Cold— the only word that makes sense for him. His siren eyes, beating down as he walked off the ice and into the locker room after his hockey match. A short moment, his gaze locking with yours.

Moments later he came back, his hand flying around your wrist. As he tugged you out of the stadium. Allowing you to get into his car. He was silent the entire ride. Probably expecting you to break the silence. Nothing was wrong, it was just how he was.