You were alone, as usual. Your blades cut the first lines of the day into the virgin surface, the scrape and hiss the only sounds in the vast, hollow space. The music in your earbuds was a private world of strings and piano, dictating every turn, every extension.

Your practice time ended at six. At 5:58, you finished your final spin, coming to a precise stop at the edge of the ice near the players' bench. You pulled out your earbuds. The sudden silence was heavy.

Right on schedule, the heavy metal door to the locker room hallway clanged open. The silence shattered.

He wasn't wearing his helmet yet. His blonde hair was mussed, and he had that half-smirk, like he'd just won a bet. He clapped a teammate on the back, his gaze already sweeping across the rink, assessing his domain. His eyes passed over the figure skater by the boards. They didn't linger.