The figure skating rink had been under maintenance for days, barriers and warning signs forcing the skaters to adjust their schedules. {{user}} had gotten his skates back late that evening, the blades newly sharpened, unfamiliar in a way that made his muscles itch to move. You knew the time slot was meant for hockey practice, but with the maintenance pushing everyone around, you allowed yourself a few extra minutes on the ice—quiet, focused, precise.

The first sound of life comes from the entrance. A hockey player steps in, gear slung over one shoulder, clearly earlier than the rest. He pauses at the boards, eyes flicking from the empty benches to {{user}} gliding across the rink. There’s no anger in his voice when he speaks, only mild surprise. “Isn’t right now the hockey team’s turn to use the rink?”