Chapter Text
Blood roared in Scaramouche's ears as he prepared for his triple Lutz. His muscles coiled with practiced precision, adrenaline flooding his veins. He dug the toe pick of his left skate into the ice to take off– only for the sharp blast of a whistle to cut through the rink. Instead of taking off, he aborted the jump, throwing his arms wide to keep from falling. He turned to scowl at the source of the noise to see the hockey team making their way onto the ice with their bulky gear, black helmets, and the stupid sticks they smacked the puck around with.
“I had the rink reserved until 7,” he said, unable to hide the disdain in his voice. Of course the thick-skulled hockey team would interrupt his solo practice time.
“It’s 7:01,” one of the players called. Number 11. He must be the captain if he was speaking for the whole team. The visor hid most of his face, but Scara could practically hear the smug grin in his voice.
Scaramouche bit back another retort. There was no point arguing with people who thought shoulder-checking each other into walls counted as a sport. With an exaggerated sigh, he pushed toward the edge of the rink. On his way out he glared at number 11. He sat on a bench and leaned down to put guards on his skates, when Number 11 spoke up again.
“Figure skating? Seriously?” Number 11 laughed.
“What? Scared you might learn how to stop properly?” Scara responded, sneering at him. The rest of the hockey team struggled to stifle their laughter, and Number 11 turned and skated away in defeat without another word. Scara scoffed and made his way to the locker room.
After changing into his normal clothes, he left, gym bag slung over his shoulder. The sky was overcast, and a crisp gust of wind cut through his thin figure skating club zip-up. He still had an hour to kill before his first class. Unfortunately, Mondays started earlier than any other day of the week.
He made his way to the campus cafe, in desperate need of caffeine.
“Scara!” a voice called from behind him as he was waiting for his drink. He turned to see Cyno and Tighnari, who must have had the same idea to grab coffee before their morning classes.
“I’ll be over in a second,” he said. His drink was finally called: a blended strawberry cheesecake latte with white mocha, vanilla bean powder, strawberry syrup, sweet cream cold foam, whipped cream, graham cracker topping, and strawberry drizzle. He carried it over to their table, dropping his gym bag onto the floor before setting the drink down with a little more force than necessary.
Tighnari eyed the drink, one eyebrow slowly raising
“Do you want some coffee with your sugar?” Cyno deadpanned.
“It’s very… aesthetic,” Tighnari said, trying and failing to keep judgement out of his voice.
“I didn’t get it because it looks nice,” Scara muttered, glaring at them.
“Sure,” Tighnari said.
Scara let out a long sigh. “Can you two not? I've already dealt with enough idiots this morning.”
Tighnari sighed. “Who pissed you off this time?”
“The hockey team decided to interrupt my practice even though I reserved the rink. I was halfway through setting up a jump before some dumbass blew a whistle,” Scara grit out.
“Were they early?” Tighnari asked.
“...No.”
“Scara.”
“It’s the principle of the thing! How could that douchebag not have noticed I was in the middle of something. Stupid ass Number 11. I hate him,” Scara scowled, remembering the interaction.
“I can already see you pucking revenge,” Cyno said. “Get it? Pucking like plotting?”
Tighnari and Scara looked at each other, then Cyno, then back at each other and both of them sighed. Cyno didn’t seem deterred.
"No? Tough crowd." Cyno took a sip of his coffee. "I guess my jokes don't really stick."
Tighnari groaned and Scara pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Anyways,” Tighnari said, turning back to Scara. “Do you want to get dinner tomorrow night?”
“I have practice from 5-7 every Tuesday,” Scara said.
“What about Thursday?” Cyno suggested.
“I also have practice from 5-7 every Thursday,” Scara responded, taking a sip of his drink. Cyno and Tighnari waited for him to gag, but all Scara did was take a second sip of his ridiculously sweet beverage. “Couldn’t that idiot just have waited to whistle AFTER I jumped?”
“We’re back to that?” Tighnari said, raising his eyebrow once again at Scara.
“I can’t believe I share a rink with those cretins.”
“Well you probably won’t see them anymore since your practices are in the evening and they seem to practice in the morning,” Tighnari pointed out.
“I guess,” Scaramouche grumbled.
"Maybe the situation will... de-ice-calate," Cyno said.
“That’s not even a word,” Scara muttered.
Tighnari sighed.