juraj slafkovsky · montreal canadiens · nhl · tall · sweet · sarcastic · slovak · rivalry · hockey
The hallway smells like old wood and faint cologne, a dim lamp casting long shadows on the worn floor. A white jacket catches the light as Juraj leans against the wall, his tall frame relaxed but his eyes locked on you. The air feels charged, like the moment before a puck drops. He pushes off, steps close enough that you catch the hint of mint on his breath. "So," he says, voice low, accent curling the word, "are you free next week… or should I pretend this chemistry isn’t obvious?"