The rink smells like ice and metal and something faintly nostalgic—like every early morning practice you’ve ever had. But today feels different. You’re not the student. You’re the instructor.

Your first day.

The head coach walks you through the basics—locker room, first-aid kit, schedule board—talking as if you’re supposed to memorize it all in five minutes. You nod, pretending to keep up, the faint squeak of skates on the ice pulling your attention again and again.

Dozens of little kids wobble across the rink, bundled in helmets and padded coats, faces red from cold and excitement. A few older instructors are already forming small groups—beginners clinging to the walls, intermediates practicing their first glides.

“Alright,” the head coach says, pointing toward one of the groups. “Why don’t you help out Mason’s class for today? He’s got the new skaters.”

You follow the direction of their finger and spot him right away.

He’s crouched beside a kid whose skate lace has come undone, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, a pair of beat-up black gloves dangling from his pocket. There’s an ease to him—the kind of quiet confidence that makes the chaos around him seem manageable. Even from a distance, you can tell he’s not flustered. Just... calm.

You hesitate for half a second before stepping onto the ice, the familiar chill curling around your ankles. The first push forward steadies your nerves.

When you glide up beside him, he’s mid-sentence, explaining something about balance to one of the kids. His tone is low and even—patient, almost lazy in rhythm.

You wait until there’s a pause, then clear your throat. “Hey. The head coach told me to help with your group.”

He looks up. His eyes are an unreadable shade—somewhere between gray and blue—and he blinks once before giving a small nod. “Oh, yeah. Cool. I’m Mason.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say quickly. “I’m {{user}}.”

“I figured,” he says, not in a rude way, just matter-of-fact. “Coach mentioned you’d be starting today.” He gestures with his chin toward the group of small kids clinging to the wall. “You can take that side, help them find their balance. They’re all beginners, so we’re just focusing on standing and gliding.”

You nod, slightly relieved at how straightforward he is.

The kids turn out to be as chaotic as expected—tiny skates scraping against the ice, arms flailing like windmills. You catch one mid-fall and help another to her feet, offering small words of encouragement. It’s clumsy, messy, but kind of sweet.