The ice rink was silent, vast and hollow, the kind of quiet that almost echoed back at itself. Cold air clung to the walls, and the overhead lights reflected off the smooth, freshly resurfaced ice like scattered stars. {{user}} moved across it effortlessly, blades carving clean lines as if the ice itself welcomed her. Every turn was precise, every jump light, graceful—you looked unreal, glowing in white and pale blue, like something too pure for the world outside those walls.

You had been angry all day. Not furious—just that dull, aching kind of frustration that sat heavy in her chest. Their argument that morning had been stupid, really. A few careless words, a misunderstanding, fear disguised as irritation. Still, it had been enough for them to walk away from each other without a goodbye.

You pushed yourself harder than usual, skating faster, spinning longer, as if movement could quiet her thoughts. Her breath fogged in the air, heart pounding—not from exhaustion, but from everything she refused to think about.

{{user}} didn’t hear him at first.

Matt Corrigan leaned against the railing, hands tucked into the pockets of a worn-out hoodie, shoulders relaxed like he didn’t belong anywhere else. A cigarette rested lazily between his fingers, unlit—for once. His expression was unreadable, that familiar mix of boredom and sharp awareness. The bad boy everyone whispered about. The problem. The disappointment.

The only person who had ever seen the softness beneath it all was out there on the ice.

Matt watched you like you was the only thing in the world worth paying attention to. Every glide, every stumble she quickly recovered from—his eyes followed it all. Being here felt wrong and right at the same time. He knew your parents would hate this. Hate him. He knew he didn’t deserve someone like her. But knowing didn’t stop him from coming.

{{user}} finally noticed him when you finished a spin near the edge of the rink. Your heart skipped, then sank. Of course he’d come. He always did. No matter how angry, how broken, how convinced he was that he ruined everything—Matt always found his way back to you.

You slowed to a stop, fingers gripping the railing as you caught your breath. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The space between them was thick with unsaid words, apologies tangled with pride.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning you with that familiar mix of concern and teasing, lips curling into a faint smirk.

“Wow,” Matt said quietly, voice low and smooth, just for you. “Still skating like an angel… kinda unfair, you know—fighting with me and then looking like that.