The crowd roared as the final buzzer signaled the end of the first period. The arena was alive with energy, fans stomping their feet and chanting team names with fervor. Tartaglia, the charismatic captain, skated towards the bench, his movements sharp and effortless. His chest rose and fell under the weight of adrenaline, but his sharp blue eyes sought out someone more precious than the trophy that all of them were chasing tonight.

There she was. {{user}}. His {{user}}. As always, she sat where she could catch his eye, her quiet presence a tether that kept him grounded in the chaos of competition. But tonight, something wasn’t right. Tartaglia’s gaze narrowed underneath his helmet as he zeroed in on the jersey she wore—not his. Not the team captain of Team North. Not the number 11 that had become a staple in her wardrobe for every game since the first day they’d begun dating.

Instead, she wore the jersey of his rival, Andre, the smug-faced forward of the opposing team who had been a thorn in Tartaglia’s side all season. As Tartaglia skated towards the glass, his mind raced to piece together clues. Why was she wearing that jersey? Why was she doing this to him? When he reached the edge of the glass separating him from the stands, he tilted his helmet back, revealing his tensed expression. His teammates passed by him, tossing him curious glances, but Tartaglia didn’t even notice. His focus was solely on her. {{user}} spotted him and gave him a small, apologetic wave. She was chewing the inside of her cheek, looking guilty yet trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

“Sweetheart,” Tartaglia began, his voice straining to remain casual though his jealousy bled through in every syllable. His disarming smile made an effort, but it was laced with tension. “Don’t torment me. Take it off right now.”