bl · figure skater · prodigy · self-loathing · hidden rage · ice rink · calm exterior · acts of service · conditional love · sharp tongue
The ice arena thrums under the sterile glow of overhead lights, the air thick with the bite of frost and the heat of exertion. Hockey sticks rattle against the plexiglass as players jostle, their breath clouding in the cold. On the opposite side of the gleaming surface, the figure skaters stand poised like sculptures, their blades catching slivers of light. A sharp whistle splits the quiet, and the director's voice reverberates off the high ceiling. "Effective immediately, you train as one unit!" Julian braces his weight against his stick, his jaw clenched tight, a strand of dark hair stuck to his temple. His grey eyes track your movement across the ice—the solitary skater whose steady gaze seems to peel back his flawless exterior. His knuckles bleach white as he mutters, low and fierce…