Chapter Text
New York Cyclones Training Facility, Long Island City
The locker room buzzed louder than usual that morning, not in chaos, but in anticipation. It was a familiar tempo, the kind that rippled just beneath a team’s collective skin when someone important was about to return.
It was finally Ryujin’s first day back on the ice.
Shin Ryujin had not skated with them in over a week, and though most had seen her floating around the facility limping slightly, icing her thigh between meetings, chirping Chaeryeong just enough to prove she was alive, this would be the first time she touched the ice since the gold medal game.
Ryujin had barely slept the night before.
She had tried.
God, she had tried.
But her brain had been buzzing, muscles twitching with anticipation, body already half-laced into phantom skates. The thought of stepping back on the ice after nearly ten days off it, even if only for light drills, made her feel like a kid again. Restless. Giddy. Teetering on the edge of too much adrenaline.
She arrived early, already halfway into her gear when the rest of the room began filling. The familiar sharp tang of menthol rub hung faint in the air.
Winter dropped her gloves on the bench beside Ryujin and leaned in with a low whistle. “You’re really gonna do this, huh?”
Ryujin glanced up, adjusting the strap on her shin guard. “If Coach clears me, yeah. Why, you scared?”
Winter rolled her eyes. “ Scared you’ll wipe out on your first stride and take me down with you.”
“Rude,” Ryujin muttered, smirking. “My edge work is magnificent.”
Across the room, Chaeryeong chuckled without looking up from taping her stick. “Your edge work is dramatic. I’m still recovering from the three pirouettes you did in the Canada game.”
“You’re welcome for the entertainment.”
Coach Aldridge walked in then, clipboard in hand, tapping it once to quiet the noise. “Ryujin, you're cleared for non-contact drills today. We’ll evaluate how your legs respond mid-session and go from there. Understood?”
Ryujin stood, nodding once. “Understood.”
By the time they hit the ice, the familiar chill rushed up her spine like a reset button. She exhaled slowly, blades biting into the surface as she pushed off for her first warm-up lap.
The thigh still ached but it held. Her shoulder felt looser than expected, wrapped and cushioned under her base layer, but mobile.
The world fell away for a moment as she skated. Teammates glided past her, offering stick taps and grins, but Ryujin stayed quiet, focused. The buzz of the rink, the soft hiss of blades carving across the surface. It steadied her.
Winter skated up beside her a few laps in. “You good?”
Ryujin did not slow. “I missed this.”
“Glad you’re back, showboat,” Winter murmured. “Try not to score a highlight reel goal today. Save that for April.”
Ryujin’s grin sharpened. “No promises.”
The sound of her blades slicing through the ice. The faint screech of turns. The smell of old puck rubber and cold metal. The echo of laughter and calls across the rink.
It all hit her at once, and Ryujin smiled so wide her cheeks hurt.
She skated two wide laps, letting her body adjust, carving out space with every stride. The soreness in her thigh tugged a little, her shoulder still whispered its protest, but she was moving. She was gliding. Her breath came out in visible huffs, her lungs stretching open like they were finally allowed to.
She passed Chaeryeong in the neutral zone and knocked her stick lightly.
“Guess who’s back,” Ryujin called, eyes gleaming.
Winter laughed. “God help us all.”
A few drills later, Ryujin was already chirping teammates, cutting tight into corners, and catching loose pucks just for the hell of it. It was non-contact, sure, but the fire was back. Controlled chaos, as always.
Chaeryeong skated up beside her during a water break, tossing a towel at her head. “You’re glowing.”
Ryujin pulled the towel off and grinned, hair clinging damp to her forehead. “I’m home.”
They ran passing drills next, quick touches, moving up the ice in pairs. Ryujin’s timing was off at first, her reaction half a second late, her stick not where it used to be. But her hands remembered. Muscle memory kicked in, and by the third rotation, her passes were clean, tape to tape. It was not perfect. Not yet. But it was something.
From the bench, Chaeryeong kept a close eye, arms crossed, jaw tight but eyes watchful. She did not have to say anything. Ryujin could feel it. That quiet kind of leadership that never left anything unnoticed.
They ended the session with shooting reps, and Coach had her take only five shots. Light wristers from the circle. Each one thudded against the pads of their goalie or clinked off the bar. Nothing dramatic, nothing flashy.
But the final shot hit net.
The puck rang in, soft and true.
Ryujin grinned.
Progress.
Back in the locker room, while everyone was peeling off layers and tossing towels into bins, Ryujin sat at her stall a little longer. Her jersey was damp, her legs sore in the best way, and a bead of sweat trickled down her temple.
She grabbed her phone from her cubby and unlocked it.
One unread message.
[Yeji]
Did you skate? How was it?
Be honest, superstar.
[Ryujin]
painful
unbalanced
awkward.
felt fucking amazing
She hit send. Then, without waiting, she added:
[Ryujin]
i missed the ice
i missed you more tho
She hit send, heart still racing from the certainty that no matter what this month brought, she was exactly where she needed to be.
The ache in her legs told her enough: she was back. Not fully. Not yet.
But soon.
Later that afternoon, Ryujin sat curled on the far end of her couch, an ice pack tucked against her thigh and her Cyclones hoodie slung loose around her shoulders. Her hair was still damp from the post-practice shower, and her phone rested on her stomach, screen aglow with a half-open conversation thread.
No reply yet from Yeji. But that was normal. The Sentinels probably had meetings or film reviews.
Ryujin remembered how strict their post-practice schedule could be, especially with injured players returning to the ice. Still, her fingers hovered over the screen.
The door to her apartment opened without a knock.
“Ryujin?” Chaeryeong called out as she stepped in, a smoothie cup in hand and Winter behind her carrying a small takeout bag. “Did you ice already?”
Ryujin lifted her phone. “I’m doing it. Don’t yell at me.”
“I don’t yell. I lead,” Chaeryeong said, dropping the smoothie on the coffee table before tossing her keys onto the counter. “Also, your backhand shot still needs work.”
“Wow, welcome back to the ice,” Winter added, collapsing onto the armrest beside her. “You skate half a practice and suddenly you’re the team’s project again.”
Ryujin made a face but accepted the smoothie. “I missed being harassed like this.”
Chaeryeong kicked off her shoes and moved toward the kitchen. “You’re skating again. Harassment is a sign of love.”
“Did Coach say anything after you left?” Winter asked, already opening the takeout.
“He said we’ll build it up slowly,” Ryujin said, shifting the ice pack slightly. “If I still feel good in forty-eight hours, I’ll try light contact on Thursday.”
Winter handed her a spring roll. “I mean, if the pain’s manageable and you’re moving like you were today, that’s already better than last week. You didn’t even wince on your turns.”
“She did,” Chaeryeong said from the kitchen.
Ryujin muttered, “I didn’t.”
“You did,” both teammates said in unison.
She rolled her eyes but took the spring roll anyway. “Whatever. It still felt good.”
Winter gave her a small nudge. “You looked good. That first goal in April’s gonna hit different.”
Ryujin chewed, then paused to check her phone again. Still no reply from Yeji.
Her thumb hovered once more.
[Ryujin]
captain
you okay?
It took a minute before three dots appeared. Ryujin exhaled quietly.
[Yeji]
Yeah. Sorry. Was in physio. Ribs hate me today.
But I heard you skated.
That true, superstar?
[Ryujin]
confirmed
first day back
no falls
just vibes.
chaeryeong said i was dramatic tho
[Yeji]
She’s not wrong.
Still proud of you.
Ryujin grinned, biting back a smile that must have been obvious, because Winter elbowed her lightly and said, “Tell her I say hi.”
“She knows,” Ryujin replied, still looking at her phone.
[Ryujin]
missed you extra today
[Yeji]
I know.
I miss you too.
And for a moment, surrounded by the familiar scent of takeout, the Cyclones team chatter, and the sting of half-melted ice against her thigh, Ryujin felt a little steadier. The road back was long. But she was not walking it alone.
By Wednesday night, the soreness had dulled into something more manageable. A steady throb in Ryujin’s thigh, not sharp enough to halt her, but present enough to make her cautious.
She spent most of the evening foam rolling in her living room while Winter blasted music from the kitchen and Chaeryeong paced on a call with their coach.
Her phone vibrated somewhere near her ankle, lighting up with a new message.
[Coach Aldridge]
Light contact tomorrow if you feel ready. Morning skate.
Trainers will evaluate you again after.
She stared at the screen for a second, her hands still resting on the roller beneath her thigh. A breath left her lips. Not nerves. Not exactly. Just the quiet hum of knowing everything was slowly returning. The ache was still there. But so was the rhythm.
“Light contact approved,” she called over her shoulder.
Winter leaned out of the kitchen with an ice cube in her hand. “Wait—really?”
Chaeryeong hung up her call just in time to hear it too. “That was fast.”
Ryujin tilted her head, lips twitching. “Apparently I’m charming.”
“You’re annoying,” Chaeryeong corrected, grabbing the foam roller from her. “But you’ve been doing the work. You earned it.”
Winter threw the ice cube into her smoothie. “Can I bodycheck you tomorrow?”
Ryujin stared. “You’ve been waiting weeks to ask that, haven’t you?”
Winter beamed. “Yes.”
Chaeryeong threw a hoodie at her. “No one’s checking anyone. Light contact, not riot on the ice.”
Ryujin grinned but reached for her phone again anyway.
[Ryujin]
light contact tomorrow!!!!
coach gave the green light :>
The response came almost immediately.
[Yeji]
My girl’s going feral again, huh?
Ryujin read the message twice.
No.
Three times .
The screen’s glow lit up the sharp edges of her face in the dark, catching the twitch of her lips as the words hit her again.
Her chest did that thing again.
That stupid, helpless thing. The kind of warmth that came low and slow, right under the sternum, then flared out like someone had nudged a dimmer switch all the way up. Her heart skipped in response before kicking into a stuttered, thudding rhythm.
Her fingers flew over the screen.
[Ryujin]
you can’t just say shit like that
do you want me to lose it
because i will
i’m dangerously unhinged right now
also not feral
just mildly dangerous
[Yeji]
Please behave.
[Ryujin]
define behave
Yeji sent a photo. Her legs were stretched out on the couch, wrapped in ice packs, with the Boston skyline glowing faintly in the background. The caption read:
[Yeji]
This is what behaving looks like. Learn from me.
Ryujin stared at the image for longer than she meant to. Then typed slowly.
[Ryujin]
…you look good even while icing bruised ribs.
not fair.
[Yeji]
Go to bed, Cyclone.
[Ryujin]
See you in your dreams, Sentinel.
She tossed her phone to the side after that, feeling the ghost of Yeji’s smirk even through the screen. Tomorrow would be the next step, padding, stick in hand, and the first real bump on the boards in weeks.
And if she played her cards right, maybe even Winter would survive it.
The next morning arrived with a familiar crispness in the New York air. Too cold for March but not unwelcome. The city still held on to winter like it was bargaining for time.
Ryujin stood at her kitchen counter with a protein bar half-eaten in one hand, her water bottle wedged under her arm as she struggled to pull her compression sleeve over her thigh. She had woken up ten minutes before her alarm, her body buzzing with something like anticipation.
Her body knew it was game-adjacent.
Winter and Chaeryeong were already waiting by the elevator when she locked her door behind her. Winter looked far too excited for someone who promised not to check anyone. Chaeryeong had two coffees in hand—one of which she wordlessly handed over.
“Still light contact, by the way,” Chaeryeong said the moment Ryujin took her first sip. “Don’t overdo it.”
“I’m a picture of self-control,” Ryujin replied.
Winter snorted. “You literally tried to race the Zamboni.”
“I was pacing it.”
“You were limping.”
They argued the entire elevator ride down.
The Cyclones facility was already humming when they arrived. Not full of energy, just early morning calm. Staff greeted them at the door, the front desk marked with a sign reminding players of their designated time slots.
Ryujin flashed her badge and stepped into the hallway, the scent of clean ice and faint rubber immediately flooding her senses. Her fingers twitched.
It was Thursday.
The Cyclones had cleared her for light contact after her final physical therapy check-in that morning, and the moment the words left the medical staff’s mouth, Ryujin was already halfway into her gear, shoulder still a little tight, thigh still stiff but her grin unshakeable.
Chaeryeong had been the first to clap her on the helmet when she skated into the zone for warmups, calling out loud enough for everyone to hear, “Look who’s back and pretending she won’t go full speed on the first drill.”
Winter snorted from the corner of the rink, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. “Ten bucks says she body-checks someone by mistake in the first fifteen minutes.”
“I heard that!” Ryujin yelled back, already circling the crease.
They had eased her in with tempo drills first, corner escapes, neutral zone rotations, tight turns at half-speed. But even that was enough to wake something up in her, something she had missed more than she realized.
The first light-contact sequence was a half-speed breakout with pressure. Ryujin, lined up on the left wing, locked eyes with Chaeryeong across the neutral zone and braced out of habit. No real checking was allowed, but Chaeryeong gave her just enough shoulder on the boards to test her balance. Ryujin bounced back, stayed upright, and grinned.
“Better be careful,” Ryujin muttered through her mouthguard. “I bite.”
Chaeryeong laughed. “You say that like it’s news.”
They rotated through neutral zone trap setups, then transitioned into short 2-on-2 cycles below the hash marks.
Ryujin hesitated only once, her thigh twinged after a quick pivot but she adjusted her angle and kept skating. It was not full-contact intensity, but the friction, the push, felt like breathing again.
After the third rep, Coach Aldridge gave her a subtle nod from the bench. “Looking good, Ryujin. Keep it clean. You’ve got half-speed in your bones, but your eyes are playing at full.”
“I take that as a compliment,” Ryujin called back, chest heaving but eyes sharp.
She felt it, the shift. That moment where her body started trusting itself again. Where the ghost of hesitation that had followed her since Montreal finally loosened its grip.
And maybe she was not at one hundred percent yet, not quite but on that Thursday morning, surrounded by teammates who chirped her for every little move and watched her like a hawk, Ryujin felt like herself again.
The chaos was back.
Later in the locker room, Ryujin peeled off her gear slowly, her phone lighting up where she had left it tucked into her gym bag.
[Yeji]
How did it go? Did you behave?
She stared at it for a second. Then smiled.
[Ryujin]
i was a menace
they love me
[Yeji]
I’m sure they do. Did you finish in one piece?
[Ryujin]
mostly.
slightly sweatier piece.
[Yeji]
Gross.
When she got back to her apartment, Ryujin barely managed to kick off her shoes before collapsing onto the couch.
Her body ached in that satisfying way it only did after a proper skate, not too sharp, not too punishing, but deep and earned.
The kind of ache that made her feel alive. Her thighs were screaming. Her shoulder, still wrapped and monitored, was stubbornly sore, but stable. Her lungs had opened back up after days of tension, and her balance had finally returned. The day’s light contact drills had been the first real taste of the game since the gold medal match, and it left her flushed, content, and starving.
She draped an arm over her eyes, breathing in slow.
Then her phone buzzed twice beside her.
She ignored the first one. It was probably Chaeryeong reminding her to hydrate.
But the second buzz came with a soft chime, the kind reserved for flagged emails. She reached over with a groan, phone raised above her as she blinked at the screen.
SUBJECT: Team USA Gold Medal Celebration Banquet
FROM: USA Hockey Operations
To: Ryujin Shin (Team USA #97)
She sat up slowly, clicking the preview open. The email was short but polished, all formal headers and crisp lines:
Dear Ryujin,
You are cordially invited to attend the Team USA 2025 IIHF Women’s World Championship Gold Medal Celebration Banquet, in recognition of your contribution to the historic tournament win.
Date: March 23, 2025 (Sunday)
Location: Broadmoor International Center Ballroom, Colorado Springs, CO.
Attire: Formal
Additional travel and accommodation details will follow.
Please RSVP by March 15.
We look forward to celebrating with you.
Sincerely,
Team USA Operations
Ryujin stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary, a small smile creeping in at the edges. She had not even processed that the celebration would be a proper event.
She had been so wrapped in the Cyclones’ post-camp preparations, team check-ins, her physical therapy schedule, she forgot they were allowed to celebrate. That they won . That she had earned this.
She leaned back into the couch with a deep exhale, smile still tugging at her mouth.
She had missed the ice. She had missed the game.
But more than that, she missed them.
Team USA.
The stupid drills.
The hotel hallways.
The recovery days and the inside jokes.
The gold medal weight in her hands.
The feeling of being part of something bigger.
And Yeji .
Always, Yeji.
Ryujin tapped the RSVP link before she could second guess it.
Colorado Springs. Of course she was going.
Eleven days.
She blinked, mouth parting a little as she stared down at the RSVP confirmation on her screen. The words had not changed. The date had not either.
March 23. Colorado Springs. Team USA banquet. In eleven days.
That meant—
“Holy shit,” she whispered.
Her stomach flipped, sharp and giddy, a kind of breathless adrenaline that had nothing to do with game prep or recovery milestones.
Eleven days and she was going to see Yeji again.
Not over a screen. Not just texting at midnight until her phone overheated on her chest. Not a voice through headphones.
Yeji.
In person.
Her lips tugged upward before she could stop it.
She was going to see the face that lived rent-free in her mind. She was going to hear Yeji’s laugh not through her speaker, but live. Clear, unfiltered, cutting across whatever ballroom playlist they had planned.
She was going to get to stand beside her, watch how she carried herself in heels, if she even wore them , see how she looked when she was not lacing up skates or icing her ribs.
A different kind of uniform.
She flopped back into the couch, phone resting on her chest, heart suddenly beating faster in that way it only did when something really good was about to happen.
She was going to see Yeji in eleven days.