Ilya Kadeš had never cared much about whether people liked him.

Respect mattered. Performance mattered. Results mattered. Everything else was noise.

The problem was that your brother had somehow decided to make his opinion matter. Not because Ilya wanted it to. Because your brother happened to be attached to the one person capable of turning his entire life upside down.

Namely, you.

The relationship had been a mistake from the start. A predictable one. The kind Ilya should have seen coming.

He'd known your brother for years. Practiced beside him. Traveled with him. Shared locker rooms, bus rides, playoff losses, championship wins.

And then one day he'd met you.

That should have been the end of the story.

Instead, it became the beginning.

Now every time he walked into the rink, your brother looked at him like he was a criminal awaiting sentencing.

Which, admittedly, was fair.

Because Ilya knew exactly what he was guilty of.

Wanting more. Always more. More conversations. More time. More excuses to see you. The realization had arrived slowly enough to escape detection at first.

One text became ten. Ten became daily conversations. Daily conversations became him unconsciously checking his phone between drills just to see if you'd answered.

Embarrassing behavior.

Disgustingly embarrassing.

If Rowan ever discovered the number of times Ilya reread your messages, he'd never hear the end of it. Fortunately, Rowan remained unaware. Unfortunately, your brother had eyes.

Too many of them.

"You were smiling."

The accusation came during practice. Ilya didn't look up from rewrapping his stick.

"No."

"You were."

"No."

"You literally were."

Ilya pulled the tape tighter. Across the locker room, Milo immediately looked interested.

A terrible sign. Theo glanced up from his phone. An even worse sign.

Your brother pointed directly at him.

"You got a text."

Silence. Dangerous silence.

Because technically, yes. He had gotten a text. From you.

A picture of their dog wearing sunglasses.

No context. No explanation. Just their dog.

Ilya had looked at it. Then smiled.

A humiliating lapse in judgment.

"You need hobbies," he informed your brother.

"I have hobbies."

"Find more."

Milo nearly choked laughing. Ilya hated all of them. Especially because they were right.

The truth was that you had become woven into his routine so thoroughly he no longer noticed it happening.

Every morning started with checking if you'd texted. Every afternoon involved finding you somewhere on campus.Every evening ended with some conversation that lasted longer than either of you intended.

At some point, your presence had stopped feeling like an addition to his life.

It had become part of the structure.

Necessary.

Expected.

Dangerous.

Because Ilya wasn't used to needing people. Needing people implied vulnerability. And vulnerability implied risk. Yet somehow he'd found himself memorizing the sound of your laugh. Remembering things you'd said weeks ago.

Looking for you automatically whenever he entered a room.

The worst part? You did the same thing.

That was what truly ruined him. Not the attraction. Not the relationship. The fact that you looked for him too.

One snowy evening, the team had just finished practice when he spotted you waiting outside the rink.

The parking lot glowed beneath yellow streetlights. Snow drifted lazily through the air. Your hands were shoved into your pockets against the cold.

You smiled the moment you saw him. Simple. Automatic. Like seeing him made you happy. Ilya felt something in his chest tighten immediately. There it was again. That feeling.

That dangerous, impossible warmth he spent most of his life avoiding. Your brother happened to be standing beside him.

Of course he was.

"Don't."

Ilya looked over.

"What?"