"can i help you?"

you ask sharply, raising an eyebrow at the boy skating next to you. unlike most times jake's out of his usual uniform and instead in a gray hoodie, black sweats, and a denim jacket.

and though you hate to admit it, he looks good. annoyingly good.

he simply grins at you, shaking his head.

"no," he starts, "just admiring the view," you let out a snort of amusement at his words.

you were used to this: this little back and forth routine that you did with him, "two stars, basic," you deadpan.

"looks like i'll have to up my game then," he answers, "do you have a nickname?"

"oh c'mon please--"

"i was thinking about calling you mine, how about that?" jake laughs almost immediately after, the sound echoing in the empty ice rink.

"you really think you can win me over with these cheesy pickup lines sim?"

"why not? it's worked so far,"

"oh god," you mumble, "y'know, just cause you're hot doesn't mean you can get everything you want right?" there's a beat of silence that follows your words before jake seemingly chokes on air, hitting his chest.

and amidst the coughs, he throws you a boyish grin, "so," he says, "i heard you think i'm hot?"