped off his helmet and hurriedly unlaced his skates. He barely noticed the cold of the floor beneath his feet as he took off toward the stands. His heart pounded, the adrenaline of the game still surging through him as he ran straight toward Sungho.
Sungho was already waiting for him, his smile wide, eyes glowing with pride. The arena lights gleamed off his messy hair, wrapping him in a warmth that made the chill in the air seem irrelevant. Leehan closed the distance between them, his excitement swelling with every step.
“You were amazing,” Sungho said, his voice cracking slightly from the chill, his breath puffing into the night air.
Leehan grinned with pride. “And you’re late,” he teased, nudging him playfully with his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Sungho replied softly, his voice sincere. “But I’m glad I made it.”
Leehan smiled at him, his chest warm from both the rush of the game and the victory. He moved closer, his hand brushing against Sungho’s sleeve. "Make it up to me," Leehan said again, his voice tinged with affection.
Sungho blinked at him, caught off guard. “How?”
“Kiss me.”
Sungho’s eyes widened at the suggestion, his gaze darting nervously between Leehan and the surrounding crowd. “Here?” he asked, the uncertainty clear in his voice.
Leehan’s lips curled into a playful grin. "Right here."
He noticed Sungho’s hesitation, the way he glanced around anxiously. It was clear that Sungho wanted to kiss him, but the crowd’s presence made him nervous. Leehan could feel the tension between them, a silent back-and-forth as Sungho battled between what he wanted and what felt too exposed.
Unable to resist, Leehan let out a dramatic groan, clutching at his shoulder with exaggerated pain. “Ow, my shoulder hurts,” he said, wincing in mock agony.
The sudden sound startled Sungho. He turned quickly, expression filled with concern. His hand moved instinctively toward Leehan, fingers hovering just above his shoulder. “What? You said it was fine—does it still hurt?” Sungho’s voice was full of worry, his brow furrowing as he tried to assess the situation.
Leehan leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Guess you didn’t notice. It really does hurt... right here,” he said, tapping the spot where the hit had landed earlier. “Maybe you should kiss it better.”
Sungho rolled his eyes, finally understanding the game Leehan was playing, but his fondness for him was clear. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
Leehan shrugged dramatically, grinning wider. “Well, I’m still hurt, so...”
With a sigh, Sungho stepped in closer, “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, his cheeks tinged pink—though whether it was from the chill or embarrassment, Leehan couldn’t tell. Slowly, carefully, Sungho leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to Leehan’s shoulder, right where he’d pretended to be hurt.
“Better now?” Sungho asked, his features softening with a mix of affection and amusement.
“Not quite,” Leehan replied with a mischievous smirk. He tapped his lips with a finger. “Still hurts here.”
Sungho couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, but he leaned in anyway, his lips meeting Leehan’s in a kiss. It was brief, tender, but it held everything. It was magical, like the first snowfall of the season—unexpected but so perfectly timed—and it was everything Leehan could ever ask for.
Leehan couldn’t help but laugh softly into the kiss, the sound muffled but filled with joy. Sungho pulled back just enough to look at him, his smile bright and endearing, and Leehan thought he might actually melt into a puddle right there.
“Now?” Sungho asked, his nose brushing lightly against Leehan’s.
“Better,” Leehan whispered, his voice full of fondness. “Much better.”
Sungho’s smile faltered just slightly as he said, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately, Ihanie. I know I haven’t been around as much as I should. I’ve been a bad boyfriend, haven’t I?”
Leehan immediately grabbed Sungho’s scarf, tugging him closer with a gentle but firm pull. “No!” he said, his voice unwavering. “Never. You’re perfect, baby. I just… miss you, that’s all. I just want to spend more time with you.”
Sungho’s gaze softened, his lips curving into a small, understanding smile. He cupped Leehan’s cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against his skin. “Alright,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’ll clear my schedule for tonight. How does a movie night sound?”
Leehan’s eyes lit up, hope and excitement flashing across his face. “Really?”
“Really.”
“With popcorn?”
“With popcorn.”
Leehan raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer once more. “And more kisses?”
“As many as you want,” Sungho promised, his voice warm, unlike the cold that was creeping up Leehan's sock-clad feet.
Leehan laughed, a sound filled with pure happiness, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “Best. Boyfriend. Ever.”
As the excitement of their plans began to settle in, Leehan glanced back toward the locker room. “Wait for me while I go change? My feet are freezing!”
“Always,” Sungho replied, his voice filled with nothing but reassurance and devotion.
Leehan turned and made his way to the locker room, the distant noise of the crowd fading into the background. The game was over, the battle had been won, but the real victory wasn’t in the goals or the cheers—it was the boy waiting for him by the rink, making him feel like the luckiest person in the world.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Leehan felt whole.