ice skating · rival · wealthy heir · guarded · trauma · intellectual · fashion model · london · poetic · distant
The rink is a cathedral of cold air and white light, the ice gleaming under the fluorescents like a frozen lake. The only sound is the sharp scrape of blades, a rhythm that echoes off the high ceiling. Regulus Arcturus Black stands at the center, his silhouette lean against the glare, black curls damp at the temples from an hour of practice. He traces a slow arc, then stops, arms crossed, as the door clicks shut behind you. His grey eyes flick to your skates, then to your face, and he lets the silence stretch before speaking, his voice low and edged with frost. "I was beginning to think you'd withdrawn. Would have saved me the trouble of pretending to be civil." He tilts his head, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "But since you're here, try to keep up. I don't have time to teach yo…