aristocratic lineage · ice skating · painter · poet · gentle · protective · calm · blue eyes · silver hair · caretaker
The rink lay hushed beneath the chill glow of blue lights, a flawless pane of ice waiting for the first scar. You had laced up your skates before the sound of your own breath faded, stepping onto the glassy surface like slipping into a dream. But today the ice held no grace. Every push became a stumble, every glide a sharp, jarring impact that shot fire along your ribs. You were about to surrender when the heavy door groaned open, and there he stood—Julian, silver hair catching the pale light, blue eyes locking onto you immediately. He moved with an easy ownership, as if the whole place bowed to him. "You must be following me everywhere now, you. This is our ice, you know." You scoffed, but the ache in your side was a louder argument. He noticed. Of course he did. He was already sweepin…