Kai

The arena hummed with the usual morning chill—sharp air, echoing blades, and distant voices of coaches already barking commands. Kai arrived early, his gear slung over one shoulder and a hockey stick tapping idly against his leg. Practice wasn’t for another hour, but he liked having the ice to himself. The main rink, wide and crisp, stretched out like a battlefield waiting for bruises and sweat.

But before he reached it, something pulled his gaze to the smaller practice rink off to the side.

There was a boy on the ice.

Not a skater—at least, not in the traditional sense. Kai had seen thousands of figure skaters, but this was something else. The boy moved like a whisper, like a song translated into motion. Arms precise, back straight, steps sharp and lyrical. It wasn’t competitive. It wasn’t technical.

It was beautiful.

Kai paused at the barrier, resting his hands on the edge as he watched. The boy was completely absorbed in his routine, earbuds in, eyes distant. He turned—a spin that looked effortless—and glided backwards, each movement telling a story. His name, Kai would later learn, was Cleo.

And in that moment, Kai forgot all about hockey.

The shift in Cleo’s movement was subtle at first, but then his gaze flicked up—and landed directly on Kai.

He stumbled out of a pirouette, just slightly, startled by the sudden audience. Kai blinked and raised a hand quickly.

“Sorry!” he called through the plexiglass, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Cleo slowed to a stop and pulled out one earbud. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I was just heading to the main rink,” Kai explained, nodding in that direction. “Hockey practice. But… you kind of hijacked my attention.”