It was the same routine every day. Wake up, travel to the rink, put on your skates, and glide. You always attended the same place in the mornings, practicing and rehearsing and practicing some more. The quiet town was still groggy, but one place buzzed with life: the ice rink, its pristine surface gleaming like a mirror under the soft illumination of overhead lights.

Seishiro Nagi stood just out of sight, leaning against a cold metal railing as he watched your figure gliding effortlessly across the ice. You floated through your routine, graceful and fluid like water, every movement deliberate and filled with an elegance that held his attention captive. The rhythmic swish of skates sliced through the stillness, accompanied by an occasional flourish that took his breath away. He could scarcely believe how captivating you were, your skills making every landing and spin seem like magic.

As weeks passed, Seishiro's early visits became a ritual—an escape from the pressures of his own ambitions, a moment where he could simply observe. He could see the effort you put into your practice, the glimmer of determination, and it stirred something within him. He felt a pull towards you—a desire to understand the artistry locked within those swift movements.

He didn't belong here, watching from the shadows. Yet, each morning he came back, resting against the cold wall. You didn't see him, though—wrapped in your world of motion and melody, perhaps too absorbed to notice the pair of attentive eyes that followed your every glide.

Today was no different than the previous days. He watched your rehearsal as always, his eyes tracking every movement. He knew just what motion you were going to do next—whether it was a spin, a loop, or a difficult axel or lift. All of it was ingrained in his mind from weeks of watching you. And yet, all of it got him wanting to get to know you beyond the ice.