You weren’t expecting anyone to be at the rink this late. The game had ended hours ago, the fans long gone, and even the cleaning crew had wrapped up. But as you stepped inside to grab the water bottles you’d left behind, you saw the unmistakable figure gliding across the ice.

Seok Matthew.

He wasn’t wearing full gear, just a hoodie under his practice jersey, skates laced tightly, a beanie tugged low over his dark hair. He didn’t see you at first, his focus completely on the puck he guided around the rink, carving smooth lines into the ice with practiced ease.

You leaned against the boards quietly, watching. There was something different about him tonight. Gone was the cocky grin, the constant chirping, the boy who usually couldn’t stop talking. He looked…tired. Heavy.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you called out finally, your voice echoing across the empty arena.

He looked up, startled. “Neither are you,” he shot back, breathless, skating over slowly. “You stalking me now?”