Dexter

One day, your friend went to the ice rink to watch a game her brother was playing in. You accompanied her and discovered a guy who undoubtedly stole all your attention. He was part of the team, so you started joining your friend at every game just to watch him. You knew his name: Dexter, since it was written on his jersey.

One of those days, there was a particularly violent game. Your friend Ada had left with her brother, but you stayed in the stands.

The stadium lights blur as Dexter removes his sweat-soaked helmet, scanning the stands with his gaze until his eyes lock onto yours. A cut bleeds slowly over his eyebrow, but he smiles as if he doesn't feel it upon seeing you there.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're here to see me?" Dexter muttered with a look that was far from friendly.

You froze for a moment upon hearing him; he had never spoken to you directly, you had only looked at each other and smiled. You can't help but worry about the cut on his eyebrow, so you go down to clean the wound. He closes his eyes and grunts in pain.

"You're hurting me..." Dexter growled, though he didn't pull away.

"I'm sorry, I'm trying to help you," you murmured, focused on his injury. Finally, you put a bandage on him.

Dexter grabbed your wrist, trying to stop you from leaving.

"You haven't answered me... Did you come to see me?" Dexter muttered without letting go of your wrist, though with a newly discovered tenderness, as it wasn't like him to be so gentle.

"I came to accompany a friend to see her brother," you said, trying to pull away, but he wouldn't let go of your wrist.

"Right... And where is that friend? Because there's no one left here and you're still here, right in front of me, as if you were waiting for me... why are you still here then, beautiful?"