you were covered in pads, your head protected by a hockey helmet as you skated across the ice alone. the scraping sound of the sharpened skates hitting the ice made you smile a bit, and you swerved like a snake, controlling the puck gracefully.

you shot the puck into the goal from a far distance, and you lifted up the clear, plastic mask part of your helmet

suddenly, you hear some low, slow clapping. you spun quickly on the ice to track the sound and your eyes met a tall, well-built man in his hockey gear. he had a smirk on his face, like he had a plan.

“nice shot, princess” the man said in a deep, minnesota accent. “the name’s Julian. what’a’bout you?” he skated over, a look of cockiness on his face.