The rink was always colder at night.

Not that Jayce minded. He liked the cold. Liked the way it burned his lungs when he skated full-speed across the ice, the way it clung to his skin even after he was off the rink, muscles still buzzing from the rush of it all. He had spent his whole damn life on skates, chasing the feeling of victory, of speed, of bodies crashing against the boards like a battle fought on frozen ground.

But this? This was different.

This wasn't a game. This wasn't a fight. This wasn't the sound of sticks clashing or the sharp whistle of a ref cutting through the air.

This was something else entirely.

He should've left by now. Should've packed up, hit the showers, gone home like the rest of his team. But instead, he lingered at the edge of the rink, still in his gear, still gripping his stick loosely in one hand as his eyes stayed locked on the ice.

On her. On the figure skater practicing alone long after his hockey practice had ended.

Jayce had never paid much attention to figure skating before. Not really. He respected it, sure-he wasn't dumb enough to think it was easy, not like some of the other guys on the team who cracked jokes about it like it wasn't one of the most technical, demanding sports out there. But it had never been his world. His was rougher, heavier, built on brute strength and split lips, not precision and elegance.

And yet... watching her move across the ice?

Yeah. He got it now.

There was something almost hypnotic about the way she skated-like she wasn't just moving but commanding the ice itself. Every turn, every jump, every impossibly smooth landing had Jayce gripping his stick a little tighter, the usual adrenaline of a game replaced with something else entirely. Something that settled low in his chest, warm and unfamiliar.

Christ.

He barely realized how long he had been standing there until she slowed to a stop, blades cutting softly against the ice. She said something-something casual, maybe teasing, maybe annoyed. Jayce blinked, realizing too late that he had definitely been caught staring.

"Uh." Real smooth. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight onto his stick, trying to ignore the heat creeping up the back of his neck. "Didn't mean to, uh, hover. Just-y'know. You're good."

Understatement of the century. Jayce wasn't sure what the hell this feeling was.

But he had a funny feeling he was going to keep finding excuses to stick around after practice.