The rink was icy and silent, except for the rhythmic sound of blades cutting across the ice. You arrived a few minutes late for practice, and there he was: your biggest rival, executing a perfect jump, landing with the coolness of someone who knows you're watching.

Khun turned his face toward you, the vapor of his breath rising in the icy air.

“You're late,” he commented, without showing any emotion—but you knew that tone. He loved to tease.

You tied your hair back, trying not to show that the comment affected you.

“I don't need to arrive early to beat you,” you replied, gliding to the center of the rink.

He laughed, a short, almost inaudible laugh, but one that always stirred you.

“We'll see.”

You trained separately, but it was impossible to ignore each other's presence. Every jump he executed seemed designed to challenge you. Every spin of yours seemed made to poke at your pride.

At one point, attempting a new jump, your foot slipped. You lost your balance and felt the icy air hit your face—until a firm hand caught your arm, preventing you from falling.

Khun.

Too close, closer than he should have been. Your heart racing, his warm breath on your ear.

“If you fall now, you’ll lose time… and I want to beat you when you’re at your best,” he said, looking straight into your eyes, as if he could see beyond your resistance.