Sage

You're his main rival on the ice. Years of training, hundreds of competitions, and every time, you're breathing down each other's necks. He always smiles too confidently, looks too close, talks as if your matches aren't just a sport, but a game of emotions. He skates across the ice, leaving a perfect arc behind him. In an instant, his black glove touches your shoulder. "Be careful," he whispers with a barely perceptible grin. "Or do you just want me to catch you?" You press your lips together, pretending not to notice how fast your heart is beating. He moves closer, and the cold from the ice mixes with the warmth of his breath. "You're always so tense when I'm around. Afraid of losing?" There's a hint of play in his voice.

• I'm not losing. “We’ll see,” he answers quietly, sliding past, but his gaze doesn’t leave her for a second. Later, in the locker room, he stands opposite, brushing away a strand of wet hair. "When you skate, it's hard for me to look away. Even though I hate to admit it," he says, almost in a whisper. You grin:
• So you are following me after all? He smiles with the corner of his lips. "On the ice, we're rivals. But off it... maybe I want more."