2. DAY ONE

Julian's POV;

My alarm dragged me out of sleep at seven sharp. I rolled out of bed without thinking, feet hitting the cold floor, mind already sour at the thought of the day. 

My apartment was small, too close to the university and neat because I couldn’t stand clutter.

Everything was where it should be: my skates by the door, textbooks stacked on the desk, a half-empty mug from last night’s tea on the counter.

Okay, Maybe too neat. 

I made a quick breakfast, toast and eggs, nothing fancy. Coffee too, though I didn’t linger over it. Caffeine was fuel, not an experience.

I pulled on jeans and a sweater and slung my backpack over my shoulder. Class first, then practice. That was my routine.

Campus was buzzing like usual, groups of students clustered together, some rushing, some lounging. 

I kept to myself. My headphones were on but not playing anything,  just giving people a reason to not talk to me.

I walked straight to my classes, which were usually…..er….fine. 

They were boring, but fine. I took notes, kept my head down, didn’t say a word. That’s how most days went. Did I feel invisible? Yes.  Did I care? Fuck no.

I only cared about skating. Thankfully, my apartment was just around the corner, it saved me from having to use the locker room. Immediately after my last class I rushed home to get ready for practice. 

By the time I got to my apartment, it was nearly one. I switched out of my jeans into comfy practice gear, and pulled on my coat. Practice was at two, and I liked to be early.

Taking the quick walk back to school, my stomach tightened as soon as the building that housed the main rink came into view. 

I’d almost forgotten, but the reminder came quickly. We’re sharing now. Us and the hockey team. 

They didn’t need the whole rink today. Unfortunately, we didn’t either. Which meant both groups had to share the space like badly matched roommates.

Great.

Inside, the rink was chilly as always, the kind of cold that clung to your clothes. 

My team gathered near the benches, stretching, talking quietly. 

Across the ice, the hockey players were already there, louder, rowdier. I tried to ignore them, like our Coach had told us yesterday:

No fights, no drama. Just skate.

But of course, that didn’t last long.

“Don’t slip, ballerinas” one of them shouted, and a ripple of laughter followed.

“Careful not to break a nail out there!” another chimed in.

My jaw clenched. I didn’t look at them, but every word scraped against me. 

The usual stereotype.

Weak. Soft. Pretty boys spinning in tights. That was the theme. Always was.

Our captain told us in a low but firm voice, “Ignore them. Focus.”

So we did. Warmups, stretches, short routines. The ice under me was familiar, steadying. Until…..

A puck came flying across, fast enough that the air moved when it passed my ear. It came too close. 

I flinched and lost my footing, my skate caught on the ice. I went down hard, my shoulder and elbow biting against the cold.

“Julian!” Our captain called, concerned, but I was already pushing myself up, face hot with anger.

“What the hell,” I muttered.

Laughter from the hockey side. Not from all of them, though.

And then, of course, Beckett skated forward. Asher Beckett. Of all people, it had to be him that made that stupid shot.

“My bad,” he said, like it was nothing. “Didn’t mean to send it your way.”

I glared at him, breathing hard. “That wasn’t just a bad aim. That could’ve killed me.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Killed you? Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“It’s not dramatic. A puck like that to the head? Could’ve been over. Or worse, broken bones, concussion, permanent damage…”

Beckett cut in, smirking. “You think broken bones are worse than death? Sort out your priorities bro.”

That lit the fire. “You think this is funny? And I’m not your fucking bro”. I snapped.

““You think it’s not funny?” he shot back, grinning like he owned the place. “Relax, ballerina. No harm done.”

“You’re unbelievable.” My voice came out sharper than I meant, but I didn’t care. “You don’t take anything seriously, do you?”

“Listen,” he said, hands up like I was the one being unreasonable. “I already apologized, I said it was an accident.”

“An accident that could’ve ended me. Maybe aim better next time, golden boy.”

His smirk twitched. “Maybe stay out of the line of fire, princess.”

I could hear both our teammates chortling in the background.

My fists curled, not that I was about to swing at him on the ice. “Maybe you should work on actually taking winning shots or finding a sport that does more than chasing rubber around with sticks.”

That one landed. His eyes narrowed into slits. “You know what your fucking problem is?”

The heat between us spiked, sharp and petty. I wanted to shove him into the boards.

“Enlighten me.”

“You’re a twirling princess with no friends, and can’t stand seeing anyone who isn’t as miserable as you are.”

Before it could get worse, the rink doors slammed open.

Coach Harris’s voice cut through everything. “Enough!” His glare moved between us, heavy and unyielding. 

“This rink isn’t for your ego contests. Either you both grow up or you’re benched. Got it?”

I pressed my lips together, biting back another retort. Beckett didn’t say a word either, though his face was clouded with frustration.

Practice wrapped not long after, though no one was really focused anymore. The air between the two teams was tense, heavier than usual.

On the way out, Beckett brushed past me hard enough to shove me off balance. 

Not enough to fall, but enough to piss me off all over again.

“Watch it,” I muttered.

He didn’t even turn around. Just kept walking.

By the time I got out of the rink, my chest was still tight with anger. My head spun with everything I should’ve said, could’ve said. I hated how easily he got under my skin.

I was replaying it all when I turned the corner near my apartment and….bam…. I walked straight into someone.

“Julian!”

I groaned internally. Gabrielle Tanaka. Another loud being, photography major, photographer for sports newsletter. She’d been hanging around the rink a lot, camera in hand, and somehow always found me.

“Sorry,” I muttered, trying to step around her, but she fell into step beside me like she’d been waiting for this.

“You won’t believe the shots I got today,” she started, all brightness and chatter. “The tension in that rink? Perfect. Hockey boys versus figure skaters…..it’s practically cinematic. You looked so fierce, by the way. Totally unbothered, even when….”

“I was clearly bothered,” I cut in flatly.

She blinked, then grinned. “Really? you hid it well. I mean, mostly. Anyway, I was thinking, maybe I could do a feature on you? Not just the team, but you specifically. You’ve got that… vibe.”

I can’t tell if she is being sarcastic or not. “Not interested.”

“That’s what you said last time,” she teased.

“And the time before that.”

She just laughed, not offended at all. “Persistent journalism. You’ll warm up to me eventually.”

I sighed but I didn’t answer. I just kept on walking, wishing she’d get bored and leave me be. But she didn’t. She never did.

By the time we reached my building, my head was pounding. Between Beckett, the practice, and Gabrielle’s nonstop talking, I was done. 

Completely done.

“See you tomorrow, Julian!” she called as I slipped inside my apartment’s building. “Think about my proposal. I’ll keep asking though, you know I will.”

I didn’t answer. Just shut the door behind me, leaned against it, and let out a long, frustrated breath.

What a day.