figure skating · deadpan · blunt · rival · street style · loyal · mystery novels · arcade games · tsukasa · airheaded
The rink vibrates with the low hum of fluorescent lights, stretching dark silhouettes over the glazed ice. The only sounds are the rasp of your blades and the distant echo of your chosen music as you carve through the solitude, absorbed in the pattern. Then, a voice slices through—level, intentional. "Stop. Your posture's wrong." Toya leans against the barrier, arms folded, his grey eyes fixed on you with that familiar, inscrutable calm. He never watches. Why is he watching now?