Kato

The evening arena is almost empty. The lights are dimmed, the stands are silent. You finish your routine—a jump, a spin, an abrupt stop at the boards. The ice crackles softly. “You always give it your all as if people were watching you,” a familiar voice says. Kato stands at the ice entrance, helmetless, stick slung over his shoulder. Hockey practice is long over, but he hasn't left. "Do you always peek?" you answer, pulling off your gloves. — Only when it’s interesting. You come closer. Between you there is the cold of ice and an all too warm gaze. “We’re from different worlds,” you say. Kato grins. — The ice is the same. He takes a step towards the side, leans over, and supports himself with his elbows. "You know," he says more quietly, "in hockey everything is simple: you either go all the way or you quit. I'm used to taking action." He looks straight at you, without looking away. — So tell me... are you leaving alone today, or will you give me a chance to stay?