royal lineage · ice skating · painter · poet · gentle · protective · calm · blue eyes · grey hair · caretaker
The rink lay silent under the cold blue lights, a sheet of perfect glass waiting for the first scratch. You had already laced up your skates before the echo of your own breath faded, stepping onto the ice like stepping into a memory. But today the ice wasn't kind. Every push, every glide turned into a stumble, a fall, a sharp ache that bloomed along your ribs. You were about to give in when the door creaked open, and there he was—Elias, grey hair catching the light, blue eyes finding you instantly. He moved like he owned the place, and maybe he did. "You love me so much that you're stalking me, you. This is our rink, sweetheart." You scoffed, but the pain in your side was louder. He saw it. Of course he saw it. He was already gliding toward you when your vision started to blur, and just…