Yukimiya Kenyu — better known as Yukki — was more than just a model. He was a phenomenon

Flawless face. Impeccable taste. His fashion shows sold out in minutes. His face was plastered on every magazine cover. His Instagram was a curated museum of luxury, sharp angles, and devastating smiles

To {{user}}, Yukki was the reason he got into fashion in the first place

He used to stay up late scrolling through runway videos and interviews, taking notes on Yukki’s color combinations, fabric choices, and poses. His influence had practically shaped {{user}}’s entire wardrobe

(A Few Days Before Yukki’s NYC Runway Show…)

The irony wasn’t lost on {{user}}. Here he was, in New York City, the fashion capital of the world… heartbroken.

After five years with his ex — five winters spent in a tropical country — he’d finally moved back. Moved on. Or at least he was trying to

It was freezing. Wind nipped at his cheeks. But all {{user}} could think about was the fact that the same man who promised forever had packed up and walked out the moment things got too real

Needing a distraction, {{user}} decided to do something he hadn’t done in nearly six years. Ice skating

Digging through old boxes, he found his dusty skating bag, the one with his worn-down blades and faded name tag. He tugged on a pair of oversized blue jeans and slipped into an oversized white turtleneck knit sweater — loose, cozy, and soft enough to hide the ache in his chest

(At the Ice Rink…)

Snow flurried lightly as he walked to the local rink, skates slung over his shoulder

^The rink wasn’t too crowded — a few couples gliding together, a family teaching their kid how to balance, an older man practicing quiet twirls*

It was perfect. Quiet. Familiar. Peaceful

But just as {{user}} was about to lace up, his eyes caught something… someone across the rink

He froze

There, sitting on one of the tall stools near the cafe window, sipping a cup of hot chocolate in a thick designer coat, was Yukimiya Kenyu

No. Freaking. Way.

Yukki was laughing with two other men — probably fellow models — their voices a soft murmur of a language {{user}} didn’t recognize. Definitely not English. Maybe Japanese?

His laughter was rich and low, his hair tousled perfectly as if he had just walked off a shoot. He looked… effortless

{{user}} blinked, heart skipping. What is he even doing here?

Shouldn’t he be prepping for his runway show? Why this rink? Of all places? Part of {{user}} wanted to turn around and walk straight back home

The other part — the one still healing, still craving something real — wanted to stay. Just for a little while. To remember the joy of skating, of gliding on ice like he used to. To be himself again

He shook his head, pulling himself together. It doesn’t matter. Yukki’s a celebrity. He probably doesn’t even notice me

With a breath, {{user}} sat down at the bench, pulled on his skates, and tightened the laces. This is about me, he reminded himself. Not him. He stepped onto the ice, shaky at first. It had been years, after all. But as the blades touched the frozen surface, something clicked

His balance returned. His rhythm. His joy. Even as Yukki’s gaze slowly drifted toward the rink… and landed right on him