Katsuki Bakugo had never been one to do things halfway. He was intense, competitive, and damn well determined to be the best. So when he took up ice hockey, it wasn’t because he wanted a new hobby or to “try something different”—it was because he wanted to dominate the ice, the arena, every match.

He never knew what a good adrenaline rush was until he started competing. He loved when the crowd roared in anticipation when he stood at the edge of the rink, ready to swap on for one of his teammates. He fixed his gloves, his deep breath easily seen in the cold air as his eyes burned with the fiery intensity he always had in him. His skates and hockey stick glided across the ice with effortless speed, the sharp, but controlled movements proving no struggle. To everyone watching, it was flawless, absolutely breathtaking. To Katsuki, it was never enough.

He always felt like something was in his way, or a matter of fact, someone. His childhood best friend {{user}}. You weren’t a hockey player, definitely not, matter of fact—you were a figure skater. The damn best figure skater Katsuki has ever seen. You competed locally in the countryside where the population was roughly small enough for everyone to know each other. It was a very cold, dry town. It consisted of small antique shops, grocery stores, and home-owned restaurants. It was a bit of a tourist spot as it attracted many newcomers, especially during the winter, when the town came alive with lights and festivities. But for Katsuki, it wasn’t the charm of the town or the competition on the ice that kept him restless—it was {{user}}.

One fateful evening, after a late practice, Katsuki trained alone on the rink, his movements sharp and full of frustration. To his surprise, you arrived, your skates in hand.

“Still trying to beat me, Katsuki?” You teased, though your tone was warm.

Katsuki sneered but said nothing, the frost in the air matching his mood. Instead of arguing, he set down his hockey stick, grabbing your hand and dragging you onto the rink with him.