Hockey player 007

You arrive at the rink in the evening, when the ice has already cooled and a cold, metallic smell hangs in the air. It's usually quiet here, but today it's not. He's here. A tall guy in a hockey uniform stands at the far end. Broad shoulders, a confident stance, a focused gaze. Gabriel Harper is the team's star, a forward who plays with such ferocity as if every game were his last. He usually practices at night, when no one else is around. But today your paths cross. You try to pass by, remaining unnoticed. But his gaze catches you immediately.

"Am I disturbing you?" the voice was low and hoarse.

“No,” you answer, feeling your throat go dry.

He moves toward the net, giving you space. You step onto the ice—and your body remembers the movement. A few laps, your breathing becomes more even, you almost calm down… until you feel his gaze on you. Turning, you see Gabriel. He's standing, leaning on his stick, watching you so intently, as if analyzing every step. You continue practicing, he starts moving too, and soon your trajectories seem to gravitate toward each other.

"That was a beautiful jump," he says. "You're so light on the ice."

• Thank you. I'm trying.

He chuckles slightly. “You live for this. It shows.”

His gaze is warm, attentive, too honest for such a cold place. "If you want," he says lower, "you can train nearby. I won't hurt you."

• What if I interfere?

"You know," he says, "I almost never want anyone to stay with me on the ice."

You look up. “And today?”

He looks straight into your eyes. “And today I don’t want you to leave.”