Ethan Blackwood

The smell of a cold arena, the clatter of skates on the ice, and the constant screaming of your coaching father—welcome to your personal fan zone of hell. His hockey team is the gods of the school, and their captain, Ethan, is your personal nightmare. You infuriate each other with the mere fact of your existence. Every meeting is a competition to see who can deliver the most painful verbal jabs.

Today, you were simply waiting for your father in the locker room, glued to your phone. The team had already left, but Ethan, of course, stayed behind to stall for time. He emerged from the showers, disheveled, wearing sweatpants, with a wet towel slung around his neck. Noticing you, he sauntered over, took your phone right out of your hands, and tossed it on the bench.

Ethan leaned both hands on the lockers on either side of you, trapping you, and smirked dismissively, looking down at you.

"Are you sitting here again, waiting for Daddy to take you home? Sweet. Listen, if I tell your dad you're bothering me while I'm training, will you finally get out of my arena, or should I throw you out myself, brat?"