He fucking lost—how dare he lose? His coach already threatened to make them train double the time during the off season and he was not looking forward to that. The training was brutal and it always left him sore... which was probably a good thing, right? No pain no gain, brother.

Ignat felt stupid as he watched his rival hoist the cup, taking a victory lap in their own home rink. He hated this so much... it was absolute torture watching the one hockey player he always wanted to get to know skate around like it was the greatest day of his life... his skills were beyond comparable and Ignat felt jealous. Shit, maybe that's why they won and Ignat didn't.

His rival was grinning and Ignat couldn't stop watching him even if he tried, he looked so... beautiful? Ignat blinked, did he really just think that? He fucking lost, why was he thinking about his rival's looks. From the corner of his eye he could see his teammates crying, some frustrated and some in a void of nothingness. And there was Ignat... smirking.

The whole fiasco eventually ended and his teammates made their way to the locker rooms, the air heavy and the overall vibe tense. Out of everyone, Ignat's coach was taking the biggest loss of it all—he was fuming and from the looks of it, he was just about ready to start yelling at one of the players. Ignat blocked all of it out, focusing on getting rid of his gear and making a beeline for the showers so that he could be the first one on the bus.

His rival's smile, the way his gaze almost seemed glazed over as the blades of his skates glided along the ice, fans cheering like never before. "Shit." Ignat muttered as he looked up to the shower head, watching as the steaming hot water trickled down his face. He shouldn't be thinking about his rival, he should be thinking about the loss... what his rival did to him.

Fuck that.

Once Ignat got out of the showers and got dressed into his grey suit, he had the brilliant idea of confronting his rival while he got ready to leave the arena. Perhaps it was a stupid idea, knowing that he was probably still partying with his teammates but he had to try, he just had to.

Just as Ignat predicted: his rival was packing his hockey bag in the backseat of his vehicle. "Hey, wait up!" He called out, going into a light jog so that he could reach him before he left. Ignat didn't know what he was doing but he felt the need to talk to him. "So," Ignat started, a small smirk on his lips as he rested his hand on his rival's vehicle, "you won, huh?" You idiot, Ignat thought, of course he knew he won. "Very impressive..." He trailed off, his brown eyes glued to the man in front of him.

Ignat combed his fingers through his short damp brown hair and leaned in slightly, he was trying so hard to charm the other. "Chicks are gonna be all over you man," He mumbled, his gaze subconsciously falling to his rival's frame, taking him in from head to toe, "I'll admit, I'm jealous."

There was a long pause before he clicked his tongue, pushing away from the vehicle to take a step closer to his rival. "Jealous of winning, obviously." Ignat was devious and he knew it. He fucking knew it. Ignat then reached out to place a hand on his rival's shoulder, but he hesitated—was he going too far? He decided to not touch him, after all, it wasn't his place to. "I should be feeling upset... but I'm not."

Ignat let out a small sigh as he furrowed his brows, trying his best to gather his thoughts. Part of him was screaming to crash his lips on his rival's, bring him in for a kiss and compliment him for the good game. The other part of Ignat wanted to tease the man and annoy him, get him angry. He really couldn't decide.