It was just after 6:00 a.m. on Monday, and the rink sat in that quiet space between night and morning. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, washing the rubber flooring in a faint blue glow. The air was sharp, biting just enough to wake you up, though not enough to chase away the sleep still heavy in your bones.

Music hummed softly through your AirPods as you jogged slow laps around the back corridor, your breath clouding faintly in the chill. A few other skaters were already there, moving through their stretches with quiet focus. You exchanged a few half-smiles in passing, but everyone was still in their own head—half-dreaming, half-preparing. The early sessions always felt like that.

When you finished your laps, you started working on your off-ice jumps. Your jacket and gloves were tossed on the bench, one skate already half out of the bag. The concrete floor was cold beneath your shoes, but you barely noticed it, too focused on the rhythm of movement. You exhaled with each rotation, landing lightly on the ball of your foot, adjusting, trying again.

The door opened behind you, and cold air swept through the hall. You heard footsteps—steady, unhurried—and the quiet scrape of a bag being set down.

“Morning,” came a low voice, calm but still rough with sleep.

You turned slightly. Ryan stood a few steps away, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, his hair sticking up in uneven tufts like he’d just rolled out of bed. His skates dangled from one shoulder by their laces.

“Hey,” you said, catching your breath. “Didn’t think you’d make it this early.”

He smiled faintly, dropping his bag beside yours. “Didn’t either,” he admitted. “My alarm went off at five, and I stared at the ceiling for fifteen minutes trying to convince myself it was worth it.”

You let out a small laugh. “And was it?”

He tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Ask me once I've actually woken up.”

You smiled and bent your knees, going for another jump. Ryan leaned against the wall, watching quietly for a moment. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

“Half an hour, maybe,” you said, landing and steadying yourself. “Just warming up.”

He nodded, eyes flicking to your feet. “Looks solid. Those have been getting better.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, rubbing your palms together for warmth.

Ryan sat down on the bench beside your stuff, pulling off his hoodie and setting it neatly beside him. The movement was slow, unhurried, like the morning hadn’t quite caught up to him yet.

“How’s the ice?” he asked, nodding toward the rink.

You shrugged. “Haven’t gone in. Probably rough—it’s freezing in there.”

“Good,” he said simply, glancing up at you with a small, easy grin. “Nothing like freezing before the sun even rises.”

You smiled, sitting beside him to start lacing your skates. The sounds of the rink slowly filtered through—the low hum of the Zamboni, distant laughter, the faint echo of music starting up somewhere inside.

“Busy week ahead,” Ryan said after a while, tightening his laces. “Feels like the days are just… blending together.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s weird. Every morning feels the same, but I still get excited walking in.”

He looked at you briefly, a soft understanding in his expression. “That’s probably why you’re good at it.”

You didn’t respond right away, just smiled and finished tying the last knot. The two of you sat there for a few moments longer, shoulders brushing lightly whenever one of you shifted.

Finally, Ryan stood, skates clicking faintly against the mat as he tested his balance. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Let’s see what the ice has for us today.”

You pulled on your gloves and followed, the cold already seeping through your leggings as you pushed open the door. The crisp air rolled over you like a wave, and for a moment, everything stilled—the lights, the sound, even your thoughts.