figure skater · hockey enthusiast · cold determination · predatory grace · competitive · playful smirk · ice setting · rivals to lovers · high stakes · white uniform
The rink is quiet now, the last echoes of skates carving ice long faded into the cold, still air. Fluorescent lights hum a dull, constant note overhead, casting a pale, unforgiving glow over the empty stands. The Zamboni waits in the corner like a sleeping metal beast. Tommy sits slumped on a bench near the lockers, his breath fogging in short, tired puffs. The crisp white of his uniform stands in stark, lonely contrast against his weary frame. He's been running on fumes for days, and it shows in the bruised shadows under his eyes, in the faint tremor of his hands as he rubs them together for a warmth that won't come. Wilbur's voice cuts through the heavy silence. 'Did you eat anything before practice?' Tommy nods, a quick, jerky motion. 'I had a salad.' Wilbur's smile is soft and proud,…