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The rink was nearly empty when practice wrapped up. Sticks clattered into bags, skates scraped against the rubber flooring, and laughter echoed faintly down the hall.
Luke stayed behind, lazily shooting pucks into an empty net while Connor tugged off his helmet and leaned against the boards, hair sticking up in every direction.
“You good?” Luke called, grinning.
Connor looked up, cheeks flushed red from the cold. “I think my fingers stopped working about ten minutes ago.”
Luke skated over, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. You know gloves exist for a reason, right?”
Connor shrugged, holding up his hands like evidence. “They betrayed me.”
That earned him a laugh — the kind of laugh that always made Connor’s chest feel weirdly light. Luke’s smile lingered as he leaned his stick against the boards. “C’mere.”
“What—?”
Before Connor could question it, Luke was already tugging off his own gloves, hands pink and warm. He took Connor’s fingers between his, rubbing them gently to coax the warmth back. Connor’s breath hitched. The cold rink suddenly didn’t feel so cold.
Luke looked up at him, eyes soft beneath the fluorescent lights. “See? You gotta take care of yourself, rookie.”
Connor blinked, completely forgetting how to speak. “Y-you're—Uh. Y-yeah. Yeah, that’s—wow. You're really warm.”
Luke’s mouth curved into a teasing grin. “Guess I’m built different.”
Connor snorted, but his heart was pounding. The way Luke’s thumbs traced slow circles against his skin — it felt steadying, grounding. It made the noise of the world fade.
When they finally walked off the ice, Connor still hadn’t let go. Luke didn’t seem to mind.
—
In the locker room, Luke tossed him a hoodie — navy blue, soft, clearly worn in. “Here. You’re shaking.”
Connor stared at it. “But this is yours.”
“Yeah, and it looks better on you,” Luke said simply, already turning back to grab his bag.
Connor’s ears went red. He pulled the hoodie on anyway. It smelled faintly like clean laundry and Luke’s cologne — fresh, familiar, warm.
When they stepped outside, the air was biting cold again. Connor shoved his hands into the sleeves, mumbling, “Still freezing.”
Luke looked at him for a second, then sighed dramatically and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Fine. Human space heater mode activated.”
Connor tried not to laugh — and failed miserably. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but now you’re smiling,” Luke shot back.
They walked the rest of the way to the parking lot like that — shoulder to shoulder, sharing quiet conversation and little bursts of laughter. When Connor shivered again, Luke’s arm tightened around him.
By the time they reached the car, Connor didn’t even notice the cold anymore. Just Luke’s warmth, his hoodie, his laugh. The kind of comfort that crept in slowly and refused to leave.