The rink lights buzzed overhead as the last few players filtered out the side door, still laughing from whatever Averman had yelled during the locker room cooldown. The air smelled like ice and rubber and sweat — familiar, if not exactly pleasant.

She lingered by the benches, phone in hand, waiting on Charlie.

Instead, she got Fulton.

He stepped through the rink doors alone, helmet hooked on one finger, that usual lumbering walk like he hadn't decided if he was tired or just thinking too hard. He clocked her immediately — paused, brows ticking up just a hair — then changed direction.

Straight toward her.

“You waiting for Charlie?” he asked, voice rough like gravel dragged over snow.

She nodded, slipping her phone into her pocket.

Fulton smirked — just barely. He shifted his helmet under his arm, standing awkwardly close but not uncomfortably so. His presence filled space whether he meant it to or not.

“Most people don't hang around the rink this late,” he said. “You don't mind the cold?” Something softened behind his eyes

A loud thud behind them made both turn — Dean, sliding across the hallway floor in socks and no shirt like a gremlin let loose.

“She doesn't play, remember?” Dean called out. “Which means she's probably smart. Unlike us.”

Fulton didn't look back. “Put a shirt on, Dean.”

Dean cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “Tell her about the time you got hit in the teeth with a stick and didn't even blink—”

“I'll kill you,” Fulton muttered under his breath. But it didn't come out angry. Just tired. Embarrassed.

She was already smiling.

Fulton scratched the back of his neck, looking down at his skates for a second before glancing back up at her.

“I could walk you home,” he offered — casual, like it was no big deal. But his voice dipped lower, softer. “If you want.”

A beat. His eyes held hers.

Dean, from a distance: “Oh, now he finds his voice. Classic Bash Bro behavior.”

Fulton rolled his eyes, but his focus never left her.

“You don't have to say yes,” he added. “I just... wouldn't mind.”

And with him, it was never about flash. Never about charm. Just a simple truth offered like a hand extended. No pressure.

Just the kind of quiet that says, you're safe with me.