Chapter 1: Blood on the Ice
The air inside the Silver Ice Academy rink was a blade in the lungs, so cold it burned. Hyukjae sucked it in anyway, relishing the ache. It was a clean pain, unlike the roiling, messy thing in his chest whenever Donghae was on the ice.
And Donghae was always on the ice.
Right now, he was a red-and-white blur against the stark white, carving impossible arcs around Hyukjae’s teammates during the scrimmage. He moved with a liquid grace that made Hyukjae’s own powerful, efficient strides feel clunky. Obsolete.
“He’s looking for you,” Minho muttered as they glided side-by-side during a line change, his breath puffing like steam.
“He can look all he wants,” Hyukjae snapped, his eyes locked on the play forming ahead.
The puck was his, a hard, sure pass from the defender aimed directly at his tape. He saw the trajectory, calculated the reception, prepared to turn it into a breakaway. It was a thing of beauty, a testament to years of synchronicity with his team.His team.A flash of red cut across his periphery.
Donghae.He didn’t steal the pass.That would have been honest. Instead, his stick tapped the puck with infuriating delicacy, just enough to alter its path. It skittered past Hyukjae’s outreached blade and into the corner, dead. A pointless, chaotic misdirection.A taunt.The whistle blew. Hyukjae didn’t hear it. All he heard was the blood roaring in his ears, a hot counter-rhythm to the arena’s generic pop anthem.He was across the ice in three brutal strides.
Donghae was already turning, that media-ready smile plastered on his stupid, soft face. “Oops,” he said, the word a visible cloud in the air between them. His brown eyes were wide, sparkling with pure, undiluted mischief.Hyukjae didn’t waste words. Words were for captains who had control. He drove his shoulder into Donghae’s chest, propelling him backward with all the force of his coiled anger. The impact was a sickening crunch of pads and a sharper rattle as Donghae’s body slammed into the plexiglass. The entire section shuddered.A hush fell over their corner of the rink. Teammates stopped.The coaches on the bench half-rose.
Donghae’s head snapped back against the glass, but his smile didn’t falter.If anything, it deepened. He was pinned, Hyukjae’s forearm braced against his collarbone, their helmets inches apart. Hyukjae could see the faint sweat beading on Donghae’s temple, could smell the sharp scent of his exertion.
“You ruin everything,” Hyukjae hissed, his voice low and rough.
Donghae’s gaze dropped to Hyukjae’s mouth, then back to his eyes. He laughed, a soft, breathless sound lost to anyone but Hyukjae. Then he leaned in, his voice carrying just enough to be heard by the clustered players. “Captain’s got a crush.”
The words, absurd and provocative, slithered into Hyukjae’s brain and short-circuited something primal. Rage, white-hot and blinding, erased the world. The careful control, the guarded emotions, the icy composure—it all shattered.
His gloved hand shot out, shoving Donghae harder into the boards.He spun away, his skates scraping violently against the ice. He needed to hit something, needed to break something. He raised his stick, a beautiful piece of carbon fiber, and brought it down with all his strength not on Donghae, but on the ice itself.
The crack was like a gunshot.The stick snapped, the lower half spinning away in a pathetic spiral. Hyukjae stood there, chest heaving, holding the shattered remains. The silence was absolute now, even the music fading into a distant thump.A warm hand closed around his wrist.
Hyukjae flinched, expecting a shove, a punch.It was Donghae. Of course it was Donghae. He had extracted himself from the boards and now stood close, too close, his grip firm but not threatening. His other hand came up and carefully pried the broken stick from Hyukjae’s frozen fingers.
“You’ll need a new one,” Donghae said quietly, his earlier taunt gone, replaced by a focus so intense it was disorienting. He was looking at Hyukjae like he was the only person in the entire universe.Hyukjae yanked his wrist back. “Don’t touch me.”
“Coach!” Donghae called out, not breaking eye contact. “Hyukjae needs a new stick. I’ll take him to the spares.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He just turned and began gliding toward the players’ tunnel, assuming Hyukjae would follow.The sheer audacity of it was a different kind of provocation. Hyukjae followed because to stay was to admit defeat, to wallow in the wreckage of his own anger. Skating behind him, Hyukjae watched the way Donghae’s shoulders moved under his jersey, the confident set of his head. He wanted to drive him into the concrete tunnel wall.The locker room was empty, still humid from the earlier pre-game shower. The stale smell of sweat and damp cotton hung in the air. Donghae went straight to the equipment rack and pulled out a fresh stick, handling it with a reverence Hyukjae found obscene.
“Here,” Donghae said, offering it.Hyukjae didn’t take it. “What is your problem?”
“My problem?” Donghae leaned the stick against a bench and took a step forward.The space between them crackled. “You’re the one who body-checked me into next week over a bad pass.”
“It wasn’t bad.It was perfect. You ruined it on purpose.”
“So I wanted your attention.” Donghae shrugged, a maddeningly casual gesture.“I got it.”
“This isn’t attention. This is hatred.” Hyukjae spat the word, needing it to be true.Donghae’s eyes softened. He took another step. Hyukjae held his ground, his back against the cold metal of the lockers.“Is it?” Donghae murmured.“You watch me. You notice how I take a breath after a goal. You see me.” His gaze traveled over Hyukjae’s face, lingering on his mouth. “You broke your stick because I said something true and you couldn’t handle it.”
“Nothing you said was true.”
“You think about me,” Donghae whispered, now so close Hyukjae could feel the heat coming off him. “All the time.I see it. It’s the only thing that gets through that ice-captain act. It’s the only thing that makes you feel real.”
Hyukjae’s hands clenched at his sides.He should shove him away. He should punch that knowing look off his face. Instead, he was frozen, trapped by the intensity in Donghae’s eyes and the terrifying, echoing emptiness of his own words.
“You’re insane,” Hyukjae breathed, the insult lacking force.
“Probably.” Donghae’s smile returned, smaller this time, private. “About you, yeah.” He lifted a hand, slow, giving Hyukjae every chance to pull away. His gloved fingers brushed a strand of damp hair from Hyukjae’s forehead.The touch was a lightning bolt straight to his spine. “You’re going to marry me, you know.”
The statement was so utterly, profoundly ridiculous that it shattered the tension. Hyukjae barked out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “What?”
“After that check?” Donghae’s thumb swept over Hyukjae’s eyebrow, a shockingly intimate gesture.“Yeah.I’ve decided. It’s happening.”
The laugh died in Hyukjae’s throat. The certainty in Donghae’s voice wasn’t playful anymore.It was absolute.This wasn’t flirting.It was a declaration.A plan. Hyukjae searched for the mockery, the joke, but found only a frightening, serene resolve.He finally found the strength to move.He slapped Donghae’s hand away. “Get away from me.”
Donghae let his hand drop, but his smile didn’t.“Okay, Captain.” He took a step back, finally granting space that felt suddenly colder. “For now.”
He turned and left, picking up the new stick on his way out and placing it in Hyukjae’s hand as he passed. The door swung shut behind him, leaving Hyukjae alone in the silent, grungy locker room. He stared at the unmarked stick in his hands, the ghost of Donghae’s touch still burning on his skin.He didn’t know if he wanted to kiss him or kill him. The terrifying part was that the line between those two impulses had never felt thinner, or more dangerous. It felt like the edge of his blade, right before he dug it into the ice for a stop. A moment of perfect, precarious balance before the fall.
A moment of perfect, precarious balance before the fall.
He stayed in the locker room until the sweat turned cold on his skin, until the muffled sounds of practice died away and left only the hum of the arena’s systems. The new stick felt alien in his hand, a betrayal of the one he’d destroyed. Donghae’s words circled his mind like vultures.You’re going to marry me.It was psychotic. It was the most infuriating thing anyone had ever said to him.
When he finally stepped back onto the bench area, the rink was empty save for a single figure. Donghae was lazically skating wide, slow circles, executing effortless crossovers, his head tilted back as if basking in the fluorescent light.He stopped when he saw Hyukjae.
“Took you long enough, princess. Worried you’d melted.”
The nickname hit Hyukjae like a physical slap.It sliced through the lingering shock and ignited a fresh, simpler fury. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” Donghae glided to the boards, resting his arms on the ledge, perfectly at ease.“You get all pink and furious.It’s cute. Suits you.”
“Nothing about this is cute.” Hyukjae dropped his gear bag with a heavy thud, refusing to meet Donghae’s eyes. He focused on untying his skates, his fingers fumbling with the laces.
“Disagree.” Donghae’s voice was closer.Hyukjae looked up sharply. He’d vaulted over the boards and was now standing on the matting, still in his skates, looming. “The way you glare.The way your jaw gets all tight when you’re trying not to say something. It’s my favorite thing about this school.”
“Find a new favorite thing.”
“Can’t.” Donghae took a step closer, the blade guards squeaking on the floor. “I’m committed.I like my things difficult and bad-tempered. More fun that way.”
Hyukjae stood up, finally free of his skates, but it only erased the height difference Donghae’s skates had given him. Now they were eye-to-eye, too close again in the empty, echoing arena. Hyukjae could see the faint dusting of freckles across Donghae’s nose, the genuine curiosity in his gaze. There was no mockery there now, just a deep, unsettling fascination.
“You hate me,” Hyukjae stated, needing to hear Donghae agree, to define this madness.
Donghae’s lips quirked.“I don’t, though. I really, really don’t.You hate me.I just love that you hate me. See the difference?”
Hyukjae didn’t.It was semantic nonsense. “You’re insane.”
“You keep saying that.” Donghae sighed, a theatrical, wistful sound. He reached out and flicked the center of Hyukjae’s chest pad.“I’m just observant. I see you, Hyukjae.All the sharp edges and the howling, obnoxious pride. It’s a hell of a view.”
Something in Hyukjae’s chest tightened, a sickening squeeze that felt perilously close to panic.No one talked to him like this. No one looked at him like this, like he was a puzzle they’d happily spend forever taking apart.He took a step back, seeking the solid barrier of the lockers.
Donghae followed, step for step. “Where are you going?”
“Away from you.”
“But I’m your ride.” Donghae said it so simply, as if it were a foregone conclusion.
“I have my car.”
“You shouldn’t drive when you’re this flustered, babe.It’s not safe.”
Babe. The second casual endearment was worse than the first. It implied a familiarity that didn’t exist, a closeness that Hyukjae violently rejected. Yet his heart hammered against his ribs, a traitorous, frantic rhythm.“Stop.Calling.Me.That.”
“What? ‘Babe’?Or ‘princess’?” Donghae tilted his head, feigning innocence. “You know, for a guy who wants to kill me half the time, you get incredibly cute when you’re annoyed.Your ears go red right at the tips. It’s happening now.”
Hyukjae’s hands flew up to cover his ears instinctively, a gesture so childish it made the humiliation burn hotter.Donghae’s laugh was soft, delighted, and utterly devastating.
“See?”
The main door to the rink swung open with a metallic groan. Minho and a few other players shuffled in, talking loudly, their voices slicing through the intense bubble. Hyukjae froze, his hands still partly raised. Donghae didn’t move away, his smile shifting into something more publicly friendly, but his eyes remained locked on Hyukjae.
“Hey, lovebirds,” Minho called, his tone joking but his eyes sharp, noticing the proximity. “Working out your differences?”
Donghae grinned, finally taking a half-step back.“Just discussing strategy. The captain here has some very… intense ideas about close-contact plays.”
The others laughed. Hyukjae felt the heat crawl from his ears down his neck. He was flushed, exposed, caught in the glare of Donghae’s attention and now the team’s curiosity. He dropped his hands, clenching them into fists at his sides.
“We’re done,” Hyukjae muttered, shouldering his bag.He pushed past Donghae, aiming for the door.
Donghae’s voice followed him, clear and warm and deliberately just loud enough. “See you tomorrow, princess.Sweet dreams.”
The laughter from the others redoubled. Hyukjae didn’t turn around. He just kept walking, each step echoing in the tunnel, the sound of his own retreat matching the furious, confused beat of his heart. He didn’t look back.He couldn’t. He knew if he did, Donghae would be standing there watching him go, smiling that infuriating, knowing smile, loving every second of his hatred.