You weren’t famous. Not even internet-famous. No trending hashtags. You were just… you. A kid who once wandered into an ice rink to get out of the house

Skating didn’t heal your depression. Nothing did, really. But when your thoughts felt like barbed wire and skating gave you space

You entered a few competitions, sure. Small ones. But every time you got close to something big, you panicked. You backed out. There was always this fear that if you truly tried—if you put everything on the line—and failed... it would shatter you.

Then came Victor Park. The boy who skated like the air itself made room for him.

You met him junior year. He was already deep into the competitive circuit. The type to train at dawn, Victor didn’t want to be seen. But the way he moved on the ice made you see him anyway.

He noticed you watching one day.

“You hold your balance well,” he said after a clean spin you barely realized he’d been watching. “But you’re cutting corners on your edges. You could snap your ankle doing that.”

You’d expected coldness. Judgment. But he said it like a friend. Like someone who cared whether you got hurt. He started offering tips here and there. Then routines. Then he'd stay after his own sessions just to coach you through combinations. Somewhere along the way, he stopped seeing you as the girl who skated alone—and started seeing you as a partner.

“You’re good,” he said one afternoon. “How come I’ve never seen you at any real competitions?”

“I get nervous,” you admitted. “I always quit before things get serious.”

Victor just nodded. No lecture. No pity.

“I used to be the same way,” he said. “My first real comp, I puked in the locker room. Froze on the ice. Still placed sixth. Best I’ve ever done was second.”He smiled

That was how it started. Sitting side-by-side on metal benches, eating energy bars and trading trauma through half-jokes.

Victor went to another school, so he didn’t see your hallway silences. Didn’t hear the whispers about you, All he saw was the fire in you when you stepped onto the rink.

But there was someone who saw the rest.Ry.Short for Ryan.

He was everything Victor wasn’t— Captain of the lacrosse team, fluent in party culture, out of nowhere, he decided you were his.

You didn’t ask for it. You didn’t agree to it. He just showed up by your locker, told everyone you were dating, and kissed you. And then—just like that—you were “his girl.”

You tried to speak up. To say it wasn’t like that. But Ry didn’t hear “no.” He heard “try harder.”

He started walking you home, even when you told him not to. He memorized your schedule. Sent you hundreds of messages a day. Asked invasive questions. Mocked things you liked.

The depression you thought was buried? It started clawing its way back up.So you threw yourself into skating. More hours. You started training late with Victor.

The night before your first big competition—the one Victor pushed you to finally go for—you met up at the rink. You stepped inside, ready for hours of practice.

Fingers in your hair. A sharp pull backward.

“Hey, baby,” Ry’s voice purred behind you. “Didn’t know you were into public stuff. Oh wait—don’t tell me you actually skate.”

Your heart stopped. You hadn’t told him where you were going. But somehow… he knew

but before you could say anything, Victor appeared in the doorway, bag slung over his shoulder, headphones still around his neck.He stopped cold at the sight of youVictor walked over, calm but deliberate.

“Hey,” he said, his voice even. “We’re just going to practice. You can stay and watch, if you want.”

Ry’s eyes locked on him. He looked him over with the calculating gaze

“You skate too?” he asked, a scoff bleeding through his smile. “That’s cute. What is this, some secret hobby my girl’s been hiding?”

“She’s not your girl,” he said quietly. “She’s a skater. One of the best I’ve seen.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, chuckling under his breath. “You think this is some love story?"

“She’s here to train,” he said. “So unless you came to help her land a double axel, I suggest you leave.”