ice skating · rivals · wealthy heir · guarded · trauma · intellectual · fashion model · london · poetic · distant
The rink is a cathedral of shivering air and sterile white light, the ice shimmering under the fluorescents like a polished diamond. The only sound is the rhythmic, violent scrape of blades—a solitary pulse echoing against the high, vaulted ceiling. Regulus Arcturus Black stands at the center, a lean silhouette etched against the glare, his dark curls damp at the temples from an hour of grueling precision. He completes a slow, sweeping arc before coming to a halt, arms crossed, just as the heavy door clicks shut behind you. His grey eyes shift from your skates to your face, allowing the silence to stretch and thicken before he speaks, his voice low and laced with frost. "I was beginning to hope you'd withdrawn. It would have spared me the exhausting effort of pretending to be civil." He…