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The rink was supposed to be his for two more hours.
Hirose Ryo checked the schedule board for the third time that morning, as if the printed letters might rearrange themselves if he stared long enough. SENIOR FIGURE. Underneath, in fresh red marker, someone had scrawled NATIONAL HOCKEY right through his last block, as though his time slot had never existed.
"They flooded the west rink," Coach Aoki said, not looking up from her clipboard. "Pipe issue. It's this or nothing until it's fixed."
"So I get an hour?"
"You get to share."
Ryo didn't think of himself as difficult. People told him all the time that he was easy to work with because he was small and neat on the ice, the kind of skater judges described as delicate. Fragile. He hated those words. He had broken two toes landing a triple axel at fourteen and finished the program anyway. He was pretty sure nobody who ever wrote "fragile" in a scoring notebook had ever tried that.
None of it mattered once eleven grown men in full gear came pouring onto the ice early, laughing too loud and dragging heavy gear bags across ice that wasn't theirs yet.
Fujinaga Sakuya had a gold medal. Ryo had a bronze from two Olympics back and a drawer full of second-place ribbons he never looked at. There was no question about who the rink manager was going to apologize to first.
He knew Sakuya the way most people in the building did; from a distance, through glass, through that subtle hush that fell over a room whenever he walked in. A year of overlapping schedules had gotten them maybe a dozen words total. The one time they had properly passed each other in the hallway, Sakuya had looked at him a beat too long and said absolutely nothing, which Ryo had privately decided to be insulted by.
Ryo planned to spend his stolen hour making his displeasure known through pointed, icy silence.
He never got the chance.
He was doing a slow cooldown lap along the boards, half-listening to blades squealing and a puck cracking off the glass, when he heard his own name.
"Hirose? Small guy, does the spinny stuff?" That was Maeda, one of the defensemen, built like a fridge with a grin to match. "He's been giving Coach Aoki the death glare all morning."
"He does that to everyone," Sakuya replied. His voice was lower, amused in a way that crawled right up the back of Ryo's neck.
Sakuya was leaning on the boards with his gloves tucked under one arm, sweat darkening his collar.
He was watching Ryo's reflection glide by in the glass instead of watching Ryo directly, which was somehow worse.
"What's he going to do about it?" Sakuya said to Maeda as if he was a weather forecaster. “He's what, five-five? Skinny as a rail. Pretty face, I'll give him that. But that's about all there is to work with."
Maeda laughed. Someone said something else that Ryo didn't catch because the sound in his ears had already gone thin and far away… you know that quiet, high ringing sound that shows up right before you do something you can't take back.
Ryo didn't remember deciding. He remembered the cold bite of the ice under his blades, the boards, his glove hitting the concrete, and then his fist connecting with Fujinaga Sakuya's face hard enough that his knuckles screamed.
Sakuya's astonishment lasted half a second before it curdled into shock. He swung back, well he never meant to but catched Ryo once across the jaw and once on the cheekbone. It wasn't a clean fight so much as a brawl, the two of them tangled at the boards, throwing punches before anyone could get between them.
The rink exploded into noise. Whistles blew, and Coach Aoki shouted Ryo’s name. A hockey player grabbed Ryo by the shoulders and hauled him backward. Ryo let himself be pulled, chest heaving, tasting blood from a split lip. He stared down at Sakuya sitting on the ice, blood welling along his cheekbone where Ryo's bare fist had caught him.
"A face so pretty but hits that hard? Damn." someone said, sounding delighted.
Coach Aoki pulled Ryo off the ice by the arm, she was saying his name like a threat. She finally caught up to him properly in the corridor outside the locker room, out of breath, her clipboard abandoned somewhere behind her.
"Do you have any idea what you just did?" Her eyes were wide, her voice hovering between fury and disbelief. "That's Fujinaga Sakuya. There are cameras in this building."
"I know who he is."
"Then you know this could end your season before it starts! The federation is going to want a statement. He could file a complaint, and no coach in the country would blame him!" She dragged a hand down her face, looking tired. "What happened out there?"
Ryo thought about repeating the words back to her, He's what, five-five, skinny as a rail, pretty face, that's about all there is to work with. He couldn't say them out loud a second time. Saying them once had already cost him a fist's worth of restraint.
"Nothing," Ryo said flatly. "I'll deal with it."
She didn't believe him, but she let him go.
He didn't apologize. He changed in the locker room with shaking hands, adrenaline draining out of him in a cold rush that left him faintly sick. He dabbed at his split lip in the mirror and found a dark bruise coming up along his cheekbone. Then he went home and lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, feeling a sharp, fleeting satisfaction.
He deserves it so much, Good, he thought.
What he didn't see and know was Sakuya sitting on a bench in the other locker room after the fight. Sakuya pressed an ice pack to his cheek, waving off the team doctor and everyone else asking questions.
"I said something stupid," Sakuya offered to the ceiling. "I say stupid things when I don't know what else to do."
"You got decked by a figure skater," Maeda laughed, dropping onto the bench beside him with his gear half off. "In front of the whole team. I'm going to need more than 'stupid.'"
Sakuya didn't answer. He sat there with the ice pack against his face and thought about the last year. He had spent months finding reasons to talk about Hirose Ryo instead of finding one good reason to talk to him. A bruised cheekbone and a locker room full of people demanding answers was, in a ridiculous way, the most honest exchange they had ever had.
He didn't report it. When the federation called the next morning to ask whether he meant to file a complaint, Sakuya said no, firm enough that they didn't ask a third time. He told himself it was because he didn't want the attention. Underneath that lie was something messier: Ryo's fist connecting with his face had been the first time in a year that Ryo had looked at him like he actually existed.
Ryo knew none of this. He lay in his bed across town, replaying the sound of Sakuya hitting the ice, hoping for a suspension or an apology.
❄️⛸️🏒
He was late to morning practice the next day. He came through the rink doors preparing an apology for Coach Aoki, but the atmosphere was completely wrong.
Sakuya was at center ice in full gear, leaning on his stick. The moment he saw Ryo, his face lit up. He opened his arms wide, expecting Ryo to skate right into a hug, but Ryo didn't move an inch—already completely confused.
Sakuya just smiled wider, dropped his arms, and glided over to him with an effortless stroke, bright and warm.
"Baby, you're late!" Sakuya called out loud. "You're never late. Did you sleep okay?"
Ryo stayed frozen, his blades scraping the ice.
Sakuya reached him, smiling openly without a trace of the arrogant indifference from yesterday. Then his eyes landed on Ryo's face, and his expression instantly dropped.
"What happened to your cheek?" Sakuya asked.
Ryo lifted a hand and touched the sore spot on his cheekbone. It was a cut and a yellowing bruise. But when he looked back up at Sakuya, expecting to see the swollen skin and dark cut on Sakuya's cheekbone where his bare fist had connected yesterday, Sakuya's face was completely clear. Unblemished, smooth, and untouched. Not a single mark.
That was when the terrifying truth hit him: the fight had never happened here. He was standing in a completely different reality.
"Who did that?" Sakuya's voice dropped, low and careful. He closed the remaining distance, his hand hovering an inch from Ryo's jaw, as if afraid touching it would cause more pain. "Ryo. Who hit you?"
"You," Ryo said before his brain caught up with his mouth. "You fucker, you did this. And who the hell are you calling baby?"
Sakuya went pale.
"I—what?" Sakuya's hands hovered near Ryo's shoulders, trembling with immediate panic. "No. No, I would never touch you. Ryo, did we fight? Did I do something?"
"Stop acting like you don't know!" Ryo snapped.
"I swear to God, I don't!" Sakuya gasped, his face collapsing into sheer desperation. "Ryo, please. I don't remember doing anything to hurt you. Tell me what happened!"
Ryo opened his mouth to yell at him again, but stopped cold when he saw Sakuya's left hand.
On Sakuya's left hand was a plain silver band. Ryo looked down at his own hand and felt his stomach drop. Resting on his own left ring finger was a matching band, warm against his skin. It wasn't an ornate ring; it was plain and solid—a couple's promise ring given to make sure everyone knew who held his heart.
"Sakuya," Ryo said slowly, his anger giving way to a dizzying shift. "What is going on?"
"What do you mean, what's going on?" Sakuya asked, gripping Ryo's hands tightly in both of his hands. "You said you’ll go to your apartment this morning, and now you're standing here with a cut on your face, calling me names. Please, Ryo. Just talk to me."
❄️⛸️🏒
There was no good way to explain it, so Ryo didn't try.
He let the coach tell him he had a light training day. He let a locker room attendant ask whether Sakuya had finally stopped burning the rice every morning. Then he went home, not to his apartment, but to a shared one with Sakuya that he had never seen before, using a key that fit the lock smoothly.
This feels like a fever dream, he thought, sighing heavily before opening up the door.
On the fridge, held up by a puck-shaped magnet, was a photo: Ryo laughing with his head thrown back, Sakuya's heavy arm draped around his shoulders, both of them sunburned on a beach.
There were more photos in a desk drawer. Sakuya asleep on a plane with his head resting on Ryo's shoulder, then the two of them in formal suits at a gala, a badly framed selfie of Sakuya pressing his cheek to Ryo's while they both laughed. The dates stamped in the corners went back eight months.
Ryo sat on the floor with the drawer open in his lap. In this place, they were boyfriends. He loved Fujinaga Sakuya, lived with him, and wore his ring without a second thought.
At first, Ryo couldn't just switch off his residual resentment. On that first afternoon, every time Sakuya stepped close, Ryo found himself tensing up waiting for the arrogant guy who had mocked him yesterday to reappear. But Sakuya didn't mock him. Sakuya fussed over his coffee, held his hand across the street, and looked at Ryo with an open, defenseless tenderness that slowly eroded Ryo's guard.
By the second day, Ryo's internal resistance was completely crumbling under the sheer weight of Sakuya's warmth, and also admits to himself that it is because of the man’s sweet smile and handsome face… Did he just said, handsome?
Living in this alternate reality was somehow shockingly easy. Here, Sakuya was embarrassingly affectionate. He couldn't go ten minutes without physical contact.
Sakuya loved picking him up out of nowhere, hooking his arms around Ryo's waist and swinging him right off his skates or floorboards just to hear Ryo let out a startled, breathless laugh. Every night, Sakuya would tuck the blankets around Ryo's shoulders before falling asleep, wrapping his entire long body around Ryo like a heavy shield.
Fun fact: Ryo already knew Sakuya always slept on his left side with one hand tucked under his pillow, a detail he had picked up from watching Sakuya pass out on team buses during tournaments over the years. But experiencing it up close, waking up pinned comfortably under Sakuya's chest with soft, lingering kisses pressed into his neck and temple was entirely different.
The next morning, Sakuya burned the rice, swore at the pot, and looked so genuinely wounded when Ryo laughed that Ryo instinctively kissed the corner of his mouth to fix it.
Every morning, Sakuya watched Ryo's short program footage on his phone with the sound off, his lips moving along to the counts. When Ryo caught him, Sakuya pulled Ryo down onto his lap, buried his face in Ryo's neck, and pressed soft, lingering kisses along his cheek, jaw, and collarbone before offering his technical thoughts.
"You're better than last season, you know," Sakuya murmured against his skin, his hands resting warm on Ryo's waist. "The landing on the triple is cleaner."
On their second night as boyfriends in this life, Sakuya pulled him onto the couch and tucked him against his chest while a drama played quietly on the television. He tipped Ryo's chin up with two fingers.
"What?" Ryo asked, feeling self-conscious.
"Nothing," Sakuya smiled softly. "I just think you're the prettiest thing I've ever gotten to keep. The most beautiful person I know, actually. I'm a very lucky man, I'm lucky every single day."
Sakuya kissed him before Ryo could answer slowly and unhurriedly. When he pulled away, he was grinning, and Ryo laughed against his lips. Neither of them could keep a straight face long enough to kiss properly, so Ryo just melted into Sakuya's chest, resting in the warmth.
Ryo let himself have it. He stopped counting the days and began dreading their end.
If I go back, Ryo thought one night, listening to Sakuya's steady breathing beside him, we're just going to hate each other again.
On the third night, they attended a sponsor dinner. Under the table, Sakuya's hand held Ryo's the entire meal, his thumb tracing slow circles over Ryo's knuckles.
Near the end of the evening, Maeda leaned over and whispered to Ryo, "He was unbearable before you two got together, you know that? Wouldn't shut up about you. We used to place bets on how long it'd take before he actually talked to you instead of about you."
Ryo turned those words over in his mind all the way home. He thought about Sakuya leaning on the rink boards, saying something cruel into the quiet air, and wondered if that arrogance had just been the defense mechanism of a man who didn't know how to handle wanting someone.
By the fourth night, Ryo was in too deep thinking of a proper word to call it, Yearning? oh he was yearning for me?
❄️⛸️🏒
He woke up in his own bed, in his own apartment, alone.
His phone alarm was ringing. There was a text from his coach about ice time. His left hand was empty, there was no ring.
He lay there, waiting for relief, but only a flat gray grief arrived. He was back where he started… single, nursing split knuckles from a punch thrown at a guy he was supposed to hate.
He went to the rink because he had nowhere else to go. His hand ached, and so did his jaw where Sakuya had hit him… a fresh, sharp pain, unlike the fading bruise from the other life.
Sakuya was already on the ice running drills. Ryo stood at the boards, his chest tightening as Sakuya laughed with a teammate.
Ryo thought, with real despair, Oh, no.
He told no one. He kept the memory tucked behind his ribs and trained silently.
He saw Sakuya twice that week. Once in the hallway, where Sakuya simply offered a short nod, the cut on his cheekbone healed cleanly then Ryo just nodded back and kept walking.
The second time was in the parking lot; Sakuya looked up from loading his gear, and for a second, a flicker of recognition crossed his face, a searching look that vanished as quickly as it came.
A week later, his clubmate, Tokuno Yushi, casually mentioned that Sakuya had watched every single one of Ryo's competitions that season, even sourcing a link for a low-quality regional qualifier.
"Why would he do that?" Ryo asked, keeping his voice flat.
Yushi shrugged. "My guess? I think he thinks that you're the prettiest when you’re on ice and he's too proud to say it. He glares at your programs like he criticizes you but with fondness."
Ryo didn't ask Sakuya about it. He just carried this information around like a heavy stone.
❄️⛸️🏒
Three weeks after the fight, Ryo was practicing alone late at night. He was running the back half of his long program for the fifth time, determined to fix a landing that kept collapsing under him.
He went into the jump too late, his weight shifted wrong. In the air, he knew it was over. He hit the ice on an outside edge, his ankle rolling, bracing for the hard slam against the ice.
Instead, an arm caught him firmly around the waist, pulling his momentum into a broad chest that didn't give an inch.
"Careful!" Sakuya said near his ear, half-laughing and unsteady. "You really fell prettily, though. I'll give you that."
It was a stupid thing to say—the kind of comment that would have enraged Ryo a month ago. But Sakuya's grip didn't loosen, and when Ryo looked up, there was no arrogance on Sakuya's face. There was only immediate, sharp worry.
Ryo broke. Tears came ugly and sudden, his face crumpling against Sakuya's shoulder.
Sakuya went rigid. "Ryo, hey, are you hurt? Does something hurt?"
"Nothing's broken," Ryo sobbed into his jacket. "It's not that."
"Then what?" Sakuya cradled the back of Ryo's head gently. "Ryo, talk to me."
"I missed your face," Ryo said, his voice wrecked against Sakuya's collar. "This handsome fucking face. It's been three weeks and I can't stop wanting you."
Sakuya let out a startled, disbelieving laugh, his eyes wide in utter shock. "What? Ryo, wait—we literally broke each other's faces three weeks ago! You punched me in front of the whole rink and haven't looked at me since. What are you talking about?"
"You deserved it," Ryo choked out, a wet laugh breaking through his tears.
"I definitely did," Sakuya said quietly. His arm tightened around Ryo, holding him close like he was terrified Ryo might slip away if he let go even a fraction. "I thought I ruined everything three weeks ago, Ryo. I thought you hated me forever."
Ryo looked up at him, wiping his tears with his sleeve. "I did hate you. A little bit."
"I deserved that too," Sakuya whispered, his voice thick around the edges. He looked down at Ryo, his dark eyes wide and completely unguarded. "I've been watching your competitions for a year. All of them. I've been trying to figure out how to talk to you without sounding like an idiot, and every time you came near me, I panicked and said something stupid and mean just to get you to look at me."
Sakuya reached up, his hand gently framing Ryo's jaw, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone. "I called you delicate. I called you skinny. I was such an idiot, Ryo. You hit harder than anyone I've ever fought, and you are the strongest, most powerful skater on this ice. I was just terrified of how much I wanted you."
He rested his forehead against Ryo's, his breath coming out warm and unsteady in the cold air. "I spent three weeks trying to figure out how to apologize without making you hate me more. I don't know what shifted tonight, but I'm not letting you walk away again."
Ryo grabbed a fistful of Sakuya's jacket, pulled himself up on his toes, and kissed him hard.
Sakuya went rigid for a heartbeat before his arms locked around Ryo's waist, hauling him right up off his skates to kiss him back like he'd been starving for it for a year.
When they finally broke apart, resting forehead to forehead, Sakuya let out a breathy, breathless laugh. "Okay. Wow. Can I... can I actually keep you?"
"Yeah," Ryo breathed, the ache in his chest finally settling. "Yeah, okay. You can keep me."
Sakuya swallowed hard, his thumb tracing the line of Ryo's jaw, his expression shifting into something raw and entirely transparent.
"I've been in love with you for a year, Ryo," Sakuya confessed softly, his voice dropping into a quiet, reverent murmur. "I was just too stupid and scared to tell you."
Sakuya set Ryo back onto his skates carefully and kissed the top of his head right under the bright rink lights.
❄️⛸️🏒
It took Maeda two weeks to figure it out, announcing it loudly to the whole locker room.
"Wait," Maeda stopped mid-lace, staring at them. "Are you two... since when?"
"Since I fell on my ass in front of him and cried about it," Ryo said without looking up from his skates. Behind him, Sakuya choked on a laugh.
"Okay, not what I expected, but fine. Congratulations," Maeda muttered, shaking his head.
Ryo still thought about the other place sometimes—the ring, the drawer of photos, the life he had borrowed for four days. He never explained it to Sakuya as anything more than a strange dream. But lying in bed with Sakuya's arm heavy around his waist in this life, Ryo realized it hadn't been a different world at all. It had just been a glimpse of where they were always meant to be.
A few weeks later, Sakuya turned up at the rink holding two coffees, sitting down beside Ryo on the boards with a dead serious expression.
"I want to take you to meet my parents," Sakuya said.
Ryo raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. "That's the big announcement?"
"I've been rehearsing this speech for days. You're ruining it."
"Sorry. Please continue."
"You're the worst," Sakuya gritted out, though he was grinning as he reached for Ryo's hand. "My mom's going to love you. She already thinks you're too good for me."
Ryo laughed so hard he nearly slid off the boards, and Sakuya caught him instantly, holding him steady on the ice.