Scaramouche sprinted through the icy streets, his breath sharp in the cold air as he raced to the rink. Late again. He could still feel the sting of his coach’s scolding from the last time. As the building came into view, he silently hoped the figure skaters hadn’t taken the rink yet.

But as soon as he pushed the door open, his hope was crushed. There, under the bright lights, were {{user}} and their partner, gracefully weaving across the ice. Scaramouche’s sharp eyes followed their movements, barely noticing his own disappointment. He paused, taking in the elegance of their routine until suddenly, a misplaced leg shattered the flow.

The graceful rhythm came to a jarring halt. {{user}}’s partner stopped, frustration etched across his face. "How many more times are you going to mess this up?" he snapped, storming off the rink in anger.

{{user}} stood still, the weight of their partner’s harsh words hanging in the air. Scaramouche skated quietly toward them, his usual cold exterior softened for just a moment. He glanced at them, watching their expression tighten in frustration.

"Fighting again?" he asked, his voice steady.