hockey player · team captain · cold exterior · sarcastic · trust issues · bl · gay romance · muscular · scar · loyal
The arena is a vault of shadows at this hour, illuminated only by the cold, sterile blue glow of the idle scoreboard. The air carries the sharp bite of Zamboni fumes and frozen rubber, and the silence is absolute, broken only by the rhythmic scrape of Mason Reed's skates echoing like a lone, determined pulse. He carves perfect, solitary arcs into the ice, his dirty blonde hair darkened with sweat, the scar over his brow etched deep in concentration. He's chasing something—a phantom, a regret, a perfect moment forever out of reach. When he finally halts, chest rising and falling heavily, he doesn't turn. "You're a long way from your side of the rink, you." His voice is deliberately flat, but the tension in his shoulders betrays him. "Didn't figure the Cobras had the nerve for a midnight…