Chapter Text
The sound of the crowd’s cheers slowly dissipated as Yeji tried to focus on her breathing. She took a glance at the remaining time on the jumbotron from the bench. Four minutes. She still had four minutes to make a goal. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her coach yelled “Line change!” and she wasted no time to go over the board and skate to her position.
Hwang Yeji, the captain of the Boston Sentinels hockey team, was the best defensive player in the league. Nobody ever bothered to challenge her title. Any player skating past her, or even trying to dangle past her, they almost always ended up chucked in the boards. She had that ‘C’ on her jersey for a reason—always the smartest player on the ice.
Her team was clinging to a 2-2 score with under a minute left. Yeji couldn’t afford to make a mistake now, especially when the other team had puck possession. One mistake and their team will have to bid an early farewell to the hopes of getting the home-ice advantage during the playoffs.
Everything was at stake.
After all, she planned to defend their title for the third time.
The other team’s forward was flying down the ice on a breakaway, weaving between defenders. When Yeji’s opponent skated past the blue line, she did not panic. She did not chase. She waited.
The opponent cut across the zone, head up, looking for the right moment to shoot. Yeji watched her intently. The player’s simple shift in her shoulder, the slight transfer of weight onto her right skate, Yeji already knew. That was it. That was the moment . Yeji already saw it happening before the other team’s plan even unfolded. She precisely predicted the forward’s fake left, pull right, and go top shelf. It would’ve worked on other defensemen. It would never work on Yeji.
With a perfectly timed poke check, she knocked the puck loose, spun, and sent a crisp pass up the ice.
Before the player could even recover, Yeji was already halfway through the ice. She passed the puck, setting it up perfectly for her teammate to score a goal. The sound of the siren signaling a goal flooded the arena right before the buzzer sound.
“Nice pass, captain!” Yeji heard Yuna shout as she skated towards her, right before tackling her. Their teammates joined the tackle and celebrated their victory.
Yeji was well-accustomed to winning but never once needed the spotlight. She was not the fastest skater, never the flashiest scorer. She never tried to do plays so extravagant that it made highlight reels.
But when the game was on the line, when the other team had a breakaway and the opportunity to score the winning goal, when the crowd and every single player on the ice and even on the bench held their breath—
She was the one always standing in the way. Just like what she did in this game. She was just this unbreakable wall, as the media called her. She was big on ‘ Defense wins championships’ and for that, she was admired by the whole hockey community.
The team made their way back to the locker room. Everyone was still buzzing over the last-minute goal that secured their win. One win closer to the playoffs, right?
As Yeji was removing her gears, she listened to her teammates’ locker room talks and jokes and conversations. She smiled to herself. She was in her best form, best shape, best mentality. This year’s league conference was going to be her best performance yet, she will make sure of that. The first game was a tough win, but she knew she did their best and that was enough for them. It always had been.
“When’s our next match going to be?” Yuna asked as she stepped out of the showers.
Lia rolled her eyes at her teammate playfully. “It’s always going to be the other day, Yuna.”
“Oh!” Yuna chuckled. “Who are we playing against?”
“Let me check.” Lia took the clipboard from their coach’s desk and scanned through the scheduled match ups. A smirk appeared as she learned who their next match up was with. “Uhm, New York Cyclones .”
Just hearing the name of the team sent shivers down Yeji’s spine. She turned to peek out of her lockers only to see her teammates staring at her. She raised an eyebrow. “What?” Before she could even finish the word, she already knew what was coming.
“We’re playing against the New York Cyclones. ” Lia repeated, emphasizing on the name of the team.
Yeji tried to nonchalantly brush them off. “Yeah, and?”
“We’re going to play against your girlf—” Yuna was not able to finish her teasing because of the large towel thrown at her.
“Don’t even dare finish that sentence, Shin.” Yeji deadpanned. She turned her attention to her locker once again. “I might have to barf.” She heard her teammates snickering behind her.
Aside from the problem that was facing the New York Cyclones next, she absolutely hated that she was going to be teased for the next two days or so. She tried to mind her own business again, completely ignoring the fact that their next game was against the New York Cyclones.
She had no reason to think about it.
No reason to care. No reason at all.
She felt an arm around her shoulder. “Soooo, Cap.” Yuna started. Yeji let out an exasperated sigh. Without even waiting for Yuna to speak again, “No.” she answered. Yuna laughed.
“You don’t even know what she’s going to say!” Karina said behind them. Yuna nodded in agreement.
Yeji shut her locker and started heading towards the showers. “It was going to be about that midget winger, wasn’t it?” She did not have to turn around to look at their answer. She already knew. She rolled her eyes at her teammates and left them gushing about how the next game was going to be.
The Boston Sentinels and New York Cyclones were well-known for their rivalry. Every game with both teams was always like the Finals in overtime. Every game was adrenaline-inducing, it was sort of addicting, as a fan or even as a player in and out of the game. They were always one to watch and not once did they ever disappoint the crowd from bringing the entertainment. Boston, the classic, structured, disciplined defensive powerhouse against New York, the fast, aggressive, unpredictable high-scoring offense.
The Boston vs NYC rivalry ran deep in every sport: Yankees vs. Red Sox, Rangers vs. Bruins. The hockey teams added to that fire.
No wonder their rivalry was so iconic.
Miles away from the Boston Sentinels’ game was the New York Cyclones’. They were just about to finish up their match. They had pulled off a dominant victory, 4-1. It was quite impressive for a season opener game. It just made them feel like they were having the best start for the season. As Ryujin and her teammates were heading back to their locker rooms, Ryujin was flooded with numerous reporters and cameramen ready to capture her every move.
She was still wearing her gray and teal hockey jersey, had her helmet off, her hair was a mess, sweat dripping down her face—yet she was wearing the biggest grin like she owned the world.
She sort of did. She was a superstar.
Shin Ryujin was known for her explosive speed and deadly wrist shots. She had the ability to weave through the defenses effortlessly and always left the opponents scrambling. Her game was all about reaction time; she was quick to think and quicker to act. Her aggressive forechecking and relentless pursuit of the puck ensured she was always in the action, which made her a nightmare for defenders and goalies alike.
Ryujin answered the questions with finesse. She loved the camera; she was adored by the media. She was a crowd favorite after all.
Then, the inevitable question came.
“Ryujin, your next game is against Boston.” Upon hearing that, a subconscious smirk formed on her face. “Are you looking forward to the matchup against Hwang Yeji?” Ah, there it is, she thought.
Ryujin’s grin grew wider. She ran a hand through her hair and leaned casually against her stall. With pride, she admitted, “Absolutely.”
The reporters’ interest in their rivalry was always at its peak. They leaned in more to Ryujin; they were buzzing to get more scoop about the two best players in the league’s rivalry, which Ryujin happily gave them.
“Care to elaborate?” one of the reporters asked. Ryujin tilted her head as she mocked thinking.
“What’s there to elaborate? I love playing against her.” She answered.
“Because of the competition?” One of the reporters added.
Ryujin just shrugged. “Because it’s fun.”
“You’ve faced her so many times. What makes it fun?” The reporter followed up.
Without missing a beat, Ryujin answered, “She hates losing. She definitely abhors it.” She thought of the times her team won against the Boston Sentinels. It made her feel good . The reporters along with some of her teammates chuckled. Ryujin always loved to rile up Yeji in the most despicable way.
Ryujin grinned like she had just won another game. “Yeji is the best defenseman out there in the league, yeah? She’s smart, she’s strong, she shuts down plays before they even start. It’s pretty annoying.” She added. “That’s what makes it exciting.”
“Exciting?” they asked.
“Totally!” Ryujin answered enthusiastically. “Because it means I get to make her life miserable for sixty minutes.” The room erupted with fits of laughter.
“Do you think you’ll be able to score on her?”
Ryujin leaned closer to the microphone, voice smooth, filled with confidence as she said, “I always do.”
The room exploded with reactions. Her teammates booing her from behind, the reporters asking for follow up questions, the cameras constantly flashing as if she had just admitted something so unbelievable.
Chaeryeong fake coughed from Ryujin’s cockiness. “You’re clearly asking for war, Ryujin!” she said and joined the booing with their teammates.
Ryujin turned to look at them and said, “What? It’s true!” and laughed.
Then, she felt her phone buzzing.
A text message from a familiar name.
[Yeji]
Keep talking. See what happens.
Ryujin chuckled to herself, locking her screen. She could already picture Yeji’s reaction. Jaw clenched. Eyes rolling at the interview. She might already be planning to re-watch old game footage just to prepare a way to shut her down.
And Ryujin?
She couldn’t wait.
Ryujin turned her attention back to the reporters. Her smirk ever so present, she said, “Anyway, tell her I said hi.” Right before facing the camera and giving them a wink.
She made her way back to the locker room. As she was walking, she felt her phone vibrate again.
[Yeji]
I’m absolutely disgusted.
[Ryujin]
all i’m hearing is you, watching my interview, captain. ;)
live, might i add
[Yeji]
And all I heard from your interview was you, thinking
I was the best defenseman, and you’re too scared to
make a goal on me.
[Ryujin]
totally untrue.
i'm not scared of anything!
[Yeji]
Right…
[Ryujin]
surprised to hear the truth?
[Yeji]
More surprised to hear you know what abhor means.
[Ryujin]
harsh.
[Yeji]
See you on the ice, superstar.
[Ryujin]
looking forward, captain.
Two powerhouse teams.
Two different styles.
Two players who refused to lose to each other.
Everything was set up to make them the biggest rivals, making their every game a war. They were not called the best rivalry in modern hockey for no reason. They were unstoppable forces that always seemed to be colliding.
The story of their rivalry was just about to continue.
Chapter Text
On the bus ride home, Ryujin took her usual spot at the back of the bus. It seemed more quiet, more peaceful, contrary to her usual environment and nature. She had her headphones on, listening to music, until she had an idea.
She searched for the Boston Sentinels’ latest game. She scanned through their stats and the game summary. A short clip caught her eye; the team’s last-minute game-winning play. She pressed play and smirked when she saw THE Hwang Yeji at the start of the clip. Of course, she was going to be in it , she thought to herself. She watched how Yeji effortlessly stole the puck and set up the game-winning goal.
Despite their rivalry, it was easy for her to admit how good Yeji was. She was a very skilled player. Nobody can ever deny that. It was always a challenge to go against her, especially for a forward like Ryujin. However, win or lose, she always came out of the game a better player than she was coming in. She thought that that was what made their rivalry great. They pushed each other to become better players. That was aside from Ryujin absolutely enjoying enraging Yeji, of course.
She also saw the post-game interview of the Boston Sentinels on the page. She might as well watch it, she thought. Ryujin saw Yeji in her navy blue and gold-lined team sweater, sitting in front of the media. Her hair was still wet, she must’ve been fresh from the showers. She answered their questions like a pro. Technically, she was. Her way of answering reflected the way she played on the ice: cold and calculated.
Ryujin’s ears perked up on the next question, in contrast to Yeji’s immediate pause mid-drink in the video. “Yeji, great win tonight. But let’s talk about your next game — your first game against Ryujin this season” Ryujin chuckled. “How are you feeling about it?” “I’m glad to know the questions weren’t one-sided.” She whispered to herself.
Yeji sighed and gave the most neutral expression she could muster. “Looking forward to it? No.” she answered flatly. Ryujin raised her eyebrow at her answer. The reporters and her teammates chuckled.
“No?”
“It’s just another game.” She elaborated. Barely. The reporters were not buying it. It was the Boston Sentinels vs. the New York Cyclones after all. Surely it meant something to her.
“She said earlier that she enjoys playing against you because you hate losing.” Yeji blinked once, then twice.
“Of course, she did.” She huffed. Yeji did not hate losing. She was a gracious loser, or so she had been told. She did not really know since she did not care about it that much. Whenever she lost, she always thought it was an opportunity to improve herself and come back better and stronger in the next games.
What she did hate was how Ryujin always gloated whenever her team won. Ryujin would always skate past her after her goals and slammed it right to Yeji’s face. A series of “I scored one on you, Cap.” and “Getting tired of me scoring on you?” and the one she absolutely hated the most, “WRITE THAT DOWN!” were constantly being shouted whenever she scored goals on Yeji.
“She also said she always manages to score on you.” Yeji knew this was coming up, ever since she heard it from Ryujin’s live interview. Ryujin, on the other hand, watching the interview on her phone, said “That’s right, you tell her!” a little too loudly. Chaeryeong, her team captain, turned to look at Ryujin. She raised an eyebrow at her which went unnoticed because Ryujin was too invested in the interview.
“Did she, now?” Yeji leaned back on her chair coolly. She faked recalling stuff in her head before adding, “Funny, I don’t remember that happening.” and shrugged. Impressive clapback , Ryujin thought.
“Oh, Shin Ryujin, you are so done!” Ryujin heard one of the Sentinels’ middlemen. The reporters chuckled.
“She’s a great player, sure. Fast. Skilled. Unpredictable.” Unpredictable? Ryujin found that to be untrue. Sure, she may be unpredictable to other players, but Yeji had always predicted Ryujin’s move right before she even decided on a move. “At the end of the day, she’s just another forward I have to shut down.” Yeji finished.
Ryujin did not know why, but she felt a little more confident, hell, even more motivated now. Was it to prove Yeji wrong? Show her how much better she had gotten? She was not sure. The only thing Ryujin knew for sure was that Yeji was challenging her.
And Shin Ryujin was not one to back down from a challenge.
Some rivalries were born out of competition.
Some out of history.
Some out of pure hatred.
Yeji and Ryujin?
Somehow, it was all three for them. And the entire hockey world was obsessed.
At first, it wasn’t supposed to be this big. They were just two elite players from Minnesota, taking different paths to the pros. But from the moment they faced each other in the big leagues, the hockey world took notice because every time they played, it was a show.
They both grew up from Minnesota, where hockey was not just a sport—it was a way of life. Minnesota winters were long, brutal, and endless. But for Yeji and Ryujin, they meant one thing: hockey.
However, both had a different view on hockey.
Growing up, Yeji wasn’t drawn to scoring goals or deking through defenders. She was drawn to shutting people down. While other kids dreamed of last-second goals, Yeji dreamed of making the perfect defensive plays: a poke check in overtime, a game-saving block, the kind of moments that won games but never made the headlines.
Yeji grew up with the sound of skates cutting across frozen ponds, the sharp chill of the wind whipping through her jacket, and the distant shouts of kids playing pick-up games until their fingers went numb.
She was five years old when she first put on a pair of skates.
By ten, she was the best defenseman in her age group.
By fourteen, she was captaining teams full of players older than her.
By sixteen, she was the most feared blue-liner in the state.
And then, in her senior year of high school, she met Shin Ryujin.
Fast. Flashy. Infuriating.
For the first time, Yeji felt something close to excitement. A real test. A player who could match her not just in skill, but in mentality.
Ryujin had been skating since she could walk. Her deep connection to the ice, mixed with her competitive nature, made her an unstoppable force in hockey from an early age. She grew up to be the fastest skater in the state, a flashy goal-scorer with an attitude to match. If Yeji was precise and disciplined, Ryujin was pure chaos. She was known to create highlight-reel goals and make opponents question their decisions.
She did not just score goals, she made them look effortless . She did not just break defenses, she embarrassed them. By the time she was in highschool, she was already leading the state in goals, making highlight reels go viral, and chirping opponents like it was her second language. That was until she met Yeji—someone who did not break under her pressure. Ryujin could beat anyone else, she had done so effortlessly. Here came the one opponent she could never quite conquer. And that made her want it even more. Victory against Yeji.
They were literally quite the opposites. Looking through their records, they should hate playing against each other. Yeji giving Ryujin a hard time scoring goals and Ryujin giving Yeji a harder time stopping goals.
But maybe that made their rivalry better. Winning against the other would mean one was better. They knew that. Their rivalry was not just about wins and losses. It was about proving who was better. It always had been that way ever since they collided in highschool.
After graduating and leaving Minnesota, Yeji went the NCAA route and Ryujin went straight to junior leagues. But by the time both of them hit the pro leagues, they had built quite a reputation. Whenever the match schedule came out, everyone encircled one matchup: Boston vs. New York.
Yeji vs. Ryujin.
The league did not just market their rivalry, they built storylines around it. Headlines after headlines of their matchups were always a hit. Fans always wondered if Ryujin could score on Yeji during every game. Otherwise, Yeji would just keep her streak of shutting Ryujin down. Their trash talks were one to look forward to as well. Whether it would be on the ice, off the ice, during pre-game interviews, post-game interviews, not one reporter would miss asking one about the other.
Which was why people were looking forward to tomorrow: Game Day.
Chapter Text
The first game between two of the biggest teams in the league. The most anticipated matchup every season, even during the regular season. It was never a regular season for these two teams. It was always a war like they were fighting for the biggest trophy every game. It was a never-ending exhilarating match and a lot of hockey fans were living for it.
The game was Boston Sentinels’ first away game of the season, which means this was New York Cyclones’ first game on their home ice. It was more thrilling. The crowd was more energetic than ever as this was the first time they would be watching their favorite team. New York fans were already filling the venue with sheer excitement.
After a quiet bus ride, the Sentinels had reached Madison Square Garden. They were met by paparazzis and fans. Some were booing. Some were screaming for autographs. Some were only there to see Yeji and Ryujin in the same building again. Who can really blame them?
The league successfully marketed these two players even during the off-season. Team Yeji and Team Ryujin jerseys were always sold out. They also launched limited edition posters of their iconic matchups. There were even hoodies with half Yeji and half Ryujin designs. Documentaries of their rivalry since highschool would always feed the fans’ hunger for these two and the league’s pocket. It was a win-win for all.
Ryujin obviously enjoys the spotlight of their rivalry. Yeji? She would probably say she does not enjoy it or would just be laid-back about it. However, she does have moments where she was glad that she was part of this rivalry; that she was opposite to one of the best players of the league. But would she ever admit it? Never. Over her dead body. She would never ever be caught enjoying this, especially by Ryujin.
Yeji stepped out of the bus first, as she was the team captain. As soon as she stepped out, she felt the mid-October breeze hit her face. She was dressed in a sharp team-issued suit, headphones in, completely unreadable. She did not react to the cameras, did not acknowledge the noise. She flashed a smile to those she made eye-contact with. Her focus–unbreakable. She was followed by her teammates closely behind, some were loose and joking around, some were as serious as their captain.
The Boston Sentinels were not just walking into an arena tonight. They were stepping into the enemy’s hostile territory. New York fans already hated them. The Cyclones wanted revenge for last season. Yeji walked in like it was just another day at the office.
Boston’s media team was already filming. The NHL broadcast was already airing their pre-game arrival clips. Yeji was seen clutching on her gloves and stick, her game face never left. Her stone cold demeanor signified her to be all business, completely locked in.
Ryujin went to her team’s pregame interview. She stepped in front of the cameras, relaxed as always, leaning slightly on the interview backdrop. She was already in her warm up gear, her gloves hanging loosely from her hand, tapping them against her leg.
She already expected what the questions were going to be, or who they were going to be about. She did not mind. She loved it, actually. She knew Yeji was going to be watching these interviews later so she made it her job to be more annoying to her even through an interview.
“Ryujin, first game against Boston this season. Excited?” The reporter asked.
Ryujin smirked, shifting her weight slightly. "Of course. These are always fun."
“The media is calling this one of the most anticipated games of the season. How do you approach a game like this?”
Ryujin exhaled sharply, then grinned, “Same way I approach every game—score, win, have fun.” She tossed the puck up and caught it effortlessly, looking completely at ease.
“Boston’s defense, especially Yeji, has given you trouble in the past. Any special strategy tonight?” When the interviewer finished her question, Ryujin immediately stopped her movements.
She raised her eyebrows before answering, “Yeah” then pulled the microphone closer to her. “Get past Yeji.” She let that hang in the air for a second, her grin widening slightly.
“You and Yeji have built one of the biggest rivalries in hockey. She’s shut you down a lot over the past years.” Her teammates laughed at Ryujin and teased her right off the bat.
Ryujin exhaled dramatically, “Don’t remind me.” She rubbed the back of her neck while shaking her head, still grinning nonetheless.
“Think you’ll finally score on her tonight?" Ryujin lifted her head up once again, her cocky smirk reappearing.
"Oh, I will. She can’t stop me forever." She said, her confidence unshaken.
After wrapping up the pregame interview for the Cyclones, the Sentinels were up next in the media room. They asked the usual questions and Yeji waited what they were itching to ask her all night.
“Ryujin was just in here, and she said she’s scoring on you tonight.” One of the interviewers finally said.
“Cute.” Yeji smirked, barely. But it is there. “She says that every year.”
“So you don’t think she will get past you?” They followed up.
“She never does.” Yeji answered, as stoic as ever.
The whole media room chuckled, “Any final thoughts before you hit the ice?”
“We’re taking the three points. That’s all.” There were a lot of follow up questions but it was already time to go and prepare for the game.
The Sentinels headed out of the media room.
Then finally, the moment every person in and out of the venue were waiting for: Yeji and Ryujin crossing paths.
While the Sentinels were heading to their locker room, the Cyclones were heading out towards the ice to do an early warm up. Right at the hallway intersection, there they were. Yeji and Ryujin face-to-face. The cameras wasted no time in zooming in on their interaction. Yeji realized they must’ve been broadcasting it live on the jumbotron because the moment the two saw each other, she heard the loud roar of the crowd.
Ryujin was grinning even before Yeji could spot her. Of course she was. She was already wearing her skates and their home jersey: a dark gray jersey with teal and black accents.She was gripping on her hockey stick with her helmet loosely hanging on it. She was looking a little extra cocky today , Yeji thought. She stayed expressionless. Her face was totally unreadable. However, she could tell Ryujin cannot wait to quip.
Ryujin inched forward and held eye-contact with Yeji. “Welcome back to my city, captain.” she said, her voice low. Despite the commotion around them and the faint sound of the crowd cheering, Yeji heard her perfectly. “Missed me?” Ryujin added.
Yeji remained cool. Her hands were in her suit pants pocket, face still neutral. She just gave her a shrug before saying, “I’m only here to take three points with us when we leave.”
Ryujin scoffed incredulously. “There’s no way.” She said, “I’m scoring goals on you tonight.”
“Goal s… ” Yeji feigned shock. “That’s a bit ambitious, don’t you think?”
“What can I say? I’m feeling extra motivated tonight.” Ryujin answered. Yeji was not wrong assuming she was looking extra cocky tonight.
Yeji took Ryujin’s helmet which was hanging on her stick and put it on Ryujin’s head. She leaned in closer. “I’d love to see you try, superstar.” She said and lightly tapped the helmet.
Ryujin’s smug smirk never once left her face. She raised the helmet’s visor. “I waited all summer for this, Cap.” she said, not breaking eye contact with Yeji.
Yeji started to walk away from Ryujin. Right after she turned around, she said, “Should’ve spent your summer training harder.” loud enough so Ryujin could still hear her.
Ryujin’s teammates and probably everyone in the hallway heard Yeji. Ryujin laughed, unfazed with Yeji’s words. Her teammates let out a collective “Ooooh” and teased Ryujin. She just rolled her eyes playfully at them and headed out to the ice.
“I don’t even know if they’re still fighting or flir—” Winter was cut off by Ryujin smacking her. The entire team laughed.
“Probably both.” Chaeryeong answered as they finally stepped on the ice. “They wouldn’t know the difference.”
Once Yeji reached their locker room, her teammates were all over her to ask about her interaction with Ryujin. Yeji ignored them and let them assume how it went down. She went to get changed instead and prepare for their game. As soon as the excitement died down, they became laser-focused. Their coach went over the game plan to which the players listened to intently.
As soon as the Sentinels stepped into the ice wearing their away jersey: white with navy blue and gold accents, the crowd’s cheers became louder. Mostly to shake them, rattle them, even scare them, but the Sentinels remained focused. They were unfazed. Not even a flinch. They were used to it. They just skated towards warmups, completely locked in. The Cyclones, on the other hand, were already finishing up their warmup.
A game as big as this one was broadcasted on national TV. It was a prime-time Saturday night game. The commentators went over the summarized Matchup Bracket for this season. Points were awarded based on wins/losses: 3 points for a win, 1 for an OT loss. The top 8 teams will qualify for the playoffs. The Sentinels and the Cyclones were tied in a 1-0 W-L record, 3 points each. Tonight was the first of their many matchups this season and either team planned to dominate.
The most anticipated rivalry in hockey had returned.
Ryujin, the cocky one she was, skated to Boston's side, making sure Yeji saw her while she was warming up. She skated past Yeji and said “Take it easy, Cap.” Yeji inhaled sharply and simply shook her head.
Yeji realized that Ryujin was mic’d up when she heard her from the speakers. A few people from the tech team were also approaching her. They must be planning to mic her up, as well.
They did.
They were broadcasting a live snippet of the mic’d up moments. This was not the first time they were both mic’d up. Whenever they were, it was always chaos. The entire arena was loving it. Even on social media, fans were going crazy over their mic’d up bickering. They’d randomly hear Ryujin riling Yeji up, but drastically failing.
There would be time when Yeji answered back to one of Ryujin’s quips.
Ryujin looked around the ice to find the person she was teasing all night. When she finally spotted her, she skated with all her might to catch up to her.
“Captain! You nervous?” Ryujin said when she caught up with Yeji. She started skating backwards while Yeji was laser-focused skating forward.
Yeji raised her helmet, still skating. She raised her eyebrow at the forward skating beside her. “Why would I be?”
Ryujin skated closer, “Because I might embarrass you tonight.” she said in a low voice. Only for Yeji to hear. Well, supposedly. She might have forgotten they were mic’d up. The crowds cheered loudly when they heard her.
Yeji scoffed, “You’re delusional.” she said right before lowering her helmet once again and skating away.
Ryujin just laughed and skated towards her teammate. “She’s so cold. It’s kinda hot.” She told Winter. “The irony, right?”
“You say stuff like that but then smack me when I tried to say you were flirting with her!” Winter said. It was loud enough for Ryujin’s mic to capture. The whole arena laughed at the two even more so when the camera zoomed in on both of them shoving each other while they skated.
Soon after, the lights dimmed inside Madison Square Garden as the announcer’s voice boomed through the arena. The sold-out crowd erupted, a mix of Cyclones gray and Sentinels navy blue flooding the stands. Cameras panned over the ice, catching glimpses of players stretching, rolling their shoulders, adjusting their gear—final preparations before battle.
At center ice, the referees gathered. The starting lines were announced, and the noise swelled as familiar names echoed through the arena.
#26 Hwang Yeji. Defense. Boston’s wall, standing tall and unreadable, eyes locked on Ryujin.
#17 Shin Ryujin. Center. New York’s star forward, grinning like she owned the place.
The last time they skated beside each other, Ryujin did not miss the opportunity. "You ready for this, Captain?" Ryujin smirked, her voice just loud enough for Yeji to hear.
Yeji did not bite. Instead, she tilted her head slightly. "Are you?"
The ref moved in, holding the puck. The game was about to start.
"Let’s see if you can actually score this time." Yeji’s words were cool, but Ryujin caught the flicker of amusement in her eyes. She skated towards her position, leaving Ryujin at the center.
"Oh, I will." Ryujin’s grin sharpened. "And when I do, I’ll make sure you never hear the end of it." she said for the last time before focusing on the start of the game. She prepared herself for the face off.
They heard the whistle blow.
The puck finally dropped.
Chapter Text
As soon as the puck hit the ice, it was all business for all of them, players and fans alike.
“And we are well underway!”
The Cyclones won the puck possession during the faceoff and immediately passed it to their star winger. Ryujin pushed through the offensive zone and tried to challenge the Sentinels’ defense early in the game. Boston’s defensive core, anchored by Yeji, immediately established dominance, shutting down New York’s first rush attempts.
“Right off the bat, Ryujin and Yeji are battling in New York’s offensive zone.”
“No love lost between these two. You can feel the tension already.”
Both teams were trying to set the tone for the game. Aggressive offense vs. tight defense.
“New York’s coming out strong, but look at how Boston’s defenders are shutting down passing lanes. They are reading them like a book.”
During the five-minute mark of the first period, Ryujin cut through the neutral zone, successfully weaving between defenders. The crowd rose as she approached the blue line—only for Yeji to step up hard, body-checking her into the boards. A collective “ Oh!” was heard as soon as Ryujin and Yeji hit the boards.
“OH! Hwang just leveled Shin against the boards!”
“Damn it, Cap.” Ryujin muttered under her breath as she tried to get out of being pinned.
“Welcome back to the rivalry, Ryujin!”
Yeji just scoffed and skated away to regain puck possession. She looked for the puck and passed it to Yuna, one of their wingers. Ryujin smirked and scrambled to get out.
“And look at that smirk—Ryujin loves it! She’s thriving in this battle!”
As the minutes passed by, the intensity of the game increased. Yeji managed to stop a few more of New York’s goal attempts. The Cyclones grew frustrated. However, Boston’s forecheck remained relentless, pinning New York deep in their own zone.
Ryujin finally got her first real scoring chance as she successfully got past Boston’s defenders. She fired a wrist shot on the top shelf of the goal, but Boston’s goaltender, Lia, made a glove save.
First period ended with 0-0.
Ryujin exhaled, completely annoyed at the Sentinels’ strong defense.
Midway through the second period, things got a bit more physical. The Boston Sentinels continued to pressure until they finally got the opportunity to get the bigger space. They started to dominate puck possession, further frustrating the New York Cyclones.
The next shift, Yeji was on the ice. She tried to lead the team to score a goal. Their defense was working. Next, they needed a goal.
Yeji forced a turnover in New York’s offensive zone. Yeji intercepted a pass at the blue line and fired a quick pass. The pass landed perfectly to one of Boston's wingers, Karina. She then rushed to their zone and buried it past the Cyclones’ goaltender—first goal for the Sentinels.
Yeji and her teammates erupt in celebration. The Sentinels were leading 1-0.
“What a set up by Hwang Yeji! Perfect quick puck movement, and Boston takes the first goal of the night.”
Ryujin was agitated on the bench, waiting for her next shift. Her eyes were following Yeji’s movements on the ice. She was growing impatient. Her leg was bouncing up and down in anticipation. “Come on, coach. Let me in.” she thought.
Until Ryujin felt a tap on her shoulder, “Lee, Shin, change it up!” her coach said.
She wasted no time in going over the board and skating away. She found Yeji with the puck. She immediately skated as fast as she could to make a steal. Due to the momentum of her speed, she bodied Yeji into the boards, clean and firm.
As Yeji was still recovering from the hit, Ryujin took the opportunity and stole the puck. She passed it to Chaeryeong and immediately skated out as fast as she could, following closely behind her teammate.
Ryujin, quickly gaining her speed, asked for the puck back and rushed to the other side. She deked past the defenders.
"Oh, what a steal by Ryujin! She’s got space. BREAKAWAY!"
"That is a superstar move! Can she finish it?!"
On a breakaway, she sniped a perfect five-hole shot; a shot between the goaltender’s legs—a Cyclone goal.
The crowd erupted as the arena was filled with the sound of the siren.
"SHE SCORES! WHAT A GOAL BY SHIN RYUJIN!"
"OH, SHE JUST UNSCRAMBLED THE BOSTON DEFENSE!"
Yeji was a millisecond late to defend. She was hot on Ryujin’s tail but it was not enough to stop her. As soon as she heard the siren, she saw Ryujin celebrating her goal. Yeji raised her visor to catch her breath.
After celebrating the point with her teammates, Ryujin scanned the ice for a certain captain. The moment her eyes landed on Yeji, she raised her visor as well. She waited for Yeji to make eye contact with her before smiling. She skated past Yeji and proudly said, “I got one tonight, Cap.”
Yeji took one of her gloves off and grabbed Ryujin by her jersey. She pulled her closer until their faces were only inches apart. “Enjoy your only goal tonight, Ryujin.” Yeji said in a low voice and smirked. She let Ryujin go and put her glove back on before skating away. She heard Ryujin’s laugh as soon as she turned around.
And when she said that, she meant it.
However, Ryujin loved being challenged.
Second period ended with 1-1. Last twenty minutes to win.
“This has been a grueling game between two of the top teams of the league.”
“Ryujin and Yeji have been all over each other tonight—Ryujin trying to break through and Yeji shutting her down at every turn.”
“Twenty minutes left, still tied at 1-1, everything is on the line this period”
During the third period, Boston adjusted their play. They tightened the defensive coverage against Ryujin. For the first five minutes of the final period, Yeji was everywhere shutting down every potential gameplay the other team was planning.
“Hwang is just everywhere tonight.”
“This is a captain’s performance—defense, playmaking, she’s just doing it all!”
Ryujin tried to break free from the defenses and took a risky shot, but the puck hit the post. Winter went in for the rebound and tried to bury the puck again but Boston’s goaltender was persistent. Another rebound, but still no goal for the Cyclones. Boston’s defense kept shutting their attempt to push for the lead.
Thirteen minutes passed and Boston finally got the opportunity to attack after forcing yet another defensive turnover. Yeji joined Yuna on a breakaway. Yuna faked a shot, getting the Cyclones’ goaltender to bite, and passed the puck to her captain. Having cleared the defenders, Yeji managed to bury the puck into the net—another goal for the Sentinels.
“That was a statement from Sentinels’ captain, Hwang Yeji!”
“It’s now all pressure on the New York Cyclones to tie this game up.”
The crowd was silenced by the Sentinels’ play. With just four minutes left in the game and the Sentinels leading 2-1, the Cyclones’ coach called for a timeout to reset.
The Cyclones were frustrated. They had been pressing, but Boston’s defense was a wall.
Ryujin yanked her helmet off as she skated straight to their bench. She rested her stick on her knee, nodding at the coach but already plotting. Four minutes was still a lot of time for a play, she thought. Her mind was half-listening to the coach’s instructions on the strategy adjustment.
She just kept nodding but she was staring at the other teams’ bench; she was staring at Yeji. She watched as Yeji nodded to whatever their coach’s instructions were. She was completely stoic, unreadable.
She suddenly looked up, eyes staring directly at Ryujin.
It caught her by surprise seeing Ryujin already staring at her, but she remained composed. She looked away and went back to listening to their coach. “Hwang, keep your eyes on #17. You know she’s their finisher.” Boston’s coach specifically instructed Yeji to which she just nodded.
As soon as the whistle blew, the players rushed back on the ice and played the final four minutes of the game. The crowd was buzzing in excitement. One last shift, a game-defining one.
Boston won the faceoff, but New York regained possession quickly. They started to set up their final attack. New York threw everything at Boston, desperate for the equalizer.
With an interesting move, New York pulled out their goalie for an extra attacker on the ice.
New York got the puck and made a break for it. They passed it to Ryujin and she sped through the ice, perfectly controlling the puck.
About a minute left but Ryujin did not mind. She did not think about it. All she cared about then was burying the puck into the net. She managed to dangle past two of the Sentinels’ defenders. It was only between her and the goalie. The entire arena was on its feet. That was it.
“Ryujin with a chance—can she tie it?”
She swung, trying to make the shot.
Until Yeji came out of nowhere and lifted Ryujin’s stick with hers at the last second.
The puck deflected wide. The crowd gasped as Ryujin slid on the ice, unable to make a goal. A few more seconds and the sound of the final buzzer echoed in the arena.
Ryujin and Yeji just stared at each other across the ice.
Game over.
“Yeji just ripped that game-tying goal at the very last second!”
“Sentinels’ win on enemy’s ice!”
Boston celebrated their win at center ice, joined by their teammates on the bench. Meanwhile, New York skated back to their bench with their heads low.
Both of the teams finished up their post-game interview right before heading to the locker rooms. The mood of the locker rooms were polar opposite.
In New York’s locker room, there was only tension. So much tension. All of them talked about how Yeji was everywhere during the third period, offense and defense.
Ryujin stripped her jersey off, frustrated, because they were right. Yeji was everywhere. She somehow forgot how annoyingly good Yeji was. She ran a hand through her hair and swore to get her next time.
In Boston’s locker room, music was blasting, celebration was being held, still hyped from the win.
Yeji was being praised for her last goal stopper. She just shook her head, pretending she did not care that much. It was her job to stop plays.
It was just another game, was it not?
Yeji did not rush out of her jersey. She waited for a while and just sat on the locker room bench. A few minutes later, she heard her phone buzz a couple of times.
[Ryujin]
i hate you
i am literally stewing in my own misery rn
but also
nasty stick lift on me during the third
kinda rude tho
Yeji tried to stop her chuckle as she read through Ryujin’s messages. Unfortunately, her teammates saw right through her.
“Is that Ryu–”
“No. Go away.” Yeji said immediately.
Her teammates obliged but they already knew who it was.
[Yeji]
Cry about it.
And wdym kinda rude?
Did you want me to just let you score?
[Ryujin]
it couldn’t hurt
right?
[Yeji]
Or you could’ve just played better?
[Ryujin]
i was triple-covered the whole period!!!
[Yeji]
Skill issue.
[Ryujin]
it’s not??
it’s a YOU issue
YOU WERE THE ONE ALWAYS COVERING ME
[Yeji]
It’s literally my job.
[Ryujin]
no bc you were everywhere
every time i touched the puck
every time i breathed
[Yeji]
Thank you for noticing my defensive skills.
[Ryujin]
dont thank me????
im complaining!!!!!
[Yeji]
Oh
Sounds like admiration to me.
[Ryujin]
tf no
you were annoying tonight smh
[Yeji]
It’s called good defense.
[Ryujin]
it’s called ruining my life
[Yeji]
You’ll live.
[Ryujin]
i dont like you very much rn
[Yeji]
Cool.
[Ryujin]
i’ll win next time!!
[Yeji]
You say that every time.
[Ryujin]
BLOCKED!
[Yeji]
Love that for me.
Yeji did not notice she was smiling the entire time. Some of her teammates were looking at her. She immediately stopped smiling, stood up, and headed out of the locker room.
Instead of changing, Yeji made her way back to the ice rink once again. The fans had already left, teams were mostly gone by then. The ice was empty and it looked enticing.
She decided to skate, an attempt to cool down. Slow, controlled laps around the rink alone. She felt at peace. She did not mind her body aching due to the amount of times she body checked people into the boards that night. The forming bruises on her thigh were not even a bother. She just felt calm .
She did not even notice Ryujin watching from the tunnel, leaning forward against the boards. She had already finished cleaning up. She was wearing her fresh dark gray jersey over a hoodie. She was already in her sweatpants, and a white New York Yankees cap worn backwards.
“You always do extra laps after a win?” Ryujin asked. Yeji glanced over but did not stop skating.
“You always sulk after a loss?” Yeji answered smugly.
Ryujin scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Too soon, Cap.”
Instead of leaving, Ryujin put her skates on and followed Yeji on the ice. Yeji remained composed as Ryujin skated near her. She just kept on skating.
For a while, neither of them said anything. Just gliding, steady breaths, only the sound of their skates carving into the ice. Yeji moved effortlessly; controlled as always. Ryujin, on the other hand, still slightly annoyed from the loss, started skating faster.
It ignited a small game of chase that neither of them acknowledged. They went on for a minute until both of them got tired and started breathing hard.
“So,” Ryujin broke the silence. “Are we going to pretend I wasn’t so close to scoring on you twice?”
“I’m not pretending.” Yeji said, her expression blank. “You just didn’t score the second time.”
Ryujin pouted. “You’re the worst.”
“Am not.”
Ryujin rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky that last shot didn’t go in.”
“It wasn’t luck, superstar.” Yeji answered, a small mocking smile appearing. “I made it happen.”
Yeji smirked and skated away. Ryujin just grumbled and chased after her.
Eventually, their pace slowed. Yeji stopped near the center circle, turning to look at Ryujin. Ryujin slowed down, but remained skating—just gliding past Yeji in slow circles. A few more seconds of quiet between the two of them.
It was not uncomfortable.
Quite the opposite, actually.
It was pleasant and peaceful.
Just two people on the ice. Not rivals, not competitors—just them.
Ryujin exhaled and tilted her head back in frustration, looking up at the empty rafters. Yeji just watched her. A few seconds too long.
Yeji shook her head and cleared her throat. She started moving toward the tunnel. Ryujin followed, but right before they stepped off the ice, she said, “I’ll get that win on your home ice next time, Captain.”
Yeji stopped before stepping off. She turned slightly to Ryujin. “I’ll be waiting.”
Yeji flashed a small smile at Ryujin and finally stepped out of the ice rink. Ryujin watched her disappear into the tunnel.
And for the first time all night, she did not feel frustrated anymore.
Chapter Text
Ever since that loss with Boston Sentinels, Ryujin had been training extra hard the next few weeks. She had been allotting a lot more time on the ice, in the gym, even in the film room where she watched game footage of their previous matches. She had never felt this driven to win a game.
She would not even be meeting up with the Sentinels for another two months as their next match up would be in mid-December. However, she wasted no time in preparing. Yeji may have been teasing Ryujin about training harder, but she might be right. And that’s exactly what she did.
She also dedicated her time annoying Yeji through random texts throughout the waiting period. Psychological warfare , as she called it when she was asked by her teammates as to why she was doing it. Not one of them bought Ryujin’s… excuse . If it could be called that.
The messages did start to come off that way anyway. She attempted for it to be. She tried to rile up Yeji, tried to get inside her head. But somehow, she always lost. It would not be called psychological warfare when you lose the banter, would it?
Her first attempt was during the Cyclones’ immediate win right after their game against Sentinels.
[Ryujin]
we just won btw
in case you were wondering
[Yeji]
?
I wasn’t.
But okay?
[Ryujin]
yes you were
[Yeji]
Did you need me to congratulate you?
[Ryujin]
NO!
you’re the worst
Another attempt was made on a Tuesday, a day she knew Yeji would be playing against another heavy skilled team.
[Ryujin]
remember that one game you missed an open net in highschool
Ryujin smirked thinking she clearly won this time because Yeji was taking her time to respond. I must’ve messed with her psyche , she thought. But as she was about to take it as a victory, she felt her phone vibrate.
[Yeji]
Was that the same game you cried because you couldn’t score?
Ryujin stared at her phone for a good couple of minutes, her jaw wide open, clearly taking offense at Yeji’s message. She definitely did not remember that one. In her defense, she did not technically cry. Little Ryujin was just frustrated because it was the first time in her short career that she had never scored a goal in a single game. She did not cry. She was just emotional.
[Ryujin]
not important
and definitely not my point
[Yeji]
Sure.
[Ryujin]
also
I DID NOT CRY
[Yeji]
Okay, then.
She absolutely hated that Yeji was always good and ready to answer back to her poor attempts at mind games. She couldn’t believe that Yeji had a way to twist these mind games back to Ryujin. It was not supposed to be that way.
[Ryujin]
just saw your goal
it was alright
[Yeji]
Hm.
I just bodied two people to score that winning goal.
[Ryujin]
eh
i’ve seen better
[Yeji]
Cool.
Thanks for watching me, by the way.
[Ryujin]
I DIDNT
someone posted a clip
[Yeji]
Ryujin.
I literally just got off the ice.
[Ryujin]
THAT DOESNT PROVE ANYTHING CAP
Looking back at their conversation, Ryujin mentally kicked herself. She could have won that time. She could have said something along the lines of Yeji texting her back as soon as she got off the ice, but no. Her stupid ass decided to become defensive. She couldn't take it back now and say the other one. That would make her more of a loser. Right?
It went on the entire two months in between their game. Ryujin did not know when, but sometime along the way, it started to become a random casual conversation between the two of them. Ryujin would casually message Yeji to update her about their game. She would also ask her about Yeji’s whenever she did not have time to watch it live.
In all sense, their rivalry was reflected in their conversations. On ice, their matchups were characterized by intense physicality and strategic battles, with each striving to outdo the other. They were always trying to get the upper hand even in casual text exchanges.
Everything about these two had always been dramatic; especially the contrast to their personality on and off ice. One was calm and calculated, another was chaotic and unpredictable. That is why it was not surprising to see their conversations going from Ryujin trying to annoy Yeji, to Ryujin sending her the most random stuff she could think of and Yeji just answering her in the most stoic, unambiguous way she could.
[Ryujin]
how do planes even work
[Yeji]
I don’t think that’s the type of question you should ask when you’re about to board a plane.
[Ryujin]
aw captain
you know my schedule
[Yeji]
…
I am playing against you tomorrow, Ryujin.
[Ryujin]
still :p
also
thats exactly why im asking
[Yeji]
This is not the best time to question airplane physics.
[Ryujin]
soooo
you also don’t know, huh?
[Yeji]
Just sleep it off.
[Ryujin]
you’d miss me :/
[Yeji]
No.
Ryujin just giggled. She couldn’t believe that two months had already gone by since her last match with Yeji. It had already been two months since their devastating loss. Two months since she last saw Yeji.
The moment the plane landed, she debated on whether she should message Yeji or not. She ultimately decided against it and just went straight to their hotel with her teammates.
Boston winter was a different kind of cold. It was sort of unforgiving, brutal, the kind that bit into the skin and lingered. The wind chills made it feel colder than it actually was. The moment Ryujin stepped out of the airport, the moment finally sinked in. She was there for redemption. Two months had passed and Yeji’s team remained undefeated with 25-0, while Ryujin’s team had a 24-1 win-loss record, with the only loss being against the Sentinels.
She swore she would not let it happen again.
Her team arrived at the hotel around 4:30 in the afternoon. Boston in December was as unpredictable as it would get. Some days, there were ice patches everywhere. That day, it was nothing but a cold breeze and dry sidewalks. Sure, the cold was still transitioning. But as soon as Ryujin stepped out of the bus, she felt the wind cutting through her layers of clothing. She kind of regretted not bringing her gloves that day.
[Ryujin]
boston is already ruining my life
[Yeji]
I haven’t even done anything yet.
[Ryujin]
your city has no business being this cold
[Yeji]
Oh.
Didn’t you also grow up in Minnesota, superstar?
[Ryujin]
yeah..?
what does that have to do with the cold
[Yeji]
You’re an idiot.
Hope you packed properly.
[Ryujin]
is that
genuine concern
???!!
[Yeji]
No.
I just don’t want to hear any frostbite excuses tomorrow when you lose.
[Ryujin]
it wouldn’t be an excuse if i win, captain
Ryujin smirked as she set her phone down on the bedside table. Boston in December had always been brutally cold.
But somehow, Ryujin is burning up.
Because of their competition tomorrow.
Definitely the competition.
Chapter Text
The next time Ryujin opened her eyes, it was still as cold as ever. She reached for her phone on the bedside table to check the time and the screen greeted her with harsh light. She squinted her eyes and read,
3:47
Ryujin groaned and locked her phone once again. Moments passed before she quickly got up. Fuck, it’s game day.
And she was so late.
Her heart was pounding and her stomach dropped upon realizing she already missed their morning skate and pre-game meeting. She checked her phone again. No alarms. No messages. No missed calls. Yet, her mind went to the worst possible scenario: getting kicked out of the team.
She launched out of the bed and rummaged through the closet to get her towel. She yanked out her suitcase to get some casual clothes to wear. She also messily grabbed her jersey and her hoodie.
She officially entered full-blown crisis mode. “Where the fuck is everyone? Why didn’t they wake me up?” She muttered as she was trying to call her teammates. She sighed and opted to send a quick text before heading to the bathroom.
She was in the middle of brushing her teeth when she heard her phone vibrate. She rushed out of the bathroom with her toothbrush still in her mouth, her towel hanging on her shoulder.
[Winter]
why tf were you calling
did someone die????
[Ryujin]
WHERE ARE YOU
I OVERSLEPT
[Winter]
huh??
[Ryujin]
I’LL BE THERE IN 20 MAX
[Winter]
where exactly
[Ryujin]
ARENA???????
[Winter]
HSJAHAJAJSJSHSJAJAJAJAH
[Ryujin]
whAT
[Winter]
ryujin
please
it’s 3:51 in the MORNING
Ryujin stared at her screen and blinked slowly. Her mind was not fully comprehending that it was still early in the morning. She walked towards the window and opened the curtain and was met with a dark, cold night.
“I have officially lost my mind.” She told herself as she was staring at the frosty window. She exhaled dramatically and walked back to the bathroom, finally finished brushing her teeth, and collapsed back onto the bed.
She was not going back to sleep. She knew she would not be able to. Not in this state. Not with all that adrenaline she felt when she thought she was running late on a game day. When she thought she had ultimately ruined her career.
Ryujin heard her stomach growling. She sighed. She might as well get something to eat if she was not falling back asleep anytime soon. She grabbed her phone, wallet, key card, and her hoodie before heading out.
Immediately as she stepped out of the hotel, regret sank in. If she thought the Boston cold was unforgiving during the day, it did not compare to how utterly disrespectful the cold was at almost 4 in the morning. It was the kind of cold that made her question her entire existence.
It was still pretty early for normal human activity. The street was silent, only flickering lights were heard every now and then. It was kind of comforting, if it was not unbearably cold, that is.
She sighed and just pushed through it. It could be her spiritual journey after whatever she had gone through earlier this hour. Good enough for her to have a peaceful walk and reconsider all her life decisions.
She spotted a brightly lit neon sign of a convenience store not far from the hotel. The store was empty except for the cashier, who definitely was half-asleep. She wandered in and headed straight to the instant ramen aisle. Ramen should be good in this cold.
Upon reaching the aisle, she immediately stopped walking. Unbelievable, she breathed out.
In the same aisle was her rival, who she mentally tortured for months.
She actually did not, but she believed she did.
“Are you stalking me?” she asked, making Yeji turn her head to her direction. Yeji just stared at her for a good minute, registering that they were both at the same place at the same time. A very odd time.
Once she recovered from her slight shock, she answered, “You’re in my city, superstar.” she proceeded to pick her ramen. “And I was here first.”
Ryujin just rolled her eyes and grabbed her ramen. She was about to leave when she heard Yeji scoff. “Mild?”
Against her better judgment, she returned the ramen and reached for the spicy one. She was not about to back out from a question that seemed like a challenge.
She left the aisle and went to look for a drink and some other snacks that seemed palatable at this hour.
Yeji seemed to have the same idea. They met again at the fridge aisle and both reached for the same door handle. They glared at each other, not one was backing down. Ryujin yanked the door open and grabbed a random coffee drink. Yeji did the same and they both speed-walked to the snack aisle.
They had a silent agreement that this had become some type of competition. A convenience store Olympics. The winning prize? A chance to gloat, perhaps. They were absolutely playing for their ego.
Once they reached the snack aisle, they grabbed whatever seemed okay to eat with the ramen and some chips they could bring home. Both were struggling to carry all of those foods they grabbed but neither wanted to get a basket.
Because admitting they needed one would be a sign of weakness.
Yeji was already biting one of the chips, holding three different snacks, tucking her drink safely under her arm. Ryujin was sandwiching a pack of gum in between her neck and her shoulder, balancing her cup of ramen on top of her coffee, and three chips barely hanging on her hand.
“Struggling?” Yeji asked through her gritted teeth.
Ryujin strained to answer, “Absolutely not.” She lied.
The cashier watched them, clearly amused at what these two were up to as early as 4 in the morning. She felt like she was having a fever dream.
Yeji was first to place the items down on the counter. She smirked at Ryujin who was still having a hard time walking.
Yeji - 1, Ryujin - 0
Ryujin dropped her cup of ramen on her last step. She groaned as she placed the items down on the counter and begrudgingly picked up the ramen. Yeji did not have to say anything. She just smugly waited for her items to be scanned.
Yeji - 2, Ryujin - 0
The cashier stared at the two of them and asked, “You two having a long night?”
“You could say that.” Yeji shrugged.
Ryujin grumbled and answered, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Ryujin slammed her favorite snack on the counter, right in front of the cashier. Yeji did the same for hers. The cashier switched her stare between the two of them.
“…Do you guys need me to judge or whatever the hell this is?” the cashier regretfully asked.
“Yes.”
“Duh.”
The woman exhaled, confused but definitely entertained. She looked at the two snacks.
After a few moments, she raised Ryujin’s choice.
“HA!” Ryujin celebrated. Yeji just rolled her eyes.
Yeji - 2, Ryujin - 1
It was always the same thing for these two, wasn’t it? Even simply getting some hot water was a serious competition for them.
Ryujin got it first, if anyone asked. She smirked and mischievously turned the water heater off.
Yeji - 2, Ryujin - 2
Ryujin sat at the tiny counter by the window. Yeji sat beside her minutes after without saying another word, but definitely glaring at Ryujin. She peeled back the ramen lid and stirred the noodles.
Ryujin gulped hard. The convenience store was basically empty. There were a lot of empty seats, empty tables. However, Yeji still decided to sit beside Ryujin. She visibly tensed up but did not say any word of complaint.
They could sit separately. They should sit separately. But they somehow did not. So they sat and ate together silently.
After a few bites in, Yeji finally broke the silence. “Bad night?”
Ryujin froze a bit when she remembered why she was there in the first place. “…No” she answered hesitantly.
“You look worse than you normally do.” Yeji added, not looking up from her ramen cup.
“I do not!” Ryujin said, finally looking at the other person beside her. She saw a small smirk on Yeji’s face. Not that she was directly looking at her lips. It was just an unusual sight, that’s all.
Yeji cleared her throat before turning around to face Ryujin. She leaned in a little closer to Ryujin’s ear and said, “You’re wearing your hoodie inside-out.” in a low voice.
Ryujin immediately leaned back and took offense. “It’s n–” She looked down at her hoodie and realized she was wearing it inside-out. She sighed. “Okay, I may have just gotten through a crisis.”
Yeji raised her eyebrow. “What was it about?”
Ryujin turned her eyes back to her ramen. “I… don’t want to tell you.”
“Fair. Then what are you doing here?” Yeji asked, and continued eating her food.
Ryujin stopped mid-bite to look and gesture at the food as an answer to Yeji’s question. Yeji just rolled her eyes, “You know what I meant.” she added.
“I got hungry and I needed the walk.” She answered. “You. Why are you still up?”
Yeji shrugged. “I was watching some game footage when I got hungry.”
Ryujin was a bit surprised to hear Yeji admit that. “Oh, wow. So determined to stop me?”
“Maybe.”
Yeji noticed Ryujin’s nose and ears were turning red, probably because of how spicy the ramen was. She watched Ryujin struggle while eating the steaming noodles. She chuckled when Ryujin started breathing through her mouth to which she received a glare.
She handed Ryujin one of her cheese slices to put in the ramen to help with the spiciness. As if she knew Ryujin would need one of those later on. Ryujin stared at it for a while. She was hesitant, but accepted it nonetheless.
Her ego took a hit but she really needed it.
Ryujin’s hesitation did not go unnoticed. Yeji chuckled, “Why’d you even get that?”
“I heard your mockery, captain.” she answered as she ripped the cheese packet open and put it in her ramen.
Yeji feigned offense. “I wasn’t even mocking you. It was a question.”
“Well, I took it as a challenge!”
“A challenge you’re miserably failing.” Yeji said smugly.
“Shut up.”
They had another comfortable silence between them. Just the sound of them eating their ramen in peace.
Ryujin noticed Yeji’s outfit through their reflection on the glass. She hated how comfortable and warm she looked with her thick puffer jacket, a hoodie, and her beanie on. She looked like she knew it was going to be 20°F outside.
She sighed looking at her single layer, inside-out hoodie and sweatpants that was not enough to warm her up. Ryujin, a New Yorker, who literally grew up in Minnesota, was unprepared for the cold.
It was quiet and peaceful… until their competitive ass started again.
“You call that coffee? That’s basically just milk.” Yeji said as she gestured at Ryujin’s random choice of coffee. “Taste some real coffee.” She added and slid her bottle of coffee near Ryujin.
It felt like a challenge once again. Another one where Ryujin cannot say no to. She refused to say no to. She hesitantly took a sip, half of which was just air but she immediately coughed at the bitter taste. “Oh, good Lord.” she said as she continued coughing. “No wonder you look lifeless and serious and so, so emotionless.”
“What? It’s normal coffee.” Yeji looked at her, genuinely confused.
“No normal human being should ever drink coffee that way.” She said, still trying to get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue.
“No normal human being should ever call that coffee when it’s 95% milk.”
“Whatever oldie.”
“You’re a child.”
After finishing up their food, both of them stood up and threw away their ramen cups and coffee bottles. They walked out together with their snacks they struggled to carry earlier.
Ryujin braced herself for immediate suffering. Cold air did hit them, but it was not as bad as before. It was more tolerable than earlier because of the residual heat from the ramen they just ate. Still, Yeji put her hands in her jacket pocket while Ryujin put hers in her sweatpants pocket.
Ryujin can still barely feel her tongue and she swore she was sweating through her inside-out hoodie. She definitely felt the cold, it was just less awful. Her stomach was still warm. The spice still lingered.
“So…” Yeji started, making Ryujin look up at her while they walked. “You’re really not gonna tell me about your crisis?”
“Fuck no.” Ryujin scoffed.
“Oh it’s bad bad .” Yeji nodded and smirked, more intrigued than ever.
Ryujin glared at Yeji. “It’s not that bad.” Yeji still seemed unconvinced and Ryujin knew it.
Another one of her wrong decisions tonight, she said, “I… thought… I was late for our game.”
“It’s not for another like…” Yeji looked at her watch before continuing, “14 hours.”
“Yeah. Here’s the thing,” She continued. There’s no turning back now. She was really about to tell this to her greatest rival. “I genuinely thought it’s almost 4 in the afternoon.”
Yeji stopped walking and full on laughed at Ryujin and lightly smacked her arm. Ryujin just kept glaring at her but as she watched Yeji laugh, she realized it was the first time she heard her genuine laugh.
She pretended not to hear it, but she definitely noticed.
She waited for her laugh to die down before they continued walking. “Are you done?” Ryujin asked, looking at Yeji once again.
“How could you be that confused?” Yeji chuckled. She decided she would never let Ryujin live this down.
Ryujin exhaled, her breath visible like a puff of smoke. “I regret telling you.” she muttered.
Yeji agreed. “As you should.”
They finally reached the hotel entrance, Ryujin stepping closer to the door. “Admit it.” She said before turning around to look at Yeji. “You had a good time.”
Yeji raised her eyebrow at her. “You’re delirious.”
“Yeah, sure.” Ryujin said with her iconic smirk. “See you on the ice tomorrow, captain.”
“Later.”
Ryujin groaned and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You’re losing either way.” She made her way towards the door.
“You couldn’t even tell the time of day.” Yeji said, making Ryujin stop in her tracks. “And I won tonight.”
Ryujin’s eyebrows furrowed. “Uh, no you did not.” As far as she recalled, they were tied up.
“Yes, I did.” Yeji answered innocently. “I counted a minus 100 points for you for wearing a hoodie inside-out.”
Ryujin gave one last glance at Yeji, who was still standing comfortably in the cold. “I hate you.” she mumbled, her expression blank.
Yeji just smiled a little and said, “Tragic.” She started to walk away from the hotel and made her way back home as Ryujin entered the hotel, practically sprinting the last remaining steps inside.
She watched Ryujin looking like she was escaping a crime scene. Yeji chuckled like she just witnessed a murder.
A murder of Ryujin’s pride in her own doing, maybe.
Neither of them wanted to admit they had a good time. Or good for a time that was supposed to be insufferable or, at the very least, ordinary. There would never be a casual moment for these two. Everything was a battle and they were both living for it.
Their next competition: Who can act like the convenience store bonding did not happen?
Chapter Text
The next time Ryujin and Yeji saw each other, it was as if the early morning they spent together did not happen, at all. Their mind was locked in on the game.
Earlier that day, Ryujin went straight to Chaeryeong’s room after her convenience store escapade. She decided she should sleep with another person in the same room to make sure she would wake up on time. Chaeryeong reluctantly let Ryujin in her hotel room. Ryujin’s non-stop knocking was going to wake the entire floor had she not opened the door in time. She never once thought to ask why she was already up, where she came from, why she was holding a bag of chips or why her hoodie was inside-out. Ryujin was very grateful for that.
Chaeryeong made sure to set up at least three extra alarms for both of them. She plopped back down on her bed while Ryujin settled on the extra bed in the room. They turned their lights off. It was silent. Almost peaceful.
“Chaeryeong,” Ryujin called out. Chaeryeong just groaned in response. “You wouldn’t let me oversleep, right?” she asked. She was genuinely so scared of missing the alarm it was almost laughable.
“I could just let you sleep through the alarm.” Chaeryeong said, a little muffled, but it was clear as day for Ryujin. She immediately shot up.
“Chaeryeong!” she protested. “I’m begging!”
Chaeryeong just laughed and rolled over. “Relax. I will wake you up. Probably.” she said. That made Ryujin feel at ease for a bit.
Ryujin sulked. This was humiliating for her, for her pride. But also, it was necessary. She did not want to feel the real deal of what she felt earlier. It came close to being the worst feeling she had ever experienced.
Just below losing to Yeji, of course.
She was not fully convinced Chaeryeong was going to wake her up, but she took the risk to rest and sleep for a little more. It was game day, after all. A big day for revenge. Any rest she could get would be a big help.
After around six alarms ringing, Ryujin finally woke up. She opened her eyes only to see Chaeryeong and Winter were already staring at her. She squinted her eyes at the bright light coming from the window and was visibly confused at her teammates right in front of her.
“I win.” She heard Winter say and saw her smirk at a whining Chaeryeong.
“Wait for her to get up.” Chaeryeong argued, not fully accepting defeat.
Ryujin sat up and rubbed her eyes. She heard Chaeryeong groan. “What’s happening?” she asked.
“Traitor!” Chaeryeong told her. “You could’ve slept through one more alarm, you know.”
Winter laughed victoriously as Chaeryeong handed her 10 bucks. Slept through?, Ryujin thought. She immediately got out of bed. “DID I MISS ANYTHING? WHAT TIME IS IT? DID THE TEAM HAVE A MEETING?”
“Relax, it’s only 6:30.” Winter chuckled, Chaeryeong was still grumbling somewhere in her hotel room. “Breakfast is at 7.” Winter added.
Ryujin exhaled exaggeratedly and plopped back to the bed. “God, I think I’ll be having a heart attack sooner or later.”
“Oh, yeah,” Winter also jumped on the bed. “How was your game earlier today?” She asked, clearly urging a reaction from Ryujin.
Ryujin groaned on the pillow while Winter laughed. She recalled everything that happened the past few hours. It still felt like a weird dream somehow. She actually could not believe how she spent her early morning.
“Game?” Chaeryeong popped out from the bathroom. That seemed to pique her curiosity.
“Yeah” Winter looked at Chaeryeong and back at Ryujin, who was already bracing for the line of questioning she was about to face. “She woke up earlier today thinking she was already late for our game with Boston.”
Chaeryeong sat on the bed, looking ready to question Ryujin’s whereabouts. “Was that why you were out?”
Ryujin sighed and buried her face on the pillow. She thought she got away with this after Chaeryeong let her sleep without asking too many questions. It was too good to be true, and she was about to see that.
“What time did she knock here?” Winter asked, trying to put two and two together.
“Just a couple of minutes past 5, I think.” Chaeryeong recalled. She was fairly uncertain being only half-awake when she opened the door. But she did have a glimpse at the time when she was setting more alarms for them. “She was holding a bag of chips.” she also pointed out.
Winter hummed. She turned her attention back to Ryujin. “Where did you go?”
“Also,” Chaeryeong moved closer to her teammates. She grabbed Ryujin’s hoodie. Ryujin immediately swatted Chaeryeong’s hand away and covered her body with the pillow. “Why is your hoodie inside-out?”
Winter’s eyes widened. “Oh, God.”
“What did you do?” Chaeryeong asked. Her tone was a little concerned but more teasing.
“What?” Ryujin sat up and answered as quickly as possible, “Nothing!”
“Why do you look so guilty?” They were both clearly enjoying this. The two would never have guessed what she did when she was out at 4 in the morning, let alone who she was with.
She should not be acting so guilty of something. It was not like she did anything wrong. Even so, she still took it upon herself to keep whatever the hell happened a secret. She did not know why but she swore to herself to take this to the grave.
“Because you’re asking me a lot of questions!” Ryujin threw her pillow at the two of them but they were not budging.
Chaeryeong narrowed her eyes at Ryujin. “You’re clearly acting suspicious.”
Ryujin exhaled and tried to say in her calmest voice, “I’m literally not.” She also smiled, which was a bit too much for someone who was trying not to be suspicious.
“You called me around 4am and you knocked here at 5am with a bag of chips…” Winter was theorizing. Ryujin sighed defeatedly. She just sat there and waited for whatever these two were brewing together.
“What happened in that one hour, Ryujin?” Chaeryeong finally asked.
“Nothing!” Ryujin answered a bit too quickly.
Her teammates laughed. “You’re a bad liar.” Chaeryeong said.
“Fine!” Ryujin exhaled. Maybe this would be her demise. She could not see any other way out but to tell them the truth. “I just ate ramen at a convenience store nearby and grabbed some chips to take home.”
Partially.
There was a bit of silence after her confession. The two were seemingly still waiting for Ryujin to add something more. She did look like she was holding something back. Maybe because she was. Ryujin just gulped and silently hoped that the two would just bite.
“That’s it?” Chaeryeong and Winter asked in unison after a few more seconds of silence. Ryujin did not add anything more. Both were confused but gauging whether or not Ryujin was telling the whole story.
“Yeah.” Ryujin answered in the most believable tone she could possibly make.
“Was that so hard to say?” Chaeryeong asked and rolled her eyes. Winter was still looking at her suspiciously.
“No!” Ryujin sounded a bit defensive. “Because I told you, nothing happened.”
“Okay…” They were not fully buying it. Ryujin was not going to crack now. She swore she would not ever. But they would soon figure it out if she kept acting suspicious like this.
“Can I go now?” Ryujin said instead, trying to escape the sudden hot seat from these two. “I’m gonna go get changed.”
“You better not sleep.” Chaeryeong warned her.
“I won’t!” She answered quickly and left the room just as fast.
The rest of the day was fairly routine for Ryujin. She always looked forward to game days, no matter who they were up against. There was just something special when it’s a game against Boston.
Was it jitters?
It cannot be. Ryujin does not get nervous jitters. Not a single time did she ever feel nervous before a game. That was one of her best feats. No pressure, ice vein nerves. That was what made her great even in clutch moments. Excitement jitters, maybe, if there exists one. That was what she felt during game days with Boston.
The New York Cyclones headed to the conference room after breakfast for their final review of their last game against the Boston Sentinels.
Ryujin sat quietly and listened to their coach carefully. She might seem like a reckless, chaotic player, but she does pay attention to her coach’s words. Her jaw tightened as they replayed the last play. She gulped as she watched Yeji catch up to her and lifted her stick.
The Cyclones listened attentively as the coaches broke down every mistake they made during the previous game and gave out ways to prevent it from happening again. It was brutal. But it was needed. They needed to hear it. They needed to learn from it. And that was what they did. Everyone took mental notes, fully determined to make sure it would work.
They reviewed a few more plays. One defender chased too early. The center lost her assignment, opening up the passing lane. Boston goal. Their coach clicked the remote and paused the footage.
“What happened here?” one of their coaches asked.
One of their defensemen answered through gritted teeth, “We lost our coverage.”
The coach nodded. “This isn’t a skill issue. It’s a decision-making issue.”
“We are going to fix this later. You better set the pace this time.” Another one of their coaches added, “They didn’t just beat us last time, we let them by letting them dictate the game.”
They said a few more words, last-minute strategies, match-up assignments, play reviews, and some team adjustments before they headed out of the conference room. Ryujin felt more determined to win against Boston than ever.
By 3:30 in the afternoon, they were getting ready to leave the hotel. It was almost time. Headphones on, locked in. Last quiet moments before everything turned real. Every player had a different way of preparing. But as a team, they moved as one.
Players were rounded up near the hotel entrance, bags slung over their shoulders. Some were still stretching their arms, rolling their necks. Their game faces were slowly clicking into place.
Ryujin just sat on one of the hotel lobby chairs, team hoodie up, looking a little too relaxed. One should never mistake it for indifference, though. One could easily be fooled by her calm and relaxed exterior, but she was definitely in serious mode. She was completely locked in and ready to take on the Boston Sentinels.
They finally got out and loaded the bus. The players took their usual seats. The ride was not going to be long but long enough to go into full game mode. Ryujin closed her eyes and silently went through plays in her head.
And just like that, everything else faded away.
The team bus finally arrived at TD Garden. It rolled to a stop near the players’ entrance where a couple of people were already waiting. Inside the bus, the only sound that could be heard was the low hum of the bus engine and the faint bass from someone’s headphones.
Ryujin was bouncing her knee lightly. It was not nerves. It was adrenaline. She could not wait to get off and get ready for the game. She was itching to move around.
The doors hissed open. Ryujin’s ears perked up and she immediately got up. Of course, she did. She grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and stepped out of the bus.
Her teammates followed closely. They stepped out in pairs, dressed in their team-issued gray hoodies.
They walked through the players’ entrance, passing a few staff members, reporters were lingering nearby. A few of them acknowledged the people while the others were focused and unbothered.
The Boston Sentinels arrived around the same time, heading toward their locker room. Right in front was, of course, their captain. Yeji.
She was walking alongside a few of her teammates, completely composed, not even one glance at the New York Cyclones.
But Yeji knew Ryujin was there.
And Ryujin knew Yeji knew.
They walked past each other. No words. No taunts. No smirks.
It was as if they did not spend an hour together earlier that day.
Nothing.
Just the weight of everything between them.
They both knew that the moment they stepped in the arena, it was different. Sure, they still taunted and teased each other during the game. But it was all about hockey.
Nothing about their shared tiny convenience store table at four in the morning. Or the laughs they had sharing stuff they would not normally share with their rivals. Not even the short cold walk to the hotel.
They were not the Yeji and Ryujin that ate ramen and drank cold coffee at four in the morning.
They were Yeji of the Boston Sentinels and Ryujin of the New York Cyclones right now. One of the best rivalries of the generation.
They both knew that.
So Ryujin was back at thinking of ways to play mind games with Yeji and mess with her. She walked as she thought out a plan.
Once they arrived in their visiting locker room, it was immediately filled with a mix of calm intensity and restless energy. Each player started to do their personal rituals. Some blasting some music, some already visualizing their first shift.
Ryujin dropped her bag in her stall, leaned back, and breathed for a second. Then, she reached for her tape. White, as always. Same number of wraps. No variation. She started wrapping her hockey stick, slow and methodical.
She sat at her stall and put in her AirPods next. She pressed shuffle on her game day playlist and bobbed her head to the beat. She was even pretending that her stick was an electric guitar. She was in her own world.
“Oh, God. It’s starting.” Winter said and pulled out her phone to record Ryujin’s performance. “Guys! Turn the volume down!”
They immediately stopped the music playing and waited for Ryujin to sing whatever was playing on her playlist.
With how random Ryujin’s playlist was, every game day, the Cyclones betted on what her song of the day would be. They couldn’t even get the artist right. They called her playlist random—Ryujin called it range. Them betting on the song was already part of their game day routine. But not once did they win.
Ryujin started humming the song while her teammates waited in anticipation.
“Guess I failed to love you and you’re taking it out tonight,” Ryujin started to sing, making her teammates groan in defeat. The room was then filled with complaints and grumbles. A random roll of tape flying across the room and hitting Ryujin. She just laughed and continued singing, “Am I supposed to leave you now? When you’re looking like that”
“What the actual fuck, Ryujin?”
“Westlife?! Come on, now.”
“It’s not even random at this point. It’s anything under the sun.”
“We’re never winning this game.”
“I’m telling you all, one day she’s gonna play a Pussycat Dolls song.”
Ryujin just smirked. She could barely hear them. But by the looks on their face, they lost. She stood up and danced as she sang the song, holding her hockey stick as a microphone. She was really giving out a performance.
After a few more complaints, her teammates inevitably joined her. The room was filled with their energetic singing, if you could still call it that. It was more like shouting, but they were still enjoying themselves. They screamed like they were on tour with Westlife.
They did not know when or how this ritual started. It was absolutely ridiculous. It was unnecessary. But it worked every single time. That was what mattered. Somehow, it was their way to loosen up.
The team erupted in cheers and laughter. They were definitely hyped up now. They spent the rest of their preparations in good spirits. It worked, once again. They loosened up.
Ryujin put her gear on and tied her skates properly. She donned her white jersey with teal accents last.
Then, the time had come. Boston was waiting. War was about to begin.
After their preparations and pre-game interviews, it was finally time to head out to the ice rink for warmups.
The New York Cyclones were there to make a statement. Warmups were not just for stretching and getting a feel for the ice. It was also about sending a message.
The second the Cyclones stepped onto the ice, the battle began. The loud wave of boos from Boston fans greeted them. Ryujin smirked. She lived for these moments. The noise of the crowd, the feeling of the ice underneath her skates, the cold air hitting her face through the helmet—these were the moments for Ryujin.
First lap, the Cyclones skate in wide circles to get used to the ice. Their goalie headed to the crease, dropping into stance, adjusting angles.
Ryujin took her first strides on the ice, smooth and confident as always, testing her edges. She felt good.
Her eyes subconsciously flicked to the other side of the rink. Boston was already out there, moving through their drills. Right at the center of it was Yeji.
She looked calm and composed as she always did. She was wearing their home court uniform: a navy blue jersey with gold accents. She had her helmet on, skating effortlessly. Controlled. Focused.
Ryujin did not realize she was staring. Yeji did not glance back at Ryujin. Not yet. But Ryujin knew she was aware of the staring. Suddenly, it was not just warmups anymore. It was the first round of the fight.
By 7:00, they were doing some shooting drills. The players broke out into shooting lines, peeling off into different directions toward the net.
Ryujin was up first. The moment the puck touched her stick, it was gone in a second. Smooth, seamless. Quick pull, a sharp cut, and off the puck went. Top corner. Crossbar and in. Absolutely no hesitation.
The clang of the metal echoed with the Boston fans’ gasps. Some of them jeered, while some let out impressed whistles. Ryujin did not react. She was already circling back for another rep.
It was not meant to be flashy. It was about intent. She was there to make a statement after all.
Wristers, snapshots, slap shots, each released crisp. Each shot with purpose. Every movement they made was intentional. There seemed an edge to it today.
“They’re definitely locked in.” One of their coaches said, watching the Cyclones from the bench.
7:20 and the warmups were winding down. Some players were stepping out of the ice. Others were already heading back to the tunnel.
Ryujin took one final look at the arena. She saw a sea of navy blue and gold. She heard loud cheers for her opponents. She felt the weight of the moment settle. Her helmet was tucked under her arm. She skated off the ice and into the tunnel for the introductions.
Then, for the first time that night, she locked eyes with Yeji. She immediately smirked. It was like a muscle memory at this point. Something about her interactions with Yeji made her feel… confident. Thus, the smirk.
Yeji just raised her eyebrow at Ryujin and waited for her to say something first. Ryujin was doing the same. They had been staring at each other for minutes now, waiting for the other to crack.
Until Ryujin scoffed, her smile was still evident. She said, “Good luck, captain.”
Yeji just smirked at her, and quietly said, “You made it on time. Good for you.”
To say that Ryujin was shocked was an understatement. She feigned offense and gasped. “How dare you.” She lightly tapped Yeji’s stick with hers. Yeji just chuckled and looked away.
Winter and Chaeryeong heard their short exchange. They got a bit confused but they let it go thinking it was one of their usual banters that only the two of them could understand.
Ryujin walked to her position and waited for their cue to enter the ice once again.
The next time they step onto the ice, the puck will drop. It’s game time.
Chapter Text
The Boston Sentinels and the New York Cyclones’ first matchup of the season had ended in a Boston victory. New York had spent weeks sitting with that loss, replaying their mistakes, feeling the sting of it, and it showed in the way they lined up for the opening faceoff—shoulders squared, sticks gripped a little tighter.
But now, it was their turn to set the tone. Every game after that loss, every training, every footage review, the coaches had instilled in them that they had to be the one to set the pace. Let the Sentinels chase them .
Ryujin glanced at Boston’s side and smirked to herself. She knew Yeji was locked in. That was fine. So was she.
The energy inside TD Garden was electric, a mixture of home-team confidence and the lingering tension of a rivalry that had only grown stronger with each game.
The roar of the crowd filled the arena as the players were introduced and the first shift players lined up for the opening faceoff.
Ryujin started on the wing, ready to pounce if her centerman won the draw. Across from her, just beyond the center circle, Yeji stood poised at the blue line, watching, tracking every movement on the ice.
Ryujin crouched low, eyes locked on the puck, but she felt it before she even looked up. Yeji was staring at her from across the ice, the way she always did before the first play. Calculated. Steady. A silent challenge.
“Alright, here we go—Cyclones, Sentinels, Round Two. We know the history. We know the bad blood. And we know that two players in particular are going to be in the spotlight tonight.”
“Ryujin vs. Yeji. New York’s most dangerous winger against Boston’s best shutdown defenseman. And wouldn’t you know it, they’re already lined up across from each other at the opening faceoff.”
Then, the referee finally dropped the puck.
The arena was deafening as the puck hit the ice for the opening faceoff. The home crowd was loud, but the New York Cyclones were not fazed. They had heard worse.
Yuna won the draw, snapping it back to Yeji, and immediately darted up the ice. The crowd grew louder as the Sentinels tried to take control of the pace. New York’s forecheck kicked in, but Boston was quick on the transition. The game started fast. Too fast .
Ryujin barely had a second to adjust before Yeji was coming straight at her. Ryujin braced herself, lowering her stance, and the impact came hard. Shoulder to shoulder, the hit reverberated through her body, but she held her ground.
Yeji did not even blink.
Then she smirked—just barely, before skating off to rejoin the play.
Ryujin rolled her shoulders, exhaling sharply.
Alright, Captain. Let’s go.
Ryujin charged forward on the forecheck, eyes flicking between the puck carrier and Yeji. She knew how Boston’s system worked. If she pressured hard enough, Yeji would be forced to make the first move.
Yeji did not bite.
Instead, she baited Ryujin into committing early. Then, in a perfectly timed motion, fired a crisp pass up the boards, breaking the Cyclones out of the zone. The Sentinels tried to score early on but were unable to.
The first true one-on-one moment between them came seven minutes in.
New York gained possession in the neutral zone. Ryujin read the play developing and exploded down the right wing, flying past the Sentinels’ bench. The transition was perfect. The puck landed on her stick in stride, and she had a lane.
“We’ve talked about it all week. The Sentinels took the last game against the Cyclones, but New York is hungry for revenge. And keep an eye on number 17 in white—Shin Ryujin. She’s already flying down the wing.”
But Yeji was already pivoting backward, reading the rush before it fully developed.
“And look who’s matching up against her—Boston’s top shutdown defender, Hwang Yeji. These two have a history, and it is going to be a battle all night.”
Ryujin knew she had speed on her side, but Yeji’s positioning was textbook. She did not chase. Did not reach. She just held the inside lane, taking away the most dangerous space on the ice.
“Look at that positioning! Yeji stays with her, takes away the middle.”
Ryujin knew what Yeji would try. She had seen it before, felt it before. Yeji had a way of reading plays before they happened, anticipating movements with frustrating precision.
She was left with two options: First was to beat Yeji wide. Risky, because Yeji could angle her into the boards. Second was to cut inside and force a play.
In a split second decision making, she chose the second.
Ryujin faked outside, then snapped the puck between Yeji’s skates, trying to pull it back inside for a quick shot.
Yeji was ready .
The moment Ryujin reached for the puck, Yeji dropped her shoulder—full-body contact, knocking Ryujin off balance and separating her from the puck.
A textbook defensive stop.
The Boston bench erupted. Yeji did not react. Just retrieved the puck, turned up ice, and moved on.
“That is elite-level defense from Yeji. She doesn’t even have to throw a big hit—she just angles Ryujin out, forces the turnover, and Boston clears the zone.”
“And if you’re Ryujin, that must be so frustrating. She’s got so much skill, but Yeji just reads her so well.”
Ryujin skated a short loop in frustration, exhaling sharply. She could already hear Yeji’s voice in her head: Not today, superstar.
Boston found their rhythm, controlling the pace as the period wore on. Their passing was crisp, their defense structured, and New York found themselves fending off extended shifts in their own zone. The Cyclones’ goaltender had to make a few key saves to keep the score locked at zero.
With two minutes left, Ryujin got another rush, using her body to shield the puck as she barreled into the offensive zone. She deked around one defenseman, saw an opening—but then Yeji was there. Again . She didn’t need a big hit—just a perfectly timed shove with her shoulder to push Ryujin off balance enough to lose control. Another broken play. Another small win for Yeji.
The period ended scoreless, but the battle had just begun.
“We’ve gone twenty minutes without a goal, but that doesn’t mean it’s been slow. These two teams are playing like they know they’ll see each other in the playoffs.”
As Yeji skated to their bench, she skated past Ryujin, who was already frustrated as it was. She stopped for a while and turned to look at Ryujin. Ryujin just huffed and removed her helmet.
“What’s wrong, superstar?” She teased, “Had too much ramen?”
Ryujin was caught off guard once again for the second time that night. Her mind literally went blank. She never thought Yeji would be the one initiating the banter, let alone teasing her about their weird time together . Her brain and mouth could not even come up with an answer.
Before she could even properly process that, Yeji was gone. She was left alone. Until she turned around and saw Chaeryeong and Winter raising their eyebrows at her. Ryujin’s eyes widened. She subconsciously started blinking fast. Way too fast.
“Ryujin…?” Chaeryeong called her. Ryujin audibly gulped.
“How did Yeji know you had ramen today?” Winter asked.
Ryujin just skated past them and went to their bench. Her teammates were following closely behind her. “I don’t know. Lucky guess?” She lied.
The two shared a look and silently agreed to drop this one for now and focus on the game. They took a mental note to bring it up again later tonight.
The moment the puck dropped for the second period, the game changed.
New York had spent the first twenty minutes adjusting, testing, feeling out Boston’s structure. But now, there was no more hesitation. No more patience. The Cyclones stormed the neutral zone, their forecheck suffocating, their hits heavier. They wanted to break the Sentinels down—physically, mentally, whatever it took.
The Sentinels were not backing down either.
They came out stronger in the second, moving with purpose. They had the first power play of the game after a Cyclones defenseman got called for tripping, and it did not take them long to capitalize.
Yeji was everywhere during her shift, closing gaps, breaking up rushes, resetting plays before New York could even build momentum. Her stickwork was surgical, knocking pucks loose at just the right moment, frustrating every Cyclones forward who thought they had a clean zone entry.
Yeji took control at the blue line, scanning the ice like a predator watching its prey. She faked a shot, drawing in a defender, before sliding a perfect pass through traffic to Karina at the circle. One quick touch, a snap shot— goal .
The red light flashed, and the crowd erupted. 1-0 Sentinels.
“Oh, what a feed across! They score! Boston takes the lead!”
“Patience! Look at Yeji drawing the defenders before slipping that pass across. She created that goal.”
The sound of the crowd cheering for their first goal was quite deafening. Ryujin could barely hear her heavy huffing. She felt Yeji’s eyes on her but she did not budge. She did not spare her a glance.
Ryujin scowled as she lined up for the next faceoff. She hated being scored on, but hated it even more when Yeji was involved.
The frustration turned into determination. New York responded with a more physical game, throwing bigger hits, pressing harder. Ryujin took matters into her own hands, charging into the offensive zone and using her speed to create chaos.
Midway through the period, she saw an opportunity. A loose puck along the boards, Yeji reaching for it.
“Uh-oh.. Ryujin’s got a head of steam. She’s going straight for Yeji.”
Ryujin didn’t slow down—she went straight for her, lowering her shoulder just enough to send Yeji stumbling as she poked the puck away.
“OH! She lowered her shoulder, and Yeji felt that one!”
“That is a statement hit from Ryujin. And you can see the little smirk as she skates away.”
It was not a huge hit, but it was enough. Enough to make a statement . Enough to force Yeji to look at her as she skated away.
The second period ended with Sentinels leading 1-0. Ryujin was getting impatient and too eager to score. It was a bad sign. Her teammates and coaches knew and felt that.
She ripped out her gloves as soon as she arrived in their locker room, her helmet was angrily thrown onto her locker. She grabbed her towel and placed it on her face. She sat like that for a while until she finally caught her breath.
The Cyclones locker room was filled with people checking equipment, player bruises, and skate blades. Overlapping voices echoed as they exchanged ideas and plays to score at least one goal tonight. They better not leave Boston without a goal. Ryujin swore on it.
Their coaches finally entered and called their team’s attention. Some hydrating and fixing up their tapes, others were still catching their breaths. But all of them knew what was coming. No matter how hard they were playing tonight, it was not good enough.
Their coach did not yell—at least not yet. He just stood there, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room, letting the silence do its job.
Finally, he spoke. “I’m going to say this once, so listen carefully.” His voice was calm, but that calm carried weight. “You’re playing into their game.”
The words hit heavier than any yelling could.
“You’re hesitating, you’re waiting for them to dictate the play, and you’re playing safe.” He let the word safe hang in the air like a curse. He took a glance at Ryujin who was still covered by her towel.
If a person asked any hockey enthusiast how Ryujin played, none of them would answer Ryujin plays it safe. That was because she never did. She was known to be chaotic and unpredictable, definitely a nuance to play against.
It started in high school, when she was not the biggest player on the ice, but she was always the one winning battles she had no business winning. She had a knack for slipping out of coverage, for luring defenders in and then burning them the second they overcommitted.
It was not just about skill—it was deception .
Her opponents started calling her sly, crafty, a little shit to play against.
It was the main reason she was called The Fox . Always lurking, waiting. They think she was done, then, bam. She got them.
Hearing her coach tell them they were playing it safe tonight made her look up. It was not the description usually used to describe a Cyclone game.
Ryujin never thought she would be playing it safe. Was she being careful? Why would she be? She did not even know. She refused to believe she was.
“This isn’t a game you win by waiting for the right moment. This is a game you win by taking it.” Their coach continued to give them the talk. It was going to be the last period, after all. Go big or go home a loser with zero goals.
Their coach turned to the forwards. “Ryujin, you had a couple of good rushes, but they’re reading you.” Ryujin’s jaw clenched. “Yeji’s watching your cutbacks, and they’re forcing you wide. You’ve got the speed. Use it inside. Don’t settle for the outside shot. Attack the middle. Draw them in and create space for the trailing forward. If Yeji wants to play tight, make her pay for it.”
She did hesitate on her play that one time. Maybe she was playing it safe. She took a deep breath. That was about to change.
“Boston thrives when they control possession. We’re not letting that happen. Next period, we forecheck harder. We force turnovers. We get sticks in lanes, we cut off passes, and we capitalize on their mistakes.” he continued. His gaze locked onto each player. The Cyclones just nodded and listened attentively.
Then he stepped back, nodding toward the door. “Reset. Regroup. Third period is ours. So will this game.”
And just like that, the fire in the room reignited. The hesitation? Gone. Now, they were not just stepping back onto the ice. They were going to take it over.
Then, the doors opened, and the team stormed back out.
The third period opened at full throttle.
Boston came out fast, trying to take advantage of any post-intermission sluggishness. The Sentinels controlled possession, moving the puck crisply, keeping New York hemmed in.
Yeji was at the center of it all, activating more in the offensive zone, stepping deeper into plays, keeping New York under constant pressure.
But the Cyclones held their ground.
Ryujin’s line got trapped for a long shift, and Yeji nearly capitalized, firing a heavy shot through traffic, forcing the goalie into a scrambling save.
The game was on a knife’s edge.
The next time the Cyclones got to initiate a play started with a mistake.
Boston had been clean all game, but fatigue was creeping in. Their breakout had been smooth all night, until one bad pass at the blue line left the puck exposed.
Ryujin pounced.
“Turnover at the blue line. Ryujin picks it up—she's alone.”
She stripped the puck from the defenseman with a quick stick lift, then took off. Yeji was the only one back. For a second, it was just them.
“But here comes Yeji.”
Ryujin. Yeji. Open ice.
Yeji skated hard, closing the gap, knowing she had one chance to stop this. Ryujin felt her coming, heard the skates slicing through ice, sensed the poke check about to happen.
At the last second, Ryujin pulled the puck inside, just past Yeji’s reach. Yeji adjusted, pivoting fast, trying to recover. But Ryujin already had the lane.
A quick fake. A shift to the inside. A flick of the wrist. Puck on the top left corner— goal .
“SHE SCORES! RYUJIN GIVES NEW YORK THEIR FIRST GOAL OF THE NIGHT!”
The New York bench erupted. Ryujin threw a fist in the air, skating hard into the boards, teammates crashing into her.
Yeji was still standing in the crease, breathing hard, watching the scoreboard change.
1-1. Six minutes left.
She closed her eyes for half a second, then turned back toward center ice. She made the mistake of locking eyes with Ryujin, wearing a smile that looked like a familiar “I got a goal on you, Cap!”
She finished her shift and headed out of the ice. She sat on the bench watching, analyzing, dissecting everything happening right in front of her.
Then, with two minutes left in the period, New York gave everything they got to get this win.
Yeji, now back on the ice, was everywhere, pushing the tempo, firing passes through traffic, playing deeper in the zone than ever before.
Ryujin was not chasing offense anymore. She was holding on for dear life, digging in on every defensive shift, trying to hold the line.
A minute left and the Sentinels worked the blue line like a surgeon, keeping possession, cycling the puck, looking for any opening. They were having a hard time clearing.
Then, the puck found Ryujin at the top of the circle.
“Ryujin takes off! It’s a breakaway—AND YEJI IS CHASING!”
“Can Yeji catch her? She’s closing the gap!”
Ryujin helped set the play up, carrying the puck into the zone and drawing two defenders before dishing it off to Winter.
Time was ticking down. A quick pass to the slot, a sharp wrist shot— goal .
2-1 New York.
“WINTER SCORES! NEW YORK TAKES THE LEAD!”
“Ryujin knew Yeji was locked on to her, so she used it, sending the puck to the trailing forward.”
”And look at the way Ryujin is celebrating. She knew that was huge.”
Yeji exhaled, flexing her grip on her stick as the final buzzer rang.
She could feel Ryujin’s stare from across the ice, waiting for her to look back. She immediately regretted it when she finally did. As soon as she looked back, Ryujin sent her a wink. She rolled her eyes, making Ryujin chuckle even more.
“That was a playoff-level game in December. Physical, fast, and full of big moments.”
“And in the end, it’s Ryujin who gets the last laugh. That goal in the third period was the difference.”
“But you can tell—Yeji’s already thinking about the next one. These two are far from done.”
Ryujin let her head tilt back, soaking it in. The weight of the win, the exhaustion in her bones, the roar of the crowd.
The handshake line formed. One by one, she worked her way through Boston’s players, until Yeji.
Helmet off. Eyes steady. No words. Just a nod. Ryujin hesitated before nodding back.
Because they both knew. This wasn’t over. Not even close.
They were now tied 25-1.
Their final match up before the playoffs will decide which of them would end up on top, which of them would get the home-ice advantage, which of them was better.
Hockey has always been chaotic. Anything can happen in the playoffs. But the numbers don’t lie: the higher the seed, the better the chance at winning it all. Top seeds get advantages and perks.
And for a rivalry like Ryujin and Yeji?
That extra edge could be the difference between winning a championship or watching the other lift the cup.
Chapter Text
Weeks after their big win against the Boston Sentinels, Ryujin felt the Cyclones’ victory linger. Every game after that was purely a bliss. They carried that momentum forward and never looked back. It was not just any victory after all. It was a win against Boston.
It was a win against Yeji.
Ryujin did not say much during that night’s post-game interview. She did not have to. Her grin and demeanor were very telling, with a few grinning soundbites and some smug chirps here and there. She was proud of that win because she knew they worked hard for it. They earned it. Her mind kept playing the sound of the siren going off signifying a goal right before the final buzzer sounded. It was an ecstatic moment.
But there was something else. Something she could not quite shake.
Yeji’s face after the goal.
She did not argue with the refs. Did not slam her stick. She barely reacted. She had always been a good sport even if she had every right to brag about her skill being one of the best players in the league.
The moment the buzzer flooded the arena, Yeji just stared up at the scoreboard, exhaled, and skated back to the faceoff circle, like she was already calculating. Adjusting. Preparing.
And Ryujin knew she had already gone through every single mistake she made and how she could learn from them. Ryujin knew that was the kind of athlete Yeji was. That was what made her hard to beat.
The New York Cyclones may have won that time, but they knew it was far from over.
Ryujin even got a message from Yeji that night, congratulating them for the win. But it was not a Ryujin and Yeji conversation without the “Enjoy it while it lasts” follow up message from Yeji and the “Keep up next time, captain.” from Ryujin.
Apart from deserving it, Ryujin needed that win. Mainly because she wanted to finally beat Yeji after losing 3 consecutive games to them since last season. But also, she managed to get out of Winter and Chaeryeong’s burning questions. They were so preoccupied with the victory that they never got to follow up on their queries, and Ryujin was immensely grateful for that.
After the day’s practice, Ryujin went straight to their locker room. Practice had run long—hard battle drills, tight defensive rotations, no one had energy left for anything except peeling off gear and getting out.
Ryujin was half-zoned out, still sitting in her stall, taping up the blade of her stick for no real reason. Just a habit. Just routine. Then she saw it.
A small package.
It was sitting on the bench in front of her stall. Not wrapped, not obvious. Just there. Ryujin blinked and stared at it. It did not have a name nor a note.
Her first thought was maybe it was some kind of prank. Maybe Chaeryeong or one of the other girls was trying to mess with her. But they were all on the ice practicing the past few hours.
Carefully, she picked it up, feeling the weight of it in her hands before peeling back the folded edges. As soon as she saw what was inside, she immediately grabbed her phone and shot a text to the person who she surely knew would have sent the gift.
[Ryujin]
fuck you
[Yeji]
What did I do now?
[Ryujin]
i received your “gift”
[Yeji]
Oh
I think the words you’re looking for is “Thank you”
[Ryujin]
it was one time!!!
[Yeji]
Just to make sure there won’t be a second.
[Ryujin]
is this a congratulatory gift for beating you
:)
[Yeji]
No.
It’s just that. A gift.
Don’t read too much into it.
[Ryujin]
careful now
im getting ideas
you think about me a lot, captain?
[Yeji]
What part of “don’t read too much into it“ did you not understand?
[Ryujin]
mmm
the don’t part
[Yeji]
You’re insufferable.
[Ryujin]
yet you think about me often
[Yeji]
I don’t.
[Ryujin]
whatever you say, cap ;)
Ryujin just chuckled to herself and tossed her phone back to her duffle bag. She grabbed the item out of the box and rolled her eyes when she noticed one specific detail.
It was a black, rectangular alarm clock that had a large AM/PM on the display screen.
She knew she was never going to live that down. Nonetheless, she appreciated the thought. She was not sure whether the gift was meant to tease her or to actually help her but either way, she liked it. She was about to store the gift back to her bag when she noticed a small folded note inside the box.
A single sentence written in a neat handwriting:
Just to make sure I won’t see you again roaming around my city at ungodly hours…
Y
Ryujin smiled. The message might sound like Yeji did not want another encounter like that again, but at a deeper understanding, or to Ryujin’s understanding, Yeji was warming up to her. She could not deny that there was a shift in their dynamic after that incident. It was then she realized:
There might be a budding friendship with her rival.
Ryujin did not know why but that made her feel giddy. Yeji sending out a gift to her like this was quite unexpected, totally unimaginable. They were talking more casually now, as well. She exhaled sharply, a mix of amusement and something else she could not quite name.
Then, she saw an envelope in her stall. She first thought it was from Yeji, too. Two packages from Yeji in one day? Must be a miracle, she thought. She did get occasional fan mails and it could not be her bills since those were addressed to her apartment.
But as she looked closer, she immediately paused. There was a USA Hockey logo on it.
It seemed official. She looked around her teammates’ locker to see if they also got the same envelope. A few of them did, too. She grew even more confused. She took the envelope in her stall and turned it over. There she saw her name printed at the back.
Shin Ryujin — New York Cyclones
She grew nervous. Did she do something wrong? Did she violate any sort of rules and they were suspending her? What else could be in this official-looking envelope? A million questions were flooding her mind at that moment. She gulped and decided to just read it once and for all. She tore the envelope open and unfolded the paper, her eyes instantly scanning through the words.
10th January, 2025
Dear Shin Ryujin,
On behalf of USA Hockey and the National Team Selection Committee, we are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to represent Team USA at the upcoming IIHF Women’s World Championship, to be held in Plymouth, Michigan from February 16-26, 2025.
Your selection to this roster reflects your exceptional performance, dedication, and skill at the highest level of competition. You have demonstrated the qualities necessary to represent our country on the international stage, and we are confident in your ability to contribute to the success of Team USA.
All players must report to Team USA Training Camp starting January 27th. Camp will include on-ice training, system implementation, and team-building exercises in preparation for the tournament.
If you accept this invitation, please confirm your participation by January 17th via the enclosed form. If you are unable to participate due to injury or other circumstances, please notify us immediately.
For any additional information regarding camp logistics, travel, or accommodations, please contact the Team USA Coordinator. Contact details are provided below.
We look forward to welcoming you to Team USA and seeing you on the ice.
Congratulations and Go USA!
Sincerely,
J.Y. Park
Chair, USA Hockey National Team Selection Committee
Ryujin let out a slow breath. She knew she was good enough. But knowing and seeing it in writing were two different things. For a moment, she just stared at it. Apart from unexpectedly receiving it today, the mail did not come as a surprise—not really. She had worked hard for this. She had played well enough to know she was in consideration.
Still.
Something about holding it, about knowing it was real, made her fingers tighten on the envelope as she basked in the other contents of the envelope. A grin started forming, pride swelling in her chest as she read through the training camp information and in depth details about the entire stint.
Then, her eyes finally read through the preliminary roster list. A couple of her teammates made the team as well, which made her more excited. She saw a few more familiar names before reading the one name that would ignite such a reaction from her.
Hwang Yeji — Boston Sentinels
She did not know what to feel. For years, she had played against Yeji. Prepared for her. Studied her. Gotten shut down by her, pissed her off, and spent entire games trying to get past her.
She did not know what she had expected. It was not like Yeji would not make the team. She was one of the best defensemen in the league, a born leader, a walking, talking, textbook of frustration whenever Ryujin had to play against her.
But playing alongside her, same side of the ice, same team?
That is a different story.
There may be a budding friendship between them, but that does not mean it would be easy to drop their rivalry and form a good chemistry playing together.
Yeji found her mail a little later than Ryujin that day. She was taking extra minutes in the gym after practice had ended since she felt like she still had some energy left to burn. She was not overworking herself, no. Some would say she was, but it had always been normal for her.
She only left the gym after some of her teammates excitedly grabbed her from one of the exercise machines, saying there was a package for her.
The envelope was neatly opened, the letter folded back against the bench beside her, her name printed cleanly in bold.
Yeji had already read it.
She read the letter once, twice, maybe three times just to make sure the letter was real and official. Lia, Yuna, and Karina making the team, as well, made her feel at ease. Once the three of them saw Yeji finally reading the letter, they started to celebrate. It was a huge moment for them. It was the dream.
Yeji stayed seated, still gripping on to the paper. She let out a slow breath, running a hand through her hair as she reached for the second page—the roster.
Of course, Ryujin made the team, she thought.
She should not be annoyed. She was not annoyed. Ryujin was one of the best wingers in the league. Surely, Yeji knew that. Yeji had spent years calculating how to stop her, tracking her movements, reading her tendencies, cutting off her space. She knew her skills would eventually be needed in the National Team. However, the thought of them being in the same team seemed like a fever dream.
Yeji, a defenseman, now has to help Ryujin, a winger, to score a goal. None of them saw it coming.
She was kind of worried that there would not be enough time to build their on-ice chemistry.
Rewiring their brain to see them as teammates and not as rivals would be difficult. Not only them but the hockey fans, as well, or even the entire hockey world, would surely need to rewire their brains, too.
The hockey world had spent years watching them go at each other. The endless chirping. The physical battles on the ice. The constant tension in every single New York vs. Boston matchup.
Years of rivalry and then ending up wearing the same jersey.
Fans had already joked about wanting to see the both of them in the same team. Maybe in an exhibition match or an all-star game. They did not account for the high possibility that both Yeji and Ryujin were top candidates for the National Team.
They wanted to see what their dynamic would be like had the both of them been playing for the same team. They had always wondered if they would work well together or they would be chaotic.
The two of them were now wondering the same. More or less three weeks to train and build connections with their new teammates to compete against international teams. That seemed like a challenge.
As always, Yeji and Ryujin were never one to back out.
Notes:
Hi :) short (?) update!!!!
Chapter 10
Notes:
heh, sorry for the late update. i missed you guys. <3
Chapter Text
A week after they both submitted their confirmation to join the national team, Ryujin and Yeji immediately went back to business as they still had a final match up to win against the other to break the tie. The winner gets the top spot, home-ice advantage, and of course, bragging rights.
This would be their final match up before the playoffs in March; their final match up before they play for the same team. The short break before playoffs was to give them time to prepare and compete for the IIHF Women’s World Championship.
The announcement regarding the final lineup for the National Team made quite a noise. The official post included the players’ headshot wearing their club team uniform as well as their position. The moment the fans‘ eyes landed on the third row of the roster, they saw Yeji’s and Ryujin’s names. It was not really that surprising, yet it still caught them off guard as if they were not expecting these two stellar players to be invited to play for the national team.
#26 Hwang, Yeji [D], with a headshot of her donning her deep navy blue club jersey, her gaze fixed to the camera looking a bit like a death stare, her short wolf cut hair slicked back, and a small smirk displayed on her face.
#17 Shin, Ryujin [F], with a headshot of her wearing her storm grey club jersey, her smile looking a bit flirty as if she had flirted with the photographer right before the camera clicked, her look a bit soft and charming, yet she seemed like someone who should not be messed with.
People could not believe Ryujin and Yeji were going to play for one team, wear the same jersey, play for the same side. Fans on social media were wrecked finding out the final roster, most especially because the national team committee had no reason at all to put their headshots side-by-side. The contrast between these two became apparent seeing both of their pictures next to each other. Some said it was violence. Others would argue it was art.
Other preparations were halted as they still had a match to train for. Their national team schedules and responsibilities would resume three days after their game against each other so they put it aside for the meantime.
Their only focus for now was beating the other.
A few days before their game, the media coverage of the tie breaking game was outstanding. They were always featured in every sports news out there. They were going head-to-head one last time before trading club logos for the Stars and Stripes, after all.
Yeji did not let any of it get into her head. The tension settled into her body like muscle memory.
Yeji woke up before her alarm.
Again.
She had been doing that a lot lately.
The air in the hotel was dry from overworked heaters, but she still cracked the window open. She allowed the cold air to bite her skin as she stretched at dawn. A ritual, almost. Something to remind her what it feels like to be in control. She laced up her running shoes in silence, and slipped out of the team hotel. Boston’s January air was bitter, but clean. Crisp. She welcomed the sting. It cleared the noise.
She ran to feel in control.
To keep from thinking too much.
To keep Ryujin out of her head.
But Ryujin was always there. Not in a romantic way, hell no. Not then. Just as a presence. A shadow at the edge of every play she replayed in her mind. A face behind every moment she thought she should have done better.
In the film room, Yeji barely spoke. She watched clips of the Cyclones’ forecheck like she was decoding a secret language. And when Ryujin appeared on screen, cutting through the slot, picking pockets along the wall, Yeji did not flinch.
Yeji had always kept a small matte black notebook. Only a few on the team knew about its existence. The edges were worn, elastic bands slightly stretched, corners bent from years of travel. There was a faded quote in small block letters on the inside cover:
“Discipline is doing it even when nobody’s watching.”
The notebook was divided into parts: game notes, strategy sketches, and random quiet pages.
Every team she had played against had at least two pages on game notes.
New York had seven.
Ryujin had her own tab.
On top of the page was Ryujin’s name underlined twice with her club team and jersey number. It was not like Yeji was going to forget who she was. She just wanted to emphasize who she was. It was filled with random observations about Ryujin’s techniques and ways to counter them.
“Quick hands, favoring backhand on rushes”
“First step is deceptive. Check hips, not feet.”
“Likes to loop wide then cut low. Do not lunge.”
“If forced to wall, watch for shoulder drop = inside cut.” (circled)
“Recovery routes: cut off angle, deny center lane”
On strategy sketches, the pages were filled with drawings of offensive and defensive formations.
Arrows. Zones. Stick positions. Passing lanes.
Many of them feature the Cyclones’ offensive zone pressure — the team Yeji respected the most.
She had blocked Ryujin on paper a hundred times.
It never felt like enough.
Quiet pages were her scribbled thoughts. Things she would never ask or admit out loud. These pages were messier and less structured. She would write on these pages after games or after viewing game footage.
She did not admit to those who knew about the notebook whose moves she was breaking down.
But of course they knew.
She was not interested in revenge. Not exactly. She just needed to win. She needed to be better. She was not nervous. She was ready.
The last entry against New York was:
She won this time. You let her spin off the boards. Fix that .
The last sentence was encircled multiple times. One might say it was out of frustration, but she would say it was out of eagerness to learn how to fix that mistake. She was going to make sure Ryujin would not be able to do that again.
Two days before puck drop, Ryujin was back in Manhattan. The city felt louder in the cold. But Ryujin liked that.
The city chaos made her feel quiet.
The rink was empty now.
Everyone else had gone home or back to the hotel. The lights were dimmed. Just the bluish glow over the far end of the ice. Ryujin liked it this way.
She skated late after practice again. Her teammates were used to it by now.
No music. Just her blades cutting into fresh ice, carving invisible paths.
She ran through the same sequence every time:
Blue line burst.
Two tight turns around cones.
Catch and release from the hash marks.
Sprint to the corner.
Backcheck line to line.
Repeat.
She did not count reps. She went until it felt right.
She told herself she was not thinking about Yeji.
And then spent 40 minutes picturing how Yeji was going to try and shut her down.
She knew the exact way Yeji squared her shoulders when she was bracing for a collision. The way her stick came low across the ice, surgical and brutal. She had memorized it all. Not on purpose.
It just lived there now.
She stepped off the ice after one last breakaway rep, sweat cooling fast on her neck, and breathed out hard.
As she set her stick against the wall, Ryujin muttered under her breath:
“Two days.”
Time check: 9:58pm
She had already stuck around for almost an hour in the rink. She quickly got changed and rushed out of the arena. She had an idea to pass by her favorite local diner before going back to their hotel.
The diner was not glamorous. It never was. But that was the point. It had plastic menus, flickering lights, and a jukebox that still played tracks no one’s paid for since 1996. At exactly 10:15 pm, the bell over the diner door jingled as Ryujin entered. Her beanie tugged low, jacket zipped high, stick tape still clinging to her fingers. Her cheeks were flushed from cold and effort, and her hair was still damp near her neck.
She scanned through the seats and found one at the far back corner, near the windows. It has always been Ryujin’s favorite spot. Whenever Ryujin disappeared after practice, they always found her eating her heart out in that very spot.
She raised her eyebrows when she saw her two friends sitting on her favorite spot. “What are you guys doing here?” Ryujin asked once she reached them.
“What do you think, genius?” Winter said as she gestured towards the half empty plate of curly fries and glasses of milkshakes.
Ryujin scoffed and rolled her eyes. She proceeded to sit on the empty seat.
“I was starving. You took so fucking long.” Chaeryeong said as she popped another fry into her mouth.
“Your treat for making us wait!” Winter exclaimed.
“What? I never even asked you to w–”
Winter covered Ryujin’s mouth and said, “Just shut it and feed us.”
“No??”
“You have no other choice.” Winter pulled out a wallet from her jacket pocket and showed it to Ryujin. “I took your wallet from your bag a while ago.” she said as she flashed a grin at Ryujin.
“This is borderline stealing.” Ryujin said.
“It’s not. You’re overreacting.”
Ryujin settled in and made her usual order. The two made extra orders because apparently, they waited for Ryujin to give the go signal before ordering more than curly fries and milkshakes.
Ryujin did not actually give a go signal, but technically there was no ‘stop’, so they ordered. She just playfully rolled her eyes at them. It was a sure loss battle anyway.
They ordered three plates of pancakes, a milkshake for Ryujin, more curly fries, and a pile of hashbrowns that no one claimed but everyone ate from. This was dinner for them.
Winter stabbed a hashbrown with her fork, “Do you think they meant to put all three of us on the Team USA roster?”
Ryujin choked on her milkshake. She did not know why, but when she thought about Team USA, the first thing that popped into her mind was Yeji. Maybe it was because she received her gift from Yeji the same day as she got the mail from the committee. Or maybe it was because she was anxious about being teammates with her.
Anxious. Excited. She was not entirely sure. She could not even tell the difference.
Chaeryeong shrugged. “Surely it wasn’t out of luck.”
“You can say we’re just that good, Chaer.” Ryujin said after recovering. “No one else is around to hear.”
Winter raised an eyebrow, “You scored two and screamed into the glass. They’re probably scared of you.”
“I was celebrating.” Ryujin replied, completely deadpanned. “With flair.”
Chaeryeong sipped her milkshake. “You were foaming at the mouth.”
“ Flair. ”
Winter put her fork down. “Okay, but real talk—training camp’s like what? A week away?”
“Plymouth ,” Ryujin confirmed. “That’s what the email said. Same spot as last year, I think.”
Chaeryeong brought the Team USA training camp roster out and flipped the paper around. Ryujin looked at her, slightly judging, “You bring that with you everywhere?”
Chaeryeong ignored her, “You think they’ll actually make us room with people from our rival teams?”
Ryujin gave her another look. “What do you think this is? Summer camp?”
Winter grinned. “I kinda want it to be. Do you think Yeji reads in bed with a book light?”
Ryujin nearly choked on her pancake.
Chaeryeong leaned in. “Do you?”
Ryujin glared. “We are not doing this.”
“Doing what?” Winter asked with a teasing tone.
Ryujin sighed. “Turning this into a group crush analysis.”
Chaeryeong, totally unfazed, said “Too late. You’re blushing.”
“I’m warm. It’s the pancakes.”
Winter eventually settled, cutting a triangle from her last pancake. “All jokes aside… you think we’re ready?”
Chaeryeong answered first. “Skill-wise? Yeah. Headspace? That’s the harder part.”
Ryujin looked between them — her teammates, her people, the ones who had seen her stay late, come back early, fight through slumps and lead quiet wins.
“We’ve played together for years,” Ryujin said finally. “The jersey doesn’t change the way we move.”
Winter exhaled, thoughtful. “That’s… weirdly poetic for you.”
Ryujin shrugged. “I’m full of surprises.” She said as they continued eating what was left on their table.
“Did you see how the Bruins ran their 2–1–2 last night?” Winter asked, mouth half-full.
Chaeryeong rolled her eyes. “It’s 10 PM. Can’t we talk about anything other than forechecking?”
Ryujin was about to chime in when her phone buzzed against the tabletop.
She did not think much of it. Probably group chat. Or Chaeryeong sending another cursed meme from across the table.
But when she looked down at the screen,
[Yeji]
You always eat out this late?
Ryujin blinked.
Twice.
Winter did not notice. She was too busy dramatically reenacting a missed call from their last game. Chaeryeong might have caught the shift in Ryujin’s posture, though. How she suddenly sat up a little straighter, phone tilted just out of view.
Her thumbs hesitated above the keyboard.
Was it weird she felt her heart jump over a six-word text?
She typed back casually.
[Ryujin]
what gave it away?
your surveillance team?
[Yeji]
Your reflection’s in the diner across from my hotel.
Nice beanie, by the way.
Ryujin immediately glanced outside, and then tried not to look like she was glancing. But sure enough, across the street, on the fifth floor of the hotel, a familiar figure in a dark hoodie was faintly backlit in the window. Motionless. Watching.
“Who’s texting you?” Chaeryeong asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No one important.”
But her grin, just a little crooked, a little traitorous, said otherwise.
[Ryujin]
you’re already here!!
[Yeji]
Yeah, just settled in.
[Ryujin]
and the first thing you did was look for me?
aw :>
[Yeji]
You can say that.
Ryujin immediately slid her phone facedown onto the table. The sound made the two look at her. She looked away and pretended not to be bothered by whatever she had just read.
Ryujin waited exactly one minute before flipping her phone back over.
Chaeryeong and Winter were deep in a debate about whether blue Gatorade was a real flavor or just a feeling. It gave her cover. Her fingers hovered for a moment.
[Ryujin]
can’t believe you’re spying on me
that’s dirty, captain
even for you
[Yeji]
Didn’t know you were easy to spot.
The diner’s glow doing all the work.
Ryujin bit back a grin, tucked into the collar of her hoodie.
[Ryujin]
well we have to eat
even when the enemy is watching
[Yeji]
Enemy is not watching.
Just…
Observing.
Ryujin read that twice.
Then a third time.
She did not answer right away.
Across the street, Yeji sat cross-legged in front of her window, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, phone resting on her knee. The glow of the diner neon flickered across her glass.
She watched them laugh inside. Winter tossing a straw wrapper at Chaeryeong, Ryujin resting her chin in her hand, half-listening, half-smiling. No one looked her way. She did not expect them to.
She was not even sure why she had sent the first text.
She could have pretended she had not seen them. Could have stayed a stranger on the fifth floor.
But there was something weirdly comforting about knowing where Ryujin was. Something electric about being able to reach out across a city street and have her answer.
Her phone buzzed again.
[Ryujin]
you always observe with that serious face?
kinda unfair
let me eat in peace
[Yeji]
Not my fault you’re interesting.
Don’t choke on your pancakes.
Again.
:)
Back at the diner, Winter and Chaeryeong were getting suspicious. “Who are you really texting with?” Winter finally asked again, reaching for Ryujin’s untouched fries.
Ryujin finally looked up. Her tone was light. Casual. “Just someone trying to play mind games.”
Winter grinned. “You’re smiling like they’re winning.”
Ryujin did not argue, she did not even answer back. Winter was right. She did not care, though.
Yeji was getting in her head, Ryujin thought.
“I might be letting her…” she whispered quietly to herself. Or so she thought. The two heard her but did not bother to say another word.
The trio made their way to their hotel. Once Ryujin reached her room, she tossed her hoodie on the chair the moment she got in, the faint smell of the diner still clinging to it: syrup, fryer oil, and something like warm familiarity.
Chaeryeong and Winter had peeled off to their rooms, too full to complain, too tired to tease. For once, they did not press her about the texts.
Not out loud, at least.
Ryujin dropped onto the edge of her bed and finally checked her phone again.
Her conversation with Yeji lit the screen.
Ryujin read the last few messages again and again, just to let the words sit.
Not harsh. Not sharp. Almost… playful.
She let out a low laugh and shook her head, pressing the edge of her phone to her forehead like it might cool down the thoughts buzzing behind it.
“I am letting her get inside my head.”
Chapter 11
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The alarm buzzed.
Not loudly. Not obnoxiously. But in that persistently smug way only a gifted clock could manage.
Ryujin woke up to the subtle buzz, gentle, just annoying enough to break through dreams, but not sharp enough to jar her. She blinked into the dim hotel light and groaned, dragging a hand over her face. Then she rolled over and looked at it.
There it was — glowing in obnoxious white lettering on her nightstand in the early morning shadows:
“7:15 AM”
Big. Bold. Unmissable.
AM flashing softly, like it was mocking her.
She stared at the letters for a full beat, her brain still catching up. It took her a second to register why the clock felt familiar.
Then she remembered.
She could still imagine the smirk Yeji wore when she got the gift— a week ago, box wrapped lazily, no card, just that one-liner.
Ryujin had rolled her eyes then.
She was smiling now.
She stretched slowly and let the silence linger a little longer than she needed to.
Then sat up, grabbed the clock like it might bite, and flipped it around to the back where the tiny note was taped:
“ Just to make sure I won’t see you again roaming around my city at ungodly hours…
Y ”
She did not even try to hide the grin this time.
She looked back at that time, the early morning ramen. The first time they sat beside each other without needing a reason.
Ryujin pretended to groan whenever she remembered. She was never gonna let that go, huh? — but she kept it. Carried it from hotel to hotel. Never told her teammates where it came from.
Now, on the morning of their final game, Cyclones vs. Sentinels, tied 1–1, everything on the line, it was the first thing she heard. It was the morning of her last clash with Yeji before Team USA, yet there was something oddly calming about being woken up by that clock.
She blinked slowly, turned the alarm off, and stared at the clock for a while. The numbers were lit steadily as the clock counted the seconds. No panic. No rush.
Just rhythm.
Like shifts on the ice.
Like something constant — something certain.
Down the hall, her teammates stirred, alarms buzzing in uneven sync. But Ryujin stayed still a moment longer, eyes on the clock.
She would never say it out loud. But she was glad it was the first thing she saw.
Even before the win. Even before the war.
There was that .
She eventually got up and whispered to herself:
“Not gonna be late today.”
The breakfast room was humming. Low voices, shuffling sneakers, the scrape of chairs against carpet. A few players hunched over coffee like it was a ritual sacrifice. Someone was already arguing over oatmeal-to-raisin ratios.
Ryujin slid into a booth beside Winter and across from Chaeryeong, hoodie pulled low, tray holding toast, eggs, and a banana she had no intention of eating.
“Look who’s early,” Chaeryeong said without looking up, scrolling through her phone. “Who woke you up? Guilt? Divine intervention?”
Winter grinned. “Or did your mystery clock still doing its job?”
Ryujin stirred her coffee, fighting a smirk. “It’s not a mystery. It’s a practical gift.”
Winter raised an eyebrow. “From who?”
Ryujin shrugged. “Just someone who’s sick of me showing up late to warmups.”, she lied. Just a little.
Chaeryeong leaned forward, smirking now. “I don’t remember ever giving you a clock.”
“Me neither.” Winter added.
Ryujin fake laughed. “Very funny.”
“So…” Chaeryeong trailed. “Sick of you, huh? Must be close.”
Ryujin sipped her coffee. “ Rivals can also be close. That’s how it works.”
Winter made a low, amused sound. “That’s how fanfic works.”
Chaeryeong cackled.
Ryujin did not take the bait.
Instead, she pulled out her phone and flicked over to the lock screen. Not to check anything. Not really. But just to glance — out of reflex — at the time.
8:04 AM.
She was awake. She was here. Because Yeji made sure she would be.
And even if no one else knew that…
Ryujin did.
Even from inside the team bus, you can feel it. The kind of buzz that started blocks away from the Garden.
Ryujin leaned her head against the window, watching fans shuffle through barricades. Some wear Cyclones colors. Some were in red and gold, repping Boston. Plenty were in Team USA gear, too. The jerseys already bore names from both sides of the rivalry. Ryujin wondered where they got those jerseys from, or how quick they were at having one customized. The roster was announced just a week before.
When the Cyclones’ bus pulled into the private entrance loop, it was flanked by security, and flashes from media photographers were already going off behind the barriers.
This was not just another game.
The world’s watching.
The locker rooms were bigger here. Colder, too — not in temperature, but in tone. The walls felt like they echo history. The energy in the halls was sharper. Every hallway was crowded with staff, cameras, and flashes of gray, teal, and navy.
MSG staff pass by with tablets. Broadcasters were already prepping their standups near center ice.
There’s a highlight reel being cued on the jumbotron for pre-game.
Someone in the Cyclones room mumbles: “It’s like the playoffs have already started.”
Ryujin’s skates echoed in the long walk to the tunnel.
Camera crews lined the edges. A spotlight hits the logo projected onto the ice.
The red light at the tunnel entrance switches from hold to go.
There is a kind of quiet that only exists in arenas before the roar.
The music was loud, the lights were bright, the fans were still filtering into their seats, but underneath all of it, the Garden was holding its breath. Because everyone knew what this was.
The Cyclones stepped out first. Their sticks tapping the ice as they hit the surface, a wave of dark gray and teal cutting cleanly through the chill. The lights bounced off their helmets as they glided out, one by one, and spread like muscle memory.
Their emergence caused the home crowd’s cheers — a wall of gray and teal cutting clean arcs across the ice. Stick taps on the boards echoed like a ritual: familiar, sharp, grounding.
The arena was not full yet, but fans were already pressed up against the glass. They were not even at full volume, but their energy hovered, like static right before lightning.
Ryujin pushed off with calm control, skated low and tight around the boards, glove adjusting the strap of her helmet, head down — focused.
She did not make eye contact with the cameras trained on her. She did not look up at the jumbotron cycling slow-motion highlights from her last game against the Sentinels. Their win against the Sentinels. She just kept moving.
The ice is already carved in half.
New York Cyclones were flying, grinning, punching the air with each pass.
Boston waited. In the tunnel, the Sentinels stood silent. And when the time came, it was not loud.
It was controlled.
A line of skaters in white and navy blue stepped onto the Garden’s ice like a glacier rolling in from the sea.
The arena swelled with sound. Cheers, boos, applause that did not know which side it was on. But the Sentinels stayed focused.
The arena’s jumbotron flickered through another montage. This time, it was Yeji’s highlight during their first match of the season. She was named the player of the game that time, after all. Onscreen were videos of Yeji breaking a rush with a shoulder check, closing out a power play with a single stick lift, glancing over her shoulder and firing a clean outlet pass like she has played the exact game before.
A few moments after, the entire arena was filled with voices from the PA system:
“Welcome to Madison Square Garden for tonight’s regular season finale between the New York Cyclones and the Boston Sentinels…”
“Both teams enter tonight with one win each in the series. And with key national team players facing off before uniting in red, white, and blue — this one’s personal.”
The camera caught Ryujin skating backward, flipping the puck on her blade, barely glancing up at the opposing zone.
“There she is, Shin Ryujin, winger for the New York Cyclones. Fast, loose, sharp as a knife. She plays like gravity only applies when she lets it. She had a game winning assist the last time these teams met…”
Then, the screen panned to Yeji in the distance, standing at the blue line, cool and focused as her teammates cycle behind her.
“And then there’s the wall. Hwang Yeji. Boston’s anchor, the captain, the eyes behind every read. No one plays quieter. No one plays meaner without needing to say a word.”
Then, the buzzer echoed.
Skates stopped. But the tension did not.
After the Cyclones’ introduction, the players prepared for the puck drop.
Ryujin stepped onto the ice when she was called with the same rhythm she always did: low strides, steady breaths, each motion laced with habit worn into instinct. Around her, the arena pulsed with energy. Lights flashing, music blaring, the low thrum of thousands of fans leaning into every movement.
She barely heard it.
She never really did.
Her focus tunneled to the puck, the zone, the feel of the blade under her and, always, to the white and navy blue shadow that typically stood across from her.
But tonight?
Something was wrong.
The moment she took her position at the right wing, Ryujin glanced across the neutral zone — already anticipating the familiar frame, the low defensive stance, the stillness before contact.
She frowned the second the wrong name was called.
She was already turned, already searching. The announcer finished naming the starters. Yet, the name she had grown accustomed to hearing did not come. The number did not flash.
The Boston Sentinels’ usual starters were already out. But the navy blue helmet she was expecting to see next to them… was not.
Her body was still coiled, ready to burn her first shift against Yeji. She had even tightened her stick tape that morning. Fresh wrap, prepped for a war she thought would start immediately.
But Yeji was not there.
“Stunning twist here at the Garden—Boston’s captain and the League’s top defender, Yeji Hwang, is not starting. That’s a first since she had joined the team.”
“She’s always the first to touch the ice. Always the wall between the Cyclones and the net. But tonight, she’s making them wait.”
The puck dropped and the first shift began. But nothing felt quite right because the captain did not show up for the opening faceoff.
There was no hit. No shove at the boards. No brush of a stick. No glance across the rush.
It should have felt like freedom.
It did not.
She was somewhere in the shadows and that might be the most dangerous place she could be.
Ryujin tried not to think about it.
But it was weird how open the lane feels. Ryujin played fast. Not rushed. Not reckless. Just fast. Like she was trying to outrun a shadow she had not seen yet. She gulped hard and knocked herself out of it. She played against teams that did not have a Hwang Yeji, did she not?
She regained her composure and tried to play the game.
Her first touch was clean, a tight curl at the blue line into a no-look pass to Winter breaking down the middle.
Her second touch was sharper, intercepting a Boston attempt to clear and rifling a low shot just off the pad.
“Cyclones coming out hard here. Shin with two quick touches already — looks like she’s trying to set the tempo.”
“But look at her eyes. She’s not just tracking the puck — she’s scanning for something that isn’t there. No Yeji on the ice yet. It’s throwing her off just enough to be interesting.”
Where is she
Where is she
Where is she
That thought flickered every time Ryujin cut through a gap.
She knew what Yeji would have done by now, the angles she would have closed, the plays she would have stopped. But it was not Yeji.
It was someone else. A step slower. A little less precise. A little more beatable.
And that was what got under Ryujin’s skin the most.
Ryujin still played like she always did.
She skated hard. Threw feints, cut inside, shoulder lowered, but her footwork stuttered every time she entered the zone. She was bracing for contact that did not come. She was expecting a presence on her left side that never arrived.
It was worse than taking the hit. Really.
She fired off passes too quickly, second-guessed her open lanes. She hesitated just enough that her usual tempo began to fray.
Every time she reached the corner, her body tensed, ready to be pinned. But no one came.
She caught herself glancing over her shoulder, expecting a certain white and blue jersey, expecting Yeji’s blank expression and that razor-sharp timing.
Nothing .
Just space. Just ice. Just defenders she did not care enough about. And in that space, Ryujin felt something more dangerous than pain:
Doubt.
The Sentinels played a muted, calculated opening. They weathered the rush and waited for openings. At 5:26, they found one: a slip in the Cyclones’ neutral zone coverage. It was a misread pass from New York’s second D-pair that gave Boston an opening.
Yuna intercepted a stretch pass and glided in. She broke through, no pressure, top of the slot, and ripped it past the Cyclones’ goalie glove-side.
1–0, Sentinels.
After her shift, Ryujin rushed to the bench, she tugged her helmet higher and spit her mouthguard into her palm. Her heart was pounding, not from the play, but from the phantom pressure still sitting on her chest.
Chaeryeong leaned in, tapping her shinpad with her stick.
“You good?”, Chaeryeong asked.
Ryujin nodded and visibly swallowed hard. But she did not answer. The truth was, she was not even sure herself.
It was almost seven minutes into the first period. Ryujin was back on the ice.
There was a sudden shift in the arena as Yeji rose from the bench, the entire Madison Square Garden crowd felt it before they even saw it.
Yeji finally went over the board. Her skates hit the ice with her usual sharpness, clean posture, low stance, stick flat and ready. She glided into position like she had done this a thousand times.
MSG did not cheer. It howled. It was not just Boston fans, not just New York fans.
Everyone .
Because they were all waiting for this moment, even if they did not realize it.
The camera caught it all: the clap of skates over the boards, the shift in formation, and the sudden hush that wasn’t quiet at all.
The crowd at Madison Square Garden responded the moment #26 in white hit the ice.
Ryujin heard it before she saw it: the crowd’s swell, the sudden uptick in noise, and the loud banging on the boards. She turned her head instinctively, halfway through a forecheck, and spotted her:
#26. Yeji Hwang.
Finally .
Ryujin spotted the blur of white and navy blue cutting across center ice. The way Yeji glided out like she had been waiting underground the whole time, fresh legs, still ice on her jersey, already surveying the whole damn rink like she owned it. It was as if the first few minutes of the game were not missed.
Their eyes met for the first time all game.
Yeji did not smile.
Neither did Ryujin. But her heart rate spiked, and her next stride hit the ice a little harder.
There you are.
It took almost seven minutes.
Almost seven minutes of playing half-distracted, of finishing checks she did not mean to throw, of pushing the puck without urgency because the moment felt… off.
“That is the sound of this rivalry cracking open. The Sentinels didn’t just delay her entry — they built suspense. They also let the Garden ache for it.”
“And now it’s here. Hwang on the ice. Shin in the zone. Let’s go.”
The next few minutes, Ryujin’s mind was filled with questions. But mainly:
Why didn’t they start her?
It kept cycling in her head like a broken replay.
It was not like Yeji was injured — she was skating fine. Hell, she was skating like she was waiting. Saving herself.
And maybe that’s what it was.
Maybe it was not about the team at all.
Maybe Yeji just knew Ryujin would be ready for her from the first whistle, and so she flipped the script. She waited. Let Ryujin burn a shift on someone else.
She let her anticipation stretch, thin out.
Strategic. Brutal .
It was so… Yeji .
Ryujin clenched her jaw. She was not mad. Not really.
It was just… clever. And worse? It worked. It fucking worked .
The entire Garden shifted in tone. Every fan leaned forward. Every camera tightened its frame.
And then, the puck slid into the neutral zone. An inevitable 50/50 battle forming.
Yeji and Ryujin were out to get it.
Yeji saw it first. She stepped forward with that clean, blade-flat posture, weight centered, eyes locked not on the puck — but on the angle of Ryujin’s approach.
She did not reach for it.
Not yet.
She waited for Ryujin to get just close enough.
Ryujin was already in motion, already predicting the collision. She knew Yeji was going to challenge. That was what she wanted.
That was what she waited for.
She did not slow down. And then, a loud bang on the boards indicating a strong impact.
Their skates grinded to a stop against each other, shoulder to shoulder, stick on stick, blade to blade. The puck caught between them in a battle neither of them immediately tries to win.
This was the message.
It was not violent. It was not dirty.
It was two of the sharpest minds and most gifted skaters on the ice finally colliding after seven minutes of silence and buildup.
And everyone, the fans, the benches, the broadcast crew, felt it.
“Shin Ryujin’s been skating like she’s been waiting for something to hit her. And now she knows exactly who — and when.”
“Isn’t it always her?”
“Always.”
The Cyclones hit the second period hard — they had to. But Boston did not let them settle. The Sentinels pushed their tempo without ever seeming rushed, their passes sharp, their exits clean. Yeji anchored the blue line like a stone fucking wall.
They tried to strike fast. Early pressure, controlled possession. Ryujin executed a near-perfect zone entry off a transition break, fed Winter across the slot, but the shot rang off the crossbar.
So close. Too close.
“That’s inches from being a game-changer. Ryujin’s doing everything she can out there.”
Boston responded, not in flash, but in form. They clamped down, pressuring every possession, every cycle. Yeji was on the ice more now. Her positioning was insanely flawless. Her stick handling was perfect. She was not just dominating, she was eliminating.
Ryujin rotated faster. Her shifts got longer. She was everywhere — backchecking, pressuring the puck, forcing turnovers. She still was not breaking through. Every time she gained speed, Yeji cut the angle. Every time she moved inside, Yeji held her stick blade just close enough to make her flinch.
And she never said a word.
At 7:02, Boston struck again. A stretch pass broke through the neutral zone, caught Min Yuri in stride. She flipped a low wrister through a screen of bodies, and it clipped a shin pad— deflecting just enough to beat the goaltender five-hole.
2–0, Sentinels.
Still, the Cyclones didn’t panic.
Ryujin dug deep into every shift. She backchecked with purpose, blocked shots, battled in the corners. The team gave her the puck and trusted her to make something happen. She nearly did.
Twice, she cut through the neutral zone like a knife, but each time, Yeji stepped in. It was not with hits but with angles and reads. Quiet, suffocating defense. Yeji stayed back. She did not chase. She just read plays before they happened, skating with quiet control.
Then, at 18:09, it happened again.
A rare turnover at the offensive blue line, Boston pounced. A blind pass at the point from New York’s third line turned into a break the other way. Yeji intercepted it in stride, skated through the neutral zone without breaking rhythm, and fed a laser-sharp assist to Karina, who tapped it in before anyone realized the play had shifted.
3–0, Sentinels.
It was not about breakdowns anymore.
It was about being a half-second behind.
It was about being outplayed .
The third period was quieter. Not from the crowd, they were still there, still believing. It was quiet from the game itself.
Ryujin breathed out. Down three. But definitely not out.
The Cyclones regrouped. Coaches reminded them: this isn’t about pride, it’s about consistency. They had played elite hockey all season. And they’d finish it that way.
The third felt like it was all pressure.
Ryujin opened the period with a blistering shift. She was skating the full length, stealing the puck, and circling the zone to find Winter. The shot? Gloved.
Later, Chaeryeong took a slapshot from the point but it deflected wide.
Ryujin dangled through three defenders but lost the puck before she could finish.
They kept coming.
“You have to give the Cyclones credit. Down three, they’re still pushing. Still playing their system. That’s character.”
And Boston? They just absorbed it. Shift after shift. As if they knew they had done enough. Yeji did not force a play once. She killed two rushes single-handedly. Cleared four rebounds.
“And that’s trust in your identity. But Boston’s system… it’s airtight tonight.”
Then, at 12:37, in a scramble off the faceoff, Yeji punched in a puck after a sea of chaos in the crease. She managed to jam the puck past the pad. No beauty, just persistence.
4–0 Sentinels.
That was it. No celebration. Just routine.
The rest of the period played out like slow thunder. No miracle. No drama.
Just the final realization that this was not the Cyclones’ night. It was not because they gave up. They would never give up. Sometimes, the other team just played better.
The Cyclones finished the game with tired legs and heavier hearts. The buzzer did not sound like a finish. It sounded like a closing door.
The handshake line was all class.
The Cyclones did not hang their heads. They skated tall, bruised, and breathless. The season they had built deserved that.
When Ryujin reached Yeji, she did not let go right away.
She looked her in the eyes, not with bitterness. Not even frustration.
Just a recognition of what it meant to lose to someone who had rightfully earned it.
Back in the hotel, the city was quiet outside Ryujin’s window, unnaturally so, for New York. But maybe that was just how it sounded from the twelfth floor with her phone on Do Not Disturb and the TV on mute.
The light from the streetlamps spilled in, painting slow, amber stripes across the edge of her bed. Her duffel was half-zipped in the corner. Her gear had been aired out, folded, packed the way it always was after a road trip. Only this time… they were not heading home.
They were flying to Plymouth tomorrow.
For Team USA.
For something bigger.
Ryujin exhaled slowly, back against the pillows, one arm thrown over her forehead. Her hair was still damp from the post-game shower. The skin near her left collarbone still burned a little from where a Boston stick had caught her. It might have been Yeji, but she was not sure. She had not iced it, though. She had barely noticed it until now.
What she noticed, or what she couldn’t stop noticing, was the silence.
There had been no yelling in the locker room tonight. No slammed doors. No broken sticks. Just a stillness that only came when everyone already knew they had done all they could.
They had not fallen apart. They had not quit. They had just been… outplayed.
By Yeji.
By the entire team.
Ryujin had not checked her phone, not even once. She could still hear Chaeryeong’s voice teasing her before they all scattered back to their rooms: “You’re either gonna stay up and stew or pass out like a rock. There’s no in-between with you.”
She had stayed up.
Of course she had.
And she had known, just yesterday, that they would be flying out the day after this game. USA Hockey had sent the schedule in a sealed packet. January 23rd: Final regular season game. January 24th: Travel to Plymouth. January 24-25th: Rest and recovery. January 26th: Media day and photoshoots. January 27th: Start of training camp.
She should have been excited. She was excited.
But tonight, all she felt was the ache in her legs… and the echo of every shift that had not been enough.
Ryujin reached for the digital alarm clock on the bedside table, the one with the huge AM/PM display that Yeji had given her in teasing memory of that 3:50 AM convenience store debacle.
12:41 AM.
Still plenty of time to not sleep.
She turned it face down. The glowing numbers annoyed her tonight. Her eyes wandered to her phone. No new texts. No new notifications.
Not from Yeji.
She wondered fleetingly if Yeji had felt it too. That strange, breathless weight under the noise, that tension during the handshake, that stillness between them when Ryujin held on just a second too long.
And now, they were going to be teammates. They were going to be rooming with strangers, eating in cafeterias, and wearing the same crest on their chests.
She was not ready. Or maybe, she was.
But right now, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling. She let the game replay behind her eyes. She quietly counted down the hours until morning.
At the other hotel, Yeji had just arrived at her hotel room. The door clicked shut behind her. She dropped her backpack next to the dresser, toeing off her sneakers without looking. The hotel room light was muted, casting everything in soft gold. Her jersey was already folded. Her stick was packed. Her phone was charging in silence.
She sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, still wearing her team hoodie. The weight of the win settled in slowly. Not heavy, just solid.
She reached for her notebook, the one that went everywhere with her, and flipped past old diagrams and quiet words written after games they almost lost. Her handwriting was neater tonight.
January 23rd
MSG.
4–0.
Kept Ryujin off the board. Slowed the middle. Didn’t let her get past me clean. Still felt like she was chasing me the whole game.
Yeji paused, pen hovering above the page.
Then she added:
That last look. I think she wanted to say something. I didn’t. I couldn’t.
She let the pen drop quietly into the notebook’s spine and released a deep sigh. Tomorrow, they will be flying to Plymouth. Same airport. Same buses. Same locker room.
She had known for weeks now that they were both selected, that they had both made the national roster. The headshots and final list came out days ago. She had not reacted then. But tonight, in the quiet after the city lights faded, it felt… real. They had been rivals all season. All careers, really. Always skating opposite each other.
And now?
Now, they’d be on the same team.
Same colors.
Same goals.
Yeji leaned back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Somewhere in the city, Ryujin was probably doing the same thing. She might also be awake, restless, still hearing the crowd ringing in her ears.
Yeji turned to her side, tugging the blanket over her legs. Her phone vibrated once. A notification. Team USA itinerary. She did not open it. She already knew what it said.
Flight out at 9:40 AM.
Arrival in Plymouth by lunch.
Yeji closed her eyes. She could still feel the moment their hands touched in the handshake line. She could still hear the Garden erupt when she stepped over the boards.
She slept facing the wall, the side that faced east. Toward tomorrow. Toward Michigan.
Toward whatever came next.
Notes:
it's national team season!
Chapter Text
The terminal was unusually quiet for a morning in New York, or maybe it just felt quiet because everyone was exhausted.
Ryujin had just returned from grabbing a coffee that she was not going to drink. The lid was too hot, her palms were already clammy, and her bag was a little heavier than usual. Her beanie was pulled low, almost covering her eyes. She had barely said a word since getting out of the cab.
Winter and Chaeryeong were already half-asleep in line at security when Ryujin rolled up beside them, slightly looking down like she was hiding from last night’s scoreboard.
“Nice of you to show,” Chaeryeong muttered, voice low. “How’s our favorite shutout star?”
“Alive,” Ryujin replied, tugging her beanie lower. “Barely.”
Winter gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “It’s fine. New team, new week. At least you’re not stuck with Yeji again—oh wait.”
Ryujin groaned. “Don’t jinx it.”
None of them were in uniform. No team colors. No logos yet. Just athletes in sweats and hoodies and old sneakers, moving like their bodies still remembered the game from the night before.
Across the security rope, Ryujin saw Yeji standing with Karina, Lia, and Yuna. Her hair was slicked back, her coat sharp and pressed. Not a single line on her face revealed anything about the 4–0 win the night before. Ryujin did not react. She just glanced at the screen again. Plymouth, via Detroit.
The boarding area buzzed softly. Players from New York Cyclones and Boston Sentinels that made the national team sat slouched in rows of attached seats, most in neutral sweats, duffel bags wedged between legs, hoods up and music loud. Athletes waited differently, bodies still tense from the season, minds already shifting toward what came next.
Ryujin and Yeji reunited at the gate half an hour later, crammed together in a seating area full of backpacks, skates, and oversized headphones. When the logistics coordinator started handing out seat numbers, Ryujin took hers with a sleepy thanks.
12A.
Yeji opened hers right after. She froze. Her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. She turned, slow and deliberate, and locked eyes with Ryujin who was in front of her.
12B.
The silence between them lasted exactly until Chaeryeong passed by with her carry-on and murmured, “They put you right beside Yeji?” She chuckled. “Try not to throw hands mid-flight.”
Ryujin smirked. “Only if she doesn’t body-check me at 30,000 feet.”
“No way.” Winter snorted. “Who cursed you?”
“I think you did.” Ryujin said after thinking for a minute.
“Oh,” Winter laughed. “Look on the bright side, be glad they didn’t put you in front of her. You won’t have to turn around every time you both argue.”
Ryujin playfully smacked her two friends while Yeji was already walking away.
“Boarding in ten,” came the announcement.
Ryujin grabbed her bag, and trudged toward her fate: Seat 12A, two hours beside the girl she had spent a whole season chasing, checking, and failing to get out of her head.
And apparently, this was just the beginning.
They boarded in silence. Ryujin took the window. Yeji sat on the aisle. She did not say anything. She just put her bag under the seat, her headphones over her ears, and rested her chin on her hand. Their shoulders did not touch, not yet , but the air between them was anything but calm.
The flight was not full. Just Team USA and a few coaches scattered through the front half of the plane. The atmosphere felt half like a school field trip and half like the calm before a war.
The hum of the aircraft had long faded into background noise. Most of the team was asleep or pretending to be. But in Row 12, Seats A and B, two players were engaged in a silent game of sideway glances.
They did not talk nor acknowledge each other’s presence for a while. Just the low hum of the cabin and the occasional crackle of the pilot’s voice was heard. Yeji was reading something on her phone, thumb slowly scrolling. She also had one AirPod in, pretending not to care that they were seated together for the next few hours.
They were forty minutes into the flight, somewhere over Pennsylvania, when one of them started acknowledging the other. The rest of Team USA was either dozing off or pretending not to listen.
Ryujin noticed Yeji had not touched her pretzel bag. She cleared her throat, “Captain.” she called out quietly. Yeji just hummed in response. “Are you gonna eat that?”
Yeji did not look up from her phone. “No.” Ryujin turned to her direction, waiting for her to look back. Yeji felt a strong gaze on her periphery, making her eyebrows furrow and hesitantly look at the person beside her. “...Do you want it?”
Ryujin was about to say yes, but stopped herself. She had one brow rising in suspicion. “Are you offering out of generosity, or out of pity for the shutout last night?
Yeji blinked, quite amused that Ryujin was able to bring up the game last night. It was still too fresh. 4-0 shutout was not something you can just easily laugh off, especially not when your rival had orchestrated it.
She looked away and shrugged. “Probably both.”
Ryujin scoffed softly. “Gee, thanks, Captain Humble.”
Yeji smirked a little. “Hey, you asked.”
“I suddenly don’t want your stale crumbs of pity.” Ryujin said and huffed back to her seat, crossing her arms dramatically.
“Then starve,” Yeji said flatly, tossing the packet back on the tray in front of her. There was a brief pause. A silence. But knowing Ryujin, she was not going to shut up once she had started.
Ryujin muttered, “At least I’m not the one who sat out the first seven minutes on purpose.”
Yeji exhaled deeply with an Oh, God this is really happening under her breath when she heard Ryujin again, and accepted defeat that the next minutes of the flight would not be as peaceful as she expected.
She turned her head slowly. “Still thinking about that, huh?”
“You did it on purpose.”
“Did I?”
Ryujin narrowed her eyes. “I’m gonna figure it out.”
Another brief pause.
Then,
“Why are we seated together anyway?” Ryujin broke the silence once again.
Yeji did not look away from her phone at first, but Ryujin saw the corner of her mouth twitch, like she had been waiting for the question. “Lia said they assigned seats according to jersey numbers. Which is weird because you’re 17, right?” She did not turn to look at Ryujin and wait for her answer before continuing, “I picked 98”
“I picked 97, actually.”
Yeji finally glanced sideways, sharp-eyed and casual all at once. “You did that on purpose.”
Ryujin scoffed, “What, pick a number to be beside you?” She turned to face her fully now, expression flat but playful.
“Yes.”
“No fucking way,” Ryujin leaned back again and shook her head. “If I did, I would’ve chosen a number higher than yours and made it dramatic.”
It was Yeji’s turn to scoff, “You wouldn’t dare pick 99.”
“You’re right,” Ryujin said, grinning. “I’d have to live with people asking if I think I’m Gretzky.”
“Nice to know even your ego has a ceiling.” Yeji muttered, “You’d cry the second someone called you ‘The Great One.’”
That earned a bark of laughter from the seats beside them. Winter leaned over to Chaeryeong. “Was that a burn or a compliment?” to which she just answered “ Yes.”
“I’d cry from laughing. Because I’d smoke Gretzky in a shootout.”
That earned a raised brow from Yeji. “Blasphemy.”
Lia, several rows in front, peeked over the top of her seat. “Are they flirting or fighting?”
Yuna muttered, “Both. Always both.”
Karina leaned toward them and whispered, “If they keep this up during training, we’re not making it out alive.”
Lia just raised a brow. “You’re assuming we were ever safe to begin with.”
Back in Row 12, neither Ryujin nor Yeji said anything more for a while. But the air had shifted. Less stiff, more familiar. And for the first time in twenty-four hours, it did not feel like a loss was hanging between them.
Just… a truce.
For now.
And somehow, the pretzel bag sat open on the tray table between them, untouched.
There were still layers between them. Unspoken things, unfinished games, and a rivalry that was not gone just because they wore the same colors now. But the aisle was not that wide.
Neither was the distance between 97 and 98.
The landing was smooth, but the energy as they deplaned was anything but. Hockey players do not travel quietly, especially not when half of them are still bruised from last night’s regular season finale and the other half are wondering who they would be forced to share a bathroom with for the next month.
The seatbelt light dinged off, and with it, the cabin erupted into a slow shuffle of zippers and rustling jackets. Blades, sticks, and bags were being dragged down from overhead compartments with a chaotic grace only hockey players possessed, just enough precision to avoid injury, but never silence.
Ryujin rubbed the back of her neck as she stood, stretching her arms above her head. Yeji stood too, grabbing her carry-on without asking for help. Of course she did not. She moved with that same calm, ruthless efficiency she showed on the ice.
In front of them, Chaeryeong gave Ryujin a light nudge with her elbow. “You two look like you just got out of couples therapy,” she whispered. Winter choked on her gum.
Ryujin shot her a warning glance. “Say that louder. I don’t think the national media heard you.”
Yeji caught Ryujin’s eye as they stepped into the jet bridge. For a second, there was the faintest glint of shared understanding.
They were not invisible.
They were the show.
The air inside Detroit Metro was dry and cold, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as Ryujin stepped off the jet bridge and adjusted the strap of her duffel. The walk through the terminal was long, but quiet, for now. A few fans spotted them, whispering behind phones, but the staff had arranged for a private shuttle to take the players straight to Plymouth, about thirty-five minutes away.
They waited by the baggage claim under a banner that read “Welcome to Detroit!” in faded red and white.
Yeji’s breath came out in a slow, frosty sigh as she leaned against a column. She looked… still. In control. But her eyes tracked Ryujin, who was half-listening to Winter and texting someone back with one hand.
The bags came out in waves. Carbon black duffels and sticks taped together in neon tags. A few oversized goalie bags, one of which was Lia’s specifically, that got stuck at the edge of the carousel and had to be yanked free by two players at once.
Yuna was waving toward a staff member holding a discreet “Team USA Women’s Program” sign near baggage claim. The player shuttle would be loaded curbside. Most of the team was already filtering toward the carousel, equipment tags flapping, stick tubes dragging behind like oversized tailpipes. Once everyone had claimed their bags, with only minor bickering over stick bags that looked identical, they moved toward the shuttle bus parked just outside the terminal.
They stepped out into the gray Michigan chill, bags in tow, teammates trailing behind like tired shadows. The shuttle bus had Team USA decals on the windows and a thermos of hot cocoa on the dashboard. Two rows of seating, overhead racks, and a driver in a navy windbreaker who waved them in with a clipboard.
Ryujin climbed aboard with her duffel slung one-handed over her shoulder, trailing behind Winter and Chaeryeong. She slung her gear into the back, then turned around to catch Yeji glancing at the seat rows inside.
“Don’t worry,” Ryujin said under her breath, just close enough to hear. “I’ll sit in the back. Give you space to recover from the trauma of being next to me for two hours.”
The driver loaded their gear, made a joke no one was awake enough to laugh at, and started the engine.
January frost clung to the windows like static. The Team USA bus hummed along the icy Michigan highway, wheels slicing through half-melted snow like butter through cold toast. Trees flashed by in lines and gray skies stretched endlessly overhead, the kind that promised more winter than anyone asked for.
Yeji sat by the window this time, watching the landscape blur past in muted grays. Half the roster was asleep again, heads leaning against windows, earbuds in, duffels wedged into the aisle like bricks. The flight had been short but draining. Nerves took more energy than people liked to admit.
The bus ride from the airport to the Plymouth training facility was short, quiet, and impossibly cold. The team shuttle pulled up to a private side entrance of USA Hockey Arena, a modern, low-slung building with frosted glass doors and a bold USA HOCKEY crest illuminated above them. The parking lot was slick with old snow, and the air smelled faintly of salt and exhaust.
“We’re just here to grab gear and locker assignments,” one of the staffers called from the front. “You’ll head to housing after this.”
No one moved right away. Half the team was still half-asleep from the flight, but when the doors opened and a gust of cold air hit them, players started climbing out one by one, bundled in puffer jackets, sweatpants, and branded beanies.
Ryujin stepped onto the pavement, shivering slightly as she looked up at the building. She had played here before in juniors, but this felt different. Bigger. More official.
Winter jogged ahead, dragging her stick bag like a sled, while Chaeryeong took her time, stretching as she stepped down.
Behind them, Yeji exited with Karina, Lia, and Yuna, her expression unreadable, per usual. She gave the entrance one glance, then tucked her chin deeper into her scarf.
A USA Hockey staffer held open the door. “Welcome to Plymouth.”
Inside, the entry hallway was lined with framed photos of past Olympic teams, some older and sun-faded, others featuring players they now called teammates. Everyone’s footsteps echoed off the tile floors, still wet from melting snow.
“Keep your bags on the shuttle,” the coach reminded them. “You’ll be assigned gear and lockers, and we’ll head to dorms afterward.”
The team filtered toward the equipment room. The main hallway smelled faintly of rubber mats and skate oil. A row of plastic bins lined the corridor, each one labeled with bold black tape: names, numbers, positions. Everything was already sorted: gloves, shells, helmet decals, and warmups all bearing the USA crest. A long table displayed folded kits organized alphabetically by last name, with jersey numbers and sizing stickers neatly labeled.
Ryujin found her name and paused when she saw the duffle bag:
SHIN – 97
The name bar stitched tight, and the number crisp. She smirked slightly and glanced to her right. Yeji was already exploring hers. Her kit bag had a subtle 98 stitched into the corner. They caught each other’s eyes.
No words. Just the weight of recognition.
You’re 97.
You’re 98.
You’re beside me.
They grabbed their duffle bag and followed the signs to the locker room. The walls were lined with individual cubbies, a sleek, freshly prepped space with blue stalls, names etched in bold capital letters above each one. Fresh jerseys hung in neat rows. Everything gleamed like it had never seen a single drop of sweat. Ryujin walked in and immediately scanned the plates until…
There.
In bold white lettering against a navy nameplate. A little dramatic, sure, but in a way that made her heartbeat skip just slightly.
SHIN — 97
Then, right beside her locker,
HWANG — 98
Of course.
The stall itself looked like it had been prepped by someone who ironed their socks for fun. Ryujin’s navy helmet sat perfectly centered on the top shelf, a small white 97 decal on the back. Her jersey, a crisp, untouched practice set in white, hung neatly beside two pairs of matching socks. Beneath that, a padded navy jacket with the Team USA crest folded sharp over the shoulders like it came off a mannequin.
Even the hoodie looked elite.
She put it on without hesitation, flipping the hood up. She grabbed her duffle bag and put it on the locker, letting her fingers run along the edge, before finally opening it.
Inside, aside from the uniforms, practice apparels, and protective gears, she found a personalized water bottle labeled SHIN / 97, tucked beside a granola bar she would probably forget to eat.
There was even a printed booklet sitting on her folded leggings, stapled at the corner with her name on the cover:
Welcome to USA Hockey National Team Training Camp.
Jan 27 – Feb 15, 2025
Plymouth, Michigan
It felt surreal— even for her.
Yeji’s voice stopped her thoughts, “You realize I’m going to see you before every game, every drill, every skate.” she said.
Ryujin leaned back against the locker with a lazy smile. “That’s mutual, Captain.”
Across the room, Yuna read out, "Yeji and Ryujin, locker neighbors, seatmates. What’s next, shared brain cells?”
Yeji gave no reaction, other than removing her coat and folding it over the back of her chair.
“Not unless one of ours is malfunctioning,” she said coolly, glancing just once at Ryujin.
“Aw, you missed me already,” Ryujin teased, hanging her jersey in the stall.
Yeji did not respond.
Minutes later, with kits distributed and locker rooms explored, the staff gave the signal to head back to the shuttle.
As the team trickled out of the facility toward the waiting bus, the mood began to shift. The shock of arrival gave way to something quieter. Anticipation, nerves, excitement. Rivalries tucked just under the surface.
The next bus ride was just a few minutes long. It made a slow turn, gravel crunching beneath the wheels and the bus finally hissed to a stop outside the dorm-style player housing near the training rink.
The players onboard groaned as they stretched and reached for their bags. Jet lag and muscle stiffness were the uninvited welcome committee. The dorms at the Team USA training base were no five-star hotel, but they were not some rundown college housing either. They were clean, functional, and quietly impressive in the way most Olympic-affiliated facilities were: built for performance, not comfort, but still sharp enough to make players feel they had made it.
They all stepped off the shuttle and hauled their gear bags across the salted concrete. Inside, the lobby was warm and smelled like fresh varnish and detergent. Part dorm, part athlete housing.
A staffer behind a folding table gave out welcome packets and navy keycard sleeves with their initials and jersey number. “You’ll be here through the end of camp,” she said. “Rooms are open-choice. Stick with your people or mix it up. We don’t care, just don’t fight over outlets.”
That was all it took.
Yeji did not hesitate. She turned to Lia, Karina, and Yuna with a nod. “We’ll take one of the rooms for four.”
The staff handed them the keycards for Room 204.
Ryujin, a few feet behind, looked at Chaeryeong and Winter. “Let’s go before we end up stuck with someone who plays country music at 6 A.M.” she said before grabbing the three Room 205 keycards and their personalized keycard sleeves.
Winter slung her bag over her shoulder. “We’re not doing shared playlists again. I still have nightmares about that one girl who trained to metalcore.”
“She was elite,” Chaeryeong said solemnly.
The rooms had a minimalist, almost Scandinavian layout. Twin XL beds with upgraded mattresses, white linens, and blackout curtains lined the walls. Each bed had its own charging station, dimmable reading light, and shelves for small personal items. Adjustable thermostats controlled individual room temperature— a luxury no one took for granted in January.
Built-in closets held gear bags, and benches at the foot of each bed made organizing uniforms easier. A small desk and chair sat in the corner, under a corkboard already half-covered in team schedules and scribbled notes. Above the desk, a flat-screen TV offered access to replay footage, league highlights, and live updates on tournament prep.
Shared bathrooms were just down the hall, cleaner than expected, with large mirrors, heated floors, and plenty of hot water. Each floor had a washer-dryer unit, stocked with detergent packets in a locked utility closet only the team staff could open.
At the center of each dorm wing was a common room: sectional sofas, a mounted TV, a mini kitchen with a stocked fridge, protein shakes, yogurt, too many bananas for Ryujin’s liking, and a long whiteboard listing daily schedules, group assignments, and reminders like “Don’t tape sticks in the hallway.”
It was not luxurious, but it was built to make things easy for elite athletes, no distractions, no wasted energy. Every corner was designed with performance in mind.
After a day of exploration and settling in, the dorm was quiet now.
Chaeryeong had fallen asleep halfway through scrolling her phone, curled under the navy blanket with one leg kicked free. Ryujin lay on her back, hoodie still on, one hand tucked beneath her head, the other resting on the screen of her phone,
The heating unit buzzed softly from the corner of the room. Outside the window, frost crept like lace across the glass. Ryujin could still smell the sharp tang of laundry detergent from the new sheets.
She shifted, exhaling into the quiet.
There was something about this kind of stillness, after the noise of the flight, the sting of the loss still hanging around her ankles like an old penalty, after seeing her nameplate beside Yeji’s again like the universe couldn’t help itself, that made everything feel a little too big. And weirdly intimate.
Not with anyone else. Just her.
Just Yeji.
She tapped her phone once more, just in case. No new notifications. Not from her, at least. Ryujin rolled onto her side, facing the window. Her alarm clock blinked softly on the desk beside her.
9:57 PM
She pulled the covers higher and let her eyes finally drift shut.
Chapter Text
The dorm kitchen smelled faintly of hazelnut coffee, yesterday’s protein bars, and someone’s leftover reheated eggs. Ryujin stood slouched against the counter, hoodie half-zipped, hair still unbrushed. Her mug steamed between her hands, sleeves pulled down over her fingers. She looked like she had been awake too long to still be this sleepy.
She had not even poured the second cup yet, she just stood there, blinking at the wall. Chaeryeong was perched on the counter beside her, legs swinging lazily, phone held too close to her face. Winter sat at the corner table with her hood over her head like she had barely survived the night.
The room was dim, only the overhead stove light was on. Outside the windows, the Michigan winter painted everything blue and quiet.
“So what’s the plan today?” Chaeryeong murmured.
“Recovery,” Ryujin said, sipping. “In theory.”
Chaeryeong raised a brow at her. “You don’t recover. You get antsy.”
“I get hyperactive.” Ryujin corrected.
“You get weird,” Winter muttered, not looking up.
They fell back into silence. Then, they heard the sound of footsteps. Quiet, measured. Familiar .
Yeji walked in.
Hair still damp from her morning shower, a gray hoodie zipped all the way to her neck. No makeup. No dramatic entrance. But her presence – it always shifted the room. It was like gravity adjusted to let her through. She did not look at anyone. Yeji went straight to the fridge, pulled out an electrolyte bottle, and twisted the cap cleanly.
Ryujin did not look either, but her entire spine straightened subconsciously. Just a little.
Chaeryeong saw it.
“She’s here,” she whispered, like announcing a ghost sighting.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Ryujin replied too quickly, sipping again, eyes fixed on her coffee like it was the only thing she could trust.
A couple of hours later, Ryujin found herself outside of the training facility.
It was not on the schedule.
In fact, it was very much off the schedule, marked in bold font with underlines, in that red ink coaches loved to use when they wanted to pretend rest was more intimidating than it was indulgent.
“Rest and Recovery – January 25. No scheduled training. No lifts. No skates.”
Which, for most people, meant a day of decompression: compression boots, team yoga, foam rolling, Netflix, or just staying cocooned in bed catching up on sleep and silence. But rest had never sat well with Ryujin.
Not when her legs itched with leftover adrenaline.
Not when her chest buzzed with the weight of a shutout game she could not forget.
Not when her mind kept circling back to Yeji and those seven minutes of absence like it was a mystery she had not been allowed to solve.
So she scanned her badge at the side door to the training center, mostly on a whim. Mostly on the off-chance, not really expecting it to work.
The lock clicked open. Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed softly and a few machines hummed in standby mode.
She stepped inside and immediately knew she was not the first one there.
Yeji.
Yeji did not acknowledge her at first. She was on the incline bench press. Silent. Controlled. Reps clean, focused. A thin sheen of sweat glistened along her hairline, her cheeks flushed from exertion. She wore the same gray hoodie from earlier, sleeves shoved up to her elbows, hands dusted faintly with chalk.
She looked like she belonged in the stillness. Like she commanded it.
Ryujin, on the other hand, was all restless energy: fingers twitching, legs bouncing before they even touched the mat. She closed the door behind her, not slamming it, but not quiet either.
“You know we’re not supposed to be here,” she said, voice low but teasing. Yeji did not even glance up.
“Then why are you here?” Yeji responded, not looking back at Ryujin.
Ryujin huffed a laugh, crossing the adjacent bench, stretching her arms overhead. “Because I knew you’d be here.”
That got her a look. Not a full turn, but a flick of Yeji’s eyes. Narrowed and vaguely unimpressed. “So predictable?”
“So tragically predictable,” Ryujin echoed, already stretching into a lazy seated fold, reaching farther than necessary just to prove she could. “Honestly, you might be more allergic to rest than I am.”
Yeji did not respond right away. She exhaled at the top of her rep, then rose and calmly racked the barbell with a metallic thunk. Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of someone used to carrying weight on and off the ice.
“Let me guess,” she said as she wiped her palms on her towel, “you couldn’t relax either.”
“Rest doesn’t mean idle.” Ryujin shrugged. “Didn’t know you believed in overtraining.”
“I don’t,” Yeji said simply, returning to the bench and adjusting the bar. “This isn’t overtraining.”
“You sure?” Ryujin tilted her head. “That weight’s bigger than your attitude.”
Yeji did not even look at her. “I’ve carried heavier.”
Ryujin’s grin grew. “Like what? Your team?”
That got her a glance. Brief. Cutting. “I was thinking about your ego .”
“Ha-ha.” Ryujin fake-laughed, rolling onto her back before flipping into a plank.
Yeji ignored her and finished her reps quietly and efficiently
Ryujin matched her pace. Sort of. She was adding more movement than was necessary, definitely showing off. A few pistol squats. One-armed planks. She tossed in a sudden explosive box jump that echoed in the near-empty room.
Yeji did not flinch.
“You train like you’re being watched.” Yeji commented.
“I’m always being watched.” Ryujin replied, grinning. “Even by you .”
Yeji side-eyed her, unamused. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You literally just watched me eat dinner from across the street, Cap.”
A beat passed. Yeji did not deny it.
They settled into a rare rhythm of mutual silence. The kind that was not awkward, just heavy with everything left unsaid. Yeji stayed seated on the bench press, her towel around her neck, eyes half-lidded as she caught her breath. Ryujin moved to the pull-up bar.
That was when the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hallway.
The gym door creaked open.
“You two are unbelievable.”
Ryujin immediately recognized her teammate’s voice, “Aw. You came to join us?”
“No, I came to witness your downfall.” Winter stepped inside. “Coach explicitly said no training today. Do you think that was a suggestion?”
“More like a challenge,” Ryujin offered, dropping from the bar like a gymnast sticking a landing.
Chaeryeong appeared behind Winter, holding an apple in one hand and a protein bar in the other like she was here for the drama, not the lifting.
“You’re going to injure yourselves before camp even starts,” Chaeryeong said. “And then the rest of us will have to explain it to the press.”
Yeji calmly wiped her sweat off, glancing toward the doorway.
“We’re being careful.”
“You’re being you ,” Winter said. “Which is terrifying.”
“And you ,” Chaeryeong pointed the protein bar squarely at Ryujin, “aren’t careful ever.”
Ryujin just grinned. “You’re just jealous we’re gonna be sharper than everyone by the 27th.” Ryujin gave them both a toothy smile.
Yeji muttered, without looking up, “Or we’re just deeply broken.”
Winter sighed. “Text us when you pull something. I’ll start prepping your injury PR.”
As the two left, shaking their heads and muttering something about waiver forms and sports psychologists, Ryujin watched the door close, then turned to look at Yeji, who was already back on the mat, folding forward into a stretch. “We’re the problem, aren’t we?”
“Undeniably.”
Still, they kept training.
Not because they did not respect the rest day. But because the only way either of them could rest was by running their bodies until the static in their heads stopped humming.
The next day was no better. It was media day.
The cafeteria was unusually quiet for a media day morning. Most players were still shaking off sleep, mumbling about hair gels and PR briefings between mouthfuls of cereal. The national team’s breakfast table was a soft buzz of half-asleep athletes, clinking forks, and schedule complaints. Media day loomed large: interviews, team photos, and more awkward staged laughter than anyone wanted to think about.
Yeji was seated first on the long table, back straight, her short hair neatly braided, the sharp line of her jaw still a little soft from sleep. In front of her sat a minimal plate: a modest scoop of scrambled eggs, apple slices arranged like they had been moved three times already, and her signature plain black coffee, still untouched, steam curling faintly from the surface.
Karina sat to her right, legs crossed under the bench, one arm resting on the table as she scrolled through the shared shoot schedule on her phone with the intensity of someone preparing for war.
Across from them, Yuna stared mournfully into her violently green smoothie like it had personally betrayed her, while Lia sat with her chin propped on one hand, two under-eye patches sagging perilously toward gravity, eyes unfocused and spirit elsewhere.
Two more trays dropped onto the table without warning.
Chaeryeong and Winter appeared, casual as ever, and took the open seats next to Yuna and Karina respectively. No words. No explanation.
Ryujin followed a beat later, sliding into the empty seat beside Chaeryeong, her tray stacked with muffins, bacon, and enough tater tots to feed three people. She sat with all the energy of a person already one argument deep into the morning. “Tell me,” she muttered, still settling in, “why media day is earlier than practice.”
She did not even blink at the four extra people around the table. This was fine. This was her table now.
“Because optics matter,” Winter yawned from across the table. “And you have a very photogenic rivalry to sell.”
Yuna grinned. “So photogenic you and Yeji are seated together again. ”
“That’s fine.” Ryujin exhaled, “But did I miss the part where we pretend this isn’t the worst possible hour for cameras?”
Lia answered, “Yes.”
“We’re already deep into denial,” Winter added.
“Speak for yourself,” Lia muttered. “I’ve accepted it. I’m grieving now.”
Karina glanced up from her phone. “I saw the shoot board. You and Yeji are on the same stool for like half the segments.”
Ryujin groaned, dramatic and loud, head thunking gently against the table. “PR hates us.”
Yeji did not look up from her coffee. “Or they just know what sells.”
Ryujin lifted her head slowly, squinting at her like she wanted to launch a salt packet across the table. “Whatever. Just don’t boss me around during the interview.”
Yeji finally looked at her, one brow raised. “Only if you behave.”
“So no?”
Yeji did not answer. She just took a long sip of her coffee, gaze steady over the rim of her mug.
The table chuckled, laughter bouncing off the walls of the dining room, as the team dug into breakfast. Yuna was mid-story about someone locking themselves out of their room in just a towel, Chaeryeong had already nearly snorted orange juice out her nose. It was all noise and light teasing, the usual morning buzz. Until…
“Oh God,” Ryujin said, very offhandedly while reaching for her muffin, “you still drink that jet fuel?” she made a slight nod to the coffee Yeji was about to drink.
Yeji raised an eyebrow mid-sip, unimpressed. “And?”
“ Still ?” Karina asked, glancing between them.
“Yeah,” Ryujin said casually, already peeling back the muffin wrapper, “she made me taste her bottled coffee that time we—”
It was like time hit a bump in the road. The sound of Yeji choking immediately broke through the conversation. Her coffee hit the back of her throat wrong, and she jerked forward, coughing hard into her elbow.
Everyone froze.
The chatter died instantly.
A few forks paused mid-air. Even Karina looked up from her phone.
Ryujin stared at Yeji with wide eyes, but Yeji was not looking at her, just gasping, coughing, trying not to die in front of their friends.
“Wait— what ?” Yuna blinked.
“I’m sorry—what time ?” Lia echoed, already sitting straighter.
“...from whose bottle?” Winter added slowly, the grin creeping up her face.
Ryujin froze. Too late. Way too fucking late.
Chaeryeong chuckled and scooted her chair a few inches closer, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Oh, this is good .”
Ryujin dared another glance at Yeji.
Yeji’s face was flushed from coughing, but her eyes were clear and laser-focused on Ryujin now. Her look was not angry. Not quite. It was… stunned . Disbelieving.
You did not just say that.
That was what her expression screamed.
Ryujin felt her stomach twist. She could practically hear the panic humming under her skin. They had a silent agreement—no, a silent understanding —to keep that morning unspoken. Neither of them ever brought it up again. Not even to establish that it should not be brought up. It was supposed to be off-limits. Quiet. Tucked away behind the soft veil of silence they both silently agreed on.
“Hold on.” Yuna said, leaning in with her signature sharky grin, “Since when are you two sharing bottles?”
Yeji answered with a slow exhale, visibly composing herself. “We don’t.”
“That was—just a—figure of speech—?” Ryujin tried weakly. The words wobbled as they left her mouth.
Yeji closed her eyes and mentally facepalmed herself. She silently prayed for a rewind button somewhere in the cutlery.
“No,” Chaeryeong said, pointing with her spoon. Of course none of them were buying it. “That was an ‘ it happened in real time’ kind of tone.”
“Yeji choking on her coffee was a dead giveaway, too.” Lia added.
Ryujin tried to pivot, fast, “Uh, she does look like a black coffee kind of person. I just had to make sur—” She cut herself off again. Her brain caught up with her mouth just in time. She felt the weight of that stare on her right, sharp as ever.
Lia blinked. “So you shared a coffee?” she asked.
“NO!” both Ryujin and Yeji said at once. Too loud. Too synced. Now everyone at the table was staring. Ryujin could feel her ears burning. She looked around like someone might offer her a life preserver. Or a time machine. Anything.
“I mean—not like— just once , it wasn’t—” She stammered an explanation. Sort of. She tried. She was failing. Badly. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open as she scrambled to backpedal.
“Ryujin.” Yeji said, voice low, stern, and lethal, making Ryujin close her mouth in an instant.
“This one time was when exactly?” Karina asked, almost too calmly.
Ryujin stood halfway, “I’m going now…”
“Sit,” Yeji said, not even looking at her.
Ryujin sat back down with a thump. “I’m regretting .” Ryujin corrected herself. “So much.”
“You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.” Yeji said coolly, dabbing at her lips with the napkin like she had not just nearly died from coffee inhalation.
“You’re the worst at swallowing coffee.”
“Because you ambushed me with your mouth.”
A pause. The air went still.
“...phrasing, people.” Winter whispered, lips twitching. Lia outright choked on her toast.
Yeji pinched the bridge of her nose. Ryujin slapped her own forehead. Karina blinked slowly like she was trying to process a very complex equation. Yuna looked like she was already drafting a tweet in her head.
Then, with the graceful recovery, apparently only Yeji could pull off, she straightened her spine, cleared her throat, and said, as calm as ever, “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Yuna echoed, eyes practically glowing. “You were almost knocked out by a coffee.”
Ryujin’s voice came out small as she hesitantly tried to raise her hand like she was in class, scared of getting the teacher’s attention. “Can we pretend I never said anything?” she suggested.
“No,” the entire table said in unison.
Yeji exhaled through her nose and sipped her coffee again, somehow without choking this time.
The teasing would go on for weeks . Probably longer.
The team trickled out of the dining hall in small, uneven groups, some trailing behind with half-finished coffee cups, others already regretting the under-eye makeup decisions made before sunrise. The hallway leading to the converted media studio buzzed with quiet chatter, the kind that filled early mornings and delayed nerves.
Yeji walked ahead, Ryujin kept pace just behind the pack, hands buried in her hoodie pocket, trying very hard not to walk too close to Yeji. Or to notice how neat her braid looked from behind. Or to think about the shoot board taped to the media door that very clearly said:
SEGMENT 04: SHIN RYUJIN + HWANG YEJI – JOINT INTERVIEW
Subtle.
Winter bumped Ryujin’s shoulder in passing. “Smile for the cameras, lover girl.”
Ryujin hissed. “Say that again and I’ll tell PR you forged your waiver.”
Winter just grinned and disappeared through the studio door.
Inside, it looked exactly like a hockey player's worst nightmare: bright white lights, microphones taped to chairs, camera lenses too close for comfort, and an over-caffeinated producer holding a clipboard like it contained state secrets.
“Shin, Hwang — you’re next.”
Ryujin and Yeji exchanged a brief look. Civil. Neutral. Dangerously quiet.
“Ready?” Yeji asked, tone clipped.
Ryujin shrugged, but her voice was steady. “Only if you promise not to scold me about breakfast mid-take.”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
They both stepped into the soft light of the set, mics clipped to their collars, chairs set deliberately close together. The setup was simple: two chairs, a table, and a wall of sponsor logos behind them.
Ryujin sat with one leg hooked over the other, fidgeting with the zipper of her warmup jacket. Yeji, as always, was still composed, eyes ahead, hands folded neatly on the table.
Their name cards were placed side by side.
HWANG YEJI — #98 | SHIN RYUJIN — #97
The irony was not lost on either of them. They had not planned it. They had not even known what numbers the other picked until they sat together on the plane. Of course, they ended up next to each other: in jerseys, on flights, in locker rooms, and now, under lights.
The media handler nodded once. “Rolling,” the media coordinator called. “Go in three, two…”
Yeji, sitting sharp and composed, gave a small nod. “Hi, I’m Hwang Yeji. I play defense for the Boston Sentinels… and now #98 for Team USA.”
Next to her, Ryujin sat casually, already half-smirking. “And I’m Shin Ryujin, forward for the New York Cyclones and Team USA’s #97.” Then, before the interviewer could say anything, she added with a quick glance to her right, “which I chose before I knew she was 98, for the record.”
“Sure.”
Ryujin turned her head, eyebrows lifting. “Hey, I didn’t know your number when I picked mine.”
Yeji glanced at her, “You wanted to sit next to me.”
Ryujin scoffed. “You’re delusional.”
“You’re predictable.”
“If I were being predictable,” Ryujin shot back, “I would’ve picked 17 again.”
The interviewer, watching the exchange with open amusement, raised a brow. “That’s your Cyclones number, right?”
Ryujin nodded once, “But for Team USA, I chose 97. Didn’t realize it’d put me next to her all month. What an unfortunate side effect.”
Yeji smiled faintly but did not look at her. “You’re welcome.”
The room went silent for half a second, long enough for the tension to be obvious, short enough for them both to pretend it did not happen.
The interviewer blinked, glancing between them with barely contained amusement. “Right. So… chemistry seems good.”
Yeji and Ryujin answered in perfect sync:
“Unfortunately.”
“As it should.”
The interviewer redirected the flow of the interview, “So! Yeji, Ryujin, thanks for joining us today. Let’s start with the obvious: after years of playing against each other, how does it feel to be on the same team for once?”
Yeji answered first, voice calm. “It’s new. We’ve spent a long time reading each other from the opposite side of the ice. Now we’re… recalibrating.”
Ryujin let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “We’re still rivals. Just in the same jersey now.”
The interviewer chuckled. “And how are you adjusting to that?”
Yeji glanced at Ryujin. “Carefully.”
“I think I scare her.” Ryujin grinned.
Yeji did not look away. “I think you try to.”
“This Team USA roster is stacked with some of the best players in the country,” the interviewer continued. “What’s it like walking into a locker room and realizing everyone in it is someone you’ve either played against or watched from afar?”
Yeji’s expression softened just a little. “There's a lot of respect in one room. We know how high the bar is here.”
Ryujin nodded. “And we know how fast things move at this level. There’s no coasting. You walk in, and everyone’s earned their spot, so you push harder.”
“And the two of you. Have you had any moments so far where being on the same side felt… weird?”
They looked at each other. For a second too long. Ryujin said, carefully “I think we’re still figuring out what that even means.”
Yeji nodded. “We’ve always known each other as opponents. Now we’re teammates. It’s going to take time.”
Ryujin grinned. “She says that now, but she likes having me around.”
Yeji did not look at her, but her brow arched slightly. “I tolerate you.”
“You let me steal your pretzel on the plane.”
“I didn’t want it.”
“You gave it to me.”
“That’s not the same as letting you steal it.”
There was a short silence from the crew.
Ryujin cleared her throat. “I mean, we’ve been doing this dance for years. Might as well see how it works when we’re not trying to destroy each other.”
Yeji’s eyes narrowed slightly and her eyebrows furrowed. “You think I was trying to destroy you?”
“Emotionally, yeah. You were very efficient. You
did
hold me scoreless last game…”
She glanced at the camera.
“Which was rude, by the way. Borderline criminal.”
Yeji’s eyes flicked to her. “You’re still thinking about that?”
“Hard not to, when you iced me like that. Bold move.”
“Try aiming above the pads next time.”
Ryujin laughed, hands raised. “Okay, that was a personal attack.”
“No. That was feedback.”
The interviewer tried not to laugh. “So no lingering bad blood?”
Ryujin shrugged. “We don’t have time for grudges. We’re here to win.”
Then, moving on, “Is there anything you’re nervous about heading into training?”
Ryujin was quiet for a second too long. Then she said, “Honestly? Just… not getting it right fast enough.” That surprised Yeji. Just a flicker, but Ryujin saw it. “It’s one thing to play your game. It’s another to make it fit with twenty other people’s games. Most of them I haven’t even played with before.”
Yeji nodded slowly. Her voice was softer now. “That’s what this camp is for. We figure it out together.”
The interviewer smiled, sensing the perfect moment to wrap up. “Alright, one last question before we move on to your solo shoots.” She leaned forward slightly, eyes twinkling. “If you had to describe each other’s playing style in one word… what would it be?”
Ryujin turned her head slowly, eyes narrowing just a little in mock suspicion. “Just one word?”
Yeji folded her arms back on the table. “You’re stalling.”
“I’m thinking,” Ryujin shot back, before smirking. “Alright. For her? Calculated.”
Yeji blinked, just once. “That’s not an insult?”
“Not at all,” Ryujin said, more serious now. “It means you always know what you’re doing. You’re five moves ahead, and somehow still acting like you’re not thinking about it. It’s absolutely terrifying.”
Yeji seemed to consider that. Then, after a brief pause, she said, “Relentless.”
Ryujin tilted her head. “Okay, that’s definitely an insult.”
Yeji allowed the smallest curve of a smile. “It’s not. It means you don’t stop coming. Doesn’t matter what’s in front of you. You’ll throw yourself into it, again and again, until something breaks.”
There was a moment of silence. The interviewer, sensing the shift, smiled again. “Alright. I think that’s the perfect note to end on.”
Yeji looked at Ryujin, not long, just enough.
And then the camera light went off. The crew moved with efficiency, adjusting mic packs, but neither of them moved. Not until Ryujin leaned over and whispered under her breath, “Still mad about breakfast?”
Yeji took a slow sip of her water. “Still thinking about what else you might let slip.”
Ryujin blinked, then smiled. Yeji finally stood first, brushing a hand down her navy Team USA warm-up jacket before unzipping it. Ryujin mirrored her, flashing a crooked smile as she shrugged hers off.
“Solo shoot next,” one of the staff said, guiding them toward the wardrobe rack nearby. “Yeji, you’re up first.”
They made their way toward the wardrobe rack where their jerseys hung side by side — 97 and 98 , crisp white against the duller backdrop. Yeji grabbed hers and changed with practiced ease, her expression unreadable as she turned slightly away to change. Ryujin took her time peeling off her jacket, slipping into her own jersey more slowly, thumbs brushing the stitched number on her chest.
Their packed schedule for today had them scrambling through crowded rooms. They headed to the next room where the media coordinator directed them.
The next room over glowed soft white, flashes occasionally sparking from behind the makeshift backdrop where individual players were rotated in and out for their solo shots. Ryujin waited for her turn, dropping onto a folding chair just off set, elbows on her knees, jersey loose on her frame. She did not even have to wait that long before one of the photographers motioned for her to come next.
“Shin 97, you’re up!” a voice called.
Yeji had just finished her solo shoot. She stood off to the side now, wiping makeup powder off her hands with the edge of her Team USA jersey. Her smile still lingered, polite, practiced, but it had not quite reached her eyes all morning.
“Ryujin! One with the gloves up like you’re entering the rink—great. Now give us that signature wink. Perfect!”
Winter stood just behind the camera, arms crossed, whispering to Chaeryeong. “She does not wink like that on the ice.”
Chaeryeong smirked. “She does when Yeji’s watching.”
Yeji crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. From this distance, she had a perfect view of Ryujin posing in front of the camera, expression slipping from playful to dialed-in confidence with frightening ease.
Lia, on Yeji’s side of the room, nudged her gently. “You good?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re glaring at her like she insulted your forecheck.”
Yeji hummed noncommittally. “Just analyzing her posture.”
Karina smirked. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Ryujin caught Yeji’s gaze just briefly as she stepped down from her solo mark. She did not grin, not this time, but her eyes were dancing with something.
Maybe nerves. Maybe memory.
Definitely mischief.
The solo sessions wrapped in a flurry of thank-yous, camera flashes, and hurried touch-ups. Now, the team was being wrangled into formation for the official Team USA group shot. But with this roster, stacked with league MVPs, rising stars, and the internet’s favorite rivalry, it was never going to be simple.
The full team shoot was always the loudest part of media day. With twenty players trying to look composed while elbowing each other, stepping on tape marks, and making sarcastic commentary under their breath, it felt less like a national team and more like a school play five minutes before curtain.
One by one, players were called forward. Veterans took the back row, Jeongyeon and Seulgi with their easy smiles and arms folded like they owned the frame. Younger players clustered toward the front, chirping each other over whether to grin or scowl.
“Okay! Everyone in number order, front row kneeling, middle row on the bench, back row standing—helmets on, sticks in right hand, chin up, no blinking!” the photographer barked.
“Can you say that one more time but slower and like you don’t hate us?” Jules called out.
The photographer just glared at her making them scramble into position.
“Riley, that’s my left skate. Get your own zone!”
“Is Yujin tall enough for the back row?”
“I’m crouching!”
“Lia, your jersey’s backward.”
“I know. I’m making a statement.”
And then one of the media coordinators directed, “Yeji, Ryujin — center row.”
Of course.
Ryujin let out a soft groan. “Guys, this is getting cliché!”
Yeji walked ahead without reacting, or at least, without visibly reacting. They ended up side by side, knee to knee, in the middle of the second row, where all cameras would naturally land. A makeup assistant fluffed the collar of Yeji’s jacket. Someone else fixed Ryujin’s sleeves. Another camera tech reminded them to “relax, but not too relaxed.” Whatever that meant.
“Winter, chin down a little—no, not that much. You’re not in a crime documentary,” the photographer called out.
“Yet,” Ryujin muttered under her breath, which did not go unnoticed. She received a slight smack from behind making their teammates laugh.
Yuna buzzed around the edges of the group like a caffeinated camera assistant, documenting chaos on her phone. She stopped briefly in front of Lia, who was adjusting her collar.
“Say ‘Team USA!’” Yuna teased.
“Nope.” Lia deadpanned, then smiled right after.
Yuna then panned to Jinni and Riley, who were pretending to swordfight with their sticks in the background while Seulgi shouted at them to please stop, your sticks are going to break, followed by, Riley, I can hear you still making lightsaber noises!
“These kids are loud,” Jeongyeon said.
“They’re not kids,” Seulgi replied. “They’re chaos gremlins with elite skating techniques.”
“I’m going to need industrial-strength aspirin by the time this is over.”
In the middle of the chaos, Jeongyeon sat on the bench calmly, helmet resting on her knee, waiting. She had seen it all before, national stint cycles, world championships, rising stars flaming out. None of this fazed her, but even she cracked a smile watching Ryujin deliberately nudge Yeji out of frame.
“You’re blocking my good side,” Ryujin said.
“You don’t have a good side,” Yeji said flatly, adjusting her gloves.
“Can she even smile?” Jules whispered from the side, motioning at Yeji.
Ryujin overheard and did not miss a beat. “Only when she’s beating me. So… pretty often.”
That earned a laugh from half the room, and a dry, knowing glance from Yeji.
The final full-team shot had just wrapped, and half the players were already stretching their arms and groaning like they had just finished a workout.
A few headed toward the snack table, others went straight for water, and Winter, predictably, started negotiating with the photographer.
“Listen,” she said, holding up her stick like a pointer, “I have a new concept for a solo. Imagine: dramatic spotlight. Just me. Helmet tilted like I just skated away from a brawl—”
“Winter,” the coordinator cut in, not unkindly, “we’re doing pairs now.”
“Right. Even better. Who’s with me?”
“Put the rivals together!” Yuna yelled.
“That’s pre-assigned,” the assistant replied, flipping through a clipboard.
Groans echoed. Someone from the back, possibly Jinni, yelled, “Rigged!”
The media staff called out the first few pairs: Jules and Madison. Chaeyoung and Seulgi. Lia and Chaeryeong. Each duo filtered in for their shots. Some posing naturally, others needing full coaching. A few played it goofy, sticking tongues out behind visors or trying to get away with high-fives mid-pose.
Then the assistant squinted at the clipboard, then up at the players. Then came the words none of them were hoping to hear quite so soon:
“Okay, Yeji and Ryujin, we need you two next for the pair shot.”
Ryujin groaned, but walked over anyway, still mumbling about how the staff and the media team was basically doing it on purpose now. Yeji was already there, tugging her gloves back on, quiet, like she had already expected it. They stepped onto the backdrop floor together.
“Give us something intense,” the photographer added. “Think rivals, but make it marketable.”
Ryujin’s smirk returned. “You hear that? Make me marketable.”
“I don’t need to,” Yeji replied quietly. “You already sell drama for free.”
Then, a quick burst of direction from the photographer:
“Stand a little closer—yes, Yeji on the right, Ryujin left. Try to angle in just a touch—perfect.”
Ryujin raised a brow. “You sure this isn’t a couples’ shoot?”
They both shifted, shoulders brushing. The fabric of their jerseys rustled. From a distance, it looked cooperative. From up close, it was practically a chess match.
“Okay. Let’s get one serious and then one relaxed.”
“You're always serious,” Ryujin muttered to Yeji, barely moving her lips.
“You never are,” Yeji replied.
“Balance.”
The photographer adjusted again, stepping back and squinting through the lens. “Let’s get one where you’re facing each other. Just turn in. No talking.”
They obeyed, half a second too slowly. Ryujin turned first, pivoting on the balls of her feet with lazy precision. Yeji followed, all sharp control and deliberate poise. Their skates stopped inches apart, shoulders squared. Chest to chest, not quite touching.
Ryujin’s grin lingered, just crooked enough to provoke. She met Yeji’s eyes like she always did, head-on, like a dare. Like she was waiting for Yeji to blink first.
Yeji did not. Her gaze locked, unreadable, calm. She did not need a grin to win. “Wipe the smirk.”
Ryujin’s eyebrows lifted, mock innocence. “Wipe that look like you want to bodycheck me.”
“I’m about to.”
“That’s hot.”
Yeji blinked once, then dropped her voice when she answered, “So is a concussion.”
Ryujin bit back a laugh, jaw flexing, clearly not expecting the comeback. She tried to play it off with a shrug, but Yeji had already turned slightly, as if to reset her stance, the subtle shift brushing their gloves together.
The photographer did not say a word, he just kept snapping.
“I swear,” Jules whispered to Riley, “if they don’t kiss by the end of camp, I’m gonna lose my mind.”
The photographer called, “Last pose. Just a relaxed one. Gloves down. Like you’re off-ice.”
Yeji was the first to shift. It was subtle, but noticeable. Her shoulders lowered, the line of her posture softening like an exhale. She let her stick slide to her side with a quiet clatter. Her gloves followed, one at a time.
Ryujin mirrored the movement a few seconds later, always just a breath behind, as if watching Yeji’s every motion before choosing how to respond. Her gloves landed by her skates with a soft thud.
The photographer did not interrupt.
Yeji’s voice slipped through the stillness. Barely above a whisper. “Don’t say anything.”
Ryujin blinked once, slowly. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
Pause.
“…You smell like mint.”
Yeji closed her eyes briefly. “I’m going to kill you.”
“Do it after the playoffs. I’ve got points to rack up.”
Yeji exhaled. A single quiet laugh, maybe at the absurdity of it. Maybe at how used to this they were becoming, not the camera, not the posing, but each other. They were not even one day into their training camp, but she felt like she already had enough doses of Ryujin for the next few months in just a day.
The shutter clicked. Flashes popped. The shot snapped in perfect timing: Yeji mid-smirk, Ryujin mid-laugh, the space between them magnetic. Then, the last photo snapped. Ryujin did not move right away, and neither did Yeji.
“We done?” Yeji asked quietly, eyes still on Ryujin.
“Looks like it,” Ryujin replied, and only then did she step back, slow, deliberate, like she did not really want to.
“Finally,” Lia called from the back, breaking the silence. “We can all breathe again.”
The team burst into chatter, exaggerated sighs, and applause. Madison pretended to faint. Jinni mimed tossing a bouquet.
Winter, from her perch on a nearby equipment case, did not move, and just raised a single thumb in the air, face deadpan. “Huge fan of this soap opera. Needs more kissing though.”
Ryujin rolled her eyes, but her smirk was unmissable. Yeji looked straight ahead as she stepped off the set, stone-faced, calm, but her ears were flushed pink.
The catered buffet lined the back wall of the team lounge with chicken wraps, salad trays, protein bars, a small mountain of fruit, and the unmistakable smell of mac and cheese in one of the aluminum pans. Someone had definitely put hot sauce on it already. Players filtered in gradually from their respective shoots, still half in uniform or wrapped in media-day warmups. Hair half-done. Mascara smudged. Shoulder pads unstrapped but still hanging. Media day was always chaotic.
“Don’t touch the last brownie,” Jeongyeon warned, stabbing her fork into a salad and glaring at the dessert tray.
“You called dibs?” Winter asked, already chewing.
Jeongyeon did not even blink. “I will end you .”
“You can try,” Winter shot back, before ducking behind Karina, who had entered just in time to be used as a human shield.
Lia walked in next, balancing two bottled teas and humming under her breath. “So… how many of us said Jeongyeon when they asked who they were most excited to play with?”
“Three, at least,” Yuna said from the corner, where she was absolutely not supposed to be editing TikToks with national team branding. “You have a fan club.”
Jeongyeon sighed dramatically. “It’s so hard being this respected.”
“You’re just loud and old,” muttered Chaeryeong, dropping into a seat beside her and immediately swiping a fry from Jeongyeon’s plate.
“Rude. But not inaccurate.”
Karina picked at her wrap, glancing around the room. “ Anyone seen Seulgi?”
“Still in the shoot for the veteran montage,” Lia answered. “They’re making her stare dramatically into the camera for the segment.”
“Love that for her,” Winter said. “She has the perfect haunted-athlete face.”
There was a general ripple of laughter as trays passed around, players swapping bites, stretching out in chairs, leaning on each other’s shoulders. For the first time all day, the atmosphere was loose, lived-in. Familiar. Like the beginnings of something that might actually work.
The rest of the day, the players chose to spend their time in the common room. Someone had commandeered the TV. Again .
Chaeryeong and Winter were sprawled on the couch, each holding half a bag of chips, feet kicked up on the coffee table. ESPN was on, but muted — and instead, Yuna was narrating.
“Okay, so Jeongyeon takes the puck here , right?” She pointed at the screen with her stylus. “But the goalie’s completely off-angle, and what does she do? Toe drag. Upper left.”
Lia raised an unimpressed eyebrow from where she sat cross-legged on the floor. “You’re acting like she invented toe drags.”
“She basically did,” Yuna said. “I’d let her toe drag me into traffic.”
Karina, flipping through a magazine on the armrest, didn’t even look up. “Seek help.”
Jeongyeon entered the lounge just in time to hear her name and raised a brow. “Should I be concerned?”
“Yes,” they all said in unison.
Laughter rippled through the room. Someone tossed a stress ball. They missed. A rogue sock flew shortly after.
From the corner, one of the rookies from Wisconsin, Riley, sharp, chirpy, and undefeated in card games, waved her phone like it was burning. “Has anyone not gotten tagged in that ridiculous Team USA TikTok montage yet?”
“I got tagged in four,” said Winter.
“Five for me,” added Chaeryeong. “And three are edits of Ryujin and Yeji not looking at each other.”
“Classic,” Yuna muttered.
Lia stretched her legs out and groaned. “We’re not even one day into camp and already feeding the internet.”
“You mean they’re feeding the internet,” Karina clarified.
No one disagreed.
Outside, the sun had started to set behind the snow-dusted trees. Quiet buzzed around the dorm, calm after the storm of interviews, camera flashes, and forced media smiles. For a moment, everything settled into something warm. Familiar.
A team beginning to gel.
Chapter Text
The room was louder than it probably should have been for something labeled mandatory orientation.
At 8:55 a.m., the training center’s Lecture Room A was already three-quarters full. The thermostat was set slightly too low, leaving a chill in the air sharp enough to keep players alert, if not entirely comfortable. Name placards lay in front of every seat, arranged with frustrating deliberateness, alphabetical by position, not by first name. It meant that people who knew each other well were not necessarily seated beside each other. It was designed to keep players from huddling in their comfort zones.
Most of the players were already slouched in their seats, sipping bad coffee from matching training center mugs, legs thrown over chairs that did not belong to them, with Team USA’s logo glaring proudly from a projector screen at the front of the room. The others were still arriving in groups. Someone had smuggled in a bag of mini Oreos. Someone else had a Bluetooth speaker in their hoodie pocket, still playing music until Coach Harper made eye contact from across the room.
“Turn it off,” she mouthed.
The player in question, Riley, turned it up for three seconds before conceding.
The vibe was familiar now, post-icebreakers, post-movie night, post-card-game-that-got-too-competitive-and-ended-in-a-debate-about-dogs-vs-cats. After two days of recovery and down time, the team had already split into natural clusters: the early risers, the chaos agents, the coffee snobs, the card sharks, the group chat meme lords.
Ryujin naturally floated among them all.
Ryujin ended up in a spot toward the far side of the room, between Riley, a towering forward, and Madison, a quick-talking center, both of whom had already adopted her sarcasm as their second language. Winter and Chaeryeong had been assigned seats across the aisle. She raised an eyebrow at the layout and gave Winter a look that said “this smells like Coach Donovan.”
It did because it was Coach Donovan.
She dropped into her seat and stretched out her legs until her foot nudged the base of Madison’s chair. “ Sorry ,” she muttered, not sorry at all.
At 9:00 a.m. sharp, the door closed behind Coach Donovan. He wore Team USA’s training quarter-zip, sleeves pushed up, clipboard in hand. He stepped up front, looking like he would rather be nowhere else but here, yet also like he would not tolerate a single second of nonsense. A man of contradictions and clipboard authority.
“Morning, ladies.”
“Morning, Coach,” came the collective, not-entirely-synchronized reply.
“Today officially marks the start of training camp. That means the playbook is live, the eyes are on, and whatever jokes you’ve been making at each other’s expense for the past 48 hours—” He paused. Looked directly at Riley. “—you keep those in the locker room.”
Laughter. Scattered. Guilty.
“Over the next three weeks, you’ll be pushed harder than ever. This isn’t just about talent, it’s about chemistry, trust, and grit. We’re here to build something that can win together. Orientation is not just a formality, it’s your foundation. Know what you’re representing. Know who you’re playing beside.”
Two assistant coaches moved to the front: Coach Maddox, the defensive coach, and Coach Harper, who handled forwards. Beside them stood a sports psychologist, an athletic trainer, and the team’s general manager.
The projector behind him flicked on with a loud buzz, illuminating the first slide:
TEAM USA WOMEN’S HOCKEY TRAINING CAMP
JANUARY 27 – FEBRUARY 13
“Welcome to Plymouth,” he began. “Orientation also covers expectations, conduct, structure, and culture. You’re not just being evaluated on performance. You’re being evaluated on fit. This camp levels the field. No one gets special treatment. Everyone earns their stripes.”
The slide changed: a full-screen image of the Team USA crest.
“You don’t play here for your name. You play for your country’s name.”
Coach Donovan turned a fraction, eyes narrowing like a shark tracking movement.
“Let’s be clear,” he continued, “Every single one of you is here because you’re elite. But this isn’t about being the best player anymore. It’s about being the best fit. We don’t need stars. We need a constellation.”
“Was that rehearsed?” Winter asked, hand halfway up.
“Yes,” Coach Harper deadpanned. “And I hated it the first three times too.”
Groans and laughter filled the lecture room. Coach Donovan’s face did not twitch. He changed the slide.
Camp Structure
- Curfew: 10:30 PM
- Devices off during drills/meetings
- Random room checks
- Mental skills sessions are mandatory
- Off-ice leadership points tracked
“We’re not here to babysit you,” Donovan continued. “But we will know who’s putting in the extra reps. Who’s stepping up when no one’s watching. And who thinks showing up is enough.”
He moved to the non-negotiables slide as he kept going. “There will be fights. Tempers. Bad days. But this is non-negotiable: no cliques, no factions, no passive aggression. If you’ve got a problem, you handle it like a teammate, not a child.”
“We’ve had eyes on your social feeds. Your mic’d-up chirps. Your post-game comments.” His gaze wandered, not accusing, but deliberate. “Some of you think your rivalry is part of your brand. I’m here to tell you it stops here. If we catch even a whiff of sabotage, sniping, or petty behavior…”
Then came the slide with the camp calendar showing every detail from skate times to film review. It was brutal. Recovery blocks were short. Optional skates were very optional . Mental skills sessions were listed in bold.
There was a rustle of breath in the room as players scanned the week.
“I see you doing the math,” Donovan said. “Don’t. You’ll be tired. That’s the point. We want to know who you are when you’re running on nothing but discipline.”
The next hour rolled on. Topics shifted from nutrition plans to mental health resources, media training protocols to the structure of the coming weeks. There were also charts and scheduling logistics.
“Alright. We’ve covered rules. We’ve covered expectations. Now for something a little more fun, if you call pain fun.” Coach Harper said.
A few players chuckled. Riley raised her hand and said, “We do.”
Coach Harper smirked. “Figured. So, give us, if you had any, the worst injury you ever played through. Played through , not just had. Extra points if your trainer begged you to sit out and you said ‘no’ anyway.”
The room came alive with laughter, groans, and immediate side-whispers. They could already tell some players were going to make theirs sound like war stories. Others would try to downplay it. And some were already competing without saying a word.
Jeongyeon cleared her throat. “Bad ankle sprain in the middle of a playoff series. I kept it quiet until the end of Game 4. Trainer was furious. We still won.”
Winter leaned forward dramatically. “You absolute menace.”
For Jules’ turn, she said, “Pulled my groin in the second period of nationals. Played the rest of the game. Couldn’t walk the next day.”
Someone shouted, “ Respect! ” from the further back of the lecture room.
“Shoulder popped out during a board battle. Still made two breakaways. I cried later.” Winter shared, earning a few chuckles from her teammates, remembering how much she cried on their bus ride home.
Karina from across the room said, “Was it a pain cry or a moral victory cry?”
“Both. Obviously.”
Riley, grinning, “Dislocated jaw. Took a slapshot to the face, chirped the ref with a lisp, and kept skating.”
“You’re so messed up,” Jinni said to which Riley just laughed.
“Took a slapshot to the ribs, broke two. Didn’t tell anyone. Got hit again the next game. Broke a third.” Karina shared. Everyone groaned. She just smiled like she had only listed her favorite smoothie ingredients.
“That’s not hockey,” Ryujin called. “You need divine intervention.”
“Tell that to my PT bills.”
The room had settled into a rhythm now: teammates reacting, chirping, competing in the most hockey-player way imaginable: who had suffered the most for the win. The mood was light, but every so often, a glance would land on Ryujin or Yeji, like everyone was waiting to hear their stories.
Yeji finally said, “Fractured my wrist in a state championship game. Still used it to block five shots and finished the game anyway.”
Her voice did not waver, but something in the air did. Several players turned to look at her; some impressed, some surprised, someone muttered “Jesus”, and one who clearly knew which game she meant.
Ryujin, who had been leaning back in her chair, straightened almost imperceptibly. She remembered that game.
Minnesota State Finals. Yeji’s high school senior year. Opposite ends of the ice. Final period.
Ryujin had watched Yeji take a brutal slash to the arm, shake it off like it did not matter, and stayed in the game. She had seen Yeji skate with her wrist wrapped in tape and pain etched in her eyes, but she had not missed a single defensive rotation. She had cleared the zone with one arm. She remembered Yeji bleeding under her glove, still blocking shots like she was made of iron. Ryujin had scored twice that game, but it was not nearly enough. Yeji had anchored her team to a championship win with one good wrist and sheer will.
Ryujin said nothing.
Until her turn.
“Tore my rotator cuff in the second round of playoffs. Coach didn’t notice so I played through it for six games. I couldn’t lift my arm above my shoulder but I still scored a couple with the other arm.”
A few “ whoa ”s echoed around the room. Someone muttered, “ That’s unhinged .”
Then she added, with a smirk, “And once confused 3:47 a.m. for 3:47 p.m. Tried to get fully dressed and was about to head to the venue. I consider that psychological trauma.”
The entire room burst out laughing again, breaking the tension. Even Yeji’s mouth twitched, just barely.
Riley actually doubled over. “That was you?! I thought that was a myth.”
“It lives,” Yujin declared. “And she’s in our locker room.”
Ryujin glanced towards Chaeryeong and Winter, “Traitors!”
Coach Donovan just pinched the bridge of his nose. Coach Maddox was openly laughing. Coach Harper leaned toward Donovan and muttered, “Still not the worst story I’ve heard from her.”
Donovan sighed. “Alright, trauma bonding’s over. Get to testing.”
As the players stood, still laughing and chirping, Yeji and Ryujin did not say another word. They found it ironic and ridiculous that they both knew the full context of each other’s story because they were in it.
They did not even look at each other after telling their story. They did not need to; they knew they would remember.
Chairs scraped and the players stood, stretching arms, rolling necks, shaking out their legs like they were already prepping for sprints. Water bottles were cracked open. Someone snagged the last mini Oreo from the front table and got chirped for it immediately.
Coach Maddox stepped forward with a clipboard in hand. “Groups are posted outside the training room. Baseline testing runs five players at a time: physical screens, reaction drills, mental focus circuits. You’ll rotate through all stations before the afternoon skate.”
“Try not to die,” Coach Harper added helpfully.
Riley called out, “Is this the one with the flashing lights and the beeping wall of doom?”
“Correct,” Harper said. “The one that measures how fast your brain panics.”
More groans.
Winter and Madison high-fived like they were already competing. Chaeyoung started fake-stretching like she was prepping for the Olympics. Jules announced that she was going to “ win ” baseline testing, which made absolutely no sense and sparked immediate arguments.
Ryujin followed the herd out into the hallway, casually glancing at the posted groups. She spotted her name in Group C, third wave. She had time.
Behind her, Yeji scanned the same list. Group A. First wave.
Winter leaned in beside Ryujin. “I bet Yeji’s gonna break the machine.”
“She is the machine,” Ryujin muttered.
Winter smirked. “You’re not wrong.”
Yeji stood beside Seulgi and Karina, expression unreadable but jaw set. She never treated testing like a formality. Everything mattered: every number, every rep, every glance.
Ryujin watched her for one second too long, then shook it off.
Down the hall, whistles blew. Group A was called in. Yeji disappeared behind the double doors with her group, stride sharp and no-nonsense.
Ryujin stayed behind, still leaning casually, but now more alert because she already knew what was coming. Yeji would crush her numbers. She always did. But that did not mean Ryujin was not going to try and beat her anyway.
Group A had already strapped on heart rate monitors and compression sleeves, standing in a loose semicircle while the lead trainer gave rapid-fire instructions. “You’ll rotate through five stations: balance and mobility, lower body strength, visual-reaction, the focus grid, and speed and agility. We’re looking for baseline performance. This isn’t a race, but it is data.”
Yeji barely nodded. Her arms were crossed, short hair in a half-ponytail. Jersey sleeves pushed up. She was already in game mode.
“Ready, Hwang?” asked the trainer with a raised brow.
She looked him square in the eye. “Ready.”
Beside her, Jules whispered to Karina, “Why do I feel like I’m about to be judged by a higher power?”
“You are,” Karina muttered, already warming up.
First station: mobility and balance . Simple in theory, but humiliating in practice. One-leg stance on unstable surfaces, sudden balance shifts, core control under fatigue. Yeji moved through it with mechanical precision, posture perfect, breath steady. The intern marking scores blinked twice and adjusted his glasses.
“Jesus,” Jules muttered under her breath. “Is she human?”
“Debatable,” Seulgi answered, wobbling briefly on a BOSU ball before catching herself.
Second station : lower body explosiveness. Box jumps, vertical tests, controlled landings. Jules, tall and springy, made it a challenge, but Yeji matched her height for height, barely making a sound on her landings. The staff raised eyebrows again.
Karina, between sets, grinned. “You’re making the rest of us look like JV.”
Yeji did not answer. Just grabbed the chalk for grip work and moved on.
From across the hallway, behind the glass viewing panels, Ryujin watched.
Group C was not due in for another ten minutes, and Ryujin had found a bench to sit on, sipping a sports drink like it was a show. Winter and Chaeryeong had wandered off to find snacks, but Ryujin had stayed because Yeji was testing.
And she could not not watch her.
She tracked Yeji’s every move; the jump landings, the ankle control, the complete lack of wasted energy. There was something almost precise about it. Yeji was not performing. She was executing .
Third station: visual reaction wall. A grid of lights blinked at random. Players had to slap them as fast as possible before they disappeared. It was the chaos station: loud, frustrating, sometimes hilarious.
Jules hit her head on the frame trying to reach a high corner. Karina screamed when the lights flashed behind her.
Yeji, on the other hand, did not flinch. Her hands moved in a clean, deadly rhythm, like her brain was wired for it.
“Her eyes track like a hawk,” muttered the assistant coach behind the monitor.
Karina nodded, towel draped around her shoulders. “She doesn’t miss.”
From the hallway bench, Ryujin smiled to herself.
Fourth station: the focus grid. Yeji strapped on the neural headband like it was a weapon. The room went quieter. This one was pure concentration, blinking symbols, rapid decision-making, memory recall under pressure. A nightmare for most players.
Yeji’s screen lit up. She did not move her mouth. She did not blink more than necessary. She did not break the rhythm once. And when the station beeped its final tone, the intern checking results actually exhaled.
“She got a 96%,” he whispered. “That’s… that’s better than anyone last year.”
Seulgi high-fived her. Karina whistled low. Jules gave her a pretend bow.
Yeji, as always, did not react.
But on the other side of the hallway glass, Ryujin leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees.
Last station: speed and agility. It was set up in the secondary rink’s neutral zone, cones already laid out, timing gates mounted at each blue line. The staff members stood with clipboards at both ends, ready to log sprint times down to the hundredth of a second.
This was where the subtle posturing started. No one said it was a competition, but everyone knew it was .
Yeji stepped up first.
She adjusted the strap of her shin guard, rolled her neck, then took her stance like it was a penalty kill drill: shoulders low, eyes forward, balance perfectly distributed. When the timing gate flashed green, she was gone.
Her first push was explosive. Pure blade efficiency. She hit the opposite blue line with a clean stop and coasted into the boards, barely winded.
The coach near the timing monitor let out a low whistle. “4.82.”
“Jesus,” Jules had already lost count how many times she had said that under her breath.
“She’s a damn bullet,” Madison added, shaking her head.
Yeji did not react. Just skated slowly back to the line, expression calm, breathing even. Her recovery looked like she had not sprinted at all.
Karina went next, solid time, great stride mechanics. Seulgi followed, powerful and direct. Madison threw in a little flair, almost slipped, recovered. Jules chirped at the gate for not recognizing her “top gear.”
They each took three sprints, back and forth, times logged, improvements noted.
Yeji’s third sprint was faster than her first.
4.78.
No reaction. No celebration. She just nodded at the monitor, then turned back toward the group.
From across the neutral zone, Coach Maddox gave a long, approving nod. “That’s elite.”
Yeji did not look smug. She did not need to. She had been consistent, controlled and fast.
Exactly who they expected her to be.
By the time Group C was called in, the facility was buzzing with residual energy from the earlier groups. The trainers were a bit tired. They awfully looked like they needed caffeine and some noise-cancelling headphones. The clipboards were slightly more filled. But the moment Ryujin walked into the room, the atmosphere shifted.
Not because she was loud.
Not because she was cocky.
But because everyone noticed when she was around.
Winter entered beside her, bouncing on her heels like a kid in line for a rollercoaster. Chaeryeong looked loose but focused. Riley cracked her knuckles. Jinni clapped once, then declared, “Let’s break records and egos.”
Ryujin did not say anything but she was already scanning the layout like it was a battlefield.
Yeji had finished over twenty minutes ago. She was long gone from the room and yet, Ryujin still felt her presence.
The first station was deceptively calm: yoga mats, stability boards, cones, resistance bands. The kind of setup that made rookies underestimate how humbling it would be.
Winter got on the wobble board and immediately started swaying like she was on a cruise ship.
“Why is this harder than skating full speed at a defender?” she grunted.
“Because skating doesn’t require inner peace,” Chaeryeong said, perfectly still in a one-leg squat, arms raised like a swan.
Riley tipped sideways. “My inner peace left my body the moment this board moved.”
Ryujin stepped onto her platform silently.
She did not show off nor wobble nor flinch. She just held steadily and well-controlled. Her breathing was even.
The trainer marking her balance score gave a small nod.
Then came mobility: shoulder range, hip rotation, spine checks. Ryujin breezed through with natural flexibility, too flexible for most forwards, the kind of range that made her dangerous in tight spaces.
She finished first, sat on the edge of a mat, and offered a slow clap as Winter stumbled off her board.
Then, they went to the second station: jump tests, broad and vertical, and controlled landings.
The tape marks on the floor were already stained from dozens of landings that morning.
Winter did her jump, landed with arms overhead like she had just won Olympic gold, and whispered, “Please tell me somebody recorded that!”
Riley’s broad jump was massive but ended with her crashing into the foam wall. “That was a controlled fall,” she declared.
Jinni flailed mid-air and still somehow stuck her landing. “Physics loves me.”
Chaeryeong executed each test perfectly, without comment.
Then, Ryujin stepped up. Her jump was not loud. It was not even dramatic, a huge contrast to how she was almost every minute of every day.
It was just fast.
She hit the board, exploded forward, and landed clean, not the furthest, but the most efficient. Straight-line, dead center, like her body knew what the line looked like midair.
For vertical jump, the same thing. Sharp and controlled. The kind of athleticism that did not try to announce itself but demanded attention anyway.
Jinni blinked. “Do you practice that?”
Ryujin just shrugged. “Nope.”
The third station caused chaos.
The wall lit up like a mini-rave, lights blinking randomly, disappearing if you did not slap them fast enough.
Riley smacked the wrong color and yelled, “I panicked!”
Winter screamed every time one lit up behind her shoulder.
Chaeryeong played it like piano keys, quietly hitting each one with barely a twitch.
Ryujin stepped up and said, “Let’s go, disco ball.” Then proceeded to casually slap each light with absurd timing.
She missed one.
Just one.
“Nice work,” the trainer said.
“I’ll do better if you play music,” she replied. “Preferably 2009 Rihanna.”
Riley screamed from the floor, “WHY IS THAT SO SPECIFIC?!”
The fourth station had no room for jokes.
A headband. A monitor. Flickering symbols. Rapid-fire memory.
Winter muttered, “I hate this one. It knows too much.”
Chaeryeong agreed, “This is the one where I lose all self-confidence.”
Ryujin waited for her turn in silence. When the band slid over her forehead and the monitor lit up, she changed. Her eyes were locked, shoulders dropped, breath steady.
She did not twitch, did not blink too much, did not even shift in her seat.
“Strong cognitive patterning,” the technician murmured. “Great retention.”
Ryujin did not even acknowledge it. She just unstrapped the headset and got up because she was already thinking about the next one.
They reached the final station. This was the one that mattered.
They all mattered, sure, but this…
This was the one with numbers. With stakes.
With Yeji’s 4.78 already etched into Ryujin’s skull like a dare.
Riley was already trash-talking the timing gate.
Winter lined up first. “Let’s see if I still got wheels.”
She did. 4.94 .
Chaeryeong next. Clean and efficient. 4.89.
Jinni was off the line, wild on the stop. 4.91 . “Did I win?”
“No,” Riley said flatly. “My turn.” Riley skated like a freight train and came in hot. 4.86. A solid mark.
Then it was Ryujin’s turn.
Ryujin stood at the edge of the starting cone, shoulder blades loose under her jersey, mouth twitching into a grin that did not quite reach her eyes.
She did not ask for Yeji’s time. She had heard the 4.78 whispered by a trainer five minutes ago, she also had seen Yeji’s glide back to the line: effortless, unbothered, composed.
And she knew Yeji was still here. She could feel it.
Somewhere off to the side, stretching in silence, probably not looking. Probably pretending not to care, but still listening.
Everyone always listened when Ryujin skated.
She stepped to the cone without speaking. No theatrics. No smile. Just focus. She dipped low and her eyes ahead.
One thought:
Beat her.
The gate beeped.
And Ryujin flew
First three strides: pure power. Ryujin did not glide, she launched . Her blades bit into the ice like they were trying to tear it apart. Her stride was not textbook. It never was. But it was electric, raw and fast. She skated like she was daring physics to catch her.
When she crossed the second blue line, she stopped hard, snow flying.
The coach by the timer looked down at his screen, then blinked.
“4.76.”
Chaeryeong whooped. “Let’s go, Shin!”
“Damn,” Riley muttered.
Winter yelled, “She’s not even warmed up yet.”
Ryujin grinned, half-bent over her stick, trying to look casual. “Was that decent? I wasn’t really trying.”
Liar .
Second attempt: 4.75.
Third: 4.76.
Consistent. Clean. Faster .
She stood at the blue line where she had just finished her third sprint, blades still turned outward in a loose stance, chest rising slowly. She was not out of breath, not really. But her fingers twitched slightly against her stick, not from fatigue. From something else.
Then she saw her.
Yeji was across the rink, near the open hallway doors. She had not left after all.
She stood alone quietly, hoodie on, arms folded over her chest. Almost like she did not plan to stay… but still did.
No one else noticed her there.
But Ryujin did.
Their eyes met. Just once. Yeji did not smile, not even a nod. Then she turned and walked away without a word.
Ryujin did not move for a few seconds, did not try to follow and chase her with a joke.
She just stood there, watching the hallway where Yeji had disappeared to. She smiled to herself knowing Yeji had stayed, waited, and watched. She was quite unsure why she felt giddy at the thought of that. There was no reason to be. Yet here she was.
By the time afternoon had rolled around, the rink echoed with the sound of blades cutting fresh ice. The kind of skate meant to loosen legs, shake out travel, and ease into rhythm. Coach Harper’s voice rang out over the cold. “Edge work to start. Nothing fancy. Just find your footing.”
The ice was loud.
Not from shouting, though there was a fair bit of that, but from the unmistakable energy of a new team trying to find its rhythm. Sharp stops, bursts of laughter, skate blades carving tight turns and figure eights. Everything smelled like fresh gear and new beginnings.
Ryujin took the far side, drifting wide into her turns, gliding through transitions like her body knew how to move without needing thought. Her jersey fluttered with every pivot, her skates whispering over the surface.
Yeji was on the near side, cutting tighter, lower. She skated like she didn’t care who watched, but her lines were precise and calculated.
Neither of them looked at the other, but they stayed in sync anyway.
The drill pace was light, but the personalities were not.
Winter yelled CLEAR! before every crossover drill like she was launching into traffic. Riley chirped her own passes. Karina skated in near-perfect silence and still somehow made everyone move around her. Chaeyoung and Seulgi exchanged nods without ever really speaking. Jinni kept trying to “ accidentally” drift into the goalie’s crease just to see if someone would call her out.
The veterans, Jeongyeon, Seulgi, Madison, skated like they had done this a dozen times before. Clean lines, efficient turns, eyes always ahead.
The younger players followed. Some were nervous. Some cocky. Some were trying too hard not to look like they were trying at all.
Lia floated between lines like she was born to be a connector, trading jokes with Casey, then calmly correcting Yuna’s edge work with a soft word and a tap to her stick.
Coach Donovan stood at center ice, hands behind his back, expression unreadable. Coach Maddox barked instructions every few minutes. Coach Harper blew her whistle at a player who was too eager and skated offside during a regroup drill. No one looked too rattled, not really.
They were all getting used to each other.
They could feel it, the early warmth, the friction, the beginnings of cohesion. A few accidental collisions. A few perfectly timed passes between players who barely knew each other.
No real systems yet. No official lines. But the pieces were there.
The locker rooms buzzed with post-skate energy, not that loud, but lived-in. A few players were still peeling off gear, pads thunking against benches. Others had already showered and changed, hair damp, cheeks flushed from the cold.
There was not much talking now.
Just the soft scrape of skate guards, the low rumble of a shared playlist playing from someone’s speaker, too quiet to recognize the song, but familiar enough that no one asked to change it.
Winter was still retelling the story of her fake “ spin move ” that ended in a controlled fall. Riley added dramatic sound effects. Chaeryeong ignored them both, tying her hair back with practiced ease.
Ryujin leaned against the wall in a clean hoodie, arms folded, towel around her neck. She looked relaxed. Almost too relaxed. Like her brain was still lapping the rink long after her body had stopped moving.
Across the hall, Yeji emerged from the showers with her towel tucked neatly over her shoulder, hoodie zipped up halfway, earbuds in. She nodded once at Coach Harper as she passed. Nothing more.
No one said it aloud, but the mood had shifted.
Not in a bad way, just the natural slowing down after the first day of movement: bodies settling, minds trying to be silent, everyone falling back into themselves before the next thing began.
By the time the sun had dipped low outside, the players filtered into the dining hall one by one, clean, warm, a little stiff. Hair still damp, sleeves pushed up. That tired-happy kind of quiet that follows a good skate.
The main dining hall had been converted for the occasion, not fancy, just formal enough. Round tables draped in navy linens, buffet trays warming under silver lids, and rows of name cards printed with a clean Team USA logo and no hint of personality.
The team was scattered across six tables, assigned by name card, not chemistry. It was a quiet kind of test to see who fell into rhythm with each other when they were not wearing helmets. Still, the room buzzed with energy.
Someone made a joke about hoping for dessert first. Someone else claimed a spot at the table closest to the bread.
The smell of hot food, fresh rolls, and overly-sweet Gatorade packets hung thick in the air.
Ryujin entered with Winter and Chaeryeong on either side of her, all still faintly flushed from the afternoon skate. She was in a loose sweater now, hair still damp from her post-practice shower, hands tucked into her sleeves.
She scanned the room once, not obviously . It was just enough to see where Yeji was already seated.
She was at the far side of the room, at a different table. She was surrounded by Karina, Casey, Yujin, and a few others. She was laughing at something Yujin said; a brief, rare smile flickering across her face before it settled back into calm.
The louder voices came from one of the middle tables, where Winter, Jinni, and Riley had settled into an easy, chaotic rhythm. They were deep into a debate about whether pudding or fruit cups had more “ post-game energy value, ” complete with hand gestures and mock-scientific theories. Riley insisted citrus was “ morally offensive after skate. ” Jinni dared her to mix Gatorade flavors to prove a point.
Across from them, Chaeryeong was quietly sipping soup, occasionally glancing up at the chaos like she was cataloguing it for a report she would write later. Every so often, she nudged Winter’s cup back from the edge of the table with quiet precision.
A few tables down, the veterans held court in a quieter way. They did not say much, but when they did, people listened. Seulgi told a story about a gold-medal locker room that made half the table lean in. Jeongyeon had a joke that made even Coach Harper crack a smile.
Newer players like Yujin and Casey hovered at the edges, absorbing everything, the voices, the roles, the unwritten rules already taking shape.
Coach Donovan rose near the end of the meal, and the room stilled almost immediately. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
“You’re here because you belong here,” he said simply. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll have to prove that. Not just with skill but with trust.”
The other coaches also stood to speak. Welcome speeches were made. Harper’s was short and sharp, and Maddox cracked two jokes that actually landed.
There was no applause. Just a quiet understanding that settled over the room like a drawn breath. The kind of moment no one wanted to interrupt.
Dinner carried on after that. The conversations picked up again, a little slower, a little steadier. Some players leaned closer to speak. A few traded pieces of bread or asked to try someone else’s dessert. There was a little more laughter, a little less noise.
A few players swapped bites. Some started teasing each other for who went for a second round of food. Others leaned in closer when they laughed, shoulders brushing without flinching.
Tomorrow would be different. The weight of systems work, the first full-gear drills, maybe even the start of line combinations. Real plays this time, not just movement, but execution. Strategy. Pressure. The kind of work where every stride meant something, where eyes would be on them not to measure speed, but connection, chemistry, and readiness. Everyone would be watching. Everyone would be trying to measure up.
Chapter Text
The rink felt colder that morning, not from the temperature but from the shift in atmosphere. Yesterday’s light skate and laughter were replaced by clipped instructions, whiteboard diagrams, and the low scrape of blades preparing for real drills. No more coasting. No more ice breakers. This was where the team began to form… or fracture . The kind of atmosphere that settled into your shoulders the moment you stepped onto the ice. Coaches were already speaking in shorter sentences. The cones were arranged with tighter spacing. Everyone knew what this day meant.
This was the start of real systems work. No more individual skill assessments or non-contact skate-arounds. Now it was about structure. Movement. Pairings. Trust .
Ryujin was early. Not by much, but early enough to watch the boards fog with breath as more players trickled in. She was in full gear, stick in hand, chewing the inside of her cheek as she skated slow laps to stay warm. Her focus bounced from the whistle in Coach Donovan’s hand to the diagram Harper was scribbling onto a whiteboard near the benches. Her pulse was not racing, but she could feel it in her throat anyway.
Across the ice, Yeji stepped out with the second wave. Calm, composed, her strides as efficient as ever. No wasted movement. Her jersey was tucked a little neater than everyone else’s. Even the way she adjusted her gloves looked intentional.
When Coach Harper started calling another set of pairings, the words landed like a stone thrown into still water..
“Yeji with Ryujin.”
There was not a reaction. No gasps. No surprise.
Just a slight pause from a few nearby players. A beat of silence. Then a few glances exchanged; brief, knowing. No one said it aloud, but everyone had been waiting for this.
They had seen the clips. The rival games. The mic’d-up chirps and postgame interviews with too-tight smiles. Now, they were teammates. Now, they had to work together.
Their next drill was straightforward. D-to-wing regroup out of the zone. Yeji would recover the puck behind the net, Ryujin would loop wide for an outlet pass, and they would transition up the ice together. It should have been easy. It was simple, on paper .
But the first pass was mistimed. The rhythm was wrong. Ryujin skated her route too fast. The puck hit her heel and skittered away.
They reset.
The next rep was no better.
Yeji hesitated on the next release, waiting a second too long. Ryujin’s cut was already done. The pass floated behind her.
They reset again.
Yeji gave a quick, quiet cue, and Ryujin did not hear it, or ignored it. The puck caromed off her blade, bounced into the neutral zone, and Coach Maddox gave a sharp whistle.
“Reset,” he said, clipped. “Together.”
Ryujin muttered something under her breath. Yeji did not look at her.
The third attempt ended in a soft collision, nothing dangerous, just a misread angle. Yeji backed off immediately, jaw tight.
From the bench, Chaeryeong let out a low whistle. “They’re either going to murder each other or win us gold.”
Winter deadpanned. “Maybe both.”
“You’re crowding the lane,” Yeji said, voice low, clipped.
Ryujin’s reply came without looking at her. “You waited too long.” Her grip on her stick tightened just slightly.
Around them, the rest of the team noticed.
Not blatantly. No one pointed. No one whispered. But there was a subtle shift in the energy; an awareness. Pairs like Madison and Jules moved through the drills smoothly, quiet but coordinated. Yuna and Karina worked in rhythm, adjusting on the fly without breaking tempo. Riley and Winter were chaotic but effective. They still managed to time their bursts, laughing between reps even when they got it wrong.
Only Ryujin and Yeji moved like they were speaking two different languages, sharp edges and clipped responses, skating side by side but never with each other.
“They’re not reading each other yet,” Harper said.
“No,” Maddox agreed. “But they’re reacting. That’s something.”
“Maybe try matching the pace of the play, not just outrunning it.” Yeji said again.
Ryujin fired back, “Maybe try giving me a heads-up before you switch angles like a GPS rerouting mid-turn.”
No one said anything but every player was listening now.
Coach Maddox leaned toward Donovan. “If they can’t even time a breakout—”
“Let them fight it out,” Donovan said quietly. “It’s either going to click or combust. But either way, they need to feel it first.”
Coach Donovan did not step in right away. He watched from the blue line, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
But Coach Harper did.
After their fifth missed connection, she blew her whistle again, short and sharp, and pointed with her stick.
“Talk. To. Each other.”
Ryujin exhaled hard through her nose. Yeji did not turn to face her, just nodded once and skated back into position.
The next rep was marginally better. Not fixed, just functional. Yeji held the puck longer. Ryujin adjusted her speed earlier. The pass was still off by inches, but this time it connected.
“Better,” Yeji muttered.
Ryujin did not answer.
When the whistle blew to signal a water break, the team drifted toward the benches in small clusters. Helmets came off, water bottles passed around. There was chatter in pockets: Riley reenacting a near-collision, Chaeryeong quietly explaining a transition cue to Yujin, Karina jotting something in her notebook at the end of the bench.
Ryujin stood back from it all, her towel pressed to her neck, eyes scanning the whiteboard again even though the drill was over.
Yeji was two players away, arms folded, talking quietly with Seulgi and Coach Donovan. She had not said another word to Ryujin since the drill ended.
The silence between them was sharper than any mistake on the ice.
The skate had ended, but the tension had not.
Yeji stood near the boards, one hand gripping her stick, the other resting against the edge of the bench as she caught her breath. Her legs were fine. Her body felt steady. But her head… her head was somewhere else. Somewhere between the ice and the space she had not let herself look.
Ryujin was somewhere behind her, just outside her line of sight. Yeji did not need to turn around to know. She could always tell by the way the air felt thicker, the way her focus slipped without warning, the way her thoughts frayed at the edges without ever fully unraveling.
They had not talked much since media day.
Yeji meant to keep things normal. She always did.
But the photoshoot had caught her off guard. Not the cameras. Not the poses. She was used to those. It was the moment they had finished, when Ryujin stepped just a little closer for that last shoulder-to-shoulder shot, grinning like she knew something Yeji did not.
And Yeji had smiled too, because she had to, but right after the final click of the shutter, her heart had done something she could not explain. Just… skipped . Not metaphorically. Physically. A jolt behind her sternum. Real and sharp.
She did not know what to do with that feeling.
So she had done what she always did when something did not fit: she pulled back.
Whatever that heartbeat moment was, it was not useful. It was not professional. And it was not going to happen again. So Yeji told herself it did not matter.
It was probably just adrenaline. Or the energy of that day. Or the proximity. That had to be it. Ryujin had stood too close. That kind of closeness, after everything between them. Years of rivalry, all that layered tension, of course it would stir something. Of course it would feel weird.
She knew it was because of Ryujin. Or rather, the version of Ryujin that kept appearing in her blind spots, in the space between jokes, in the look she gave when she thought Yeji was not paying attention, in the silence that somehow said more than their banter ever did.
But that did not mean anything.
Yeji exhaled slowly through her nose, focusing on the sting in her quads. That was something real. Tangible. Understandable. Tight muscles from a long skate. Dry mouth from too little water. The clean burn of a drill gone wrong. Those were sensations she could deal with.
The drills were a mess. Their timing was off. Ryujin was skating too fast in some zones, not fast enough in others. Her passes were either early or rushed. Their spacing was clumsy. But the worst part was not the mistakes— it was the silence .
Yeji was not used to silence from Ryujin.
She was used to chirps, snark, shoulder bumps that bordered on too familiar. But now Ryujin barely looked at her, let alone said anything. And Yeji did not know how to break that silence without exposing something she had not figured out yet.
Coach Harper had told them to talk. Yeji nodded, kept her face neutral, and skated to the next rep.
It had gone better. Technically. But nothing about it felt right.
Now, as the team huddled for the next set of instructions, Yeji kept her focus on Donovan’s voice, letting it anchor her. She folded her arms across her chest, eyes trained on the whiteboard, jaw locked just tight enough to keep everything in place.
She could not afford this distraction. Not today. Not ever, really.
So she did not look at Ryujin. She did not speak to her. She did not let herself remember that stupid heartbeat moment in front of a backdrop and a camera.
The clatter of gear filled the locker room first: helmets hitting benches, pads unstrapped, zippers dragged halfway before someone gave up and tugged their jersey over their head in one motion. The kind of rhythm that teams fell into without needing to coordinate it. It was not organized. But it was familiar.
The sharp chill of the rink was already fading into the warm, dry air of the locker room. Steam curled off skin still cooling from effort. A few players stretched out their backs with tired groans; others flopped against the walls and let the weight of their gear hold them in place.
Winter had taken up residence on the floor in front of her stall, legs outstretched, arms behind her head like she was lounging on a beach. “If anyone asks,” she said, “this is active recovery.”
Riley flicked her in the forehead and tossed her a towel. “Active brain rot,” she muttered, but with the kind of affection only teammates earned.
Jules was helping a younger forward unbuckle a stubborn shin guard. Seulgi was already halfway changed, tying her shoelaces in the corner with the same calm she carried on the ice. Nearby, Lia was doing slow ankle rolls while sipping a protein shake, listening to Karina and Yuna debate something about forecheck patterns.
The room was full of movement, but it was the kind that masked fatigue; the buzzing restlessness that followed a morning where everyone knew something had been off.
No one mentioned the pairing. No one said anything about Ryujin and Yeji. But the silence was loud, it seemed so deafening.
Ryujin sat at her stall, jersey peeled halfway down, hands resting on her knees. Her gaze was fixed somewhere in the middle distance, not at anyone in particular, but not unfocused either. Her hair clung damply to her temple. Her stick was already racked, gear stacked with too much order for someone usually so loose.
Chaeryeong sat next to her, scrolling through something on her phone, not commenting on the skate. She did not need to. Ryujin had not brought it up, and Chaeryeong was not the type to poke a bruise unless asked.
Across the room, Yeji unlaced her skates with methodical precision. One pull, then the next. Even, measured, repeat. Her head was down. Her expression was unreadable. Her gloves were folded neatly beside her stall.
There had been no words exchanged between her and Ryujin since the final whistle.
And maybe no one had said anything, but everyone had noticed.
The rest of the team filled the silence with their own noise, the usual banter, complaints about sore legs, jokes about who had the worst pass today. But underneath it all, there was a question building. Quiet. Curious. No one had the nerve to ask it yet.
The video room was not fancy. It was just a narrow, low-lit space with three rows of chairs, a whiteboard to one side, and a projector screen that flickered faintly as Coach Donovan cued up the first set of clips. Players filtered in slowly, most with water bottles or protein bars in hand. A few groaned when they realized there were no beanbags this time, just straight-backed chairs and a long hour ahead of system breakdowns.
The lights were dimmed just enough to keep faces unreadable, which Ryujin was thankful for. She had taken a seat near the back of the room, slouched low with her hoodie still half-zipped, knees drawn up like she needed the extra shield. Everyone else had settled in with that quiet, collective fatigue that followed drills; a few yawns, a few mumbled jokes, but the tone was mostly still.
Yeji settled into the middle row, third seat from the left. Close enough to see every puck miscue and defensive rotation without needing to squint, but far enough back to keep her posture relaxed. She crossed one leg over the other and kept her arms loosely folded, but her attention was razor-sharp the moment the footage rolled.
They started with forecheck systems, two clips of Group B fumbling neutral zone pressure, one near-turnover behind their own net.
Coach Maddox paused the video. “Alright. Stop. Look at the weak side pressure here.”
Yeji’s eyes were already there, noting the hesitation in coverage, the late swing by the center. She did not write anything down, not yet, but the mental notes came fast and clean: Zone collapse delayed. Weak side winger floated too wide. Repetition needed on puck support angles.
She would transfer them later. She always did. Not during the session, when it could draw attention. She waited until she was alone and the tension was gone. Then she would write fast, concise lines into her black notebook, a quiet ritual she had never let anyone read.
The video clips started with system breakdowns from earlier scrimmages, nothing surprising. Ryujin half-watched the opening few, a sloppy change here, a blown coverage there. It was not until Coach Harper switched to the defensive zone clips that her stomach tensed.
She saw the play before it came.
Her skates on the far side. Her cut was too wide. Yeji’s pass was already in motion before she could adjust. The puck skidded just out of reach, forcing a dump-in and breaking any chance at clean possession.
It played in real time, five seconds tops. But in Ryujin’s head, it stretched painfully long, like watching herself trip in slow motion and being helpless to stop it.
Coach Harper paused the video. “What went wrong here?”
Silence. Not awkward… Just expectant.
Ryujin did not speak.
She was not sure if it was because she did not know what to say or because she knew exactly what to say and did not want to hear it aloud.
Then Yeji’s voice came in, calm and flat. “Timing was off. The route wasn’t shallow enough. And I held the puck too long.”
Ryujin did not flinch, but something twisted beneath her ribs. The evenness of Yeji’s tone made it worse, like the mistake had already been filed away, analyzed, and moved past.
Ryujin did not feel past it.
She sat still and watched herself on screen chasing a puck she should have had, watching the body language she had trained to stay loose tighten at the edges.
In her mind, a dozen defensive chirps came to her, stuff she used to say back in Cyclones training, half-mocking, half-deflecting. "Guess I'm too fast for you again." Or "Next time, give me something I can work with."
But she did not say any of it.
Not now.
Because the truth was, Yeji had been right. Ryujin’s loop had been too wide. Her stick had not been in position. The timing was her job, too. She just did not want to hear it spoken with that calm authority. She did not want the correction delivered like it was not personal.
But it was. Everything with Yeji always had been.
Yeji, on the other hand, did not let her face react.
Her thoughts moved with practiced efficiency: Adjust spacing. Cue earlier. Cut angle by half a stride. Let the puck go sooner.
She would write that down too, later. Along with the tiny cue she had not said aloud: match her speed instead of managing it.
Clip after clip rolled, most not about Yeji, some barely relevant to her position, but she logged them anyway. Lia’s lateral slide speed. Yuna’s tracking shift. Riley’s scramble recovery. Everything mattered. Every frame had a lesson. A pattern. A fix.
The rest of the film session rolled on, a blur of clips and coaching points. Ryujin stared at the screen and nodded at the right moments, but her mind had already broken off from the group. She kept replaying that shift in her head, the exact second their connection had failed.
She was not used to being out of sync. And definitely not with Yeji.
The second day of drills began under brighter rink lights and sharper expectations. Yesterday’s footage had done its job: everyone skated with more urgency, more attention, voices carried clearer across the ice. Coaches did not have to repeat themselves.
The morning training opened with the same set of drills from the day before: breakout patterns, stretch passes, offensive zone reads. The kind of repetition that was meant to breed rhythm, not resentment. But so far, Ryujin and Yeji were still on the wrong side of that line.
There were no improvements, at first.
Their first breakout attempt stalled again. Ryujin’s stride was too fast, Yeji’s pass sailing short of her blade. The second rep was at a better angle, but the timing was still jagged. There was no flow. No ease.
They skated back to the line in silence.
Ryujin chewed the inside of her cheek, annoyed more than frustrated, like her body was misfiring on instincts that used to make her shine. She glanced at Yeji just once, a flick of her eyes, but Yeji did not look back.
She just stepped into position for the next rep.
The second attempt was even worse. Ryujin read the cue too early, Yeji’s outlet got deflected, and the puck died at the blue line.
Yeji reset in silence, stick tapped once against the ice, jaw tight. Her gloves curled around her stick just a little too firmly. Behind her mask, her breath steamed against the visor of her helmet.
And then, before the third rep, Yeji turned her head, not all the way, just enough.
“Just do what you usually do,” she said, calmly, almost too quietly. No edge. No frustration. Just clarity.
Ryujin blinked and swallowed, caught slightly off guard. She did not know what to do with that voice. The control in it. The trust being implicitly asked in it. She did not know if she should be wary of the ground shifting beneath her skates or completely drawn to it.
“Okay,” she said, voice low. Almost involuntary.
Ryujin took the puck on her terms this time. Sharp, fast, looping tighter. No adjustment. No compromise.
She had always been more instinct than structure. She did what was asked of her: do what she usually does , so her body moved before her mind could catch up. And Yeji did not just keep up, she matched her perfectly. Stick angle, stride length, body position. Every read was seamless.
She cut too deep, slashing out wide like it was a scramble instead of a system. The puck hit the boards on a weird angle and popped loose. Anyone else would have pulled up, reset, and waited for the next whistle.
Not Yeji.
She pivoted mid-glide, caught the errant puck with a glance, and adjusted, not with frustration, not with panic, but with the kind of calculated sharpness that looked effortless from a distance. One second, she was trailing behind; the next, she was threading a no-look backhand pass like she had known exactly where Ryujin would be before Ryujin even got there.
The puck landed clean on Ryujin’s tape.
And Ryujin, stunned but still moving, did the only thing that felt natural. She leaned into it, gliding forward in full stride like the entire sequence had been intentional. Like the chaos had been part of the plan. She took the shot without thinking.
Goal .
Only the sound of the puck rattling against the back of the net and the tail end of Yeji’s stride coasting her to a stop was heard. It was followed by Coach Maddox’ whistle echoing once in approval, sharp and short.
Winter blinked once. Slowly. “That was…”
“Ridiculous.” Chaeryeong finished it for her.
"I was gonna say that was so hot of Yeji, but that, too."
Then someone, probably Jinni, let out a low “Holy fucking shit”, and the bench erupted.
Ryujin even barely registered the sound. She was still blinking at the boards, breath visible in thin huffs. Her hands tightened around her stick, but her grip felt light. Almost weightless. She could not even remember the exact moment Yeji had pivoted. Only the result: clean, seamless, perfect .
Yeji had stayed up last night reviewing the footage, the angles, the pacing. She had written it all down, replayed it in her head, over and over. Not to control the next day, but to be ready for it. Ready for her .
And now she offered Ryujin the space to be herself on the ice: fast, instinctive, wild, while silently promising to meet her there.
She was not sure what shook her more: the pass itself, or the ease with which Yeji had executed it. Like it was nothing. Like Ryujin’s speed, her chaos, her unpredictability was not a problem to solve but a rhythm to catch. She had expected a correction. A glare, maybe. A clipped instruction. Instead, Yeji just met her in the middle, anticipated her, cleaned up the mess, and handed her a perfect setup with nothing but a glance and trust.
Yeji coasted past Ryujin in the reset line, calm and unreadable, her eyes ahead. Not smiling. Not smug. Just composed, as if she had not just dropped a puck into open space like a magician and threaded it through a collapsing drill.
“Match me next time,” Yeji said, calm and low, just enough for Ryujin to hear.
Ryujin blinked. She realized that Yeji had been the one matching her this whole time adjusting, syncing, finding her rhythm without a word. Just to prove it could be done. She did not know what to say. Something twisted low in her stomach; that familiar sensation she could not name. Was it nerves? Was it awe? Was it… attraction ?
Something in her chest fluttered. The faintest stutter of uncertainty and heat rising up to her face. She had no idea what was happening. All she knew was that Yeji had just read her like a system diagram and moved with her like they had been on the same line for years. Ryujin was not sure whether to be scared of that, or hopelessly, irreversibly drawn to it.
She did not know but her fingers tightened around her stick just slightly, and her voice came out quieter than she expected. “…Okay.”
Ryujin stood there for a second too long. Long enough for the line to shift around her. Long enough for her pulse to catch up.
Yeji was already in position, stick down, gaze forward. She did not look back to see if Ryujin was ready.
Ryujin shook out her arms again, rolling her shoulders like she could loosen whatever was wound tight inside her chest. The pass had been perfect… too perfect. And now she was supposed to return it. Match it. Match her.
She took her place on the drill without overthinking it. Or at least, she tried not to. She told herself this was not anything different. Just another rep. She had skated thousands. She had matched faster players. Smarter systems. Harder reads.
But Yeji was not just a system. She was Yeji.
The whistle blew.
Ryujin moved fast and sharp, cutting toward the half boards before slicing up into the zone. She kept her eyes on Yeji’s posture, watching her hips shift, her weight settle. Yeji started the transition smooth as ever, drawing pressure wide before swinging the puck back inside. It was Ryujin’s cue to fill the lane.
She hesitated.
Only by a second. Half a second, maybe.
But it was enough.
She cut late. The puck slipped past her blade and skittered awkwardly toward the corner boards. She reached for it, overextended, and nearly lost an edge as she overcorrected.
It was not a disaster. She recovered fast enough to salvage the zone entry but it was sloppy. Off-tempo. The rhythm they had hit in the last drill was gone, replaced by a missed cue and silence.
No whistle this time. No reaction from the coaches. Just the faint scrape of Yeji stopping behind her. The sound of restraint.
Ryujin turned her head slightly, unsure of what she would find. Disappointment, maybe. Or indifference. But Yeji was already looking away, skating back into line. No expression. No comment.
And somehow, that was worse.
Ryujin dragged her blade across the ice once, lightly. Just to feel something under her. She had tried to adjust. To match. To slow herself down long enough to see the play as Yeji did.
And she failed.
Not technically. But personally.
She was not used to chasing plays, especially not ones she wanted so badly to get right.
By the time she lined up again, her breathing had evened out, but her thoughts had not. They looped the same three seconds over and over: the hesitation, the near-trip, the sound of Yeji not saying anything.
The sun had dipped below the trees outside, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor of the team dorms. Inside the shared room, Ryujin sat cross-legged on her bed, a hoodie tugged over her head and her damp hair pulled back, not quite dry from the post-practice shower. The room was quiet. Winter and Chaeryeong were still out somewhere, probably grabbing coffee or trading chirps in the common area.
Ryujin had claimed the silence the second they left.
She had not turned on the lights. Her phone sat face-down on the nightstand. The only sound in the room was the occasional hum of the heating vent.
That pass Yeji made earlier, the no-look backhand, mid-glide, like she had anticipated Ryujin’s chaos and not only accepted it but built around it, it had not left her mind all day. It had burrowed in, quiet and undeniable. Not because it was beautiful, though it was . But because of what it meant.
Yeji studied her. Enough to know not just where she was, but where she would be.
And Ryujin choked the moment she was asked to return it. The drill was not the problem. It was that Yeji had moved with confidence and calmness, and Ryujin had faltered under the weight of it. Not because she was afraid of failing. She could handle that. She had bounced back from a thousand blown plays.
But something about Yeji asking her to match quietly, without expectation, without instruction, had unspooled something deep. Ryujin was not sure if she felt exposed… or completely disarmed.
She had failed to match her. Not because she could not. But because part of her wanted it too much.
And that terrified her more than the silence that followed.
She tilted her head back against the wall, letting her eyes close. Tried not to replay Yeji’s voice from earlier low and firm, right behind her ear:
“Match me next time,”
Ryujin exhaled through her nose slowly.
Her mind had stopped running at around 10 o’clock that night after a short walk. Or so she thought.
The halls were quiet by then. The kind of quiet that only came when curfew loomed and most of the team had already retreated into their rooms. A few muffled laughs slipped out from behind closed doors. Somewhere down the corridor, someone’s shower was still running.
Her hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, the leftover adrenaline of the day still humming under her skin. She had not meant to go out this late. She just needed air, movement, space to sort through thoughts she could not understand.
Her feet stopped on their own when she reached the door marked for Yeji’s room, just right in front of hers. She hesitated a full minute, then knocked, two quick taps, quiet enough not to wake anyone if they were already asleep.
The door cracked open, and Yeji appeared, barefooted, hair slightly tousled from a towel, dressed in a loose shirt and soft shorts. She looked relaxed, in that off-duty kind of way. But her eyes were alert the second she saw Ryujin.
“Yeah?” she asked, low but not cold.
Ryujin leaned in slightly, scanning behind her without meaning to. Just a reflex to check if anyone else was there. She knew Yeji roomed with Lia, Karina, and Yuna, and she did not want an audience for this.
Yeji must have read her glance, because she stepped into the doorway and pulled it half-closed behind her.
“They’re all in the kitchen looking for some snacks.” she said. “What is it?”
“I want to run the drill again,” Ryujin said finally. Her voice was lower than usual. No swagger. No deflection. Just the truth.
Yeji blinked. “Now?”
Ryujin shook her head. “Tomorrow. Early. Six?” She hesitated. Then in a quieter voice, she added, “Just us.”
Yeji studied her for a beat. Not long. Just enough.
“Okay.”
No questions. No reasons.
That should have been enough, but Ryujin did not move. Not yet.
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “Something else?”
““I just…” Ryujin looked down, fingers tugging at the hem of her sleeve. “I want to get it right.”
Yeji leaned her shoulder gently into the doorframe. Not soft, not hard. Just present. The silence stretched until Yeji finally spoke, voice cool but unmistakably direct. “You’re overthinking.”
Ryujin did not look at her. “Maybe I’m not thinking enough.”
Yeji’s voice did not rise. “No. You’re second-guessing.”
Ryujin scoffed, peeling her fingers off the fabric of her hoodie. “Sorry I can’t read your mind.”
There was a moment of stillness. Yeji’s voice was a little lower now, “You don’t have to. You just have to listen.”
Ryujin looked up and met her eyes. There was no bite there. No mockery. Just… clarity. Steady and unflinching. Like Yeji already knew where this was headed and was just waiting for her to catch up.
That was somehow worse. Ryujin swallowed down the instinct to lash out and say something sarcastic to deflect. Instead, she nodded once, small. “I’ll get it.”
Yeji did not blink.
“I know.”
And that was it.
Ryujin gave her a small, grateful nod, the kind that did not ask for anything more. Then she turned, retreating back toward her own room before she could regret what she had just done.
Behind her, Yeji stood in the doorway a second longer, staring down the hall.
Neither of them knew exactly what they were stepping into.
Chapter Text
The alarm did not wake her.
She had already been awake.
Ryujin’s eyes were open before the digital numbers on the clock blinked past 5:37 AM. Her body felt heavy, too warm beneath the blanket, her limbs stiff from lying still for too long. The room was silent, aside from the low hum of the heating system and the faint sound of Chaeryeong and Winter breathing evenly from across the room.
She had not slept well. Again.
Her thoughts had been looping all night, replaying each misread from the last team session. The wide lane she cut too early. The regroup she mistimed. The brief flash of Yeji’s eyes meeting hers during a drill reset. It should not have meant anything. But it did.
Ryujin rolled over quietly and reached for her hoodie. Her fingers brushed the digital clock on the nightstand as she pulled it toward her, squinting at the numbers: 5:39 . She did not need to leave until 5:50, but she swung her legs over the bed anyway.
Her body moved on instinct. Hoodie over her head, sweatpants, ankle socks, gear bag over her shoulder. She glanced once toward Chaeryeong, still fast asleep. She considered leaving a note, then thought better of it. No one needed to know.
The facility lights had not been fully turned on when she stepped into the rink. Only one row of overheads glowed along the far side, casting cold white reflections across the untouched ice. It was the kind of silence only early mornings allowed— thick, undisturbed, almost sacred.
Ryujin walked the familiar hallway with her stick resting against the side of her leg, the blade tapping softly with each step. Her breath clouded faintly in the chilled air as she reached the benches.
Yeji was already there.
No words passed between them. No greeting. No challenge. No playful chirps or nods of rivalry. Just a quiet acknowledgement. A glance, nothing more. She was standing at the edge of the ice, adjusting the tape on her gloves, her helmet dangling from her elbow. She looked over once when Ryujin approached, then looked away. Not dismissively, just… measured.
Ryujin sat down at the bench, dropped her bag with a thud, and began lacing her skates. She moved efficiently, fingers tugging sharp and fast through the loops.
When she finally stepped onto the ice, Yeji was already skating.
It was not fast nor dramatic. Just long, clean strides that cut across the surface like they belonged there. She moved like someone reading the ice with her whole body, listening to the way it responded beneath her blades. Ryujin followed a few seconds later, more force behind her steps, her momentum sharper, like her muscles had not yet caught up to her mind.
The silence between them held.
It was not cold in the rink, but it felt cold anyway. Not the kind that settled into the skin; the kind that settled in the silence. The kind that filled space when two people shared too much history and not enough direction.
No warmup drills had been written out. No cones laid in patterns. No coach shouting instructions from the bench. It was just the two of them. Teammates now, despite years of playing on opposite sides of the line, still unsure how to shift.
Ryujin went to the center. Her shoulders were loose but alert, her stick draped across the backs of her forearms. Even now, with tension winding quietly through her spine, she moved like someone always in motion. She was born to be fast, built to move first and figure it out later.
Yeji followed a few seconds behind. Her eyes scanned the rink like it was a blueprint, calculating angles, reading lanes. Ryujin was all instinct; Yeji was all analysis.
Two completely different languages spoken on the same sheet of ice.
“Breakout?” Yeji asked, her voice flat but not unfriendly.
Ryujin gave a small shrug. “Sure.”
No more than that.
They began slowly, without coordination. Their first few reps were simple: straight-line breakouts, neutral zone regroup patterns. No structure. No defined tempo. They drifted across different lanes like orbiting planets, close enough to notice each other but never quite overlapping. Ryujin favored her usual wide cuts, explosive and sharp. Yeji stayed tight to the boards, reading the edges, always facing forward.
They passed without calling for it. Read each other through habit, not trust. A tap of the stick. A slight shift of the shoulders. Nothing was fluid yet, but it was clean. Mechanical, perhaps, but without sloppiness.
When Ryujin misread Yeji’s timing and missed a regroup pass, there was no sigh from Yeji. No correction. She just circled back into formation and sent another puck along the line, flat and clean.
By the fourth rep, Ryujin caught it without a hitch. She skated the entry smooth, cut into the slot, and fired on instinct, the puck clinked off the boards behind the net. It did not matter. This morning was not about scoring.
It was about rhythm.
By the sixth rep, the tension in their shoulders had faded slightly. Not relaxed, but no longer braced for failure. Their movements remained separate, but something in the friction had softened.
They were not trying to win. They were simply trying to understand.
They ran the sequence again. And again. Seventeen minutes passed without a single word exchanged. Just the sound of their blades carving the ice, the soft tap of sticks receiving passes, and their breath fogging faintly in the morning chill.
Eventually, Yeji coasted to the red line. She did not look at Ryujin when she spoke.
“Again?”
Ryujin hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
One more. Then another.
They ended on a breakout that felt different. The pass was sharp. The lane was clean. No one flinched. No one forced the timing. It just worked.
Ryujin looped back toward the bench with a quiet exhale, a little surprised by the lightness in her chest. She had not realized how tense she had been until it was gone.
They took off their gloves and unbuckled their pads in silence. Yeji rested her stick against the wall and peeled off her elbow pads with clean, practiced motions. Ryujin watched her for a moment, not because she needed to, but because the quiet between them now felt different than it had at the start. Not empty. Just... open.
She cleared her throat as she tugged her hoodie back over her hair.
That was it.
No smile. No handshake. No conclusions.
They left the rink the way they came in; separately, quietly, side by side but not together .
By the time they reached the dorm doors, the first hints of gold were beginning to stretch across the sky. Inside, the building was still hushed. There were no footsteps in the hall, no teammates rushing for coffee or tape or breakfast trays. Just muted stillness.
Ryujin pulled the door open without looking back, holding it long enough for Yeji to follow. They parted ways once they reached their room hallway without a word, slipping off in opposite directions: Ryujin heading toward her room, Yeji heading toward the room in front of Ryujin’s. No goodbye. Just the low click of the door behind them, and the shared, quiet understanding that they would be back on the ice again. Same time, same place.
Ten minutes later, the dorm hall began to stir. Sneakers hit tiles. Doors creaked open. The rhythm of the day started again.
But for Ryujin and Yeji, it had already begun.
By the time official training began that afternoon, the rink felt entirely different from the quiet morning Ryujin and Yeji had shared. The lights were all on now, sharp and clinical, casting long shadows across the ice. Music thumped faintly through the speakers, some chaotic pop playlist likely hijacked by Riley or Chaeryeong. Coaches moved with intent across the benches, clipboards in hand, whistling players into motion.
The team was loud. Not unfocused, just alive.
Winter chirped at Jinni for flubbing her first warmup shot. Lia tossed a puck into the net from the far blue line while Karina groaned in mock frustration. The group was not polished yet, but they were bonding messily and noisily, in that specific way that only teams with both promise and pressure could.
Still, beneath the chaos, the undercurrent of evaluation was everywhere.
The coaching staff moved with deliberate detachment, watching everything. They rarely spoke above a few clipped words. No exaggerated praise, no harsh corrections. Just pens scratching across clipboards, eyes narrowing during every rep.
They had started to group players by likely combinations, though nothing official had been said. The patterns were becoming clear: Seulgi and Yeji frequently rotated together during defensive drills, especially in high-pressure scrimmage sets. Ryujin often found herself paired with Riley and Winter; a quick, creative line that could overwhelm opponents with speed but still lacked structure.
Coach Donovan stood back for most of the practice, arms folded, expression unreadable. But occasionally, he leaned over to speak quietly with Coach Harper, his eyes following specific pairings. Once, during a three-on-two cycle drill, he nodded toward Yeji and muttered something under his breath. Harper marked her clipboard and did the same when Ryujin blew past a defender with a sharp cut, nearly colliding with a goalie.
They were watching closely. Especially Ryujin. Especially Yeji.
And somewhere in between, they were watching both of them together.
Despite the early skate and the quiet rhythm building between them, Ryujin and Yeji’s pairing during morning training still felt off. There were no arguments, no visible tension, but there was no fluency either. The timing lagged by half a second. Passes connected late. They skated beside each other without clashing, but also without rhythm.
Yeji stayed calm throughout, focused as ever, but she glanced up more often than usual watching Ryujin’s spacing, adjusting her own positioning, trying to read a pattern that refused to settle. Ryujin, for her part, moved with sharp intent, but the frustration was beginning to fray the edge of her movements. Her speed was still there. Her instincts too. But they kept landing just a fraction ahead of Yeji’s structure, just enough to disrupt flow.
They were not clashing anymore, but they were not connecting either.
Coach Donovan took quiet notes from behind the glass. Coach Maddox murmured something to Coach Harper during the fourth rep, her eyes on the third failed cycle. They were watching closely now, not to split them up, not yet. But the questions were growing.
On the ice, the drills continued. The energy stayed high, but fatigue was creeping in. Mistakes got sloppier. Stick lifts missed. Zone entries lost rhythm. Veterans like Jeongyeon and Seulgi adjusted by slowing the game down, grounding younger skaters back into structure. But Ryujin did not slow. She pushed harder, still chasing something she could not quite name.
Yeji noticed while she was watching from the bench.
It was during a transition drill that Ryujin swung too deep behind the neutral zone again. The rotation faltered. Her timing missed by just enough to kill the flow of the play. She hissed under her breath as the whistle blew, but before she could double back, Yeji skated over.
She did not raise her voice.
“You cut too deep,” she said quietly, almost conversationally. “You don’t need to be covering all three lanes.”
Ryujin turned to her, expecting sharpness.
But Yeji was not criticizing. Just… offering. “Trust your second forward. That’s what they’re there for.”
Then she skated off, clean and silent, like she had not just broken whatever fragile silence they had been maintaining.
From the bench, Coach Maddox noticed.
“They’re talking now,” she murmured to Coach Donovan, who nodded once without looking up.
“That’s good,” he said. “They’ll need it.”
Later in the skate, Ryujin rotated in on the same drill again, this time holding her lane tighter, trusting Riley on the opposite end to seal the wall. The pass was sharp. The play held. Coach Harper did not say anything, but she made a note.
The afternoon ended in short, five-minute scrimmage shifts. No score. Just speed and adjustments. The line combinations were rotated in bursts, giving coaches different looks.
Ryujin and Yeji never crossed the ice at the same time.
But once, as Yeji was subbing out, she passed Ryujin on the change, their gloves brushing for just half a second. It was not deliberate.
But it was noticed.
By both of them.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of quiet meals, cold showers, and whiteboards: systems reviews, coach walk-throughs, and another film session that offered more questions than answers. Ryujin kept her head down. Yeji kept her notes tight. They crossed paths only briefly in the hallway outside the gym, nodding in silence before parting again.
But when the lights shut off across the dorms and curfew crept in like fog, the rhythm reset itself.
Just like before: no text, no knock. They were both up the next morning before the sun, moving on instinct.
Ryujin arrived a few minutes before six, her steps sharp and uneven. Her gear bag thudded against the bench with more force than necessary. Everything felt sharp. The cold, the silence, the weight in her chest.
She did not stretch. She did not pause. She laced her skates like she was racing herself, fingers jerking each loop tighter than necessary. Her Cyclones hoodie clung to her frame, damp from the walk over, a little too warm in the chest and too cold in the sleeves. She ignored it.
The first day of their private session had gone well. Not perfect, but better. And then something had shifted again during their training. The drills were cleaner, but her head was not. Her instincts felt split in half. Every pass she held too long, every shot came a second late. Her hands were not cooperating. It happened during training, it was happening again now.
First drill. A clean regroup, or it should have been. Ryujin overcut the zone again, and the pass behind her caught nothing but air. She muttered a curse and circled back, jaw tight.
Second rep. She held the puck too long. Too many options, too much noise in her head. The pass she finally forced was soft and late. Yeji had to dig to catch it.
Still, no lecture. No look of disappointment. Just a reset.
Third rep. Ryujin’s blade slipped slightly, and she bailed on the shot. “Fuck.”
They had gone through the same breakout drill four times. Each rep, she tried harder, skated faster, pushed tighter, threw herself into sharper pivots, but the puck still skittered just beyond reach, the rhythm still frayed at the edges. Her breathing came short and tight, not from exertion, but from the weight of not getting it. Again.
She growled under her breath, loud this time. She turned her back to the ice and skated straight to the glass, helmet tucked under her arm, gloves still on. She pressed her forehead to the cool pane like it could ground her.
“God, what is wrong with me,” she muttered, voice low but shaking.
Behind her, the sound of skates slicing ice, slow and steady. Then stillness.
Yeji watched her in that quiet, assessing way of hers. She did not say anything immediately. She just skated closer, slowly removing her gloves, one hand at a time.
“Ryujin.”
She did not answer.
“Ryujin,” Yeji said again, firmer.
Ryujin closed her eyes. Then, she felt a hand on her elbow. Gentle but insistent. Ryujin turned, half-defensive, half-ashamed. She braced herself for corrections, criticisms, and advice she knew she should have already known.
Yeji was closer than expected.
Ryujin froze. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes darted everywhere but Yeji’s.
But Yeji took one step closer. Taller by a few inches, and with her skates giving her even more height, she was looking down slightly now, not unkindly, just steadily, waiting.
“Hey,” she said again, voice softer and a bit lower. “Look at me.”
Before Ryujin could flinch away, Yeji reached up, quiet and steady, and held her face in both hands. No gloves, just cold palms against Ryujin’s jaw.
“Look at me .”
Slowly, Ryujin met her eyes.
There was no anger in Yeji’s face. No judgment. Just something steady. Familiar, in a way Ryujin did not know how to hold.
Yeji’s thumbs pressed lightly. Her voice did not waver. “I’m not the Sentinels’ captain right now. I’m not here to block you or beat you or put you on edge. I’m Yeji. ”
Ryujin’s eyes flicked down. Yeji followed her gaze.
She was still wearing her Sentinels hoodie; a dark navy with the white lettering stitched clean across the chest, the outline of her captain’s patch still faintly visible on the sleeve.
Ryujin’s lips twitched. “Kinda hard to forget, Cap.” she muttered, still glancing down. “You’re wearing your Sentinels hoodie. Could’ve fooled me.”
Yeji paused only long enough to register the weight behind the joke. Only then did Yeji start to move again, dropping her hands from Ryujin’s face, to remove her own elbow pads. The velcro peeled off with a sharp rip, echoing in the cavernous silence of the rink. She placed both pads carefully on the bench and straightened.
Then, without a word, she reached down to pull the hoodie over her head in one motion, tossing it onto the bench beside them. Underneath, she wore a fitted compression top, damp at the collar from earlier drills. Her shoulders rose with a slow inhale, then settled.
She looked at Ryujin. “Take your hoodie off.”
Ryujin hesitated. “What?”
“Take off the Cyclones hoodie.”
Ryujin’s eyes flickered and her eyebrows furrowed. She had no idea what was happening. Still, she pulled the teal-accented dark gray hoodie over her head and held it. The base layer and elbow pads, in contrast to the warm familiarity of her hoodie, left Ryujin more exposed, not just physically, but emotionally.
Yeji took the hoodie from her. The fabric was still warm, soft from wear, the dark gray fleece lined with faint streaks of sweat. On the back, stitched in bold white lettering, it read SHIN above the number 17, Ryujin’s name and number, bold and unmistakable.
Yeji studied it for only a second before tugging it on in one motion. It fit awkwardly. It was too wide at the shoulders and too short at the sleeves, but she wore it anyway. She picked up her elbow pads again and strapped them on over the hoodie.
It looked absurd. It bunched strangely at the wrist and puffed awkwardly around her biceps. But Yeji made no move to remove it.
For a second, Ryujin could not speak. Her usual comebacks, her bravado, her edge—it all blurred into static. Yeji, standing tall in her hoodie, meeting her gaze without blinking, was… disarming. Disorienting. The kind of calm that made her chest ache.
Ryujin looked at her, bewildered. “You’re seriously—?”
Yeji met her gaze. “You said it was hard to forget,” she said. “So let me remind you.”
“Remind me of what?”
“That right now, I am your teammate.” Her voice dropped. “You can trust me.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Ryujin could only stare.
The "SHIN 17" stitched across the back looked almost absurd stretched across Yeji’s lean frame, but somehow, it fit. Not physically. Not even stylistically. Just... fit.
“You look ridiculous.”
Yeji nodded, entirely unfazed. “Then you can stop trying to impress me.”
A moment passed before Ryujin’s shoulders dropped. Just slightly. Just enough, then nodded.
Ryujin opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Because the thing was, Yeji did look ridiculous in the most annoying, heart-punching way possible. Like she had claimed something Ryujin had never offered, and somehow still made it hers.
And for some stupid reason, Ryujin could not look away.
It was just a hoodie.
Ryujin was ready to tell her something sarcastic half-loaded, but before she could get the words out, Yeji reached into her duffel beside the bench and pulled something out. A folded Team USA practice jersey. White, with red and navy accents, clean and clearly spare, 98 written on the back.
She tossed it toward Ryujin with a soft flick of the wrist.
“Put that on,” Yeji said, almost casually. “You’re not skating out here in a base layer. You’ll freeze.”
Ryujin caught the jersey mid-air, blinking at it like it had personally insulted her. “I’m fine.”
“You’re shivering.”
Ryujin narrowed her eyes. “I am not.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “Then put it on to prove me wrong.”
It was not a request. It was the same tone Yeji used during drills—firm and clipped.
Ryujin hesitated a second longer, then let out a breath and slid the jersey over her head. It was slightly loose, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs, sleeves long enough to cover her wrists. The embroidered USA crest settled across her chest, crisp and heavy, like a second skin.
Yeji turned to face her again, calm and centered, already sliding her gloves back on.
Ryujin looked down at herself, then back at Yeji. She rolled her eyes but bit back the snark this time. Because the truth was—she felt warmer. Not just from the jersey, but from Yeji’s presence. From the gesture. From not having to carry it all herself.
Then, Yeji turned and skated back to center ice, number 17 across her back. It was not her number, not her name, but a reminder. She was not Ryujin’s rival today.
She was Ryujin’s teammate .
And when she stepped onto the ice moments later, gliding beside Yeji in a borrowed jersey while Yeji wore her hoodie beneath full gear, she realized something unsettling and stupid:
It felt like the first time she belonged. Not just on the team.
But next to her.
The rest of that early morning session passed in steady, deliberate silence.
Yeji never took the hoodie off. She wore it through every drill, the sleeves occasionally catching on the edge of her gloves, the neckline rumpled awkwardly beneath her gear. It should have been uncomfortable. But she never once adjusted it. Never once acknowledged it again. And Ryujin noticed.
They ran the breakout pattern again, this time from opposite sides. Ryujin initiated the movement, threading her way down the left lane while Yeji mirrored it from the right. It was the cleanest rep they had managed all week. No barking corrections. No stumbles. Just movement—synchronized, for once.
Ryujin was quieter now, not out of resignation but focus. Every time she adjusted her angle, she felt Yeji doing the same across the ice, like they were tethered to the same tempo without having to say it aloud. The puck moved between them cleaner now, flatter on the tape. Their edges cut tighter. The silence was no longer heavy—it was working.
They spoke only when needed.
"Higher."
"Switch lanes."
"Delay—again."
They flowed through drills for another thirty minutes, passing, regrouping, stretching the same play from different angles. Each time, Yeji matched her. Not perfectly, but intentionally. It was not just control anymore. It was trust. Ryujin could feel it.
And when Ryujin hesitated once, cutting too deep on a curl, Yeji adjusted mid-glide, did not call it out, just anchored her position in the neutral zone and shifted the play back into rhythm. Quietly. Cleanly.
By the time the sun began bleeding through the high windows above the far end of the rink, the air had turned from cold to breathable. Not warm. Not easy. But breathable.
Yeji coasted to a stop near center ice, chest heaving just slightly, and bent down to stretch. Her back arched, and the white SHIN 17 stitched across the gray hoodie pulled taut between her shoulder blades.
Ryujin let herself watch for a second too long before dropping into a stretch of her own.
“You sure you’re not going to ruin that hoodie?” she finally asked, voice low but light.
Yeji glanced at her, a faint sheen of sweat at her temple. “I’m wearing it until you stop second-guessing me.”
Ryujin smirked, shaking her head. “So never.”
Yeji’s expression did not change. But her voice softened. “Then I guess it’s mine now.”
After they wrapped up their drills, the rink fell back into silence. The only sounds left were the scrape of blades coasting toward the bench and the faint clatter of sticks being set down. They packed up slowly afterward.
Yeji pulled the Cyclones hoodie over her head and folded it absently, holding it against her side as Ryujin bent to pack up her stick.
Ryujin glanced up. “You can leave it here.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “It’s sweaty.”
Ryujin gave a small shrug. “So?”
“I’m washing it,” Yeji replied plainly, already tucking it under her arm. “You wore it three days in a row before this.”
“I was airing it out.”
“No, you were marinating it.”
Ryujin rolled her eyes, but her lips tugged slightly at the corners. “You’re washing it?”
“I am.” She answered.
A pause. Then Ryujin muttered, “You better fold it properly.”
Yeji gave her a look, amused but unreadable. “I’ll return it when it stops smelling like frustration.”
She turned before Ryujin could respond, walking toward the exit with the hoodie tucked securely under her arm. The SHIN 17 on the back was barely visible now, hidden in the folds but Ryujin saw it anyway, like a part of her leaving the rink slung under Yeji’s care.
They left the rink side by side. Still not saying much. Still not explaining what had shifted.
But in that last rep, in the rhythm of their turns, in the way they adjusted without asking—something had begun to settle. Tentative. Quiet.
And that, for now, was enough.
Chapter Text
They were alone again. They had been going at it for a week now.
Just the two of them, and the vast, empty rink still bathed in pre-dawn blue. The ice was clean. The boards echoed everything, every tap of a puck, every frustrated sigh. The only constant sound was the faint hum of the arena lights and the soft hiss of skates cutting narrow arcs into the surface.
Ryujin missed another timing window.
She had the puck, but the rhythm was off. Her drop pass clanked weakly against the boards, too far ahead of where Yeji was, not far enough for anyone else to pick up. A dead zone.
She let out a low groan. “I don’t get what I’m missing,” she muttered.
Yeji stepped forward into Ryujin’s space with the puck now in her hands. “You’re waiting to see where I'm going. You wait until I actually get there. By then, it’ll already be too late.”
Yeji did not push. She simply turned, gliding back toward center ice.
“I’m used to reacting to stuff. Not…” Ryujin hesitated, waving vaguely at Yeji. “Whatever it is you do.”
Yeji let that hang a moment. Then she said, “I don’t do anything unpredictable.”
“Exactly,” Ryujin shot back. “It’s like trying to sync with a metronome that doesn’t move.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
Ryujin blew out a breath and skated back toward the blue line. “Okay. Walk me through it again. How am I supposed to know where you’re going if you don’t say anything?”
“I am saying it. Just not with words.”
Ryujin groaned. “Okay, Obi-Wan.”
Yeji rolled her eyes. “Watch my shoulders, not my stick. My hips, not the puck. The blade lies. My body doesn’t.”
Ryujin blinked, slowly. That… actually made sense to her.
“Slow down. The signal’s there if you know where to look. Trust I’ll be there.”
It sounded… unfairly simple. Like Yeji had decided to hold the answers this whole time but only now started to share them. Like maybe she had always been doing more of the adjusting, while Ryujin was busy trying to prove she could match her.
Ryujin watched her skate, the ease in her form. How she never looked rushed, even when she was the fastest one out there. She hated how smooth it was. She admired it more than she wanted to admit.
She skated up beside her again, this time a little quieter.
“Do you trust me?” Ryujin asked, low and half-curious.
Yeji’s eyes flicked toward her. Not with surprise. Just sharp focus. “I wouldn’t be out here if I didn’t.”
The words landed like a clean pass: no frills, perfectly timed, no chance to miss.
“What if I mess up again?” she asked, quieter this time.
Yeji did not look away. “Then we try again.”
It was that simple. That matter-of-fact. Not a softness, exactly, but a kind of assurance Ryujin had never known Yeji to give freely.
Ryujin swallowed and nodded once, more to herself than to Yeji. “You ever taught anyone else like this?”
Yeji did not look at her. “No one else needed it.”
Ryujin was not sure whether to feel flattered or insulted. She grinned anyway. Then, she cleared her throat, deflecting. “Okay, whatever Cap. Let’s try again.”
Yeji smirked faintly. “Read my shoulders.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ryujin adjusted her grip and reset. “Show me where you’re going.”
This time, she tracked Yeji’s stride, not her stick. Caught the slight shift in weight, the way her shoulder dropped left before she veered right. Ryujin did not just anticipate — she also responded. She passed cleanly into Yeji’s path without overextending. No dead zone. No overreach.
Yeji caught it in stride and fired a shot into the top corner of the net.
She turned back, skating toward Ryujin, and said simply:
“Better.”
Ryujin exhaled, smiling despite herself. “You’re scary when you’re right.”
Yeji cracked a smile, just subtle, only visible if anyone was paying enough attention. “Then you’ll be terrified by the end of camp.”
They reset, again and again, under the quiet dome of morning.
By the time they left the rink that morning, the sun had barely risen high enough. Their blades had long been racked, gloves aired out, but the memory of their last clean rep lingered; the sharp, perfect way Ryujin sent the puck forward and how Yeji had met it without breaking stride.
They did not talk much after.
There was no need to.
As they stepped into the locker room later that afternoon, surrounded by the thud of gear bags and the familiar rhythm of tape tearing, the dynamic shifted. Teammates joked, coaches gave sharp directives, and the atmosphere bristled with controlled energy. Scrimmage day brought tension, the kind that sorted lines and made first impressions stick.
When Coach Donovan called for teams, they ended up on the same line, on the same team. For the first time in the entire camp, neither of them flinched.
This was the first full-team scrimmage since training camp began. Real lines. Real rotations. Coaches behind the glass with clipboards. No slow drills. No do-overs. Just a rink full of the best players in the country and no room to hide.
The whistle blew, and the game was on.
The game moved fast. No pauses. No hand-holding. No warm-up. No easing into rhythm.
The blades were scraping, sticks tapping, red and white jerseys blurring past the blue lines like a heartbeat too quick. The rink felt colder today, or maybe that was just the nerves bleeding through the gear.
Ryujin and Yeji were on Red.
Jeongyeon, Karina, and Winter were circling like they had something to prove. A lot of people did today. This was not just a scrimmage, this was the first full run. Eyes were watching. Spots were on the line.
Yuna snagged the puck near center and sprinted down the middle. She looked at the corner, then slipped the puck to Jinni on the outside. Jinni hesitated for a moment too long and Jeongyeon came in hard from the right.
“Move it!” Seulgi called from the bench.
Too late.
The puck was stripped, and Jeongyeon flew down the ice with the smooth, lethal calm of someone who had been doing this for over a decade. Riley trailed just behind, yelling for the drop. Jeongyeon gave a subtle fake, turned wide, then fired from distance.
Lia, the Red Team’s goalie, caught it, barely. The clang of rubber on pads echoed across the boards.
From the bench, the red and white squads chirped each other nonstop.
The scrimmage continued. Fast transitions. Board battles. Yujin broke through twice on breakaways. Jinni got tripped and still managed to get a shot off. Sydney, the other goalie in camp, held strong with a string of saves that even Coach Harper whistled at.
“That’s three for white. Two for red.”
“You’d think someone on red knew how to backcheck—”
“You wanna go out there and try?” Riley called back, laughing.
The shifts rotated. Players switched out. Karina fired back with a crisp wrist shot on her next turn that pinged off the post. Seulgi and Madison crushed two forechecks in a row, drawing a cheer from the coaches. Jules, still pink in the face from earlier, recovered with a smooth pass that set up Yujin for an equalizer.
By the midpoint, it was tied 3 – 3.
The Red bench was louder, more alive. A mess of veterans and rookies shouting encouragement and roasting each other with the same breath.
“Yuna’s been on fire this whole period.”
“I think Jinni has PTSD now.”
“Someone keep Jeongyeon off the puck, please.”
By the third period, the rhythm had shifted. The combinations felt less chaotic. Voices started to overlap with confidence instead of panic.
“Behind you!”
“Middle’s open!”
“Watch low, watch low—switch!”
“Why do I feel like we’re close but still missing by a mile?” Ryujin muttered from the bench, pulling her gloves tighter.
Yeji did not answer right away. She just turned, angled slightly toward Ryujin, and said, low enough that only they could hear, “Next shift, if we get faceoff, I want you to hit the high slot. But do it without checking if I’m ready. Trust the lane.”
Ryujin frowned. “And what if the lane’s not open?”
“It will be.”
“What, you’ll just… make that happen?”
Yeji nodded once. “Yes.”
Ryujin gave her a look. “That’s bold.”
“That’s defense.” Yeji’s eyes did not waver. “I’m not just feeding you the puck, Ryujin. I’m clearing the zone for you before you even know it’s open. That’s my job. Trust me to do it.”
It was not arrogance. It was not even a challenge. It was certainty.
Ryujin let out a long breath, shoulders loosening slightly. Her usual smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Another shift.
Ryujin stepped forward first.
Yeji followed.
And when the puck dropped again and Red Team got the possession, Ryujin did not look for her. She skated hard to where she was meant to be.
She started her path. Long glide from the half boards, carving her edge, pivoting inside. No backward glance.
The puck slid ahead of her, dead into space. It came exactly when it should. She caught it with ease. Not only was it where she expected it, the entire passing lane had also been cleared. Clean. No defense. No hesitation. It was like Yeji had vacuumed the ice bare of trouble.
She turned her blade, caught the loose puck in one smooth motion, and rushed into the space Yeji had just carved like it had been made for her. No hesitation this time. She fired from the circle, no fancy stickwork, no dramatic spin.
Just speed. And trust.
The puck slipped between Sydney's pads and into the net. A goal as easy as breathing.
She turned instinctively, eyes scanning for her partner on the point.
Yeji was already looking at her.
And then — a wink.
Small. Subtle. But unmistakable.
Ryujin’s heart kicked.
She looked away first, laughing under her breath as she skated back toward center ice beside Winter, shaking her head in disbelief. Ryujin’s grin was slow and crooked, teeth tugging at her bottom lip like she could not help it.
Coach Donovan raised an eyebrow on the sideline, arms crossed. “They’re finally figuring it out.”
Harper checked her clipboard.
“Not perfect. But Ryujin is tracking Yeji better. Still needs to read her body earlier.”
“She’s learning,” Donovan added. “They both are.”
Maddox stood with his arms crossed behind the glass, watching without blinking. “That chemistry wasn’t there on day one,” he muttered.
“No,” Harper replied quietly beside him. “But something’s clicked.”
The final whistle blew. The score was close: 4–3 Red. Some players cheered. Others groaned. But everyone skated off with flushed cheeks and a heaviness in their legs.
On the bench, Ryujin sat down, flushed and breathless. She did not say anything. She just kept replaying the moment over in her head: the lane opening, the puck finding her blade, the wink.
Yeji handed her a water bottle. “Not bad.”
“You gonna start complimenting me now?” Ryujin asked, voice teasing.
“That was not a compliment.”
Ryujin rolled her eyes but took the water anyway.
The team heard Coach Donovan’s whistle for the final huddle. The team gathered loosely in the center. Shoulder to shoulder. Still buzzing. Still burning with heat and effort.
Karina slapped Ryujin’s helmet as they skated off. “You two connecting now, huh?”
“It’s a work in progress,” Ryujin replied, lips twitching.
From behind, Chaeryeong added with a grin, “She’ll be insufferable if they start scoring regularly.”
Winter nodded solemnly. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”
Coach Donovan stood at the middle circle as everyone was settling in. Some were leaning on sticks, others were chugging water.
“That,” he began, voice even, “was better.”
A few players shifted their weight, nodding faintly.
“Not perfect. Not polished. But better. We’re starting to look like a team instead of just a collection of last names.”
Eyes flicked across the huddle. Ryujin stood near the back, one glove off, watching her skates. Yeji stood on the opposite side, posture straight, unreadable, but still breathing hard from the final push.
“We saw adjustments,” Coach Harper added. “Mid-play. Mid-mistake. Some of you made room for each other. Some of you picked up coverage you wouldn’t have seen last week.”
“There were moments today,” Donovan continued, “where the puck moved before the thought finished forming. That’s when it starts to work.”
His eyes flicked toward Yeji, then to Ryujin. A pause. But no direct callout.
“Remember those moments. Build on them. You’ve got eight days left. Tomorrow, we tighten pairings. First lines will be under evaluation. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”
Then he stepped back, and the huddle broke apart into claps on the back, the thump of sticks against shin guards, and the sharp scrape of blades cutting toward the exit tunnel.
Their rest day had finally rolled around.
The Friday morning lounge was quieter than usual.
Most of the team had sprawled out in the common area after breakfast, some curled into hoodies and blankets, others half-dozing through a muted rewatch of last year’s gold medal game. The lights were dimmed, the heat turned up too high, and everything felt light in the way only a rest day could be.
Someone had made tea. Someone else was half-asleep with their feet on the coffee table. Everything was low and slow, like the whole floor had exhaled.
Ryujin sat curled into a corner of the couch, one leg tucked underneath her, her phone forgotten in her hand. She was not even paying attention to the game. Her hoodie was pulled halfway over her face, earbuds tangled in her lap.
Her eyes were somewhere else.
Yeji was seated across the room, stretched out in the armchair by the window with a worn paperback balanced on her knee. She had not turned the page in a while, though. Her gaze had drifted upward, focused vaguely on the glass, where her own reflection was layered faintly against the snowy trees outside.
She looked… still. Not the cold, calculated stillness Ryujin knew from the ice. The calm before a perfect pivot or a defensive read. This was something quieter. Unguarded. She was not posturing. She was not analyzing. She was not even aware she was being watched.
Ryujin was watching. Not in the obvious way. Not in a way anyone else would have noticed. But she was.
Yeji was not doing anything. Just… existing. And Ryujin could not stop watching her.
At first, it had been tactical. She was supposed to study Yeji. That was the assignment: get in sync . Understand how she skated. Learn her patterns. Read her timing. She was her defensive partner now, after all. If Ryujin wanted to be effective on the ice, she had to know where Yeji would be before she got there.
So Ryujin watched during drills, scrimmages, and video sessions. She memorized the way Yeji dropped her weight just before a zone pivot. She noted how she scanned left before making a breakout pass right. She counted the exact seconds she waited before stepping up into the neutral zone.
She had also started noticing little things days ago. How Yeji always circled the net clockwise during warmups. How she laced her skates in total silence, then double-checked them with one hard pull before standing. How she did not speak much in the locker room, but listened to everything . She learned Yeji’s patterns like they were sheet music. It was working.
But this moment was not exactly about that.
Yeji was not skating. She was not calling for a puck or shadowing an attacker or running tape with Coach Harper. This was not strategy. It was not trying to read a teammate for better coverage or faster chemistry.
She was just sitting there. Book in hand. Lips pressed together. Eyes glazed, thinking of something else entirely. And Ryujin still could not look away.
This was her, watching Yeji tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her, watching the way Yeji’s thumb skimmed the edge of the book she was not reading.
Her, wondering what Yeji was thinking when her face fell out of focus like that, like she was somewhere else entirely.
It was the way Yeji curled her fingers against the corner of the page, even when she was not turning it. The way she tilted her head slightly every time someone walked by, like she was always clocking her surroundings, even off the ice. The way her mouth twitched when Riley said something dumb across the room but did not look up to react.
These were not things Ryujin needed to know. These were not tendencies that helped her in games. She was not supposed to notice how Yeji tapped her thumb when she was lost in thought, or that she always paused before answering a question, like she was editing herself in real time.
But Ryujin had started noticing anyway.
And it hit her, somewhere between breath and heartbeat, quiet, unsettling:
She wasn’t just studying Yeji on ice anymore .
Ryujin blinked, leaned her head back against the couch cushion, and swallowed hard.
Across the room, Yeji finally turned a page.
Ryujin kept her eyes on the ceiling, pretending she had not been looking. But something in her chest had already shifted. A line had been crossed. Not loudly. Not intentionally. But undeniably. She was beginning to care in ways she could not categorize.
And she was not sure where the line had gone.
Winter eventually sat up with a stretch and mumbled, “We should do something stupid before the day ends.”
Chaeryeong narrowed her eyes. “Define stupid.”
Ryujin grinned without looking up. “She means ordering milkshakes and watching that cursed reality show Chaeyoung won’t shut up about.”
“That’s not stupid,” Winter said, flopping back down dramatically. “That’s patriotism. It’s Team USA bonding.”
By the time evening rolled around, their room was dimly lit by the lamp on the desk and the soft blue of Winter’s laptop screen. Chaeryeong was stretched out on the floor, flipping through her camera roll. Winter was sitting backward on a desk chair, sipping electrolyte water like it was fine wine.
Ryujin, in oversized sweats and a hoodie, lay facedown on the mattress. Completely done with the day. Sort of.
Not really.
She was not talking much tonight. Not since they had gotten back from the common area. Not since she realized she had been studying Yeji off-ice . That realization had been replaying in Ryujin’s head all night. And she was doing a terrible job pretending it had not.
So when Winter spoke, it felt almost like a trap laid with casual ease.
“You like her.” The words came from Winter, casual but pointed, like she had just noticed something obvious Ryujin had been trying to bury under a pile of jokes.
Ryujin lifted her head, squinting. “What?”
Chaeryeong didn’t even look up from her phone. “She means Yeji.”
“No, I got that part.”
Winter raised an eyebrow. “So?”
Ryujin pushed herself up on one elbow, trying to sound annoyed. “Why is this suddenly a thing?”
Winter turned in her chair, unbothered. “Because you spent all day pretending not to look at her while very clearly looking at her.”
So they noticed.
Ryujin gulped. She wondered if anybody else, aside from her friends, noticed her staring at Yeji for God knows how long. She did try to be subtle about it. Apparently not subtle enough.
“You and Yeji are getting real synced lately,” Chaeryeong said, popping a gummy into her mouth. “On the ice, I mean.”
Ryujin answered, not bothering to look up, “Yeah. That’s the job, isn’t it?”
Winter snorted without looking up. “Please. You’re practically mirroring her stride now.”
“That’s what timing is,” Ryujin replied, shrugging. “It’s called learning your D-partner.”
“You’re a forward.”
“Same shift. Same systems.”
Winter stretched her arms overhead with a dramatic sigh. “No one’s accusing you of committing a crime, you know. We’re just saying—when did you start watching her like that?”
“Like what?” Ryujin said too quickly.
The silence that followed was not hostile. It was worse.
It was knowing .
Winter rolled over and rested her chin on her forearm, looking at Ryujin for the first time. “Like you’re trying to beat her and memorize her at the same time.”
Ryujin did not answer. She tried to. She opened her mouth, just to close it again.
“She’s just easy to read, ” she finally muttered. “That’s not my fault.”
A big lie.
“She’s not,” Winter said quietly.
Ryujin looked up.
Chaeryeong's expression was soft, not teasing anymore. “She’s not easy to read, Ryujin. Not unless you’ve been watching her longer than you’re willing to admit.”
That landed heavier than she expected. Ryujin rubbed the back of her neck, half-annoyed and half-exposed. “I’m not—”
“No one’s judging you,” Winter said, gentle but firm. “We’re just saying. You might be thinking more about Yeji than the playbook right now.”
Ryujin exhaled through her nose and leaned back against the wall, the ceiling blurring slightly above her. “I was supposed to learn her game. That’s what the coaches wanted.”
Another lie.
“Sure,” Winter said.
The room went quiet again, not awkwardly, just naturally. The way conversations slowed when something had been said out loud and no one knew what to do with it just yet.
The next day, Ryujin went to the rink earlier than 6am. Even after all the improvements, they both kept showing up every morning in the same rink, just mindlessly practicing, perfecting their connection, and all the other in between.
Ryujin skated slow laps under dimmed overheads, the soft scrape of her blades echoing in long, lazy patterns.
She was not really pushing herself. Just moving to move. Letting the cold bite into her neck, letting the air clear her head. When she rounded the far circle, she saw Yeji standing at center ice. Her arms were crossed, half of her hair tied back in a low knot, eyes fixed on Ryujin like she had been watching the whole time.
Ryujin slowed. She did not say anything.
She coasted to a stop a few feet away, chest rising and falling a little harder than it should have.
“You always this dramatic?” Yeji asked, voice low, steady.
“You always this early?” Ryujin shot back, quieter.
They stood there for a second. Maybe longer. Nothing moved. Not the air, not the lights. Just the two of them, still and facing each other like something was supposed to happen here.
Yeji’s eyes flicked down to Ryujin’s lips.
Then—
She leaned in. Slow. Like she was giving Ryujin a chance to pull away.
But Ryujin did not.
Their mouths met, soft and warm and impossibly sure. Ryujin’s hand came up instinctively, resting on Yeji’s jaw. Yeji’s fingers found the back of her neck, grounding her like she was the only thing keeping them on the ice.
And just before Ryujin could speak—
She woke up.
Ryujin blinked up at the ceiling, chest rising too fast. Her heart was hammering, eyes wide before she could even remember why.. She sat up slowly, dragging a hand over her face, jaw tight. Her thoughts scrambled.
What the hell was that?
No one else was awake.
The room was still dark, curtains drawn, her hoodie tangled around her waist where she must’ve kicked it off in her sleep. Winter snored faintly from the right side. Chaeryeong’s corner of the room was quiet.
Everything was normal. Except her heart was still racing. And her mouth still felt warm.
Ryujin buried her face in her pillow. “Fuck,” she whispered. “What the actual fuck .”
Chapter Text
She could still feel the remnants of her dream clinging to her like static electricity: Yeji, warm and close, their foreheads pressed together, her voice low and hoarse just before their lips met. The kiss itself had been soft, terrifying .
Ryujin had jolted awake in the middle of the night, chest tight, her mind torn between panic and something dangerously close to longing.
She had barely slept after that. Instead, she stared at the ceiling in the dark, every detail of the dream replaying itself with cruel clarity. The curve of Yeji’s cheek, the way her voice dropped to a whisper when it was just the two of them, the familiarity of their banter turned suddenly, catastrophically intimate.
It was just a dream.
But it had felt like a memory she wanted to live in again.
Okay. So maybe she liked her a little.
But the dream did not mean anything. It should not have. They were teammates now. Shift partners, maybe. Professional. Focused.
Whatever was happening, whatever her brain had conjured at 2:42 A.M., it had to stay buried.
Now it was 5:56 AM, and Ryujin was already in full gear. Her skates cut against the ice with precision as she ran a few solo drills just to shake off the nerves. She told herself it was just adrenaline, just the cold, but her fingers trembled when she adjusted her gloves.
The door behind her opened softly.
Yeji .
Ryujin barely looked at her. She was still in joggers and hoodie. Hair tied up in a half bun, skates looped carefully around her arm. No expression. No sound but her footsteps.
She met Ryujin’s eyes for a second.
Just one.
And then she passed by, as if nothing was different. As if this was just another morning. Ryujin swallowed hard. The tension was not the usual kind, not the edge of competition or rivalry. It was quieter, thicker .
It lived behind Ryujin’s ribs.
She did not even realize how long she had been staring while Yeji was busy putting her gears on until Yeji glanced up from tying her shoelaces, and met her gaze with a faint crease between her brows. There was a pause. Just a breath too long.
Then Yeji, voice low but even, simply said, “Morning, Ryujin.”
Ryujin blinked. “Wh—what?”
Yeji tilted her head a little, “I said morning?”
“Oh,” Ryujin nervously chuckled, “morning.”
Yeji narrowed her eyes slightly, registering the difference in her tone. Like she was trying to pretend something had not happened. And that in itself was strange. Ryujin did not usually hide. She wore everything out in the open, emotions flashing across her face with no filter.
They started the session without further small talk. First drill: speed transitions, then puck retrieval, then offensive zone entry. Everything they had done a dozen times since camp started. And yet, something had shifted between them, almost imperceptibly. Ryujin skated harder than usual, not in a showing off kind of way, but with something to prove. To shake off.
She executed everything perfectly. But Yeji could feel it in the air: Ryujin was unraveling beneath it.
Ryujin tried to keep focus. She really did.
Every pass they exchanged only reminded her of Yeji’s hands. The steadiness, the weight, the imagined heat of her fingers curled on her nape. Every circle they carved into the rink pulled her back to the way Yeji had leaned in, soft and sure.
The ice was quiet, but Ryujin’s head was anything but.
Yeji was used to silence.
She liked it, even. The early hours before they settled into their routines, before the playlists came on, before voices filled the space with noise.
These 6 am private sessions were her favorite part of the day.
But today, something was off.
Yeji noticed things. She always did. She could feel it before they even stepped onto the ice.
And more than that… she would not look at Yeji.
Every time Yeji caught her in her periphery, Ryujin turned away. Adjusted her gloves. Reset a puck. Reached for her water bottle. Anything but direct eye contact.
Yesterday, during their rest day, she had felt Ryujin watching her intently too. Like she was studying her.
It happened in the common room when Yeji was reading a book. Ryujin had been leaning lazily on the couch, pretending to text. But Yeji felt it. That low, curious weight of her stare. Not cold. Not mocking. Only focused.
She had said nothing then. And she said nothing now. But she filed it away. Just like she was filing away the strange tension curling between them now.
Ryujin kept her distance. Not physically, but emotionally. The usual chirps were gone. No lazy sarcasm, no offhand remarks, no teasing bites mid-drill.
Only silence.
Worse than silence.
It was not like Ryujin. And it was not like the version of them they had become this past week. Those small, hard-won improvements built in passing drills and quiet synchronicity.
Yeji finally stopped at the center line, planted her stick, and waited for Ryujin to meet her eyes.
Ryujin hesitated, then skated slowly, her posture defensive.
“You good?” Yeji asked, tone flat.
Ryujin looked at her. Really looked. Yeji’s brow furrowed, concern just barely visible beneath the usual sternness. “Yeah. Just tired.” Ryujin answered.
“Since when does that shut you up?”
That earned her a tight grin, but nothing else. Yeji stared at her for another second. There was something there, beneath Ryujin’s breath, in the way she could not stay still. Something unsettled.
Yeji exhaled sharply and glided in front of her. “You’re flinching every time I get close,” she said, catching up and stopping just short of Ryujin’s skates. Her voice was calm, but edged with a note of disbelief.
Ryujin wiped her forehead with her glove, not meeting her gaze again. “No, I’m not.”
“I’m not gonna body check you into the boards, Ryu—”
“No, no, I know,” Ryujin interrupted quickly, too quickly, her voice cracking in the middle like she had swallowed the wrong word. She took a step back, then another, like space might fix the way her pulse kept sprinting. “It’s nothing. I’m not—”
“You’re also avoiding my eyes,” Yeji said, softer this time. Not accusing. Just stating a fact.
That made Ryujin freeze. Her throat tightened. Her gloves suddenly felt too hot.
She forced a breath and finally lifted her gaze. But Yeji was already watching her, steady and quiet. That gaze that had always read her too well—back in high school, through every chirp and shove and grudge match. Now it held something gentler. No judgment. Just quiet understanding.
Ryujin’s voice faltered. “I’m just… tired.”
Yeji did not move. “You don’t play like you’re tired.”
Ryujin almost laughed at that, dry and bitter. Of course she did not. Her body was performing on autopilot while her mind unraveled with every flash of the dream that would not leave her. Every time she got too close to Yeji, she was afraid the truth would spill out through her eyes, her breath, her trembling control.
She shook her head. “It’s not you.”
That was not true.
It was Yeji.
It was all her.
Yeji watched her like she knew it. Then, after a long pause, she said, “Okay.”
Yeji let it go for now.
The breakfast line was short, but Ryujin still stood behind a tray of oatmeal for longer than was socially acceptable, staring blankly at the half-sliced bananas as if they might offer some kind of clarity. Her body ached from the extra skate, but it was her head that felt heavier, thick with the kind of confusion she could not skate through, could not sweat out.
The smell of eggs and hash browns lingered heavily in the air. Players trickled in, most of them still half-asleep, sweatpants rolled at the ankle, hoodies up, hair damp from the showers or the ice baths the night before.
Ryujin, already in line, tray in hand, internally screaming. She barely remembered grabbing a tray. Eggs, hash brown, and toast. Her usual. But none of it looked right. None of it sat right.
Her fingers tapped against the plastic like she was trying to shake something off. Like she could rattle that dream out of her skull if she moved fast enough.
“Hey.” Yeji stepped into line behind her.
Just a simple word, she was not even looking directly at her. But it was enough to make Ryujin drop her fork. It clattered against the tray loud enough for half the team to glance over.
“ Jesus ,” Ryujin muttered, snatching it up with burning ears.
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” Ryujin said quickly. “All good. Just—hand cramp. Or something.”
Yeji studied her for half a second longer than necessary. “Right.”
Winter and Chaeryeong were already seated at a back table, mid-conversation when Ryujin dropped into the seat beside them without a word. She shoved her fork around her plate and tried not to look as unusual as she felt.
Chaeryeong leaned forward. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“I didn’t.”
“Or kissed one.”
Ryujin choked on her first bite of hash brown. She coughed, reached for her water, and nearly knocked over her tray in the process. Winter raised both eyebrows with an expression that said interesting.
Ryujin set her cup down, exhaled, and said it before she could think better of it.
“What does it mean when you dream about someone?”
Winter blinked like she did not hear it right. Chaeryeong actually paused, spoon stalled mid-air.
Ryujin immediately regretted saying anything.
“I mean, just… you know. Random question. Hypothetical.”
Chaeryeong turned slowly. “Excuse me?”
Winter, never one to miss an opportunity, grinned and asked, “Who showed up in your dream?”
“No one.”
“That’s not how this works,” Chaeryeong said with gleeful disbelief, eyes narrowing. “What happened in the dream?”
“I didn’t say anything happened,” Ryujin shot back, though she could already feel the flush creeping up her neck.
“Oh,” Winter drawled, raising both brows. “So something happened.”
Ryujin groaned and shifted her weight. The vending machine beeped softly as if mocking her.
“You two are the worst.”
“Okay, okay, serious question,” Chaeryeong said, “Was it like a normal dream? Or one of those dreams. Be honest.”
“Context matters,” Winter added, arms crossed.
“Yeah,” Chaeryeong agreed. “Did you fight with them? Were they injured? Was it some freaky metaphor?”
“Were you guys arguing? Saving the world? Making out in a locker room?” Winter asked.
Ryujin gave a sharp laugh that died too quickly. “Wow. That escalated.”
“You kissed them, didn’t you,” Winter said flatly.
Ryujin looked down.
That was enough of an answer.
Chaeryeong covered her mouth. “Oh my god. You did.”
“It wasn’t— it wasn’t like that.” Ryujin’s voice was quieter now, more defensive than sharp. She set her fork down and rubbed at her temple. “It just happened. And it felt… real.”
Winter’s grin softened slightly, curiosity taking over. “So who was it?”
Ryujin did not answer. She did not have to.
Because at that exact moment, across the dining hall, Yeji passed them with her tray in hand, not even glancing their way. Just found a seat beside Lia and Karina, peeled the lid off her coffee, and stirred it slowly.
Ryujin’s gaze followed her for a second too long. When she turned back, Winter was watching. Chaeryeong, too.
Neither said anything for a moment.
“Okay,” Chaeryeong said after a minute, voice quieter now. “So… you kissed Yeji in the dream.”
Ryujin said nothing.
“And it felt real?”
She nodded once. Tight. Like saying it out loud would make it worse.
Ryujin covered her face with both hands. “I hate this. I hate both of you.”
Winter leaned back, arms crossed over her hoodie. She looked smug. But not cruel. “Do you want to know what it means, or are we just here to spiral with you?”
“I know exactly what it means,” Ryujin muttered. “That I need to start sleeping less.”
Chaeryeong snorted. “Or maybe you need to stop pretending you don’t have feelings for Yeji.”
“This is your fault,” Ryujin said.
They blinked.
“What?”
“You’re the ones who asked me last night if I liked her.” She pointed her toast toward them like a smoking gun. “You put the idea in my head. It wasn’t there before.”
Winter reached over and gently patted Ryujin’s hoodie-covered arm. “It’s okay. Dreams are just your brain doing little fanfics when you’re unconscious.”
Ryujin buried her face in her hands. Her voice came muffled, “I am never telling you two anything ever again.”
Winter leaned in, voice mock-soft. “If Yeji kissed you right now, would you scream or swoon?”
Ryujin sat up straight, face red. “I would explode, actually. That would be the end of me. Flatline. No autopsy. Just bury me in my skates.”
They burst out laughing.
Even Ryujin cracked a helpless smile, dragging her hands down her face. Her nerves were still fried, her heart still scrambled, but at least now she was drowning in friendship-induced chaos instead of her own thoughts.
Ryujin finally glanced up. Her eyes flicked to Yeji again. She was still seated calmly across the cafeteria. Talking quietly with Karina, eating in that precise, deliberate way she did everything.
Winter did not miss it. She nudged Chaeryeong.
“Bet you ten bucks she dreams about her again tonight.”
Ryujin groaned.
“I hope I dream about a peaceful cliffside next time,” she muttered. “One I can throw myself off of.”
Most of the team had already filtered back into their rooms after breakfast, getting ready for the day’s training, some stretching, others layering on compression gear, a few trying to tape their sticks in near silence while roommates still scrolled half-asleep in bed.
Ryujin padded down the hallway barefoot in her sliders, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, a banana and a bottle of red Gatorade tucked awkwardly in her arms like she just swiped them on impulse and was not entirely sure why.
She turned the corner, and nearly crashed into Yeji.
Yeji had just come from the coaches’ wing. Her keycard twirling lazily around one finger. She looked composed, but distant, like she had not quite left whatever conversation she just walked out of. Her Team USA hoodie was unzipped, revealing the same white Team USA practice jersey she loaned to Ryujin a week ago. The one Ryujin had worn during their private training, the one she had folded too carefully when giving back.
Seeing it on Yeji again did something weird to her chest. Like her heart took a full step backward.
Ryujin blinked too many times. She cleared her throat, “Wow. You’re prepped early.”
Yeji did not slow. “I finished breakfast an hour ago.”
“You eat fast.”
“You talk slow.”
Ryujin fell into step beside her, just a touch more composed than earlier that morning, like the panic had eased into something manageable. Maybe it was because she had already said it out loud. Just once. Just to Winter and Chaeryeong, when she blurted it out in a spiral of limbs and embarrassment.
They did not laugh. Well, not much. And somehow, that made it easier to walk next to Yeji now. Not easy, but easier.
“You look… serious,” Ryujin said, glancing at her quickly, then away.
Yeji arched a brow. “I always look serious.”
“Not like this.” Ryujin tilted her head. “Did the coaches yell at you?”
Yeji shook her head. “No.”
“They should’ve. I’ve been carrying this team’s personality on my back.”
Yeji snorted. “That’s what that smell is. Ego.”
Ryujin clutched her chest in mock offense. “Wow. Alright, Captain.”
Yeji stopped in front of her room. Just for a breath.
And Ryujin, still a little jittery beneath the calm, noticed. “…Wait,” she said, the teasing edge gentler now. “They didn’t actually—?”
Yeji turned toward her door, keycard held steady. “Get ready for practice, Ryujin.”
“That wasn’t a no!”
The door clicked shut behind her. Ryujin stood in the hallway, still holding the banana like it might have something useful to say.
From down the hall, someone called out something about being in the locker room in fifteen. Ryujin did not move. For the first time in their long, storied history of chirps, jabs, and smartass remarks, Ryujin had no comeback.
The hallway outside the locker room buzzed with low voices and restless footsteps. Word had spread fast. Coach Donovan was announcing the line assignments this morning.
Ryujin leaned back against the cinderblock wall, twirling a stick of gum between her fingers, eyes trained on the closed door. Players hovered nearby in little clusters. Some pacing, some pretending not to care, all very much waiting.
Ryujin dropped her water bottle on the bench and sat, fingers tapping a loose rhythm on her thigh.
A moment later, another bag thudded to the ground beside hers. Ryujin did not even need to look.
“Ready to tell me why you’ve been weird all day?” Yeji said simply.
Ryujin sputtered. “I’m not being weird.”
“You tripped over your stick earlier.”
“That was gravity’s fault.”
“You also stared at a banana at breakfast for five minutes.”
Ryujin looked at Yeji incredulously. “How do you even know that?”
Yeji did not answer. She just looked at her like she was holding something she was not ready to let go of.
Then, with a soft shrug, Yeji said, “Just wondering if I should be worried.”
Ryujin blinked.
There were about eight sarcastic replies lined up on her tongue. But none of them felt right.
So instead, she breathed out, slow and low, and offered the smallest smile she could manage.
“No need to worry,” she said. “It’s just… a Saturday.”
Yeji held her gaze for a second longer. Then nodded once. “Alright.” She said, letting it go again, for now. “Let me know if it becomes a Sunday problem.”
Coach Donovan stepped forward, a clipboard in hand, followed by Coach Maddox and Coach Harper. The three of them had spent the past week watching every drill, every scrimmage, every shift. And now, they had a lineup.
“Alright,” Donovan said, voice firm, but not unkind. “Appreciate the work you’ve all put in this past week. It’s been a hell of a camp so far. From here on out, we shift to cohesion and game systems. That means final lines, final pairings, and final leadership.”
A few players nodded. Yeji rolled a puck under her palm. Ryujin sat beside her, one leg subtly bouncing.
Coach Harper began writing names on the whiteboard behind Donovan as he spoke.
“Lines are locked in as of today. These aren’t tests. This is real. These are the units we’re moving forward with.”
The whiteboard filled in slowly. Names grouped. Combinations revealed.
Defense pairings came first.
PAIRING A – RIGHT / LEFT DEFENSE
RD:
Hwang Yeji
LD:
Yoo Jeongyeon
Ryujin blinked. Harper kept writing.
FIRST LINE – OFFENSE
LW:
Shin Ryujin
C:
Madison Carter
RW:
Riley King
Then Harper paused, switched markers, and added another section below.
SHIFT UNIT A – PRIMARY ROTATION
LD:
Yoo Jeongyeon
RD:
Hwang Yeji
LW:
Shin Ryujin
C:
Madison Carter
RW:
Riley King
There it was.
Not a forward pairing. Not special teams. But shift-based rotation, lines and pairings designed to move together as a core. Five skaters whose chemistry in transitions, recoveries, and zone pressure had started to quietly stand out.
Yeji and Ryujin. Together . By design.
Someone from the back muttered, “Pray for the rest of us,” and a ripple of laughter cut through the tension.
Ryujin did not react, not outwardly. But her knee stopped bouncing. Yeji tilted her head ever so slightly, as if considering the combination. Not exactly surprised. Just... acknowledging it.
Then Ryujin cracked her knuckles and leaned in just enough to murmur, “Guess you’re stuck with me.”
Yeji did not turn her head, but she replied just loud enough for Ryujin to hear. “Try not to miss your mark. I’m not cleaning up your chaos.”
Ryujin smirked. “You always do, though.”
Coach Harper tapped the marker lightly against the board before speaking. “Unit A is our pressure group. First rotation in high-tempo situations. These five move the fastest. Think the quickest. Force turnovers. We expect them to lead the pace.”
Then came the other shift units: rotations for the penalty kill, the power play, line chemistry in motion.
“Some of these shifts have been forming all week,” Coach Donovan said. “Some of you knew what was coming. Others, maybe not. But this is the rotation we believe in. If you’re listed together, it’s because we’ve seen something start to click.”
He paused, eyes passing over the top line, and stopping, for a half-second, right between Ryujin and Yeji.
Maddox added, “Some of these units are tighter than others, and that’s okay. You’ll be tested. You’ll stretch each other. You’ll carry each other.”
Donovan flipped to the final page of his clipboard. “One last thing. Captaincy.” He did not crack a smile. “We’ve been watching all week. Watching who talks, who listens. Who keeps the room focused. Who lets their work speak louder than their voice.”
He looked directly at Yeji now.
“For those reasons, we’re naming Hwang Yeji as Team USA captain for this tournament.”
The room erupted.
There were cheers, stick taps, hollers, even a half-thrown glove that bounced off the wall in celebration.
Yeji blinked, slow and unreadable, then gave a single nod. No big reaction. No smile. Just a quiet inhale.
As if she had already accepted the weight long before it was handed to her.
Yeji did not smile right away. She just dipped her head once in acknowledgment, jaw tight. But her teammates crowded her anyway. Slaps on the back, elbows nudging her ribs. Lia pulled her into a hug. Karina whispered something into her ear that finally got the corner of her mouth to twitch.
Ryujin was not surprised, not since her encounter with Yeji earlier today in their dorm hallway. So, she just leaned back a little, watching Yeji’s face, still composed, still cool, but she could tell. The tiniest tension in her throat. A flicker of something deeper in her eyes.
As everyone filed out, some lingering near the snacks, others making beelines for their rooms, Ryujin stayed back, packing her phone into her hoodie pocket, stick bag already slung over her shoulder. Yeji stood by the door now, quietly thanking the coaches, her face unreadable.
Ryujin passed her on the way out, bumping her arm lightly.
“So… Captain now, huh?” she murmured, just loud enough for Yeji to hear.
Yeji glanced at her. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Ryujin smirked. “Me? You’re the one with a C on your chest.”
“You better keep up, then.”
“Oh, I will.”
Yeji arched a brow, “Just don’t make me babysit you through every breakout.”
“Oh please,” Ryujin shot back, “you’re the one who can’t resist covering for me.”
Yeji cracked a faint smile. “One mistake, and I’m changing partners.”
“Liar.”
Yeji did not deny it. She just held the door open long enough for Ryujin to walk through beside her, both of them stepping into the hallway. Behind them, the rest of the team watched from the corner of their eyes.
They were not just rivals anymore.
They were not just teammates either.
They looked like they were something else now.
Chapter Text
So far, Yeji’s captaincy had gone exactly the way everyone expected it to:
Flawlessly
It was the third day since she had been named captain of Team USA, and she was already the quiet force holding the roster together. She had organized two impromptu team huddles, redirected a brewing disagreement between linemates with one sharp glance, kept the defensive core in sync during high-intensity drills, and somehow gotten Jules and Casey to stop bickering mid-drill without even raising her voice. She led with calm, clipped confidence.
Drills ran smoother with her voice calling adjustments from the back line. Players paid closer attention when she gave feedback. Coaches stopped double-checking who had lead warmup because it was always her; precise, organized, and two steps ahead.
She was doing great.
Rookies like Riley and Jules constantly lingered after practices, hoping to shadow her cooldown stretches or get five extra minutes of tips. The veterans, Jeongyeon and Seulgi included, deferred to her instinct in tight drills. And the rest of the team seemed to breathe easier when she was on the ice.
Which, to Ryujin’s frustration, only made her harder to rattle.
In the locker room after practice, the banter was already flying before the Zamboni had finished its second lap.
“I’m just saying,” Jinni declared, tossing her gloves with a dramatic flair, “if Winter didn’t shoulder check me into another dimension, I would’ve scored.”
“That’s rich,” Winter replied from across the room. “You had open net and still whiffed. Maybe check your blade before you blame physics.”
“Or your depth perception,” Karina chimed in, seated beside Lia, who was shaking her head.
Yeji was at her stall, unlacing her skates, quiet as the chaos swirled around her.
“Captain, I need to report an emergency,” Ryujin announced loudly as she approached the stall beside Yeji.
Yeji barely turned. “If this is about your Gatorade being too watered down again, I am ignoring you.”
“It’s not,” Ryujin replied, leaning on her stick dramatically. “Winter said I’m not your favorite forward, and I think this is a toxic work environment.”
Winter, without missing a beat, called out from the other aisle of lockers, “I am her favorite. Obviously.”
Yeji did not blink. “Winter plays the systems properly. She listens.”
Ryujin clutched her chest like she had been stabbed. “So this is what betrayal feels like.”
She paused just as she passed, voice low enough only Ryujin could hear. “Keep pushing, superstar. I’ll drop you from line drills.”
Ryujin grinned, leaning closer. “You say that, but we both know I’m the only one who makes your passing drills interesting.”
Yeji did not turn around. She did not have to. Her smirk was already doing the damage. “The drill you keep messing up?”
The room erupted. Winter laughed so hard she choked on her protein bar. Madison clapped like she had just witnessed divine comedy. Even Chaeyoung grinned from across the room, shaking her head.
Jules leaned toward Karina. “She’s terrifying and hilarious. I don’t know if I want to impress her or get roasted by her.”
“Both,” Karina said. “At the same time.”
Yeji shook her head lightly, returning to her skates. The smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth was subtle. She had earned the room. Not through speeches or force, but with presence. And humor, carefully rationed out like currency that meant more because it was rare.
But Ryujin noticed something in the quiet moments.
Not during practice, where Yeji commanded the ice with that same calm, unflinching focus she had always carried. Not in meetings, where she sat poised, arms crossed, answering questions clearly and confidently. Not even in the locker room, where the team energy buzzed around her like she was the center of gravity without ever needing to ask for it.
No; Ryujin saw it in the in betweens.
In the way Yeji lingered behind after the team cleared out, eyes flicking over the whiteboard one last time before leaving. The way she never let herself slump in her seat, even after the longest drills. The way she always had something to say to the rookies, to the defense, to the assistant coaches, and never once made it feel performative. Always composed. Always prepared.
But Ryujin knew her. Knew how much of that came at a cost.
She saw it in the faint lines etched deeper between Yeji’s brows by the end of the day. The way her stretches were longer now, not just for her body but to buy time before heading back into shared spaces. How she always checked that everyone else had food first before sitting down to eat, often quietly, often last.
Yeji made captaincy look effortless.
But Ryujin had played opposite her too long, studied her for too many years, to believe it truly was.
Behind the calm, behind the controlled answers and the steady presence, there was a kind of pressure that came not from others but from Yeji herself. The pressure to be unshakable. To never have an off moment. To carry it all without flinching. To lead without ever letting anyone see the weight of it.
And the worst part was no one else seemed to notice.
Everyone admired Yeji. They trusted her, leaned on her. But they never asked if she needed anything in return. She never gave them a reason to.
Ryujin found herself watching her more and more lately, not just as a teammate, but as someone trying to read the signs between the silences.
One afternoon, after a hard scrimmage and a long systems review, Yeji had slipped out of the locker room while the rest of the team was still chatting and laughing. Ryujin followed her a few minutes later, walking out into the hallway just in time to see Yeji standing at the far end, leaning against the wall with her head tipped back, eyes closed.
Not asleep. Just still.
Like she needed to stop moving for a second just to breathe.
She opened her eyes when Ryujin approached but did not flinch. She did not pretend she had been doing something else. She just stood there, quiet, letting the pause speak for itself.
“You good?” Ryujin asked, voice low.
Yeji nodded once. “Always.”
But Ryujin caught the delay. The second of hesitation before she answered.
And that second told her everything.
“You don’t have to be,” Ryujin said quietly. “Not all the time.”
Yeji looked at her then, really looked. No walls. Just for a moment.
And Ryujin thought, I see you.
Not the captain. Not the flawless leader. Just Yeji. Holding everything so tightly she never let herself slip. Ryujin wanted to be the one person who let her rest. Even if it was just for a breath.
The captaincy was fitting Yeji too well, and that was the problem. She wore it so convincingly, no one else bothered to ask if she ever got tired of holding it all.
So Ryujin did what she did best: she found a backdoor.
During their next private morning practice, the rink was still half-lit, its silence broken only by the soft scrape of blades and the occasional hollow echo of a puck bouncing off the boards. It was still early, 6 a.m., maybe a minute or two past, but the two of them had already warmed up, settled into their routine like muscle memory.
Ryujin moved easily through a few quick strides at center ice, stick in one hand, gloves off for now. The cold air clung to her breath. Yeji was near the far circle, adjusting her tape, crouched low in her usual posture, already focused like she was preparing for game speed even in the silence.
They had not said much since stepping onto the ice. They never needed to.
But Ryujin had been watching.
Even in the quiet, she noticed the way Yeji held her shoulders a little tighter these days. How the curve of her mouth sat more neutral, even here, during the one part of the day where no one expected her to lead, correct, or carry anything. She noticed the way Yeji took longer to reset between shots. Not physically tired, just full. Like her head had not had a break in days.
So Ryujin coasted slowly over, glove back on, blade tapping gently against the toe of Yeji’s stick.
“Hey,” she said, voice soft in the chilled space between them. “Three bars?”
Yeji looked up, brows tugging together faintly. “Now?”
Ryujin nodded, casual. “Unless you’re afraid I might actually beat you for once.”
Yeji scoffed under her breath and stood, flicking the puck forward with a quiet snick. “You’ve never even come close.”
“Exactly,” Ryujin said, gliding backward now. “You’ll get to win and de-stress. Perfect cool-down.”
Yeji paused just for a second, then followed, toe-picking into a loose stride.
“Alright, superstar. First to hit both posts and the crossbar,” she said. “You shoot first.”
Ryujin grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
The first few shots were crisp but unhurried, their sticks cutting cleanly through the cold as they alternated turns. The usual rules applied: take the puck out past the blue line, and only clean bar hits counted.
Yeji’s first shot was smooth, right bar, just low. Ryujin missed wide, and she groaned dramatically.
“You bribed the post gods,” she muttered.
Yeji let out a quiet huff. “You’re just rusty.”
“You’re deflecting,” Ryujin said, skating backwards after her second shot. “You’ve been wound so tight all week, I was starting to worry you’d vibrate into the ceiling.”
Yeji flicked her stick under a puck and raised an eyebrow. “This is your intervention?”
“Hey,” Ryujin said, “I’m not talking about anything serious. That would be direct emotional communication, and I’m physically allergic to that.”
Yeji smirked. “Tragic.”
“But,” Ryujin continued, “if you happened to relax and enjoy destroying me in a shooting game, I wouldn’t be mad.”
Ryujin missed another two, barely grazing the top iron on her second attempt. Yeji sank her second shot off the crossbar with clinical precision. A perfect bar-down.
“Still have it,” Yeji muttered, skating back to the blue line.
“You say that like you ever lost it,” Ryujin replied, watching her carefully.
There was a flicker of something in Yeji’s face then. Not quite a smile, but the edge of one. And more than that, there was ease.
It was subtle, but unmistakable.
Her shoulders were not quite as tight. Her glides smoother. The lines around her eyes were less drawn.
“Two–one,” she said softly.
Ryujin narrowed her eyes. “You are relaxing, aren’t you?”
Yeji did not answer, but she flicked her next shot just barely wide, and Ryujin swore it was on purpose.
They kept going for another ten minutes, neither rushing nor talking too much. Just shots, steel on ice, the quiet kind of focus that felt good, not heavy.
They played on. Two–two now. Their strides were faster, their breath coming harder. The cold air stung less with each minute as their blood pumped and rhythm sharpened.
Ryujin was already circling back through the neutral zone, waiting for Yeji to reset. Her lungs burned, but her grin was wide. She felt good. Quick legs, quick hands, clear ice. She was sure she had the upper hand.
Until Yeji cut across center ice with a sudden, wicked burst of acceleration, drew Ryujin in like bait, and then snapped.
Ryujin barely saw it. Just a shoulder drop, a quick hesitation, and a flick of the wrists that sent the puck slicing across her body, wrong-footed and unexpected.
Ping .
It hit the left bar clean and fast, the kind of shot that sounded like it had been drawn with a straightedge and set to music.
Ryujin turned her head, mouth parted, eyes wide. “What the hell was that ?”
Yeji coasted to a stop, chest rising and falling beneath her base layer, expression unreadable except for the ghost of a smirk on her lips. “I won.”
“No. Uh-uh. You don’t just drop that on me like it’s normal,” Ryujin said, skating up to her. “Where did that move come from?”
Yeji tilted her head. “Which part?”
“The fake inside cut, the drag across your body and then that no-angle top-shelf thing, how did you even get that lift with your stick at that angle?”
Yeji blinked, completely unfazed. “Off-foot load. Blade tilt. Timing.”
“Okay, I heard words, but that was magic.” Ryujin circled around her, squinting. “Have you been holding that in your pocket since highschool?”
Yeji shrugged, toe-picking gently along the crease. “It’s situational.”
Ryujin skated backward in front of her now, stick resting across her shoulders. “Teach me.”
Yeji raised a brow. “You want to learn my move?”
“Obviously. I’m not too proud to admit when I’m being absolutely schooled,” Ryujin said, grinning. “And that? That was art. Come on. Give me the blueprint.”
“You’re doing this because you don’t want me to gloat.”
“Strategy,” Ryujin said, grinning. “I distract you with compliments.”
Yeji tilted her head. “That’s what you think you’re doing?”
For a heartbeat, they just stood there, sticks resting loosely in hand, breath curling in the cold, the ice around them bathed in faint light from the overheads.
And Ryujin, watching Yeji standing there relaxed, smiling, just herself for once, felt like she had done something right.
Not fixed anything. Not solved the weight of captaincy. But carved out a moment where it did not feel so heavy.
“Please teach me.”
“You won’t get it right away.”
“ Yeji, ” Ryujin said, moving to match her angle, “I never get it right away. That’s what makes it fun.”
Yeji exhaled slowly, half a sigh, half a smile, and gestured with her stick. “Fine. Start with your weight shift.”
They reset in the high slot, and Yeji began breaking it down, piece by piece, angle by angle. Ryujin followed every instruction, adjusting her stance, her wrist angle, and her knee bend. They ran the motion half-speed first. Then again. Then again.
After fifteen minutes, Ryujin managed something close.
The puck rose, clipped just under the bar, and hit the netting with a satisfying snap.
She turned, eyes shining, hair stuck to her forehead. “There it is.”
Yeji nodded. “Not bad.”
“Not bad?” Ryujin called. “I just pulled off a Yeji special! That’s, like, a once-a-decade move!”
Yeji skated past her, brushing shoulders. “Do it twice. Then I’ll be impressed.”
Ryujin smirked, already lining up another puck. “Oh, it’s on.”
A few more tries later, they called it a day. They started collecting pucks in silence, skating back and forth across the blue line while the morning chill still clung stubbornly to the boards. The game had ended, Yeji won, as usual, but Ryujin was still smiling like she had gotten exactly what she wanted.
Yeji noticed that.
Not the smirk, not the banter, not the theatrics that Ryujin wore like a second skin around others. But this smile. Soft and easy. One that never needed an audience.
She had been thinking about it the whole time, ever since Ryujin asked her to play Three Bars that morning without a single word about drills or structure or defensive angles. She did not even call her captain, not even once, not even in a teasing way. Just them and the puck and the bars and nothing else.
And for a little while, it worked.
Yeji had forgotten the dozens of messages on her phone waiting to be answered. Forgotten the weight of strategy questions from Coach Donovan. Forgotten the sense that no matter how composed she appeared, someone was always watching, waiting to see if she cracked.
Ryujin had not said it. Not out loud.
But Yeji knew.
She knew what Ryujin had done, why she pulled her into a shooting game like it was nothing, why she did not push, why she did not ask how Yeji was handling captaincy, or if she was okay, or if it was too much.
Ryujin had simply handed her a stick and said, let’s play.
And Yeji, standing at the blue line with the last puck in her glove, felt something pull at her chest. Quiet, but firm. Gratitude, sharp and deep and sudden. The kind of emotion she usually pushed down, ignored, compartmentalized.
But not this time.
She skated over without speaking, stopping just close enough for Ryujin to notice. Ryujin glanced over, about to say something, probably a joke, probably a tease.
Yeji did not let her.
She leaned in and wrapped her arms around Ryujin in one smooth motion. No warning. No explanation. Just a solid, steady hold, her cheek resting against Ryujin’s shoulder.
It was brief. Measured. But unmistakably real.
Ryujin froze for half a second. Then her arms came up slowly, settling around Yeji’s back with a quiet kind of awe.
They did not say anything.
They did not need to.
The rink was silent around them, save for the low scrape of steel as they both shifted slightly to stay balanced. The cold bit at their necks, but Yeji did not move.
She just stood there, heart steady, breath slow, grounding herself in the one place that somehow felt safe.
When she finally pulled back, Ryujin did not ask. Did not tease. Just held her gaze and said quietly, “You’re welcome.”
Yeji’s voice, when it came, was soft. “Thank you.”
And Ryujin, smirking again now, but only a little, said, “Still counts as a win for me.”
Yeji huffed a laugh. “You scored twice.”
“Doesn’t matter. I got your hug.”
Yeji rolled her eyes but did not walk away. Not just yet.
Because somehow, in a freezing rink at six in the morning, wrapped in the dumb rhythm of a game only they played, she had found exactly what she needed.
Not relief. Not strategy. Just Ryujin .
Yeji felt that pressure back the night before their last training camp session.
The dorms settled and the sound of laughter faded into muffled music behind closed doors when Yeji found herself slipping quietly outside.
The cold was immediate, dry and sharp, cutting against her cheeks like it had something to prove. She did not flinch. It was not the kind of cold that she shrugged off after a few seconds, but the deep, biting kind that clawed at her through her hoodie, crept down her sleeves, and settled into her skin like it belonged there. February in Plymouth did not forgive late nights.
The dormitory lights behind her glowed faintly through the frosted windows, but she kept walking until she reached the back stairwell, far enough from the front entrance that no one would stumble upon her by accident. The kind of spot only someone who needed air would bother to find. She had a hand tucked under her arm, the other curled around a paper cup of now-lukewarm tea.
It was really not about the pressure. She could handle that. It was the pace. The constant need to be something for everyone else.
Out here, with the stars veiled behind low winter clouds and the parking lot silent, she could finally let go. No lines to run. No bench to lead. No teammates watching. Just cold air, steady breathing, and a moment to remember she was still herself beneath the Team USA captain’s title.
Still Yeji.
And in the quiet, she allowed herself to laugh softly at the memory of Ryujin’s fake outrage and Winter nearly choking from laughter.
Yeah. She was doing fine.
Coaches pulled her aside for input between drills. Teammates gravitated to her with questions: about systems, about expectations, about lines. Meetings ran long, feedback sessions blurred into one another, and every word she spoke felt like it echoed a little louder than before. Even her silences seemed to hold more weight now.
She handled it, of course. She always did. Yeji was built for discipline, for structure, for shouldering more than she let on. But behind the calm demeanor and measured tone, she felt the new pressure pressing into the gaps no one else could see.
Most of the team was already in for the night, lights low behind drawn blinds, the hallway chatter giving way to soft music and rustling blankets. A long day of drills and system walk-throughs had left everyone drained.
She had not meant to stay out this long. She told herself she just needed five minutes to clear her head, to escape the leadership briefings, the subtle glances, the heavy silence that sometimes settled when she walked into a room now. But the minutes stretched. The pressure had not eased.
She did not hear the door open behind her. But she heard the voice.
“You planning to sleep out here or… just haunting the place?”
Yeji turned her head slowly, her shoulders tightening before relaxing again.
Ryujin .
Ryujin walked up beside her, not too close. Just enough that Yeji could feel her presence: solid, grounding, real . The cold wrapped around them both, but Ryujin did not flinch. She sat next to Yeji like she belonged there, like she had not just noticed Yeji but knew she would be there.
Yeji looked back toward the dark sky. “Could ask you the same thing.”
“Are you always this dramatic or is the cold part of the new captain aesthetic?” Ryujin asked lightly.
Yeji did not move. “I needed air.”
“There’s air inside, you know. It’s just warmer and less likely to kill your lungs.”
Yeji let out a breath, one that hovered in front of her mouth before drifting away. “How’d you find me?”
“Went looking for tea. Found you instead.” Ryujin shrugged. ”You okay?”
Yeji was silent for a moment. Then, she asked, “Do I look like I am not?”
Ryujin gave a soft huff of breath, not quite a laugh. “You look like someone trying very hard to look fine.”
“A week,” Yeji murmured after a long moment. “It has only been a week.”
Ryujin nodded once. “Yeah. And you’ve already taken on a month worth of pressure.”
Yeji glanced at her, sharp and quiet.
Ryujin held her gaze. “You do not have to be invincible, Yeji.”
Yeji exhaled slowly, a cloud drifting between them. “When Coach Donovan told me,” she started, her voice low and even, “I thought it was a joke.”
Ryujin turned to look at her fully now. “Being named captain?”
A short nod. “I didn’t expect it. Not with this group. There are veterans here. People who’ve actually done this before. I figured I’d just… be a wall on the right side.”
“You have been a captain before,” Ryujin said, voice steady but slow. “Two years with the Sentinels.”
“That was different,” Yeji continued. “I knew that team inside and out. I was there from the start. Built it with them. We came up together. There was history. Trust.”
She paused, her gaze fixed on a patch of snow along the edge of the concrete path.
“Here… with Team USA… it feels like I’m walking into someone else’s house and being told to lead the family dinner.”
Ryujin let that sit for a second before speaking. “You mean because you’re new to the group?”
Yeji nodded. “I know most of them. I’ve played against almost all of them. But this?” She gestured vaguely around them, to the dorms, the rink behind them, the logo stitched over their hearts. “This is not a club team. These are the best players from everywhere. Veterans, legends, kids with nothing to lose. People like Jeongyeon and Seulgi, who have worn this jersey longer than I have been eligible to. This kind of leadership… it is earned. It felt like it was handed to me before I finished proving I deserved it.”
There was no bitterness in her voice, just honesty. Yeji finally turned to look at her. The weight in her eyes was clear.
Ryujin straightened, slowly crossing her arms. “You do not have to prove anything. Not to them. Not to me.”
Yeji looked down at the cup in her hand, now cold. “That’s the problem. I feel like I do. Every second.”
“I watched your team play every time I could. Not just because I like to study your positioning,” she added with a small, crooked smile that barely lasted a second. “But because you make people better just by being there. You do not scream. You do not chase. But when you move, they follow.”
Yeji lowered her gaze.
“You have this thing, Yeji. You hold the room even when you are silent. That does not come from experience. That comes from who you are.”
Yeji exhaled again, this time with something that was not quite relief but close to it.
“And as someone who has spent her entire career trying to beat you,” Ryujin added, softer now, “I can tell you, no one makes me want to try harder than you do.”
There was a flicker of something in Yeji’s expression. Surprise, maybe. Gratitude.
“You think they do not see you the way I see you?” Ryujin asked.
“I am scared I will let them down,” Yeji said quietly.
Ryujin moved closer, the air between them tightening. “Then let me be the first to tell you—you won’t.”
There was a long pause. Ryujin’s shoulder brushing against Yeji’s for just a second before settling nearby.
“I trust you,” she said simply. “And I’m not saying that because it sounds good. I’m saying it because I’ve played against you long enough to know exactly how steady you are. And now that I’m playing with you?” She let out a breath. “I’ve never felt more secure with someone watching my back.”
Ryujin stared at her for a moment. Then she took a slow breath, as if reining in a thousand thoughts that wanted to tumble out all at once. Yeji looked at her again, not with the distant steel of the Sentinels captain, but with something open. Raw. Human.
“I hope you’re right.”
Ryujin offered a small nod. “I am.”
And for the first time that night, Yeji did not argue.
She lingered a second longer, watching the sky. The cold stayed behind. But the weight felt just a little lighter.
They had been sitting outside for nearly twenty minutes now. Neither seemed in a rush to leave, both content to be wrapped in the quiet space between them.
Ryujin was about to say something again, but before the words left her mouth, her eyes drifted, just slightly.
And that was when she noticed it. The edge of fabric peeking just beneath Yeji’s unzipped collar, where her jacket had shifted slightly with the way she had folded her arms.
The hoodie .
Teal-accented dark gray. Loose in the sleeves. Slightly too long in the torso, like it was meant for someone broader through the shoulders. The familiar Cyclones emblem stitched across the chest, its edges frayed from seasons of wear. The drawstrings were curled and uneven, one of them knotted from an old prank Ryujin never bothered to undo.
It was her hoodie.
The same one Yeji asked for when she was trying to instill that she was Ryujin’s teammate. Now, here it was, worn by Yeji like it had been hers all along..
Ryujin blinked, thrown out of the conversation for a breath of a second. “Wait,” she said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Is that—?”
Yeji followed her gaze, then looked back, as if nothing was amiss. “What?”
“That hoodie,” Ryujin said, a grin creeping in. “That’s my Cyclones hoodie.”
Yeji did not flinch. She knew Ryujin was going to notice her wearing the hoodie. It was a risk since she decided to put it on that night.
It was stupid, probably.
That was Yeji’s first thought the night she tugged on Ryujin’s hoodie, the old Cyclones one that had no business still being with her, that she had asked for after one of their first early skates together and quietly never returned . It was too big, the sleeves swallowed her hands, and the faded gray was a color she never wore.
But when she pulled it on, especially on nights like this, when the pressure of being Captain Hwang sat too heavy on her shoulders, it made something in her exhale.
It was the weight of it, maybe. The soft cotton stretched just enough to feel lived-in. Or the faint scent of Ryujin still clinging to the fabric, all clean laundry and something bright underneath. It was probably all of that. But more than anything, it was what the hoodie meant . What it reminded her of.
The warmth she felt when she hugged Ryujin a few days ago. The hoodie, heavy on her now, still carried the memory of that hug.
That warmth. That safety .
It was the only thing in her life right now that asked nothing of her. It did not require her to lead or speak or plan. It just was . Just like Ryujin that night. Just like she always seemed to be showing up when no one else noticed Yeji might be unraveling. Just like she did right now.
Yeji let her fingers curl into the sleeves, pulling the fabric tighter around her.
The wind curled between them, brushing a strand of Yeji’s hair across her cheek. She did not bother fixing it. She just looked at Ryujin with that maddening calm, the same expression she wore on the ice when she shut down a rush without breaking a sweat.
“You know,” she said softly, “that hoodie is from our rivalry night collection.”
“I remember.”
“Only a few were printed. Limited run.”
Yeji rolled her eyes. “Are you trying to imply I owe you a collector’s fee?”
“I am just saying, you have an entire Boston closet, but you picked that one?”
Yeji’s gaze stayed level, but her arms folded loosely across her chest. “It was warm. Convenient.”
“That hoodie’s kind of sentimental. Might have to report you to Team USA property management.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead. But I am still not giving it back.”
And just like that, Ryujin’s mouth went dry.
It was not the words, it was the way she said them. Like a claim. No smirk. No playful deflection. Just a calm, quiet truth that settled between them like gravity.
Ryujin looked at her for a long moment, the joke dying on her lips.
Ryujin shook her head, lips twitching into a smile she could not help. “Of all the people to wear that hoodie, I never thought I’d see you in Cyclones gear.”
Yeji tilted her head, expression unreadable. “Do you really want it back?”
The question hung between them.
Ryujin’s smile softened. “No,” she said, voice quiet. “Looks better on you. At least wear it when I can see it. It suits you.”
Yeji held her gaze, and for the briefest second, something flickered there. Acknowledgment, maybe. Or warmth. Or something Ryujin did not quite have a name for yet.
The wind passed again, colder now, and Yeji finally shifted, arms folding over the hoodie’s chest like she had no intention of giving it back.
“Thought so,” she murmured.
It was just a hoodie.
But Yeji knew she would keep slipping it on on the nights when everything felt too loud. When the pressure curled into her chest and made it hard to breathe.
Because it reminded her of what Ryujin offered in silence.
Because it made her feel less alone.
Chapter 20
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Yeji did not cry that night.
Even though the silence around her had felt heavier than any noise, she had sat alone with that weight pressed tightly to her chest, legs drawn up, jaw locked, refusing to let it spill. She had not cried. Captains did not cry, not where anyone could see. Not even on nights like that.
And then Ryujin found her.
Of all people, Ryujin .
It should have been a teammate she roomed with, or one of the quieter veterans who knew how to offer a wordless presence. It should have been anyone else. Anyone but the same girl she had been staring down on ice for years, the same girl whose smile she used to resent and whose speed she used to chase with stubborn resolve.
But it was Ryujin who sat beside her in the cold, not asking why she was out there, not pressing for answers. Just there, shoulder near hers, posture casual, voice easy.
She joked first. Of course she did .
Something light, something ridiculous, something so Ryujin that it cracked the stillness open just enough for Yeji to breathe again.
And that was when it began to shift.
Yeji had spent years seeing Ryujin as her opposite. Her foil. The chaos to her control, the spotlight to her discipline. But that night, she realized something quieter. Ryujin could also be calm, patient, gentle, in her own strange, untrained way. She did not try to fix things or pry open Yeji’s walls. She just kept showing up, the same way she always had: relentlessly, unexpectedly, and without being asked.
Yeji never expected comfort to come from her rival. Never expected Ryujin, the same player who drove her mad on the ice, to be the one who reminded her how to let her guard down off it.
Hours later, Yeji sat quietly on her bed in the dorms, long after curfew, the dorm lights low. Her hair was still damp from her second shower. The stiffness in her limbs from camp was settling into a dull throb. But her mind, for once, was still.
Because Ryujin had reminded her how to breathe.
Then, the next morning, the final day of training camp arrived under a pale, washed-out February sky. The cold had teeth again but no one complained. Not today.
This was it .
The last stretch before the tournament.
Inside the facility, the rink was far from silent. Skates carved over ice as players cycled through final scrimmage drills, chirping each other with tired voices and sore legs.
It was a wrap-up day: no full systems reviews, no weight room slogs, just enough puck touches to keep everyone sharp. Coaches stood near the benches, nodding, watching, occasionally calling out adjustments, but the mood had shifted.
There was less tension now. Less pressure. The atmosphere was loose. Not lazy, no one dared go soft with Coach Donovan still watching every stride, but lighter, warmer, full of the kind of easy energy that only came once the pressure had done its damage and finally let go.
Scrimmages were short and sharp. There were no whiteboards, no stop-start drills. Just open-ice play, chemistry tests, and the occasional whistle when someone got too cute with the puck. Everyone buzzed with leftover adrenaline and a strange, quiet pride.
“Yo!” Riley called as she blew past Yujin during a 3-on-2 drill. “If you’re gonna play defense with your eyes closed, at least warn me!”
Yujin groaned dramatically, doubling back. “You’re just mad I figured out your one move!”
“My move scores on Lia every time,” Riley shot back, snapping a clean wrist shot past the net. “Ask her!”
“Please don’t,” Lia muttered, leaning on her stick from the crease, sweat dripping down her jaw. “I’m fragile.”
Chaeryeong, waiting her turn on the bench, “Fragile? Coming from someone who called herself ‘a wall of vengeance’ in the group chat...”
Laughter rippled down the bench. Ryujin skated past them, grinning, before looping wide around the far circle and settling near the left boards.
Yeji, as always, was at the center of the rotation, keeping tempo no matter who she shared her shift with. She was sharper than ever today, snapping outlet passes across the neutral zone with pinpoint speed, intercepting centering feeds with calm precision. But what stood out was not her control.
It was her ease.
There was less steel behind her eyes. Less tension in her shoulders. And when Winter tried to chirp her after a failed wraparound, Yeji did not just let it pass. She smirked, lifted her stick, and tripped Winter lightly on the next rush.
When their group rotated off the ice, Ryujin skated up beside her, bumping her elbow as they neared the bench.
“Captain seems relaxed today,” she said, grinning. “What happened? Someone spike your breakfast with optimism?”
Yeji raised an eyebrow, chest still rising from exertion. “Wouldn’t be hard to figure out who. You’ve been suspiciously chipper all morning.”
“I’m basking,” Ryujin said. “In the glow of your emotional growth.”
Yeji huffed a breath and shook her head, but she nudged Ryujin’s shin with her stick anyway. “You’re insufferable.”
Ryujin just smiled. “You good?” she asked.
Yeji turned, breath visible in the cold, sweat drying fast at her temples. “Never better.”
Ryujin raised a brow. “You look like someone who finally slept more than four hours.”
“I slept five,” Yeji deadpanned.
“Wow,” Ryujin grinned. “Luxury.”
They rotated again on the ice, passing Chaeyoung and Karina on the way. Chaeyoung leaned in and stage-whispered, “Should we give these two a moment or…”
Karina added, “Because the tension? We’re choking on it.”
Yeji rolled her eyes. “Go skate.”
Ryujin shot a mock salute. “Yes, Captain.”
As the final whistle blew and Coach Donovan called everyone into a center-ice huddle, the team clapped sticks together, tapping blades in that wordless, ritual rhythm. Final day, final breath before the next challenge.
During cooldown laps, the team skated in wide arcs, scattering along the perimeter. Riley and Jinni broke into a mock race. Karina trailed back to talk with Seulgi. Chaeyoung and Winter debated whether to call their line the “ Chaos Line ” or the “ Cold Cuts. ”
Ryujin found Yeji naturally, like always now, meeting her pace somewhere along the right wing boards.
“Hard to believe it’s over,” Ryujin said, voice quiet now, more sincere beneath the buzz of final-day energy.
Yeji glanced toward the far net, where the coaches stood conferring. “Not really over. The real thing’s next.”
“Yeah, but… this part was good,” Ryujin said. “Fun. You know, minus the bruises and the emotional whiplash.”
Yeji let her lips tug upward. “Yeah. It was.”
A moment passed. Ryujin’s skate glided lazily alongside hers.
“You’re a good captain, you know,” Ryujin said, softer now. “Even when you pretend you don’t care what people think.”
Yeji did not look at her. She just stared forward, the corners of her mouth curved faintly.
“You pulled it off,” Ryujin said quietly. “Camp’s over. There was no mutiny. You didn’t break.”
Yeji gave a short, soft laugh. “Almost broke. Twice.”
“Still counts.”
Yeji glanced out the glass doors toward the fading light. “It was harder than I thought it’d be,” she admitted. “Not just the drills. All of it.”
Ryujin stepped beside her. “You made it look easy.”
“That’s the job,” Yeji said, voice a touch dry. “Make it look easy. Carry the weight like it doesn’t exist.”
Ryujin was quiet for a moment, then said, “You don’t have to carry it alone, you know.”
Yeji turned her head slightly.
Ryujin added, “I mean, you can. You clearly did. But… you don’t have to.”
Yeji did not answer right away. But there was something different in her expression now. Open, just enough.
“You coming to the bonfire?” she asked instead, voice softer.
Ryujin blinked, surprised. “I wasn’t planning to.”
Yeji’s voice was even quieter now. “You should.”
Ryujin’s grin returned slowly. “Yeah,” she said, matching her tone. “Okay. “I’ll be there,”
“For the s’mores.” she added.
Yeji smiled, just slightly, but it stayed longer this time.
The practice whistle had blown twenty minutes ago, but no one had left the ice. Equipment was strewn across the rink like debris from a celebration: gloves, sticks, even a lone helmet near the blue line, but not a single skater had moved toward the locker room.
At center ice, Ryujin lay curled, laughing so hard her breath came in wheezing bursts. Her helmet had been tossed aside, revealing flushed cheeks and a wide grin. Somewhere behind the net lay her gloves. Her stick had long since been repurposed into a microphone. She could not even remember how it started.
Someone, probably Yuna, had hooked up her phone to the rink speaker and let the queue run wild.
The current selection: Justin Bieber’s One Less Lonely Girl.
Blasting at full volume from the speakers, the pop song echoed off the cold boards like it was 2010 all over again. What began as a joke, a rogue shuffle click gone too far, had become an all-out, full-blown rink concert.
The team had already surrounded Ryujin, dragging her into the center circle like she was about to be sacrificed to pop culture. The opening chords of “One Less Lonely Girl” were blasting at full volume now, echoing off the rink walls like a middle school flashback fever dream.
Madison was the first to skate forward with flair, cradling a hockey stick like a bouquet, lip-syncing with exaggerated drama.
“ How many I told you’s, and start overs, and shoulders have you cried on before? ” she wailed, nearly dropping to her knees in fake heartbreak. That alone sent Ryujin into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, clutching her sides, shoulders shaking. Around her, the rest of the team whooped and screamed.
Karina skated lazy circles around Ryujin, holding two water bottles high in the air like makeshift spotlights. Every time someone sang a line, she squeezed a dramatic spray of mist toward the sky, a chaotic light show. Yuna twirled like she was in a montage from a romcom. Chaeryeong, perched on the bench with a front-row view, had tears in her eyes from laughing. “THIS IS ART!” she shouted, phone camera steady as she recorded every second.
At some point, Ryujin had been placed on an upturned equipment bucket in the middle of the ice like a pop concert throne. Each player took turns confessing their undying love through melodramatic lyrics and terrible choreography.
Then came Winter, who dropped to one knee with no warning, holding out a mouthguard like it was an engagement ring. “ If you let me inside of your world. There'll be one less lonely girl. ” she shrieked, causing a collective scream-laugh from the bench.
Lia skated forward next, expression comically sincere as she clutched her chest. “ Now all I see is you. I'm coming for you. ” She sang like a Shakespearean soliloquy.
Ryujin nearly fell backward off the bucket. “I hate all of you!” she shouted between laughs, but no one heard her over the volume.
Casey skated up to Ryujin with a makeshift “bouquet” of hockey sticks.
“For you, m’lady,” she said solemnly, presenting it.
“I’m going to scream,” Ryujin muttered, but she took it.
Everyone was yelling over the chorus, half singing, half howling, throwing towels like streamers.
And then the song hit the bridge.
The music dropped. The team turned, half in mischief and half in instinct. From somewhere behind her, a voice rang out:
“BRIDGE!” Riley shouted. “SOMEONE’S GOTTA HIT THE BRIDGE!”
“Get Yeji!!”
Immediately, panic bloomed.
“No—no no no,” Yeji said, hands out in protest as she tried to skate backward, her eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Nope. I don’t sing. I’m not doing—”
“IT’S THE LAW!” Winter declared, triumphant.
Yeji’s eyes widened. “NO.”
“YOU’RE THE CAPTAIN!” Lia yelled, circling her like a vulture. “LEAD BY EXAMPLE!”
“Absolutely not,” Yeji said, already skating away, instinctively calculating exit routes to the hallway.
“Oh yes,” Chaeryeong grinned. “Captain’s time to shine.”
“YEJI,” Jinni called. “JUST THE BRIDGE. THAT’S ALL WE ASK.”
Winter chimed in, far too enthusiastically. “THIS IS A TEAM-BUILDING MILESTONE.”
Yeji looked to the ceiling, muttering something under her breath.
Riley skated behind Yeji, placed both hands on her shoulders, and whispered dramatically, “For Team USA.”
Before Yeji could make a proper escape, three of them descended, Chaeryeong, Karina, and Yuna, grabbing her arms and dragging her toward center ice like a reluctant tribute to the pop gods. Yeji resisted, but only half-heartedly. She was already smiling, lips pressed together, nose scrunched in that way Ryujin knew meant she was mortified but too amused to fight.
Someone shoved a stick into Yeji’s hands like a mic stand. The speaker volume cranked even louder.
The bridge rolled in.
Yeji stood awkwardly at center ice, stiff as a board. Then she looked at Ryujin.
And something in her shifted.
Ryujin saw it in an instant, that subtle narrowing of Yeji’s focus, the calm that always came over her before something mattered.
Then, Yeji sang.
I can fix up your broken heart
I can give you a brand new start
I can make you believe
I just wanna set one girl free to fall,
Free to fall
Fall in love
With me
It was not loud. It was not theatrical. But it was clear. And it was good .
The team lost it.
Half of them collapsed onto the ice in fits of laughter. Others were doing the second voice. Lia slid dramatically into the boards. Jules lay on her back. Madison actually had tears in her eyes.
Yeji’s voice carried across the ice, not mocking or sarcastic, but steady and sincere. Her posture was still awkward, and her ears had gone red beneath her hair, but her eyes never left Ryujin. And for Ryujin, who had been laughing nonstop for the last ten minutes, everything suddenly stilled.
I'm gonna put you first
I'll show you what you're worth
The final line came quiet, almost like a secret.
If you let me inside your world
There's gonna be on less lonely girl
The silence that followed was instant. No one dared to break it.
Then the team exploded.
“YEJI CAN SING??”
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”
“WE’VE BEEN ROBBED!”
“DROP THE ALBUM!”
“OH MY GOD.”
Yeji spun around mid-laugh, already skating away like she had just committed a federal crime. “Nope. No. You did not hear anything. That didn’t happen!”
Ryujin still did not move.
She was still seated on the bucket at center ice, helmet forgotten, gloves lost, and all traces of laughter gone from her face. She just sat there, staring.
Because something about the way Yeji had sung that line, awkward and genuine and unexpectedly warm, had struck her off balance. It was supposed to be a joke. But then Yeji had to look at her.
Yeah. Ryujin was absolutely done for.
The rink erupted. Shouts and whoops and screeches of betrayal and disbelief.
But Ryujin did not join in.
She just sat there, still holding the makeshift bouquet someone shoved into her hands minutes ago. Still staring. Still reeling.
Her pulse was doing something ridiculous. No one else seemed as rattled. The rest of the team laughed and hooted, begging for a second round, but Ryujin could barely hear them.
Because all she could think about was the moment she realized it.
It hit her on a Tuesday.
Not during one of their chirpy hallway arguments or a late-night film session with the team, not even in the heat of a scrimmage when Yeji would slam the puck off the boards and glance over to see if Ryujin was in place—of course she always was. No, the moment snuck in quiet, almost boring, without fanfare.
They had finished a long morning of drills. Coach Maddox had run them through rush defense rotations until their legs burned and lungs felt like ice. Most of the team had already peeled off to hit the showers or crash in the rec room. Ryujin was half-limping toward the water fountain, her shoulders stiff, jersey damp with sweat.
And there was Yeji.
Sitting on the bench just inside the weight room, taping her stick with clean, measured precision. She still had her gear on, helmet off, hair slicked back loosely due to sweat, a bead of frost-sweat drying on her jaw. Her movements were calm, methodical. She was not even looking up.
But Ryujin paused in the middle of the hallway like someone had reached into her chest and pressed hard.
Yeji was not doing anything extraordinary. She was not skating or barking orders or staring Ryujin down after a goal. She was just… sitting there . Focused. Quiet. And beautiful in the way storms are beautiful when they are far away; silent, contained, but brimming with energy just beneath the surface.
Ryujin stared.
The world around her kept moving. Teammates passed by, laughed, someone tossed a sweaty towel too close to the trash can. But Ryujin barely registered any of it.
Her heart stuttered once. Not from exhaustion.
And then it hit her.
Shit .
She liked Yeji.
Not just respected her. Not just wanted to beat her, or stand beside her on the same line, or unravel her game like a puzzle she could never solve. She liked her . In the way that made her stomach twist and her voice catch when Yeji turned just slightly and looked up.
Their eyes met.
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “You’re just going to stand there? Or do you need directions to the water fountain?”
Ryujin blinked. And for the first time in a long time, she felt her pulse trip for a reason that had nothing to do with competition.
She tried to respond, something snarky, something familiar, but her brain stalled. Her throat was dry. She walked to the fountain, took a sip, and tried to regroup. She could feel Yeji’s gaze like it was heat through the back of her jersey.
And all she could think was: fuck that stupid dream.
It was just a dream , she told herself. Just a dream. Probably triggered by the late-night conversation with her friends, or the way Yeji had looked during scrimmage, or—
But that was a lie. A convenient one.
By the time she turned around, Yeji had returned to her taping, but there was a faint smirk on her lips. Not teasing. Not smug. Just… amused. And unbothered.
She liked her and it was not going away.
That was the realization.
She tried to bury it. She blamed the dream. Blamed exhaustion. Blamed Yeji’s stupid stubborn hair falling across her face like that.
The acceptance, the full, terrifying surrender , came days later, when she stepped out into the freezing night, needing to get out of her own head. She had whispered a half-mocking plea to the sky, half-mocking herself, asking for a sign, “If this is real… give me something.”
And she found it in the form of Yeji sitting alone on the back stairwell, quiet and vulnerable in a way Ryujin had never seen.
All the arguments. All the tension. The stolen glances. The secret early practice. The way Yeji never cracked unless Ryujin was the one pushing her.
It had been there for a long time, this slow, creeping certainty.
That was when she stopped pretending.
That was when she let herself feel it.
The bonfire was in full swing by the time the last of the marshmallows were passed around. The logs hissed and cracked, throwing sparks into the freezing February night, their glow flickering over twenty faces flushed with windburn and something warmer: relief, pride, a sense of arrival. It was late, nearly 10 PM, and the last full day of Team USA’s training camp had shifted into an unofficial, unsupervised, and completely necessary celebration.
The coaches were gone. The formal speeches had already happened at dinner. This was for them.
Tonight, they were just a group of teammates. Half rookies, half veterans, all bonded by bruises and blisters and the slow magic of becoming something real together.
The players had dragged benches and folding chairs into a loose ring out back near the woods, layered in hoodies, sweatpants, and beanies, gloves pulled halfway off for roasted marshmallows or cold cans of soda. A Bluetooth speaker sat precariously on a folding table, humming with a playlist no one fully agreed on but everyone tolerated.
Riley and Jinni were arguing over the correct ratio of chocolate to graham cracker like it was a national debate. Jules was halfway through telling a horror story that only Madison seemed to believe. Lia had a bag of marshmallows in one hand and a half-melted s’more in the other, leaning against Winter who was trying, and failing, to light a sparkler.
It was loud and chaotic and warm in a way the rink never was. The kind of warmth that came from people who had fought through the same bruises, the same long days, the same silent doubt that lived in the hours before sleep.
Ryujin sat off to the side near the edge of the firelight, a soda in her hand, eyes scanning the crowd like she was pretending not to look for someone.
Yeji appeared beside her without announcement.
Not from the path. Not from the far side. Just there, as if Ryujin had pulled her into existence by sheer will.
Ryujin did not jump, just turned and smiled, voice low. “Took you long enough.”
Yeji shrugged, the firelight flickering over her face. “Had to talk to Coach Harper.”
“More hockey talk?”
“Less,” Yeji said. “She told me to stop checking the schedule and go enjoy myself.”
Ryujin nudged her elbow. “For once, I agree with Harper.”
Yeji sat in a folding chair pulled just outside the ring of firelight, her legs crossed at the ankle, hands tucked in the sleeves of her jacket. Her helmet hair had long since dried, messy now in loose layers around her face. She looked less like the team’s immovable captain and more like any other twenty-something trying to catch her breath after the longest three weeks of her life.
Beside her, Ryujin lounged on the chair with a blanket over her shoulders and a marshmallow skewered on a twig she refused to trade in for the proper metal roasters the rest of the team had passed around.
They sat side by side as the team roared with laughter across the circle. Something about Seulgi accidentally launching a marshmallow into Chaeyoung’s hoodie. Someone tossed a blanket over two people near the back. Taylor Swift had been replaced by 2000s pop punk, and nobody seemed to know the lyrics—but that did not stop the off-key chorus.
Yeji let out a slow breath, eyes flicking across the flames. “Feels strange. Like we just got here.”
“You say that like you didn’t captain the hell out of this team for days.”
Yeji did not look at her. “Still doesn’t feel like enough.”
Ryujin’s tone became gentle. “It was.”
“You know it’s going to fall off,” Winter said, watching Ryujin dangle it dangerously close to the flames.
“That’s the point,” Ryujin replied. “Drama.”
“You’re insufferable,” Chaeryeong muttered, but her tone was affectionate.
“Is that not why we love her?” Lia added, biting into her s’more with one cheek bulging. “Ryujin thrives on chaos.”
Riley chimed in from where she was trying to teach Jinni how to open a soda can with gloves on. “Nah, she thrives on attention. Big difference.”
“Thank you, Riley,” Ryujin said brightly, raising her marshmallow like a toast. “Finally, someone understands me.”
Jules had collapsed into a lawn chair nearby, one boot resting on the fire ring’s edge. “We should make this a thing,” she mumbled. “Bonfire after every camp.”
“If the venue lets us,” Karina said from beside Yeji, pulling her scarf tighter. “And if Coach Donovan doesn’t make us run suicides tomorrow just for thinking about it.”
“Coach is two states away by now,” Seulgi said, sounding far too smug. “He can’t hurt us anymore.”
“You say that,” Madison deadpanned, “but I’m still scared he’ll pop out of the trees.”
The fire crackled again, scattering a burst of sparks skyward. Laughter rolled through the circle, that easy kind that only comes when no one’s trying to impress each other anymore.
Yeji was still watching them. Not in the captain’s way: assessing, leading, steering, but with something softer in her chest tonight. She was letting herself just watch. Just exist.
She felt Ryujin nudge her boot with hers.
“You’re quiet,” Ryujin murmured, voice low and close, audible only to Yeji through the crosstalk and banter. “That’s not like you. Usually by now you’re giving a lecture about how someone’s going to leave food wrappers on the ice.”
Yeji leaned in just slightly, chin resting on her hand. “I’m letting everyone be stupid for one night.”
Ryujin grinned. “Wow. Huge character development.”
Yeji smiled, slow and subtle. “Mark it in the team log.”
“I’ll notify the Olympic committee.”
Yeji’s gaze lingered on her then, the way Ryujin’s face caught the firelight, half-shadowed, eyes reflecting orange warmth. There was something about her presence tonight, the way she stayed close without demanding anything. Ryujin had not hovered, had not made a show. She had just been there. Beside her. Around her. Present .
“I’m glad you’re here,” Yeji said, quiet but clear.
Ryujin blinked once, then met her gaze fully. “I’m always here.”
Yeji’s throat tightened a little at that, not because she doubted it, but because she had started to rely on it more than she meant to.
“Captain!” Jinni’s voice rang out suddenly, loud and teasing. “You gonna give a speech or what?”
“Yeah!” Riley echoed. “Give us the closing monologue! You know you wrote one.”
Yeji rolled her eyes, sitting up. “Do I look like I wrote a speech?”
Winter, without hesitation, said “Yes.”
Everyone laughed, and Yeji raised her hands in mock surrender. “Okay. Fine. Here it is.”
She stood slowly, brushing off her jacket, and took a step closer to the fire, letting the crackling light draw full attention.
“Team,” she started, “you’ve made it through two weeks of ice, bruises, bad cafeteria food, and each other. Some of you didn’t kill your linemates. Some of you even passed conditioning.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the circle.
“You’ve trained, argued, lost sleep, gained blisters, and probably learned more about each other’s hygiene habits than you ever wanted to know. And somehow,” she said, sweeping her eyes over them, “you’re still here. Still standing. And you’re stronger than you were two and a half weeks ago.”
Her voice softened.
“This was never going to be easy. And what comes next won’t be either. But if we can come together like this again, when it counts…” She looked around, locking eyes with as many teammates as she could. “We’ll be ready.”
The team clapped, hooted, tossed marshmallows. Someone yelled, “GREAT SPEECH!” and someone else booed ironically, but it was all affection now.
Yeji sat back down next to Ryujin with a sigh and a tired smile.
“Not bad,” Ryujin said. “Did you rehearse that?”
“Maybe,” Yeji replied, eyes half-lidded, voice lighter now.
“Tryhard.”
“Always.”
There was a pause, broken only by the pop of a log collapsing into embers.
“You know,” Ryujin said, a smirk curling at the edge of her lips, “I expected you to sneak off early. Brood alone. Maybe organize your laundry by jersey numbers or something.”
Yeji huffed a laugh. “I almost did.”
“But you didn’t.”
Yeji finally turned, her voice quiet, sincere. “Because you said you’d be here.”
And Ryujin went still.
The firelight reflected in Yeji’s eyes, amber and open. There was no teasing in her voice now. No armor. Just the truth.
Ryujin swallowed, heart thudding once.
“I keep my promises,” she said softly.
Yeji gave her a long look, one that reached past jokes, past rivalry, past everything they had pretended to be up to now.
“I know,” she said.
And slowly, Yeji reached for her hand.
Not dramatically. Not in some grand, sweeping gesture. Just a quiet touch, fingers brushing over Ryujin’s, holding it like an anchor.
Ryujin squeezed back.
No one else seemed to notice. The laughter continued. The flames danced. Somewhere in the shadows, someone shouted about burning the last marshmallow and blamed it on Riley.
And for the rest of the night, with laughter echoing under the stars, music drifting into the trees, and fire casting their silhouettes long and glowing, Yeji and Ryujin sat close. Closer than before. Maybe not touching, not yet . But every so often, Ryujin’s hand would bump against hers, and neither of them moved away.
And in that flickering orange light, surrounded by teammates who now felt more like family, they both realized something simple and quiet.
The world spun on, like nothing had changed.
But for them, right then, everything had.
Notes:
Honestly can’t believe we’re already on the 20th chapter :’) I initially thought the story would be done by now, but I enjoy writing these characters so much that I sometimes get completely lost in it. Thank you for staying and reading our favorite rivals’ story!
Thank you to everyone who voted on Wattpad, left kudos on AO3, and took the time to comment on either platform. I truly appreciate it. Your support motivates me to update as often as I can.
See you in the next chapters! 💙
Chapter Text
The morning after the bonfire broke early. Too early.
There was frost clinging to the team bus windows as it pulled up to the private terminal in Detroit, breath fogging in clouds as players shuffled out with carry-ons slung over tired shoulders. Scarves wrapped up to their noses, sleepy glares peeking over coffee cups. It was February 14. Valentine’s Day. The entirety of Team USA was boarding a charter flight bound for Montreal, Canada, where the international tournament would begin in just two days.
The tone was different now. The comfort of camp had been packed away with the duffels. There were no more icebreaker games, no more s’mores. From here on out, it was real.
But still, they were them now. A team.
“Why is it this cold at 7 a.m.?” Riley groaned as she trudged across the tarmac in snow boots, her parka zipped up to her ears.
“Because Canada is colder,” Chaeryeong replied behind her, already sipping tea. “This is a mercy preview.”
“I’m not emotionally prepared for French signs,” Yuna muttered, struggling with her suitcase wheel in the slush.
“Just don’t accidentally flirt with a customs officer,” Lia added, deadpan. “Again.”
“That was one time,” Yuna protested.
Inside the plane, the seating chart had already been passed around digitally, courtesy of Coach Maddox and a very passive-aggressive email. Players filed into their rows in clumps of two or three, some arguing about window seats, others too tired to care.
Ryujin found her seat in the middle of the plane and blinked once at the name next to hers on the list.
Of course she was sitting next to Yeji again. Numbers 97 and 98. They were practically joined at the hip now, thanks to camp logistics and their uniform numbers.
Yeji stepped into the row, letting Ryujin sit on the window seat, her expression unreadable but calm.
“Morning,” Ryujin said as she slid into the window seat. “Happy Valentine’s.”
Yeji raised a brow at her, tossing her bag overhead. “Did you bring me chocolate?”
“No, but I’m a delight to sit next to,” Ryujin grinned. “Which is arguably sweeter.”
“Debatable.”
Yeji sat next to her, fingers tugging off her gloves one by one.
“We sat like this before. On the way to Detroit.” Ryujin said once they both settled on their seats.
Yeji blinked, then turned slightly toward her. “I remember.”
Ryujin let out a soft breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “We didn’t talk much then.”
“No,” Yeji replied, quiet and even. “You were sulking.”
Ryujin looked at her, finally really looked. Her lip twitched, and for the first time that day, the tension cracked. “You shut me out on national TV. I earned that sulk.”
Yeji did not smile, but her eyes warmed. “You came into that game cocky.”
“I always come in cocky,” Ryujin replied, relaxing into her seat now, shoulder brushing Yeji’s ever so slightly. “You just finally made me pay for it.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Yeji folded up the rink diagram, set it aside, and leaned back.
“Good,” she said, gaze fixed forward. “You needed that.”
Ryujin leaned her head against the window, the faintest smirk tracing her lips. “Maybe I did.”
They had not spoken in a while. But the silence was… comfortable.
“I think I’m starting to like flying,” Yeji said suddenly, her voice soft, not opening her eyes.
Ryujin turned her head. “That’s new.”
Yeji cracked one eye open and offered the faintest smile. “Maybe because you haven’t talked for fifteen minutes straight. It’s peaceful.”
Ryujin narrowed her eyes playfully. “You wound me.”
Yeji did not move, but her smile grew, slow and genuine this time. “I didn’t say I wanted you to stop.”
That made Ryujin pause, just for a second. Then she relaxed again, letting her head tilt toward Yeji’s. “Good. Because I was about to launch into a monologue about Canadian vending machines and why they’re better than ours.”
Yeji let out a short, surprised laugh. “What is wrong with you?”
“Must be the turbulence,” Ryujin said solemnly. “And affection.”
Yeji turned her face slightly to hide her grin, but Ryujin saw it anyway. The corners of her lips moving, the creases at the edge of her eyes softening.
“You’re annoying,” Yeji murmured.
“And you’re glowing,” Ryujin replied. “Is it the high altitude or are you just thinking about me?”
Yeji made a noise like she was going to scoff. Instead, she leaned forward, reached into her bag, and pulled out a protein bar. She held it out without looking.
Ryujin accepted it with mock reverence. “A Valentine’s gift? For me? You shouldn’t have.”
Yeji deadpanned, “I have five of them. Don’t get emotional.”
Ryujin bit into it anyway, chewing dramatically. “Tastes like romance.”
“Definitely the turbulence,” Yeji muttered, but her tone was too fond to be convincing.
A few minutes later, as the cabin grew quieter and the temperature dipped slightly, Yeji pulled a thin blanket from her bag and spread it loosely across their legs. She did not ask. She did not explain.
But Ryujin smiled again, this time softer, letting her hand rest lightly on top of the fabric.
The silence that followed was warmer now. Familiar. Not awkward or laced with rivalry, but with the same softness Yeji had started to recognize since their private morning skates and cold night conversation. Since Ryujin started leaning in more, teasing less to provoke and more to stay close.
Across the aisle, Chaeryeong and Karina had fallen asleep with shared earbuds still in their ears. Riley, two rows behind, was whisper-arguing with Winter about whether “Valentine’s Day” counted as a real holiday. From somewhere deeper in the cabin, a half-suppressed snore echoed.
Ryujin turned her head and studied Yeji in the quiet.
Her features were relaxed now, the sharp lines of her jaw softened by the gentle light from the overhead. Hair tucked behind one ear, the rest still mussed from sleep and wind. Her eyes, though, stayed sharp and focused, even when she let herself rest.
As the flight to Montreal stretched on, Valentine’s Day quietly found its way into the cabin in the most unexpected ways.
No one had anything formal planned, there had been no time for store-bought gifts, no bouquets or heart-shaped anything, not with the final scrimmage wrapped just hours before and the last-minute packing frenzy that followed. But in true Team USA fashion, the group compensated with loud improvisation and chaotic affection.
By mid-flight, a handful of players had turned the cabin into a makeshift Valentine exchange. Born not from romance, but from pure delirious camaraderie.
Riley, of course, started it.
She ripped a page out of her travel journal, folded it into a jagged heart, scribbled “To Winter: I hate you slightly less than usual today <3” in blue pen, and slapped it onto Winter’s tray table while walking past for snacks.
Winter blinked. “What the hell is this?”
“Love,” Riley said dramatically, already walking away. “Accept it.”
From there, the team descended into chaos.
Jinni used pink tape from the med kit to fashion a tiny bouquet of coffee stirrers and napkin roses. She handed it to Lia with an exaggerated bow and the declaration, “For our queen goalie, the backbone of our emotional instability.”
Lia shook her head, “You people are unwell.”
“Emotionally,” Jinni clarified. “Thematically appropriate.”
Chaeryeong raided the snack basket and redistributed exactly one pretzel packet per person, labeling them with initials in black Sharpie. “You all get love in carbohydrate form,” she said. “That’s the limit of my affection.”
Karina and Seulgi tried folding origami hearts out of the emergency card pamphlets before getting caught by one of the flight staff. “I am confiscating that,” the flight attendant said, deadpan, before adding, “…but cute effort.”
Even Coach Maddox, sitting several rows up and pretending not to notice the commotion, was spotted accepting a heart-shaped candy wrapper with a nod of resignation.
Through all of it, Ryujin and Yeji remained quiet in their row, watching the chaos unfold with amusement, content in their corner.
But Ryujin was fidgeting.
She had been since takeoff, shuffling through her backpack, rustling papers, checking the pocket of her jacket with more purpose than she let on.
Yeji noticed.
“You’re anxious,” she murmured.
Ryujin did not look at her. “I’m not.”
“You always mess with your stuff when you are.”
Ryujin paused, then exhaled sharply. “Okay. Maybe I’m… preparing.”
“For what?”
Ryujin glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “You’ll see.”
“If this is a flying pretzel heart, I swear—” Yeji said warily.
“It’s not,” Ryujin said. “I made you something.”
Ryujin shifted slightly, pulling her hoodie sleeve up and reaching into her front pocket. Carefully, she pulled out something small. It was hidden all day in a crumpled napkin she had kept in her hoodie like a secret.
A single coffee stirrer, carved and taped into the shape of a tiny hockey stick. Slim. Crooked at the bottom where she had bent it too sharply trying to round the blade. She had drawn her Cyclones number, 17 , along the shaft in red marker. It was colored almost identical to the one she used during games. Something hers.
Ryujin held the stirrer out between two fingers.
Yeji blinked. Then straightened, taking it without a word. Her fingers were steady, but Ryujin caught the way she paused before turning it over. She read the number and eyed the shape.
“This is like the one you have,” Yeji said slowly.
“Yeah.” Ryujin leaned back against her seat, arms folded. “Made it during camp. Figured if you’re going to keep my hoodie, you might as well match.”
Yeji stared at her. Then she asked quietly, “You made this… for me?”
Ryujin glanced out the window with casual deflection. “I didn’t not make it for you.”
Yeji looked back down at the stirrer-hockey-stick. Her thumb brushed over the marker number once, then again. It was not perfect. It was uneven and crooked and absolutely handmade.
But it was hers now.
“Do I get to give you something back?” she asked.
“You already did. You sat next to me.”
Yeji did not say anything. She just pulled out a small, flat object, wrapped tightly in brown paper. She handed it over without looking Ryujin in the eye.
“What’s this?” Ryujin asked, eyebrows rising as she turned the makeshift package over in her hands.
“A return,” Yeji said, gaze fixed on the seat in front of her. “Sort of.”
Ryujin peeled the tape back slowly. Inside, nestled between a folded note and a small red paper heart, was a pristine trading card.
A pristine trading card.
Ryujin’s Cyclones trading card.
New York Cyclones, #17, Shin Ryujin. The glossy finish caught the overhead light. Her stats were printed in bold beside a sharp action shot of her mid-stride, eyes blazing, mouth open in a yell. She looked like fire in motion.
Her expression immediately scrunched with suspicion. “Why do you have this?”
Yeji, now very busy pretending to organize the earbuds in her lap, said flatly, “I got it after that one game. The one where you beat us with a goal in overtime. They were giving them out at the merch table.”
Ryujin turned the card over. There was a single addition on the back print, written in Yeji’s unmistakable handwriting at the bottom with a fine-tip black pen:
Most annoying forward I’ve ever defended.
Almost my favorite.
– #26
Ryujin stared at the words for a long beat. Her heart twisted sideways in her chest.
“…Did you just autograph my own trading card and gift it to me?” she asked, trying and failing to sound unimpressed.
Yeji smirked. “Heard you were a big fan.”
Ryujin looked down at the card again, fighting the involuntary grin tugging at her mouth.
“Is this going in my wallet or frame-worthy?”
Yeji finally looked over, one brow arched. “Depends. You planning to collect more from me?”
Ryujin leaned in, voice low. “Only if you keep signing them like that.”
Yeji smiled and turned back to the aisle. Beside her, Ryujin carefully tucked the card into the inner pocket of her jacket, right over her heart.
And behind them, a paper airplane flew down the aisle and smacked Chaeyoung in the head, prompting another round of shouting and laughter from the back rows.
Valentine’s Day, in the sky with Team USA, was far from romantic. It was loud, messy, and affectionate in weird ways.
As the plane hummed steadily through the skies over Quebec, the cabin was calm again, at least by Team USA standards. The Valentine’s Day chaos had settled into soft conversations, intermittent naps, and occasional bursts of laughter from the back rows where Riley and Jinni were now attempting to braid each other’s hair mid-turbulence.
Ryujin and Yeji sat side by side in their window row, still sharing the blanket draped over their legs.
The memory of Yeji singing One Less Lonely Girl returned when Winter’s voice floated from behind them again, half-whispered, half-sung:
“Christmas wasn’t merry, 14th of February… not one of them spent with you…”
Yeji groaned under her breath. “They’re still going.”
Ryujin stifled a laugh, burying her face briefly in the shoulder of her jacket. “I swear that song is going to haunt us for the rest of the trip.”
Yeji tilted her head, eyes sliding toward Ryujin with a flat stare. “Your fault.”
“Oh, come on,” Ryujin whispered, grinning. “You nailed that bridge.”
“I’m going to pretend I blacked out.”
Ryujin looked at her for a moment, like she was considering something. Then she leaned a little closer and nudged Yeji with her elbow.
“That's not even true anymore.”
Yeji’s eyebrows furrowed. “The lyrics?”
Ryujin nodded. “ ‘Fourteenth of February… not one of them spent with you.’ ” She raised an eyebrow, her smile curling just slightly. “Technically, you’re spending this one with me.”
Yeji blinked once. Then again. Her head tilted ever so slightly.
“Using Justin Bieber lyrics to— if I’m getting this correctly — flirt with me?” she said dryly. “Brave.”
Ryujin just shrugged and smiled.
From two rows behind them, Riley’s voice floated forward again, dreamy and off-pitch:
“I’m coming for you, I’m coming for you…”
Yeji had just finished sipping from her water bottle when Ryujin leaned in, voice soft and devilish, “I’ll be your one less lonely girl.”
That earned her an elbow to the ribs.
“You know,” Ryujin said slowly, rubbing the part where she was just hit, “you sang that bridge way too well for someone who claims to hate that song.”
Yeji looked at her, deadpan. “I was forced.”
“Mm,” Ryujin nodded, like she was thoughtfully evaluating a suspect in an interrogation. “So you just happened to know the entire bridge. Pitch-perfect. Right.”
“I’m captain,” Yeji said, calm as ever. “I adapt under pressure.”
Ryujin let out a small laugh, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. “You're telling me… you’ve never once streamed that song voluntarily? Not even in high school?”
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying I was a Belieber?”
Ryujin snorted. “Admit it. You had Bieber fever.”
“I had bronchitis in middle school. That’s the closest I ever came.”
“That’s a denial without denial,” Ryujin said brightly.
Yeji turned away, clearly done, but her smirk betrayed her. “I’m literally the captain of Team USA and you’re bullying me about Justin Bieber lyrics.”
Yeji shook her head, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “And you wonder why I didn’t give you a Valentine.”
Ryujin lifted an eyebrow. “You did. You gave me my own trading card with a handwritten note.”
“That wasn’t a Valentine,” Yeji lied, way too fast.
Ryujin smirked. “Sure. And you just happened to know every lyric to a 2009 pop song by heart.”
Yeji groaned into her hoodie.
Ryujin leaned in, resting her chin on her palm. “You’re lucky I’m not asking you to sing it again.”
Yeji side-eyed her. “You’d never survive that. You already folded the first time.”
Ryujin gasped—quietly but theatrically—like Yeji had just accused her of something truly scandalous.
“I did not fold,” she said, scandalized. “I recovered instantly.”
Yeji gave her a knowing look, the tilt of her head practically a challenge. “You stared at me for fifteen straight seconds afterward.”
“I was stunned,” Ryujin argued. “By the audacity .”
“Oh?” Yeji smirked. “Not the vocals?”
Ryujin flailed a little, internally, at least. Outwardly, she narrowed her eyes and scoffed like someone very much not affected.
“Please,” she said, crossing her arms. “I didn’t spend hours thinking about the fact that your voice drops half a register when you sing. Or how you sang that bridge like it was rehearsed. Or how you didn’t even blink while doing it. I definitely didn’t think about that for the rest of the night.”
Yeji stared at her.
Ryujin blinked.
A pause.
“…That was a lot of specifics for someone who didn’t think about it,” Yeji said.
Ryujin opened her mouth. Closed it. Then looked straight ahead like she could reset the entire conversation by force.
Yeji, victorious now, let herself lean a little closer.
“Folded,” she whispered, lips twitching.
Ryujin mumbled something into her sleeve that sounded suspiciously like unbelievable , but she did not move away, not before she caught the quiet laugh Yeji tried to bury behind her sleeve.
The plane touched down in Montreal just past noon, tires skimming across the icy tarmac with a jolt that shook the cabin awake. The team had groaned in unison, half from turbulence, half from the stiff realization that they were no longer in the warm cocoon of training camp. From here on out, everything counted. Every shift. Every mistake. Every goal.
Valentine’s Day had slipped into early afternoon beneath overcast skies, the clouds a thick, pale gray as snow threatened but did not fall. The team filed out of the plane, bags slung over their shoulders, some still rubbing sleep from their eyes as they stepped into the brisk Canadian air.
The hotel loomed ahead. Tall, modern, and sleek. Just off downtown, a ten-minute drive from the tournament’s primary rink. Team USA had booked two full floors. Signs had been taped up in both English and French. The staff greeted them with clipped smiles and cart after cart of gear.
The lobby of their Montreal hotel buzzed with controlled chaos. Suitcases rolled across the marble floor. Players clustered in small, tired knots. Some still clutching neck pillows, others already pulling on team-branded hoodies. The front desk was lined with packets. Folders with room keys, itinerary slips, and envelopes marked with player numbers.
“Welcome to Montreal,” Coach Harper said with half a smirk. “And yes, it’s colder than Michigan. You’ll live.”
They barely made it past the lobby when a team coordinator stepped into their path, clipboard in hand and a no-nonsense tone already primed.
“All room assignments have been decided by jersey number,” she announced, cutting through the chatter. “Pairings are fixed for the duration of the tournament. No exceptions. Room keycards will be distributed once you’ve received your assignment.”
There was a collective groan.
“Did they really use jersey numbers?” Madison muttered.
“That’s evil,” Seulgi added.
“Strategic,” Jinni corrected. “They’ve trapped us.”
“Like rats,” Riley whispered dramatically.
The coordinator continued, “Rooms will be double occupancy. Numbering follows ascending order. You’ll find your roommate by looking at the number above or below yours. If you’re an odd number, you’re paired with the next even. If you’re even, you’re paired with the previous odd.”
Ryujin’s heart dropped.
Yeji stood next to her, already clutching her bag strap. She did not say anything, but Ryujin saw her shoulders straighten, just slightly.
“Jersey 97,” the coordinator called out. “Ryujin. Room 1726.”
Ryujin stepped forward.
“Roommate—Yeji, jersey 98.”
Ryujin and Yeji, standing side by side near the check-in line, both turned at once.
They exchanged a look .
Ryujin accepted the keycard with a straight face and exactly zero comment. She turned, handed the second card to Yeji.
Ryujin’s eyebrows lifted, a smile already forming like a reflex. “Guess they’re still committed to the bit.”
Yeji did not react at first. Just took the offered envelope, scanning the room number on the front: 1726 .
Ryujin peeked at hers. Same.
Behind them, Lia muttered, “Oh, they did that on purpose.”
Winter cackled. “They knew exactly what they were doing.”
“You okay, Ryujin?” Chaeryeong asked, bumping her with her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” Ryujin blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
“Well,” Chaeryeong said, “you snore.”
“I don’t snore!” Ryujin said too quickly.
“Guess I’ll find out.” Yeji said, making Chaeryeong chuckle.
“You’re assuming I’ll be able to sleep with you in the room.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “ Please. You’ll be asleep before I even finish unpacking.”
Their exchange was quick, easy, familiar now, banter rolling naturally, like muscle memory.
“We’re basically legally bound at this point.” Ryujin mused, rocking back on her heels.
Yeji shook her head, adjusting her duffel bag higher on her shoulder. “Try not to break anything in our room.”
“Me? Never. You, though… You broke my spirit during that 6 a.m. three bars.”
“That’s because I’m better,” Yeji said flatly, stepping toward the elevator.
Ryujin followed without hesitation, bumping their shoulders lightly together. “And modest about it, too.”
Ryujin glanced sideways. Yeji was staring ahead, unreadable, hair tucked behind one ear, her expression unreadable.
They would share this room. They would share the nights before every game. The silence after tough shifts. The laughter after good ones. The tension of proximity. The comfort of it too.
Whatever it was that had shifted between them back in camp, it was not going to be left behind.
Room 1726 was waiting.
Chapter Text
In a quiet corner of a hotel in Montreal, Ryujin and Yeji shared a door.
Room 1726.
Neither of them said anything when they first noticed the numbers.
But when Ryujin held up the keycard and raised an eyebrow with a grin and Yeji just shook her head and muttered “Of course,” they both knew.
Someone on the Team USA logistics staff had a sense of humor.
Or fate did.
Room 1726 of the Montreal team hotel was a corner double suite with tall windows that overlooked a pale expanse of city skyline. Snow coated the flat rooftops below, the occasional rooftop vent spilling steam into the cold February air. The room itself was warm, a sharp contrast to the bite outside, lit by soft ambient lights and a single lamp already turned on between the two beds.
It was quiet when Yeji and Ryujin entered.
Two queen beds sat parallel to each other, separated by a small nightstand with a digital clock, a room service menu, and a card that read Bienvenue, Team USA.
Yeji stepped in first, scanning the space with the sharpness of someone who always catalogued her environment before letting herself relax.
Ryujin entered behind her, duffel slung over one shoulder, backpack half-zipped, a stray stick of gum poking out from the side pocket.
“Not bad,” Ryujin said, letting her bag drop onto the foot of the bed nearest the window. She immediately kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the mattress, arms splayed. “Bed’s good. Not Boston hotel stiff.”
Yeji smirked faintly, choosing the opposite bed and setting her gear down with far more precision. “What do you have against my city?”
Ryujin just chuckled and rolled to her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “Do we flip for the bathroom schedule or just accept you’ll take longer?”
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “I’m efficient.”
Ryujin smiled. “Sure, Captain.”
At the far end of the room stood a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the snow-dusted street below. The skyline was modest, the buildings distant, but it was the open stretch of sky that made the view worth pausing for.
By the time both beds were unpacked and the final pair of skates had been set against the wall, the sun had begun to descend now, casting slanted golden light across the floor, catching on the brushed metal details of the furniture, and setting Yeji’s Team USA jacket aglow where it hung neatly over her chair.
Room 1726 was quiet save for the distant rush of water coming from the bathroom. The overhead light cast a soft glow on the neatly made beds and still-packed duffel bags. Ryujin sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling lazily through her phone, her hair still damp from her own quick rinse earlier. Outside, the Montreal sky was fading into blue-gray dusk, city lights flickering to life beneath the snow-heavy clouds.
A sharp knock broke the quiet.
Ryujin glanced up. Another knock.
She slid off the bed and padded to the door. When she opened it, a young staffer in a Team USA jacket greeted her with a clipboard and two garment bags slung carefully over one arm.
“Evening,” the staffer said. “Kit delivery for Room 1726. Jerseys, warmups, and IDs.”
Ryujin nodded. “Perfect. Thanks.”
She took the bags and closed the door gently behind her, turning back to the room with something bordering on reverence. The heavier garment bags had both their names printed on discreet tags: Shin 97 and Hwang 98, clean white labels beneath the bold navy and red USA crest.
She set them on the edge of Yeji’s bed and unzipped hers, pulling aside the plastic just enough to glimpse the home jersey: navy with white and red accents, crisp lettering, her name stitched across the shoulders like it had always belonged there. SHIN above the number 97. The fabric was cool under her fingers, weighty with purpose.
A slow smile tugged at her lips.
Behind her, the shower cut off. The faint sound of glass shifting as Yeji slid the door open echoed through the wall.
Yeji emerged from the bathroom in a compression shorts, toweling off her hair, her usual sharp expression softened by the warmth of the shower. She paused at the sight of Ryujin turning slowly in front of the mirror, admiring the jersey on her reflection.
“That the kit?”
Ryujin caught her gaze in the mirror and grinned. “Hot off the press. You should see yourself in yours.”
Yeji said nothing at first, only crossing the room with deliberate calm, eyeing the bags. She unzipped hers partway, pulling the jersey out to inspect it. She did not smile, but her fingers lingered a little longer on the fabric than necessary.
Her fingers paused briefly when they reached the C. Not like she was surprised. It had been official for a week, but like the weight of it finally settled into the fabric. Or maybe into her.
She did not say anything, but Ryujin caught the smallest shift in her expression.
“Come on, Captain. Time to gear up.”
She pulled the long-sleeved navy jersey over her head in one fluid motion, her fingers threading through the sleeves with practiced ease. As the crest settled against her chest, she adjusted the collar, patting it flat. She turned toward the dresser mirror, ran a hand down her side, and tilted her head just slightly.
“You know,” she said casually, eyes flicking toward Yeji, “this might be the most patriotic I’ve ever been.”
Yeji, who had just set down the towel she used to dry her hair, gave her a dry glance. “That’s not a high bar.”
But she moved toward her own jersey anyway, folding it once along the shoulder line before sliding it over her head with quiet control. The fabric fell against her frame cleanly, the embroidered C settling across her shoulder like heavy armor. She tugged at the hem gently to align it, then gently adjusted the sleeves, one, then the other.
Ryujin watched from the other side of the room, chin resting lightly in her palm as she sat back against the desk.
“You’re really not going to comment on how good I look in this?” Ryujin asked.
Yeji did not look up. “I’m too focused on how good I look in mine.”
Ryujin snorted.
In the mirror, the two of them stood framed like two ends of a spectrum: Ryujin with her relaxed posture, mischief in her grin, jersey slightly rumpled at the hem where she had already stretched her arms overhead. Yeji, upright, composed, the C on her chest catching the light like it was meant to be there all along.
97 and 98. Now side by side.
Ryujin huffed a quiet laugh to herself. “Fate’s a comedian.”
And then, casually, she asked, “Wanna break the internet today?”
Yeji looked at her through the mirror. “What?”
Ryujin pulled her phone from the nightstand and wiggled it in the air. “Come take a picture with me. Our Team USA debut. Matching numbers. The fans will eat it up.”
Yeji scoffed. “They’ll implode.”
“Exactly.”
The lighting in Room 1726 was soft and golden from the late afternoon sun filtering through the tall window, casting warm streaks across the cream walls and the dresser mirror.
They stood side by side in front of the mirror, Ryujin holding her phone in one hand, already framing the shot with practiced ease.
“Come closer,” Ryujin murmured, flicking her gaze from the screen to the reflection. “You’re too tall. You’re gonna crop out your own head.”
Yeji sighed but stepped in, glancing at the screen. The top of her head still peeked past the frame. Without a word, she leaned down just slightly, adjusting her stance. It was subtle, barely a bend, but enough to meet Ryujin’s shoulder where it rested against hers.
That was when Ryujin draped her arm over Yeji’s shoulders like it had always belonged there. Casual, but confident. Like it was not the first time.
The contrast in their expressions was almost comedic.
Ryujin, with that easy, dangerous grin, eyes bright with mischief like she was moments from tweeting something she should not.
Yeji, stone-faced as ever, straight-backed even in the lean, eyes fixed on the camera with her signature calm that screamed, I am being held hostage by my own teammate.
But beneath the stoicism, the corner of Yeji’s mouth raised. Just barely. Not enough for most people to notice. But Ryujin saw it.
She took the photo.
Captured: the red, white, and navy of their jerseys. Ryujin’s arm slung low and confident. Yeji’s slight lean downward, almost imperceptible unless you knew what to look for. The silent closeness.
“Perfect,” Ryujin said, grinning as she looked down at the image. “You make a great prop.”
Yeji lifted an eyebrow. “You needed the photo to make it like you’re taller than me?”
“Needed proof,” Ryujin shot back. “For science.”
Yeji blinked. “You actually posted it?”
Ryujin slipped her phone back into her pocket, utterly smug. “What’s the point of looking this good if the world doesn’t suffer a little?”
It took exactly seven minutes for the photo to hit 10,000 likes.
By the eighth minute, “#97and98” was trending.
And by the tenth, their group chat had exploded with screaming caps-locked reactions, screenshots, and half a dozen edits from Yuna and Winter alone; including one where their jerseys sparkled with glitter and hearts floated above their heads.
Yeji regretted opening the group chat the moment she pressed on the name.
Puck Around and Find Out
[Winter]
HELLO??????????????
[Yuna]
DID THEY JUST.
DROP THAT WITHOUT WARNING????
[Riley]
this feels illegal. are we allowed to look directly at this.
[Chaeryeong]
ryujin be honest. did you bribe her for this
[Karina]
everyone shut up i’m printing this and framing it for the locker room
[Yujin]
ryujin blink twice if you’re about to get checked into the boards in your sleep
[Sydney]
lowkey feel like this is a weird engagement announcement
[Jules]
highkey agree
[Madison]
honestly thought this was photoshopped. i zoomed in and everything.
[Jinni]
is this…. a soft launch?
Ryujin blinked at that last one, looked up at Yeji, and caught her already staring back, cheeks just a little pink, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“…What’s a soft launch?” Yeji asked slowly.
Ryujin’s grin widened. “Nothing. Just something I’ll explain over room service later.”
Yeji groaned into her hands. “I’m canceling your Wi-Fi access.”
Ryujin leaned back on the bed, arms folded behind her head. “Too late for that now, Captain.”
Yeji sighed in defeat.
The energy in the room settled after a few minutes, the last echoes of the team group chat notifications fading. Outside, the sky over Montreal had darkened into a deep, wintry blue, city lights flickering against frost-dusted glass.
Yeji stood by the window, arms crossed, gaze distant as she watched the slow crawl of headlights far below. Her hair was half-dried, still damp from the shower, and her expression had returned to its usual unreadable calm. Ryujin, lounging on her bed in warmup gear, scrolled lazily through her phone until a soft chime broke the silence.
She glanced down.
[Team USA Management (Coach Donovan)]
Reminder: 7:30 PM – Welcome Banquet & Press Reception. Formal kits required. Main ballroom, Level 3. Don’t be late.
Ryujin snorted. “Guess we’re about to be paraded in front of the media.”
Yeji turned slightly. “We expected that.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t expect to be famous for standing next to you in a jersey.”
Yeji rolled her eyes, but Ryujin caught the faintest upward tug at the corner of her lips.
They both reached for their blazers at the same time. Custom Team USA formal kits laid out with crisp shirts, navy and white ties, and tailored black slacks. The entire team had been given matching sets for events like these. Ryujin’s jacket still had the new-pressed crease on the collar; Yeji’s already looked like she had adjusted it to sit just right across the shoulders.
As they got dressed, the quiet returned, not awkward, not heavy. Just the stillness of two people who moved well in each other’s company, even without needing to speak.
Ryujin sat on the edge of her bed, still in her undershirt and slacks, rolling her sleeves slowly as she waited for Yeji to finish in the bathroom. Her Team USA blazer hung neatly from the back of her chair, and her tie lay draped over the lamp beside it, undone, because she had no intention of tying it until the very last minute.
The bathroom door creaked open. Ryujin looked up and paused.
Yeji stepped out into the soft lamplight, buttoning the last of her blazer with a quiet precision that felt impossibly elegant. The navy-blue fabric sat smooth against her shoulders, her white dress shirt crisp beneath, her tie tied in a perfect Windsor knot, of course. Her hair, still slightly damp from her shower, had been combed back with clean parting and sharp edges, her wolf cut styled just enough to look effortless. She moved with the same composed control she had on the ice. Except now, she looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine instead of a hockey rink.
Ryujin’s breath caught in her throat.
Not in a dramatic, cinematic way. Just quietly.
Yeji, unaware at first, moved toward her side of the room to reach for her watch from the nightstand, slipping it onto her wrist with practiced ease. Then she looked up, and caught Ryujin staring.
“Something wrong with the jacket?”
Ryujin blinked. “No,” she said, slowly. “You just… don’t look like you’re about to block one of my shots tonight.”
Yeji’s lips curved. “Disappointed?”
“Honestly?” Ryujin’s voice dropped, lazy and teasing. “No. You clean up terrifyingly well.”
That earned her a subtle glance. A flicker of acknowledgement in Yeji’s eyes, as if she were used to being complimented for her game, but not… this.
“Guess I’m versatile.”
“Dangerously so.”
Yeji straightened, giving her blazer a final tug. “You ready?”
Ryujin glanced once more at her, smirking as she grabbed her tie. “Mentally? No. But if I pass out, at least I’ll be next to the best-dressed captain in the room.” Ryujin looked at her a second longer, then turned and opened the door, holding it wide. “Captain first.”
And just like that, they left the comfort of their room behind, stepping out into the soft hum of a carpeted hallway.
The hallway smelled like polished wood and perfume. The kind worn on special nights, floral and faintly sweet, drifting behind freshly pressed jackets and carefully parted hair. Team USA gathered slowly outside their rooms, all in matching navy formalwear. The USA crests on their blazers caught the hallway light like polished medals, not yet earned but already worn like weight.
“This is not the Met Gala,” one of the Team USA coordinators said. “But it is diplomacy. Respect the lapels.”
Ryujin had lost her roommate, leaving her standing near the mirror by the elevator, shirt tucked, collar just slightly misaligned. She had tried to fix it twice, fingers tugging at the edge, but the lapel folded awkwardly, a small crease refusing to settle.
Her reflection scowled back at her when Chaeryeong nudged her with a smirk. “You clean up nice,” she said, pulling her own ponytail tight. “Still look like you’re up to no good, though.”
“Good,” Ryujin muttered, adjusting her cuff. “Keeps them guessing.”
Winter emerged from their room half-dressed and carrying a lint roller like a weapon. “Okay, serious question: if I wear red lipstick, do I look powerful or like I bit a puck?”
“Both,” Chaeryeong replied. “Which is on brand for you.”
There was laughter. Noise. Teammates grouping near the elevators for one final roll call.
Winter was still rolling lint off her blazer with tape she borrowed from Seulgi.
Riley was showing off her hockey puck cufflinks to Jules and Madison, who were deeply unimpressed.
Lia and Karina had gravitated toward the front of the group, already half-posing in the glow of the chandelier.
Ryujin did not hear Yeji approach.
She only noticed when the hallway went a little quieter.
And then there were fingers at her collar.
Yeji did not say anything. She stood just in front of Ryujin, brows slightly furrowed, one hand lifting the edge of the lapel, the other smoothing the line beneath. Her touch was quick, deft, almost clinical, but not rushed. She fixed the uneven side first, then tugged gently at the back seam until it sat clean against Ryujin’s shoulders.
No sound. No commentary. No permission asked.
Ryujin stood still. Completely still. Her hands froze at her sides.
For three seconds, maybe four, there was no noise in the hallway. Just Yeji’s fingertips grazing once beneath the collarbone, checking alignment like a tailor. When she was satisfied, she stepped back.
“There,” she said, quiet. “Now you look like you’re supposed to be here.”
Ryujin swallowed.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know,” Yeji replied.
She turned and walked down the hallway, rejoining Lia and Karina, who greeted her with casual nods like nothing had happened.
Ryujin stood in place a little longer, blinking at her reflection. The crease was gone. Her collar sat straight.
And beneath the fabric, her chest felt like it was trying to outrun itself.
“Okay,” Winter said, sidling up next to her with a smirk. “So that was kind of hot.”
“Shut up,” Ryujin muttered.
“What? I’m just saying—if she fixed my collar like that, I’d marry her.”
“ Winter .”
“Fine. Date her first. Then marry her.”
Ryujin groaned and walked ahead, but she was smiling. Just barely.
The IIHF banquet dinner was an entirely different world from the usual chaos of bus rides, locker rooms, and rink-side meals in plastic containers.
Held in a grand ballroom at one of Montreal’s historic hotels, the space radiated an air of polished elegance that felt almost surreal to the players used to the hum of sharpening skates and the chill of ice. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead like frozen constellations, illuminating the rows of round tables dressed in crisp white linens and deep navy runners. At each place setting sat elegant menus embossed with the IIHF crest, flanked by delicate cutlery that no one quite seemed to know how to use properly.
A string quartet played in one corner, the gentle strains of Bach and Vivaldi weaving through the low murmur of international chatter—French, Swedish, Czech, Korean, all blending into a kind of polite symphony.
When Team USA arrived, they were ushered toward their assigned tables near the stage, close enough to feel official, but not centered. Yeji walked in first.
Ryujin entered alongside Winter, still trying to act unaffected by the collar-fixing incident from minutes earlier. She let her eyes scan the room, taking in the elegance, the light hum of classical music in the background, and the shimmer of glassware under golden fixtures. Then her gaze inevitably drifted across the room, straight to Yeji, who stood speaking with Coach Donovan, hands behind her back, posture calm.
The C on her blazer caught the light.
Ryujin looked away quickly, pretending to inspect the floral centerpiece at their table instead.
“Someone’s trying very hard not to stare,” Winter whispered beside her, nudging Ryujin with a smug grin.
“Centerpieces are fascinating,” Ryujin replied flatly. “Botanical mysteries.”
“Uh-huh.”
Ryujin had her hands in her pockets, chewing the inside of her cheek as Chaeryeong quietly commented on every piece of furniture they passed.
“These chairs feel like we’re about to be recruited into a secret society,” Chaeryeong muttered as she sat, poking at the dark velvet cushion.
“That’s the point,” Lia answered, checking the lineup card in front of her. “All very symbolic. International unity, classic elegance, and a shared love of salmon tartare.”
“There’s tartare?” Winter asked, eyes lighting up.
“Absolutely not for you,” Karina warned, pulling her napkin into her lap. “You’ll get food poisoning and blame your roommate.”
Yuna gave Winter a subtle thumbs-up behind Karina’s back.
Ryujin dropped into her seat with a sigh. She glanced around the room, dozens of athletes from ten countries, all dressed in formal attire, crests stitched on their lapels, the soft hum of polite conversation building under the orchestral music playing through hidden speakers.
As players began to settle into their assigned seats, the buzz of quiet chatter filled the room. Jules and Madison started arguing about whether the salmon or chicken was safer, Riley swapped place cards just to sit next to Seulgi, and Yuna had already hidden two dinner rolls in her blazer pocket “for later.” Karina was mid-photo op with two local officials when Lia came back to the table with three glasses of water balanced in one hand.
When Yeji joined them, slipping easily into her seat at the captain-designated spot near Coach Donovan, the atmosphere shifted just a touch. She nodded politely, her expression unreadable, but her presence anchored the table like it always did.
A bilingual emcee stepped up to the podium and tapped the mic gently. The room dimmed. Conversations trailed off.
“Ladies and gentlemen — bienvenue à Montréal . Welcome to the IIHF Women’s World Championship.”
Applause broke out, polite but spirited. Ryujin clapped once, then tucked her hands under her arms again.
“This week, we gather the most elite athletes in women’s hockey,” the emcee continued, “and while you are fierce competitors on the ice, tonight, you are united in your excellence. This city welcomes you. This country celebrates you. And this tournament belongs to you all.”
The welcome speeches rolled forward; from an IIHF executive, from a local councilwoman, from a former Canadian Olympian. A short Québécois folk performance followed, complete with accordion, and Winter quietly leaned over to whisper that she would pay real money to see Ryujin try to play one.
Dinner service began with small, artful salads, followed by a main course that most players poked at cautiously, some too polite to complain, others quietly swapping bites under the table. Dessert was a delicate arrangement of tarts and sugared fruit, the kind of thing Ryujin would usually devour in seconds. Tonight, though, she barely touched it.
Between courses, the IIHF president delivered a short speech, welcoming all teams and emphasizing the spirit of sportsmanship, unity, and global respect. Applause followed politely, cameras flashing in the corners.
At one point, as Yeji returned to her seat from greeting another federation official, she paused near Ryujin’s chair, a small hesitation in her step. Their eyes met; just briefly, just enough for Ryujin to see the unguarded weariness flicker beneath Yeji’s composed exterior.
Ryujin’s lips twitched upward in the faintest smirk. She mouthed: Breathe.
Yeji’s expression did not change much, but her shoulders lowered by a fraction. She nodded once, a movement so subtle no one else would have noticed.
The dinner continued, punctuated by more applause, polite laughter, toasts raised in every language imaginable.
Under the table, Ryujin’s thumb pressed once, absently, against the smooth edge of her napkin, steadying herself as much as she wished she could steady Yeji.
She let herself breathe for a minute.
That was when a photographer approached. Smiling, polite, camera in hand.
“Excuse me — would it be alright to get a shot of you with your captain? The two of you have been drawing quite a bit of attention.”
Ryujin turned her head. Yeji was nearby, speaking with one of the Canadian players, her profile lit by chandelier light. When the photographer gestured, Yeji excused herself and walked over. Quiet steps. Calm eyes.
“Just a few shots,” Yeji said simply, standing beside Ryujin.
They faced the camera.
“Closer,” the photographer said.
Yeji’s shoulder nudged lightly into Ryujin’s. Just enough to line them up.
Ryujin could feel the warmth of Yeji’s shoulder seep through the thin barrier of her dress shirt, an unexpected pulse of heat in the otherwise carefully chilled air of the banquet hall.
The photographer lifted his camera, hands poised, eyes bright with that slightly overeager energy familiar to anyone who spent time under media lights.
“Perfect,” he said. “A bit more… relaxed, if you can.”
Yeji did not move immediately. Her expression stayed neutral, chin slightly lifted, eyes focused somewhere above the lens, her default game face for formal appearances. But then Ryujin, unable to help herself, tilted her head closer, her smirk slipping in like an old habit.
Yeji glanced sideways and smiled, just barely, the smallest betrayal of composure, but it was there. The photographer caught it instantly, firing off three quick clicks before either of them could reset.
“One more,” the photographer said, clearly delighted now. “Lean in a little more if you don’t mind.”
Ryujin obliged first, her arm sliding lightly behind Yeji’s back. Not quite a full hold, but enough that the tips of her fingers brushed against the fine wool of Yeji’s blazer. Yeji did not flinch. Instead, she let her weight shift subtly toward Ryujin, her stance finally softening. Her eyes no longer looked past the camera but rather into it, steady and assured, as if she had chosen this moment rather than simply tolerated it.
The flash popped once more.
“There,” the photographer said brightly, stepping back. “That’s the one.”
Yeji stepped away first, her expression sliding seamlessly back into composed neutrality, her shoulders rolling subtly as though she had shrugged off that private softness just seconds before.
The photographers thanked them again, moving on to chase after other groups of players, but Ryujin barely registered it. Her eyes stayed on Yeji.
Before Yeji fully left Ryujin’s orbit, she paused. For a fleeting second, her fingers brushed lightly across Ryujin’s wrist; a quick, almost imperceptible touch that spoke louder than any of the polite words they had exchanged all evening.
Then she turned fully, straightening as she moved back into the soft glow of the ballroom.
Ryujin watched her go, the echo of that warmth still tingling at her skin.
She let out a breath she did not know she had been holding, her heart drumming in her ears louder than the low hum of the banquet conversations.
Ryujin watched as Yeji approached a small cluster of captains from Sweden, Finland, and Canada. Yeji greeted them with a polite nod, her hands folding easily behind her back, posture straight but no longer rigid. The other captains welcomed her, shifting aside slightly to make space in the circle.
Yeji spoke quietly, occasionally nodding as the Finnish captain gestured animatedly. The Canadian captain laughed, her hand flying to her chest, while Yeji simply tilted her head, listening carefully, a faint polite curve at her lips. She was fully present there, every inch the composed leader Team USA needed, every bit the figure they had come to respect, even across borders.
But to Ryujin, standing alone near the banquet wall, that small touch on her wrist was still echoing louder than any formal introduction or official speech.
Ryujin exhaled, her fingers drifting to her wrist where Yeji’s warmth had lingered.
She shook her head slightly, a crooked smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
The banquet was winding down by the time Ryujin finally slipped away from her seat. Dinner plates had been cleared, dessert forks rested on half-finished cakes, and the low hum of the room had shifted into polite mingling, small clusters of players, coaches, and staff moving between tables in a slow, ritual shuffle.
Yeji had been cornered by a board member near the exit, head tilting politely as she answered another round of questions about leadership philosophy and the team’s mentality heading into the tournament. Her responses were steady and smooth like every syllable was carefully measured.
Ryujin watched from across the room, arms folded lightly over her chest, weight shifted onto one hip. She could see the careful tension behind Yeji’s shoulders, the invisible line Yeji always drew around herself when the eyes on her felt heavy.
After a moment, Ryujin pushed away from her spot and drifted toward the back of the room, slipping behind a row of white-linen tables stacked with extra glasses and folded napkins. She ducked into a small alcove near the side exit, framed by floor-to-ceiling curtains drawn back to reveal a window overlooking the glittering Montreal skyline.
She stood there a moment, breathing in the quiet. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her lapel, smoothing where Yeji had fixed it earlier.
Then she heard footsteps.
Yeji appeared in the doorway to the alcove, posture still straight but her expression more open now, bare, unguarded in a way she rarely allowed in front of others.
Ryujin let out a low exhale, small but real. “They finally let you escape.”
Yeji smiled faintly. “You act like you didn’t watch the whole time.”
Ryujin tilted her head, grinning softly. “I had to make sure they didn’t keep you forever. Someone has to protect our precious captain.”
Yeji rolled her eyes, but the sharpness was gone. She moved a step closer, resting her hands lightly against the edge of the window frame, gaze drifting to the lights of the city beyond.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Just the soft murmur of the banquet behind them, the pulse of music leaking faintly from the main hall.
Ryujin studied Yeji’s profile—the line of her jaw, the set of her shoulders, the way her fingers curled slightly against the glass as if bracing herself.
“You hate these things,” Ryujin said quietly.
Yeji did not look at her. “Necessary. Comes with the letter.”
“Yeah,” Ryujin murmured, stepping forward until their shoulders almost brushed. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”
Yeji finally turned then, her gaze meeting Ryujin’s. Close enough that Ryujin could see the faintest flush creeping across her ears, the one she always tried to hide under her helmet or behind her hair.
“You make it sound easy,” Yeji said, voice softer now.
Ryujin tilted her head, a playful curve to her lips but her eyes steady, sincere. “With me, it is.”
A long silence settled between them.
Then Yeji exhaled, a quiet, resigned sound that felt like a surrender to gravity. Her shoulder dipped, brushing Ryujin’s lightly.
“Thank you,” Yeji said, barely above a whisper.
Ryujin’s grin softened, fading into something smaller, gentler. “Anytime, Captain.”
Ryujin stood close, just a breath away, the edge of her blazer brushing Yeji’s sleeve every time she shifted. For a while, they said nothing. Ryujin simply watched Yeji’s fingers curl and uncurl against the windowsill, the same way they would wrap around her stick before a face-off—controlled, tense, betraying more than her face ever did.
Ryujin said finally, her voice low but steady, “I almost didn’t recognize you out there tonight.”
Yeji’s brow creased slightly. “What do you mean?”
“All buttoned up, answering questions like you were born at a board meeting.” Ryujin’s lips curved into a small smirk. “I thought you might bolt when that second board guy started asking about ‘legacy.’”
Yeji let out a short breath, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “That was… exhausting.”
“You handled it,” Ryujin said. And this time, it was not teasing.
Yeji looked at her then, really looked. The banquet noise fell away even more, like it was coming from another building entirely.
Ryujin tilted her head. “Bet you wish you could skip it all and just get back on the ice.”
Yeji’s eyes flickered down, her fingers still fidgeting against the glass. She seemed to think for a moment; too long for someone usually so certain. The warmth that crawled up her throat, that heat beneath her skin she tried so hard to ignore in locker rooms, on the bus, back in the dorms. She felt her defenses slipping, piece by piece.
Then her shoulders eased, like something gave way inside her.
Their eyes met in the low glow of the alcove light. The space between them felt fragile, strung tight with all the words they never said out loud.
Yeji’s gaze held Ryujin’s for a heartbeat longer than she meant to. She could feel it, the slow unraveling of her usually tight control. Then, without meaning to, her eyes dropped. Just for a second.
They flickered downward, tracing the curve of Ryujin’s lips, that lazy, infuriating smirk that softened only in moments like this.
Yeji caught herself, a small intake of breath betraying her surprise at her own slip. Her eyes snapped back up to meet Ryujin’s, sharp and startled.
But Ryujin had seen it.
Her smirk faltered for a second, shifting into something almost reverent, her lips parting as though she might say something, or just close the distance entirely.
“I think… I’m getting used to it.” Yeji said finally, so softly Ryujin almost missed it.
Ryujin’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “To press dinners and awkward applause?”
Yeji’s gaze flicked up, sharp for a second, before softening again. “No,” she said, and her voice caught just a little. “To… you being there.”
Saying it out loud felt like stepping onto thin ice, right over the deepest part of the lake.
She regretted it instantly. The vulnerability, the confession. The very idea that Ryujin might see the fracture lines, might step in too close.
Yeji turned quickly, staring back out at the city, bracing for Ryujin’s usual quip, some easy out. As though she might take it back. As though she had not just let the quietest truth slip between them like a puck sliding across fresh ice.
But the silence stretched instead, thick and electric.
Ryujin stilled. Her smirk slipped, replaced by a breath she forgot to take. Her fingers, which had been stuffed into her pockets, curled reflexively at her sides.
Yeji just felt Ryujin step closer, felt the faint warmth at her shoulder. And when their bodies finally touched, solid and unwavering, she realized she had been waiting for it, almost unconsciously.
And for a breathless, electric second, the world outside the alcove ceased to exist at all.
The air thickened, a fragile hush stretched so tight it felt like a held breath neither of them dared to release.
Yeji’s eyes darted up, locking onto Ryujin’s with a sharpness that betrayed the quiet tremor beneath her practiced calm. Her pulse thundered at her throat, loud enough she wondered if Ryujin could hear it too.
Ryujin stood so close now that Yeji could see the faint rise and fall of her chest, the quickening rhythm that matched her own. Her hand hovered, fingers flexing slightly as if caught in a silent debate.
Yeji’s gaze fell again, the small break in her parted lips as if she, too, was seconds away from a confession she could never say out loud.
Their shoulders brushed, breaths waiting to crash into each other.
Ryujin’s head dipped just slightly, a barely-there tilt forward. Yeji did not pull back. Instead, her fingers curled tighter on the window ledge, her lips parting the smallest fraction in a quiet, instinctive answer.
For a heartbeat, they hovered there.
Then,
“WHERE DID THEY GO?”
A loud voice cracked through the hallway just beyond the alcove. Footsteps shuffled, echoing closer. Winter, unmistakable, pitched high with mischief.
“Check the fancy window thing!” Chaeryeong called, closer now, laughter edging every syllable.
Yeji jerked back, breath hitching sharply as though she’d just come up from under water. Ryujin’s eyes widened, a startled exhale breaking the spell.
They separated instantly, shoulders twisting away in an almost choreographed motion. Yeji turned back toward the glass, pressing her palm lightly against it as if steadying herself. Ryujin stepped back, her hand flying up to rub the back of her neck, her eyes darting anywhere but at Yeji.
A second later, Winter poked her head around the curtain, eyes wide and suspiciously bright.
“Ohhh,” she sang, drawing out the syllable, her grin unhinged. “What did we interrupt?”
Ryujin’s laugh burst out too loudly, too fast. “Nothing! Just… talking. Our captain needed a breath of fresh air.”
Yeji turned her head just enough to level Winter with a flat stare, though her face was still faintly pink. “Get out.”
Winter laughed again, winking exaggeratedly. “Sure, sure! We’ll leave you two to your… conversation.”
Chaeryeong’s voice followed from the hallway, amused and teasing. “They better not get lost again, we’re taking the big team photo in five!”
Winter ducked out, still cackling, her voice echoing as she rejoined the others.
Left in the sudden, raw silence, Yeji’s hand dropped from the window. She exhaled shakily, head bowed, her hair falling forward just enough to shadow her eyes.
Ryujin swallowed, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it rattled her ribs. Slowly, her eyes drifted to Yeji, studying the trembling edge of her breathing.
Yeji did not move right away. Then she turned slightly, eyes flicking up to meet Ryujin’s for just a moment, a single, charged glance.
Almost.
But not yet.
They did not speak as they stepped away from the alcove.
And then, Ryujin’s voice cut the hush, quiet but unmistakably teasing, threaded with something softer beneath the humor.
“Nice to know where you stand, Captain,” she drawled, her smirk audible even before it curled onto her lips.
Yeji froze mid-step.
And somewhere in that quiet, the echo of the almost, that half-breath, that fraction of a tilt, lingered between them like a secret promise neither was ready to name.
Chapter Text
Room 1726 was a soft hush after the loud, gilded swirl of the banquet hall. The door clicked shut behind them, and for a moment, the only sound was the faint whir of the heating vent and the muted heartbeat of the city far below.
Yeji moved first, her motions clipped and methodical. She slipped off her blazer and hung it on the back of her chair, fingers smoothing the fabric longer than necessary. She moved to her side of the room, every gesture screaming focus, focus, focus — a silent mantra she repeated whenever her control threatened to crack.
Neither of them spoke.
Yeji took off her accessories next, each piece placed precisely on the desk. Her eyes never lifted to Ryujin, but her shoulders were tense, her breaths shallow and measured.
A fragile silence settled between them, thick as fog. The alcove moment hovered there, raw and unfinished, echoing in the soft shadows of the room.
Yeji glanced at Ryujin once. Just a flicker of a look. And immediately dropped her gaze back to her tie. She did not trust her voice, did not trust the way her chest threatened to crack open if she let that glance linger too long.
Ryujin lifted her head slowly, eyes wide and searching, every line of her body leaning forward in silent question.
But Yeji turned her back then, stepping into the bathroom doorway. She stepped inside and closed the door gently behind her, the soft click sounding impossibly final in the quiet room.
Ryujin sat on the edge of her bed for a long moment, her hands still tangled in the blanket, her mouth parted like she might still call out.
Then she dropped her head forward, shoulders slumping as she let out a long, shuddering sigh.
On the other side of the bathroom door, Yeji squeezed her eyes shut. She tilted her head back against the door, jaw tense, forcing herself to replay the last minutes with cold, clinical detail.
The tilt of Ryujin’s mouth.
The sudden closeness.
The wild beat of her own heart hammering so loud she thought it might echo down the hall.
She could still feel the phantom warmth of Ryujin’s lips hovering near hers, so close it felt like the universe itself had gone silent in anticipation.
Yeji remembered it in pieces: her own eyes dropping, drawn by gravity stronger than any logic or discipline. She remembered the warmth blooming in her chest like a bruise, the electric, reckless pull to close the space, to lean in and let go for just a second.
But she had not. She could not.
When Winter’s voice shattered the moment, Yeji had felt the walls crash back into place so violently she almost winced.
She knew she should not let it linger. She was captain. She was supposed to carry the team’s focus, their morale, their balance. That was her role. The steady wall, the one who never wavered even when the ice cracked beneath them.
Yet tonight, alone in the dim wash of city lights spilling through the window, she could not shove it down. Not this time.
She crossed the room to the sink, running cold water over her palms until they stung, her head bowed so low that droplets slipped from her hairline down to her chin.
Focus, Yeji. You have a tournament. A team. Responsibilities.
Yeji gripped the edge of the sink until her knuckles blanched, her jaw clenched so tight it ached deep into her temples. She splashed her face with cold water. It dripped from her chin to the porcelain basin below, each drop echoing in the small, tiled room like a ticking clock.
Her chest felt tight, a slow burn rising up her throat as if she had swallowed fire. The urge to lean forward had been so strong it nearly buckled her knees, and the memory of that weakness gnawed at her now, hollowing her from the inside out.
But behind the door, beyond the fragile barrier she had slipped behind so carefully, she could almost feel Ryujin still there. Waiting.
The bathroom door finally opened, the faint click echoing in the heavy quiet of the room.
Across the room, Ryujin sat hunched on the edge of her bed. Her elbows rested on her knees, her hands knotted together so tightly they trembled. When Yeji appeared, Ryujin’s head jerked up as if yanked by an invisible string.
Their eyes met, a sharp collision in the dim space.
For a moment, Ryujin simply stared, her mouth slightly open, her gaze roaming Yeji’s face as if she were trying to memorize every tiny shift and shadow. Then she stood up abruptly. The blanket she had been gripping tumbled to the floor, pooling around her feet.
She took a step forward, not all the way, but enough to draw a sudden heat into the narrow space between them.
“You almost let me kiss you,” Ryujin said, her voice rough, every word scraping against the silence like a match flaring to life.
The sentence landed heavy and final, slicing the room open.
Yeji’s fingers twitched around the towel. Her lips parted, her breath hitched. Her eyes flickered once to the side, to the wall, to the floor, anywhere but directly at Ryujin before snapping back, unable to resist.
A beat of thick, trembling quiet stretched between them.
Then Yeji swallowed hard, the line of her throat bobbing visibly. She lifted her chin by a fraction, her voice emerging on a thin, tremulous thread.
“Did I?” she whispered, and even as she spoke it, she knew it was not meant to deny or deflect. It was an admission, gentle and trembling.
“Yes,” Ryujin breathed, “You did.”
The truth was, Yeji did not stop Ryujin. She could have. She could have turned her face, stepped back, lifted a hand in that small, decisive motion she used so often to command a rink full of players. She could have ended it before it began.
But she did not.
Because in that single breath of closeness, Yeji had felt something she did not let herself feel often: the freedom to want.
She wanted Ryujin’s warmth, the reckless pull of her energy, the way her hands hovered like they were asking for permission and offering comfort all at once. She wanted to lean in, just once, and set down her armor, if only for a heartbeat.
She realized, in that suspended moment, that she did not stop Ryujin because she did not want to.
When she felt Ryujin’s breath on her lips then, Yeji’s mind had gone startlingly quiet. No tactical thoughts, no reminders of responsibility, no voice telling her to hold the line. Only the loud, bright rush of her heart saying, Please .
Yeji’s throat bobbed again, the words clawing at her from the inside. She wanted to deny it, wanted to rebuild her walls brick by brick, but she could not. The truth had already slipped out, humming between them like a live wire.
“You didn’t stop me,” Ryujin whispered, the words tumbling out in a low, cracked confession. “You didn’t move away,” she said, her voice softer now, as though she feared the words might break between them.
Yeji swallowed. She felt every beat of her heart echo in her ribs. Her voice came out just above a whisper.
“No… I didn’t.”
Ryujin’s eyes searched hers, bright with so many unspoken questions.
“Why?” Ryujin asked, her voice cracking slightly on the single word.
Yeji blinked once, her breath catching on the inhale. “Maybe I didn’t want to,” she breathed back.
Ryujin let out a small, breathy laugh, her shoulders lifting and falling as though something heavy had shifted inside her. She stepped forward just slightly, close enough that she could see the droplets of water still clinging to Yeji’s hairline.
“I don’t know what this is,” Ryujin confessed, her voice shaking just enough to betray the softness beneath her usual bravado. “But I think… I want to find out.”
Yeji exhaled sharply, a sound almost like a laugh but softer, sadder at the edges. She leaned forward too, so close that their foreheads nearly touched.
“Me too,” she whispered.
Yeji wanted it. She could admit that, if only to herself in this fragile, unguarded moment. She wanted to lean in, to let herself feel the warmth of Ryujin’s mouth against hers, to surrender to that pull she had tried so hard to bury beneath captaincy, discipline, and responsibility.
But she couldn’t. Not tonight.
They stayed there, breathing each other in, foreheads nearly brushing, lips close enough to taste each other’s breath. The space between them felt like the thin edge of a blade: terrifying, electric, impossibly intimate.
In that brief moment, Ryujin felt her own pulse echoing in her ears. She realized, quietly and deeply, that Yeji could not cross this line now . Not with the weight she carried on her shoulders, the role she embodied so carefully for everyone else. Not when the tournament would start in two days.
Finally, Ryujin let out a shaky breath and leaned back, her lips curling into a small, rueful smile. “But not tonight,” she murmured.
Yeji’s heart squeezed. Her fingers loosened around the towel, and something like relief washed through her, not because she did not want Ryujin, but because Ryujin had understood without being told.
Yeji felt an ache of gratitude so deep it almost startled her.
Her breath shivered out, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before she opened them again. When she looked at Ryujin, there was no anger, no retreat; only a warmth so soft it felt like a quiet promise.
She nodded once, slow and almost grateful, a small curve at the edge of her lips that looked dangerously close to a smile.
Her eyes softened, a slow nod passing through her entire body like a relieved sigh. “Not tonight,” she echoed.
Ryujin mirrored it, her shoulders easing as though she had finally set something heavy down. She took a half step back, giving Yeji space.
Without another word, Yeji moved to her bed and folded herself under the blanket, her movements slower and calmer now.
Ryujin sat back on her own bed, pulling her knees up to her chest for a moment, her eyes still flicking over to Yeji with soft, searching glances. Finally, she settled down too, the blanket pulled up high.
The room settled into a quiet hum.
In the darkness, Ryujin’s voice rose, a small, gentle thread across the space.
“Goodnight, Yeji .”
Yeji let out a soft exhale, the sound almost like a quiet laugh.
“Goodnight, Ryujin,” she answered, her tone light, tinged with something tender.
Outside, the city lights twinkled like distant stars, oblivious to the storm raging in their room.
Inside, the echo of what almost happened, of what almost was, sat heavy in the dark, humming between two beds that suddenly felt worlds apart.
The night had finally settled in. Yeji was already fast asleep on the other bed.
Ryujin lay on hers, eyes open to the ceiling, hearing her own heartbeat like a second ticking clock beside the alarm on the nightstand. Her mind drifted somewhere else entirely. Memories flooded in sharp flashes.
Back in the hushed warmth of the Team USA training camp in Plymouth, Ryujin had once confided in her roommates during a late-night conversation. Winter was sprawled on her bed beside Ryujin’s, quietly listening, while Chaeryeong sat on the floor cross-legged, absently fidgeting with a stray tape roll.
Ryujin inhaled, then let out a shaky breath, the kind that sounded more vulnerable than she ever let herself be on the ice.
“ Okay ,” she muttered, voice muffled behind her hand. “ Fine. I’m just gonna say it so you stop hounding me .”
Winter leaned forward, eyes wide. “ Oh my god. Say what? ”
Ryujin peeked through her fingers, glaring. Then she dropped her arm completely, staring up at the ceiling like it might rescue her.
“ I like Yeji, ” she blurted. The words came out sharp, fast, like ripping off a skate guard. “ I really like her, like her. ” .
Winter’s jaw dropped. Chaeryeong’s eyebrows shot into her hairline.
Ryujin squeezed her eyes shut, face scrunching up as if expecting a puck to the head. “ There. Happy? I said it. I like her. Like actually like her. In the way you two keep accusing me of. ”
Winter’s face split into the widest grin she had probably ever worn, hands slapping the floor as she burst into loud, delighted laughter. “ I KNEW IT! Oh my god! You’re so obvious it hurts! ”
Chaeryeong just shook her head, picking up her tape again. “ Finally. Took you long enough to admit it to yourself ,” she said, almost sounding proud.
Ryujin buried her face in her hands, groaning so loud it rattled the snack wrappers. “ Shut up, shut up, shut up ,” she chanted, voice muffled.
Winter crawled over, slapping Ryujin’s shoulder repeatedly in chaotic delight. “ This is so good. This is the best day of my life. Wait until I tell Riley. ”
“ Don’t you dare! ” Ryujin yelled, lunging up so fast she nearly knocked Winter over.
Chaeryeong laughed, tossing her roll of tape at Ryujin’s head. “ Relax. We won’t tell anyone. Yet. ”
Ryujin slumped back down, her face still red, her breath coming in quick bursts, but under the embarrassment, there was a wild, weightless relief.
Because she had said it. Out loud. Finally.
She had convinced herself, and to anyone who would listen, that Yeji would never see her that way. She had said it so many times it felt like armor:
She’s the captain.
She’s all ice and steel.
She doesn’t look at me like that.
She could never.
She had told Winter and Chaeryeong just that, her voice half-laughing, half-resigned, a joking shield to hide the ache she carried in her chest every time Yeji called her Ryujin in that sharp, calm voice.
She would never see me that way.
She had been so sure.
And now, Yeji was sleeping in their shared hotel room late at night, breathing just a few feet away, chest rising and falling steadily in her deep sleep, a few hours after Ryujin leaned in and Yeji did not move an inch.
And Ryujin thought: she might have been wrong.
Maybe Yeji did see her that way.
For a long moment, Ryujin just watched her, each breath syncing with Yeji’s in the hush of the dark.
She did not know what would come next. They were standing on the razor edge of something unspoken, something more terrifying than any one-on-one rush toward a goalie.
But one thing was certain.
Yeji had looked. And Ryujin had seen it.
That was enough to send her heartbeat into a sprint every time she closed her eyes.
Then, finally, she lowered her head, closed her eyes, and let the thoughts keep her company until sleep found her too.
Chapter Text
The day of the tournament had finally arrived.
The morning dawned sharp and bright over Montreal, cold light bouncing off the city’s frost-slick streets. In Room 1726, the alarm clock flickered to life just before 6:30 a.m., its soft beep cutting through the hush of early morning.
Yeji was already awake, sitting on the edge of her bed, rolling her shoulders in slow, deliberate circles. Her posture was crisp even without the uniform, her face set in that quiet, unreadable calm she always wore before a game.
Across the room, Ryujin stirred with a groan, her hair a wild halo against the pillow. She dragged an arm over her face, mumbling curses at the alarm clock before cracking one eye open.
Yeji watched her from the corner of her eye. “Get up,” she said simply, her voice low but edged with that steady captain’s command.
Ryujin rolled her head to look at her, squinting as though the light itself offended her. “Don’t start with the drill sergeant routine already,” she grumbled, but her voice was softer than usual, her eyes lingering on Yeji a moment too long.
Yeji moved with her usual quiet precision, gathering her jersey and checking her gear piece by piece.
When she turned back toward Ryujin’s side of the room, her eyes landed on the small, familiar shape on the nightstand, that alarm clock .
The same one she had given Ryujin a month ago.
Yeji paused mid-motion, her hands frozen on the hem of her hoodie. Her gaze softened, the sharpness around her eyes loosening just slightly.
The clock glowed a steady 6:47 a.m., bright and unfaltering.
Ryujin, half-awake and fighting her base layer like it was a stubborn opponent, noticed the shift in Yeji’s expression. She glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows raised in a sleepy, crooked arch.
“What?” she mumbled, tugging her arm free and nearly toppling backward.
Yeji’s eyes flicked to her, then back to the clock. The smallest almost-smile threatening to break through.
“You use it on game days,” she said quietly, her voice softer than it ever sounded in the locker room or on the bench.
Ryujin blinked, then followed her gaze. When she saw the clock, her face flushed instantly, ears turning red even as she tried to play it off.
“Well—yeah,” Ryujin huffed, turning away too quickly as she grabbed her skate guards. “Can’t exactly show up late when the Captain would drag me onto the ice by my ear.”
Yeji let out a small exhale, a sound too faint to be called a laugh, but somehow warmer than any chirp or barked order.
“Good,” she murmured, more to herself than to Ryujin. “At least you finally learned something.”
Ryujin shot her a glare, a retort forming on her lips, but when she caught the softened edges of Yeji’s expression, her words died, replaced instead by a crooked, flustered grin she could not quite hide. She leaned forward, her gaze sharp and soft all at once.
Yeji felt it even without looking. The weight of Ryujin’s stare, the silent challenge in it. The shared secret humming beneath every breath.
But today, Yeji shoved it all down, deeper than muscle memory.
It was 5:12 in the afternoon when the team bus finally pulled into the underground loading bay at Centre Bell Arena.
The late day sun outside had given way to that sharp, clean Montreal cold. Inside the loading dock, though, the air was heavy with the scent of rubber mats, tape, and the faint lingering echo of earlier warm-up music drifting from somewhere up above.
By the time they stepped in the arena and into the tunnel, each footstep echoed with the start of something bigger than any one of them.
The tournament finally began .
USA vs Switzerland
The energy was electric before puck drop. First game of the tournament, sold-out crowd, flags waving in every section.
A staffer gave the signal. The heavy gate rattled as it began to rise, the roar of the arena crashing in all at once; a wall of sound so fierce it almost staggered them backward.
As the players were announced one by one, spotlights slashed across the rink, slicing through columns of low-lying fog that rolled from the entrances. Swiss fans clanged cowbells from the far side, their red flags a blur of motion. The USA sections, draped in waves of blue and white, rose to their feet, chanting, faces painted, flags thundering against the boards.
Yeji stepped forward first, her name booming across the arena speakers:
“Starting on defense… Number 98… Captain… Hwang Yeji!”
A single, focused spotlight locked onto her. She skated forward with that gliding, powerful stride of hers, her head held high, chin set. No fist pump, no wide gestures, just a slight upward tilt of her stick toward the stands, a nod that felt both regal and deeply human.
When she reached the blue line, she turned smoothly, sliding into her place with a decisive stop, snow spraying up in a shimmering arc that caught the lights.
Then came Ryujin.
“At forward… Number 97… Shin Ryujin!”
The crowd’s roar spiked higher, a chorus of cheers crackling under the sound system. Ryujin burst forward almost explosively, her momentum wild and electric. She dropped into a low arc as she crossed center ice, her hair whipping slightly beneath her helmet, stick slashing across the surface as if daring it to keep up.
As she reached the line, she popped upright, flinging her stick briefly upward before catching it again, flashing a broad grin toward the stands. Her energy set off a small echo of cheers and laughter even among her teammates waiting behind.
Jeongyeon and Madison followed, each weaving their own expressive arcs as they joined the line. Riley skated out with her trademark slow salute to the stands, earning another ripple of cheers.
One by one, each player took their place, forming a line of blue, white, and navy across the ice, their breaths rising in small ghostly plumes in the bright light.
The anthem began, and the arena hushed, the roar transforming into an almost reverent silence. Helmets dipped forward, gloves pressed to hearts, eyes closing in brief, private prayers.
When the final note echoed off the rafters and died away, they all exhaled as one. A collective release that set the air trembling.
The puck finally dropped.
The entire game cracked open like a firework. Team USA surged forward with an almost manic aggression, the forwards pouring into the Swiss zone in waves that crashed and rolled over their defense.
Seven minutes in, Ryujin broke the ice, literally and figuratively. She collected a loose puck at the blue line off a broken Swiss breakout, weaved inside, faked wide, and snapped it high glove side — 1–0 USA.
The horn blasted, and Ryujin threw her arms wide, turning toward the glass and pounding her fist against it.
Yeji skated up slowly, stick raised in acknowledgment. As Ryujin turned back to the bench, her eyes locked on Yeji, a silent Did you see? hanging in the air. Yeji gave one subtle nod.
Riley added another goal before the first period closed, crashing the crease to stuff in a rebound — 2–0 USA.
In the second, Switzerland fought back, scoring on a deflection to make it 2–1 USA .
The Swiss fans exploded, the iconic cowbells echoing against the boards.
Yeji stepped up her game immediately. She read every zone entry, picked off passes, and delivered calm, precise breakout feeds. One perfect stretch pass found Ryujin streaking down the wing. Ryujin cut across the crease, dragged the puck, and finished low blocker side — 3–1 USA.
On her way back to the bench, Ryujin skated past Yeji and tapped her shin guard twice with her stick. Not for show, just for them.
Winter made it 4–1 USA on a quick rush, finishing top corner off a Madison dish.
Late in the third, Jeongyeon jumped into a play from the blue line, intercepting a clearing attempt. She wristed it on net, the puck deflected off Jules, who tapped it home for 5–1 USA.
Switzerland attempted one last desperate rush along the boards. Yeji read it two strides before it developed, her stick sweeping the puck away with almost predatory precision. She glanced up and there was Ryujin, streaking up ice, her posture screaming for a release pass.
Yeji delivered a stretch pass so clean it might as well have been guided by a laser. Ryujin caught it perfectly in stride, splitting two defenders, legs pumping with raw ferocity. She nearly added another goal but was upended by a last-ditch trip. No penalty shot was awarded, but the entire crowd surged to its feet, applauding the sheer audacity of the play.
As the final horn shrieked through Centre Bell, time seemed to fracture into a thousand shards of noise and movement. The bench exploded into a wave, sticks and gloves catapulted into the air like flares, players pouring over the boards in a chaotic flood.
Lia barely had a chance to brace before she was swarmed at the crease, arms and helmets colliding, shrieks of laughter bouncing off the boards and rising into the rafters. Winter nearly toppled over in her rush, wrapping Lia in a bear hug so forceful that their helmets clashed with a dull clunk.
In the first breathless moments, Yeji skated slowly toward them, her initial instinct to stand a step away and observe the pile of bodies with her usual measured detachment. But something shifted; perhaps it was the raw joy in Madison’s face, or the way Jules was laughing so hard she could not even remove her gloves properly.
Yeji inhaled once, deeply, then closed the distance. She stepped straight into the tangle of limbs, her gloved hands reaching out to hook around Madison’s shoulders from behind. Madison jolted in surprise, whipping around with wide eyes, and then erupted into delighted laughter, turning to hug Yeji fully, slapping her back with both palms.
Riley noticed next, her face splitting into an almost feral grin. Without warning, she threw her arms around both Yeji and Madison, squeezing so tightly that Yeji gave a muffled grunt of surprise, her helmet pressing into Riley’s shoulder.
Ryujin, watching from a few feet away, felt her heart stutter at the sight. She had known Yeji’s walls better than anyone. She had seen the invisible lines she drew around herself, the careful touch. Watching Yeji dive willingly into the fray now, letting herself be swallowed by her teammates’ affection, lit a quiet, aching warmth somewhere behind Ryujin’s sternum.
Finally, Ryujin joined the pile herself, hooking one arm around Riley and throwing her head back in a sharp, whooping laugh that rose above the clamor. For a moment, the entire group became one breathing, vibrating entity: gloves smacking helmets, sticks tapping pads, laughter shivering through their chests like an electric current.
As they slowly broke apart, Yeji remained in the center longer than anyone expected, lingering in small shoulder bumps, letting Madison ruffle her hair, even allowing Jules to lean her forehead against hers for a few seconds in a quiet, exhausted giggle.
After the first win, the team barely had time to catch their breath. One quick night of recovery, a quiet breakfast under the hum of morning tension, and then they were packing up again.
USA vs Czechia
By next afternoon, they rolled up to Centre Bell Arena once more. The same sharp air, the same pounding pulse of waiting fans echoing through concrete halls.
But this time, there were no first-game jitters. Only a sharper, focused edge in their eyes.
Team USA went into Game 2 riding high from their opening win, but Czechia came out swinging. Physical, scrappy, unafraid to hit hard and disrupt USA’s flow.
The first period felt like pushing through heavy snow: every pass contested, every corner battle fierce.
From the first shift, they targeted Ryujin with hits and stick checks, trying to shake her off her usual rushes.
Yeji noticed.
Halfway through the first, Czechia scored on a rebound, taking an early 1–0 Czechia lead. Their fans erupted, banging drums and waving flags.
On the next shift, one Czech forward clipped Ryujin’s legs. Ryujin got leveled behind the net, her helmet twisting awkwardly. Before she could even stand fully, Yeji got there first. She stepped in, her stick pushing the Czech forward back, gloved hand lifting her own teammate's jersey subtly, protective but controlled.
The referee called a roughing penalty on Yeji — her first of the tournament.
As she skated to the penalty box, Ryujin’s eyes followed her the entire way.
When Yeji came out of the box, Ryujin leaned forward, tapping her shin pads with her stick.
“Protective today, aren’t we?” Ryujin called, smirking.
Yeji only paused long enough to answer, voice calm but sharp. “Stay on your feet next time.”
Ryujin laughed, shaking her head, a spark lighting in her eyes.
The next time they both skated back to the bench, Ryujin was shaking her wrist.
Yeji, eyes dark and focused, leaned forward, muttering, “Let me see.”
Ryujin brushed it off with a small grin, replying, “Worried about me, Captain?”
Yeji did not answer. She just reached out and adjusted Ryujin’s glove strap before turning away.
Late in the first, Ryujin made her move. She spun off the boards on a broken play and snapped a quick shot high blocker side, tying the game 1–1 . Her celebration was fierce. A loud yell and a fist pump toward the bench.
Second period: USA settled. Riley crashed the net, jamming in a rebound to make it 2–1 USA .
Late in the second period, Winter charged into the offensive zone, head down as she finessed the puck between two defenders.
Out of nowhere, a Swedish defender barreled into her from behind, sending her sprawling into the corner boards with a loud crash. The crowd gasped.
Winter was about to be slammed again but Yeji was there in a flash. Her stick slammed to the ice, skates carving a sharp stop as she collided shoulder-first into the incoming Swedish player.
The force sent the defender stumbling backward. Yeji loomed over her, her shoulders squared and eyes cold and sharp as shards of glass.
Winter scrambled up, shaken but unhurt. She caught sight of Yeji standing there, practically guarding the space like a wall of stone.
From the bench, Chaeryeong jumped up, smacking the boards with her gloves.
“YEAH! THAT’S OUR CAPTAIN!” she whooped, half-laughing, half-cheering.
Ryujin, who was sitting at the end of the bench, half-hidden behind her helmet, watched the exchange with a tightness she could not explain.
She knew Yeji was protective, that was the captain she had always admired and sparred with. But seeing Yeji explode forward for someone else, that intensity directed at protecting Winter… it made something unfamiliar and hot coil in her chest.
Winter skated past her, patting her helmet lightly. “Thanks, Captain,” she said softly.
Third period: Midway through, Czechia pulled their goalie during a power play for an extra attacker. The puck rattled around the USA zone, a chaotic series of blocked shots and errant sticks. Yeji intercepted a pass and flipped it perfectly up ice to Ryujin, who charged toward the empty net. Instead of blasting it in, she tapped it in slowly, deliberately. 3–1 USA.
Yeji, trailing just past center, lifted her stick and met her eyes. Ryujin turned fully, grinned wide, and pointed at Yeji as the final punctuation mark.
The fans lost their minds. Cameras caught the moment from every angle.
Final score: 3–1 USA.
Winter turned, grinning wide, her voice pitching up so the entire bench could hear.
“So this is what it feels like to have Yeji on our side instead of throwing us into the boards every chance she gets,” she chirped, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Chaeryeong cackled. She slapped Winter’s shoulder and added, “Right! Remember last season’s semifinals? She nearly turned me into wall art!”
Winter laughed, one hand flying to her chest. “That game in Boston? I thought I was going to wake up embedded in the boards permanently!”
Yeji only shook her head, pulling off her gloves with careful precision, trying to hide the warmth rising to her ears.
Back at the hotel, the team celebrated lightly, more controlled than after Game 1. Winter teased Yeji relentlessly about “ defending her damsel. ” Ryujin just shrugged, smirked, and let her teammates carry the joke.
Later, Ryujin sat on her bed, scrolling through game clips. When she reached the moment Yeji stepped between her and the Czech forward, she paused. Rewatched.
Something heavy and bright twisted under her ribs.
“ She didn’t even think twice ,” Ryujin muttered to herself, thumb hovering over the screen.
USA vs Finland
The afternoon of Game 3 dawned gray and sharp, the winter sky over Montreal layered in heavy clouds that threatened snow. The excitement of early wins had hardened into quiet, razor-sharp focus.
Finland came out swinging, aggressive and sharp, controlling the tempo early. The first period unraveled fast.
A quick, deflected goal slipped past Lia only minutes in, and a second came off a sharp counterattack just moments later. The arena roared with a low, relentless hum. Finnish fans were pounding the glass, flags snapping behind the benches. 2–0 Finland.
On the ice, Ryujin’s movements grew sharper, almost frantic. Every stride seemed to burn hotter than the last; her stickhandling turned twitchy, impatient. She darted into corners too fast, collided with defenders harder than necessary, and forced passes that had no lane.
By the time she changed lines, her breath came out in ragged, angry bursts, helmet bobbing as she dropped heavily onto the bench. Her stick slammed to the ground once, the crack echoing down the line.
Yeji returned to the bench seconds later, sweat dripping from her temples, her chest heaving. She sat down beside Ryujin without a word, her gaze flicking once to the scoreboard: 2–0 Finland , then immediately to Ryujin’s hunched shoulders.
In one small, smooth motion, Yeji shifted slightly, her knee brushing against Ryujin’s.
Then she did something no one else would notice. A barely visible, controlled movement: she reached her gloved hand across and settled it on top of Ryujin’s forearm, just above her wrist guard.
A soft, grounding weight.
Ryujin stiffened for a moment, surprised. She did not turn her head, but her fingers twitched under Yeji’s touch, her jaw flexing as she drew in a sharp breath.
Yeji did not say anything. She did not look at her directly. She simply kept her hand there, firm and steady
After a few heartbeats, Ryujin’s shoulders eased down. Her breathing slowed, the tense set of her jaw beginning to soften just slightly.
She did not speak either. But her hand relaxed under Yeji’s palm, her eyes flicking up to the ice, settling into focus again.
Yeji gave her wrist one last gentle squeeze before sliding her hand away, shifting forward to watch the next play unfold.
Second period. Coaches shuffled lines to shake up momentum, splitting Ryujin and Yeji temporarily. The experiment backfired; passes misfired, gaps opened, and USA looked even more frantic. They still managed to score a goal, 2-1 Finland .
Ryujin kept looking toward Yeji each shift change. Yeji kept her focus forward, her posture rigid, but in her eyes was the same frustration.
Finally, midway through the third, the coaches reunited them. The change was immediate.
On their first shift back together, Ryujin forced a turnover at center ice, slipped around two defenders, and ripped a shot top shelf. The goal horn screamed, and the bench exploded. Ryujin turned, grin wide, slamming into the glass with both fists. 2-2.
Yeji skated up, stopped right in front of her, and for a split second their helmets touched lightly in an unspoken we’re back.
Minutes later, Ryujin circled behind the net, scanning for options. At the last second, she slid a perfect pass out to Yeji at the blue line. Yeji stepped forward, wound up, and hammered it straight through traffic. The puck hit the back of the net before anyone could react.
USA took the lead, 3–2 USA .
With Finland pushing late, they pulled their goalie. Riley picked off a risky cross-ice pass and fed it to Winter, who slid it into the empty net to make it 4–2 USA .
Finland managed a late consolation goal, but the clock died before they could get close again. 4–3 USA.
Ryujin and Yeji skated straight toward each other, stopping inches apart.
“You good?” Ryujin panted, breath sharp.
“Now I am,” Yeji replied, voice low, helmet tilting just slightly forward.
They did not hug, not even a fist bump. Just looked, eyes locked, tension humming so loud the entire bench felt it.
Team USA clawed back from the early 2–0 deficit against Finland, finally sealing a 4–3 win late in the third period.
When the final horn blared, relief and exhaustion rolled over the bench like a wave. Helmets bumped, gloves tapped, but the cheers were softer, more an exhale of relief than a roar.
Tomorrow, they would face Canada — their biggest rival, their sharpest test yet.
Chapter Text
"Team USA Dominates Group Stage — Quarterfinal Ticket Secured," blared the first articles.
“Team USA Storms into Quarterfinals — All Eyes on Canada Clash,” read the massive headline splashed across major sports outlets the night after their win over Finland.
The accompanying articles painted a vivid picture: Team USA stepping off the ice victorious, jerseys clinging with sweat, eyes burning with adrenaline and relief. Their comeback win secured their spot in the quarterfinals, and with it, a long-awaited showdown against perennial rival Canada.
After an outstanding group stage and thrilling quarterfinal, the media was ablaze with praise for Team USA.
“Team USA Dominates With Relentless Cohesion and Fearless Play,” read one headline from The Athletic.
Analysts marveled at their near-flawless defensive systems, their fast transitions, and the unbreakable confidence in each other’s roles. The team had turned into a storybook example of collective resilience and chemistry. A powerhouse on every shift.
“Ryujin’s Energy is Unmatched — The Spark Behind Team USA’s Offense,” read a feature piece in Sports Illustrated.
Commentators described her as electrifying, magnetic, and impossible to contain.
“Yeji: The Silent Commander at Team USA’s Blue Line,” wrote The New York Times.
Post-game interviews often showed Yeji answering with short, steady replies, her trademark unbothered stare giving little away, yet fans loved the rare moments her lips twitched in a small, almost-smile.
But what really captured the media’s attention was their dynamic together: Ryujin and Yeji’s on-ice synergy.
Slow-motion highlight reels focused on Yeji feeding Ryujin perfect stretch passes. In every replay, Ryujin’s grin was wide, her excitement unmistakable. Meanwhile, Yeji’s small nods and rare, hidden smirks revealed how much she trusted Ryujin to finish.
Commentators spoke about them like a perfect puzzle:
“When Ryujin flies, it’s because she knows Yeji has her back. And when Yeji locks down a defensive zone, it’s because she knows Ryujin will make it count up front.”
Fans online adored their dynamic, nicknaming them The Unstoppable Force and The Unbreakable Wall.
Fan edits paired footage of Ryujin’s crazy highlight goals with Yeji’s composed assists and silent defensive stops, all set to emotional music.
Captions like:
“Yeji’s passes say ‘I trust you.’ Ryujin’s goals say ‘I’ll make it worth it.’”
“Two ends of a heartbeat — one pulse on the ice.”
The media loved to talk about them. How natural it all looked, how they just clicked.
“Born to play together,” some articles had declared.
“Unmatched chemistry,” others wrote.
“It looks effortless.”
But no one saw the truth beneath those headlines.
They did not know about the mornings before the official team practices even began, when the rink was still dark and the boards echoed with nothing but the sharp cuts of two pairs of skates.
They did not know about the private sessions at early mornings, when Yeji would quietly correct Ryujin’s rush angles, or how Ryujin would stay after to practice catching Yeji’s stretch passes over and over until her arms ached.
They did not know how often Yeji had stayed up late sketching out defensive rotations just so she could better cover Ryujin’s aggressive pinches, or how Ryujin would beg for extra video sessions, pointing at Yeji’s clips and asking, “How do I match that timing? Show me again.”
On the outside, it looked like magic.
But for them, it was built from bruised knees, frozen fingers gripping sticks, endless arguments over timing, quiet apologies, and stubborn determination to trust each other more than anyone else.
They had earned every seamless shift. Every easy-looking connection was stitched from mornings when they were just two exhausted players pushing each other, refusing to let the other fall behind.
Up in their room later, Yeji sat cross-legged on her bed, reviewing scouting notes on Canada’s forecheck tendencies, her brows knit in deep concentration.
Ryujin lay sprawled on her stomach across her own bed, chin propped on her forearms, idly flipping through old highlight reels on her phone, but her eyes drifted up to Yeji often, her mind clearly somewhere else.
For a long while, they did not speak. Just the soft flick of paper, the quiet buzz of Ryujin’s screen, and the hum of the city drifting up from the street below.
Finally, Ryujin broke the silence. “Tomorrow’s gonna be rough,” she muttered, her voice low, almost careful.
Yeji looked up, holding her gaze. Then, slowly, she set her notes aside, her fingers threading together in her lap.
“We know what we can do,” she said quietly, her tone even and calm.
Ryujin watched her for a moment longer. Then she nodded once, sharp and small, as if she was tucking Yeji’s words into her chest like armor.
Team USA had already clawed their way through three grueling matches.
The first game brought the electric rush of an opening victory, an early boost of confidence, a loud statement to the arena that they had arrived to dominate. The second and third games were harder. The second game ended in a narrow win, the third in a comeback win that left the entire roster restless and itching for more.
Through every game, Yeji’s presence had been an unwavering pillar. Her checks were sharp, her reads clinical, her eyes scanning the ice like a hawk with every second. Meanwhile, Ryujin played like a storm contained in human form; explosive bursts, dazzling puck handling, and that mischievous edge always lurking in her eyes.
But beneath the fierce plays and the bench banter, something subtle had begun to shift. Every small tap on the shoulder, every quiet glance during line changes. The cracks in Yeji’s armor slowly, steadily widening.
USA vs Canada
By the afternoon of Game 4 vs Canada, Centre Bell Arena felt like it had transformed into a living beast.
It felt like a final before the final.
Red and white flags draped across the boards. The echo of horns and chants vibrated up through the floor, rattling skates and sticks alike.
Team USA stepped off the bus, each player weighed down by gear and the unspoken gravity of a classic rivalry.
Inside, the air buzzed with half-finished conversations, Velcro ripping open and shut, the dull thump of tape rolls hitting the floor.
Yeji sat quietly at her stall, methodically retying her laces. Each motion was exact, sharp enough to slice through the heavy tension in the room.
Across from her, Ryujin paced in tight circles, her stick tapping lightly against the floor in a nervous rhythm. At one point, she paused, her eyes flicking up to find Yeji’s profile; that controlled stillness, the wall she knew better than anyone else.
Yeji led the line into the tunnel, her helmet tucked under her arm, chin high, eyes cold and sharp. Behind her, Ryujin adjusted her gloves with quick, restless fingers, her gaze darting around as if she were trying to take in every inch of enemy territory before battle began.
The team paused briefly at the entrance to the locker room, taking a last collective breath; a silent, private moment before stepping into the roar waiting above.
When they finally lined up in the tunnel, the heavy bass from the arena speakers shook the concrete walls. The Team Canada players stood just across the way, tapping gloves, slamming helmets against each other, tossing sharp, knowing smirks toward Team USA.
Winter hummed under her breath behind Ryujin, her fingers bouncing lightly against the boards to the beat of her nerves. Chaeryeong swayed from foot to foot, rolling her shoulders as if she were already bracing for first contact.
Yeji stood at the very front, helmet now snug, visor low. One hand on her stick, the other flexing open and closed in small, measured movements.
The puck dropped into a sea of noise.
Canada played fast, physical, and relentless. Within the first two shifts, the boards rattled with sharp checks, and gloves smacked hard against helmets.
Yeji planted her skates and absorbed hit after hit, her body moving like a wall each time a Canadian forward crashed in. Her stick carved clean passes up the boards, deflecting dangerous shots without so much as a glance back.
Ryujin, meanwhile, darted through small holes, pushing deep into the offensive zone, her edges cutting so tight the Canadian defenders stumbled to adjust.
Halfway through the period, Ryujin slipped past two defensemen, snapping a hard shot that ricocheted off the crossbar with a loud clang that silenced the stands for a breath.
Canada struck next. A chaotic rebound after the deflected shot snuck past Lia, the red lights flaring and the arena exploding in a thunder of horns. 1–0 Canada.
Yeji did not flinch. Instead, she pivoted, skating over to the crease to tap Lia’s pads twice. A quiet gesture of reassurance that only a captain could give.
Canada’s captain, a tall, relentless forward with a sharp mouth, pointed directly at Ryujin after the goal, taunting.
The second period was even tighter. Yeji anchored the blue line, her stick always in the lane, her posture a silent dare.
At one point, the Canadian captain slashed at Ryujin behind the play. Ryujin spun around, ready to retaliate, but before she could, Yeji was there.
She did not raise her stick high. She simply stepped in, shoulder first, forcing the captain back with a quiet, immovable force.
The third period turned brutal. Sticks clashed, helmets clattered, and every stride felt like dragging through a blizzard.
Yeji started logging double shifts, her body screaming but her expression unreadable. She threw her shoulder into every check, protecting the blue line with almost everything she got.
Canada scored again early in the third, making it 2–0 Canada. The arena erupted.
On the next shift, Ryujin dug into the corners, emerging with the puck like a shark. She swung around behind the net, flicked a lightning-quick pass to Madison crashing into the slot.
Goal. 2–1 .
Ryujin punched the air, her roar lost under the explosion of USA fans. As she turned, Yeji glided in, catching her lightly by the shoulder with her glove. A small, fiercely protective gesture hidden in a fleeting second.
USA pressed back. With six minutes left, Ryujin slipped behind the defense on a fast break. She deked, passed up a shot, and fed Chaeryeong trailing in. Chaeryeong one-timed it past the goalie, tying the game. 2–2
With two minutes left on the clock, tied 2–2, the building was electric, almost vibrating with every movement on the ice. Both benches leaned forward, coaches barking short, clipped instructions, players gripping the boards so tightly their knuckles whitened.
Canada pressed in deep, trying to break through the blue line. Yeji read the rush perfectly, stepped into a passing lane, and picked off the puck cleanly. Without hesitation, she fired a long, arcing pass into open neutral ice.
Ryujin exploded forward like she had been shot out of a cannon. She caught the puck in stride at center, her strides long and powerful, her shoulders rolling fluidly as she pulled away from the chasing Canadian defense.
The entire arena seemed to inhale at once.
She closed in on the goalie, head up, faking twice, left, right, left again, before trying to tuck it low glove side.
The goalie read her.
The puck deflected off the extended pad and skittered harmlessly into the corner.
A groan swept through the arena, half relief, half heartbreak. Ryujin crashed into the boards softly, stick clutched in her hands, her forehead dropping against the glass for a split second.
The final buzzer echoed across the rink, bouncing off the glass and into the rafters like a slow exhale.
The scoreboard glared back at them: 2–2. A tie .
They had to go overtime.
Overtime began under a haze of noise — 3-on-3, sudden death. The rink felt twice as large and twice as quiet at once.
Coach Donovan leaned over the bench rail, voice firm but low.
"Shin. Hwang. King. Go."
Ryujin snapped her helmet strap tighter, eyes already burning bright. Madison gave her a quick shoulder bump on the way over the boards. Yeji climbed over last, posture straight, the blade of her stick tapping the ice twice before she set into position.
On the bench, the rest of Team USA stood shoulder to shoulder, barely breathing. Winter clenched her gloves together so tight.
A few minutes in, Riley burst past a tired defender off a long feed from Yeji. She shot the puck, but no luck.
Another feed from Yeji to Ryujin, she flew down the left side, cut sharply to her backhand — alone, no one else close enough.
She tried to tuck it five-hole.
The goalie slammed the pads shut. The puck clanged off a pad and trickled harmlessly into the corner.
Yeji immediately reversed direction, skating as hard as she could to cover the sudden Canadian transition. Madison dropped back with her, but the Canadian captain streaked up ice, carrying speed off the wall.
Madison lunged to intercept the pass but missed by inches.
Yeji read the incoming cross-ice pass, tried to dive and close the lane, but the puck slipped just beyond her outstretched blade.
A quick one-touch finish.
Goal .
The red light flashed. The horn blared. The Canadian bench erupted into the ice, gloves and sticks flying.
Game over.
The air was heavy, the kind that clung to their shoulders as they gathered at center ice. Sticks leaned against gloves, helmets tipped back, breaths puffing out in quick, frosty bursts.
Yeji waited until they had all gathered around her, the circle tightening. The arena lights shone down hard, harsh and white, illuminating every scuff on their jerseys and every burst of frost on their breath.
She let the moment hang there, her fingers tapping lightly against the shaft of her stick. Then she took a long, slow breath and lifted her head.
“We are not here to coast through games. We are here to fight — every shift, every puck battle, every single second. We showed that tonight. And we will show it again in the next game.”
A beat of silence. Then she stepped forward, extending her glove into the center of the huddle.
“One point today,” she said, her voice dropping lower, almost intimate. “We build on it. We climb from here.”
Slowly, one by one, gloves stacked on top of hers — Winter’s first, Riley’s next, Chaeryeong’s shaking slightly, and finally Ryujin’s, her fingers curling tight against Yeji’s like an unspoken vow.
“On three,” Yeji called, her voice breaking just slightly from the strain but steady and clear.
A collective inhale.
“One… two… three!”
“USA!” they roared, the sound rolling up to the rafters and echoing back, reverberating in their chests.
As they filed off, Ryujin skated up behind Yeji, falling into step beside her. Their eyes met for a moment, words stuck behind gritted teeth and choked breathing.
The door to the locker room swung shut with a heavy final clang, swallowing the echo of the crowd outside.
Inside, the energy felt like static clinging to skin. Heavy, restless, edged with disappointment that no one wanted to voice yet.
Players moved in slow, heavy motions: sticks clattered against the floor, helmets thunked softly onto benches, gloves peeled away with sharp Velcro rips that sounded almost too loud in the quiet.
Ryujin sat on the edge of her stall, still fully geared except for her gloves, which lay abandoned at her feet. Her elbows dug into her knees, head bowed so low that her damp hair fell forward, hiding her face.
Her stick was still clenched in her hands, the tape fraying near the top where her fingers had squeezed too tight during those final, frantic minutes.
She replayed it over and over in her head: that perfect cut to the net, the fake that sent the defender sprawling, the split-second window that had opened, so narrow, but enough.
She should have buried it.
It had been there. Right there .
Her jaw worked silently, teeth grinding against each other. Her breath came out sharp and uneven, as if each exhale burned on its way out.
Across the room, Winter and Chaeryeong sat huddled together, whispering soft reassurances and bad jokes in an attempt to break the tension. Madison pressed an ice pack to her knee, eyes distant but calm.
The tie in regulation weighed heavy.
In the standings, Canada finished first with 11 points thanks to the OT win over USA, while USA finished second with 10 points. That game was crucial. If Ryujin had scored that breakaway, USA would lead outright with 12 points and Canada following with 9 points.
Ryujin sighed and just went back outside of the locker room.
The tunnel outside felt colder after the loss against Canada.
The heavy, echoing noise of the crowd had faded into a distant hum, replaced by the low rumble of skates rolling in equipment bags and stray conversations drifting from deeper inside the arena.
Ryujin stood pressed against the concrete wall, helmet still in her hand, her fingers clenched so tight around the cage that her knuckles had gone white. Her breathing came sharp and uneven, her eyes staring at space, seeing nothing but the missed chances, the goals that never came.
Yeji approached slowly, steps measured. She watched Ryujin carefully, as though she might bolt at any sudden movement.
“Ryujin,” she called softly.
Ryujin flinched at her name but did not look up. Her jaw worked as if she was chewing on words she could not get out.
Yeji closed the last few steps and reached forward, fingers curling lightly into the front of Ryujin’s jersey just above her chest plate.
The grip was gentle but firm, an anchor more than a restraint.
Ryujin’s head snapped up, her breath catching in her throat.
“Look at me,” Yeji urged, her voice low and steady, though her own fingers trembled faintly against the fabric.
Ryujin’s eyes burned, her chest heaving. “We should’ve won,” she hissed, voice cracking. “I should’ve—”
Yeji shook her head once, sharp and decisive. “Stop,” she said. “Breathe. We did everything we could tonight.”
But Ryujin could not hear it, not at first.
Her thoughts spun wildly:
That broken rush in the second period.
Yeji’s eyes on her from the bench.
That silent expectation she always felt tightening around her ribs.
That missed winning shot in regulation.
That missed shot in OT.
Her jaw trembled, her eyes falling to the floor as her breath hitched again, this time closer to a sob than a shout.
She avoided Yeji’s eyes completely, staring instead at some fixed point on the floor.
Yeji slowly reached up, her fingers brushing lightly under Ryujin’s chin.
At the first touch, Ryujin flinched, her whole body going rigid. But Yeji did not pull back. Instead, she pressed gently, guiding Ryujin’s head upward until their eyes finally met.
“Look at me,” Yeji said, her voice low but firm.
Their faces were close now, so close Ryujin could feel Yeji’s warm breath on her lips.
Yeji’s gaze stayed locked on her, unwavering and calm, her thumb resting lightly along Ryujin’s jaw.
Ryujin swallowed hard. Her eyes darted away once, but Yeji’s thumb pressed ever so slightly, coaxing them back.
Yeji’s throat tightened.
It was only then, with their eyes locked and breaths mingling, that Ryujin seemed to truly realize how close they were standing.
She felt Yeji’s breath fan across her lips, warm, steady, and so achingly close it made her pulse hammer wildly in her neck.
It was as if the hallway itself leaned in too, waiting for the final moment, the break neither of them could hold back any longer.
In her head, Yeji screamed at herself to stop, to turn away, to say something measured and easy, to keep the lines intact just a little longer.
But then Ryujin looked at her, really looked, eyes wide and shining, filled with frustration and fear and something deeper that twisted Yeji’s chest until she could no longer breathe.
And Yeji realized with a sharp, quiet certainty that she did not want to keep the lines anymore.
Yeji’s eyes dropped once more to Ryujin’s lips, and she felt the last fragile thread of restraint snap inside her.
She started to lean in.
For a suspended second, the whole hallway seemed to disappear. Just the pounding of Ryujin’s heart in her ears and the warmth of Yeji’s hand on her face.
A voice suddenly echoed from further down the hall.
“Yeji! Ryujin! You two coming? Media’s waiting!”
Yeji froze mid-motion, her lips hovering a hair’s breadth from Ryujin’s.
Not again.
Yeji’s eyes flicked down to Ryujin’s mouth, her fingers flexing once in the fabric of her jersey as if trying to hold her there.
Ryujin scoffed, rolling her eyes, her mouth twisting into a sharp, annoyed smirk. She opened her mouth, about to snap out a retort.
Before she could speak, Yeji’s hand shot up.
She tugged her forward and crashed their lips together in a quick kiss, abrupt and electric, like a match strike.
Ryujin’s eyes flew open wide, her breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a half-formed curse.
Before Ryujin could even respond to the kiss, Yeji pulled back just as quickly, a small, dangerous smirk curling at her lips as she looked into Ryujin’s stunned eyes.
Then she started turning, already stepping toward the voice that had called for them.
But Ryujin did not let her go.
She let her helmet clatter to the ground, the echo sharp and decisive, then pulled Yeji back. She reached up, both hands coming up to cup Yeji’s face gently but firmly.
She crashed into her again, like her life depended on it.
Yeji let out a muffled hum against Ryujin’s lips, her fingers catching at Ryujin’s waist before she melted into it completely, her knees nearly buckling from the rush.
When Ryujin tore her mouth away, her forehead rested against Yeji’s, their breaths tangling hot and frantic in the narrow space.
Ryujin’s voice came out low, almost breaking.
“Tell me to stop.”
Yeji’s eyes burned into hers, pupils blown wide, her lips parted.
For a second, she did not answer. She just stared, her chest heaving.
Then she shook her head slowly, fiercely, her voice a ragged whisper that trembled with everything she had been holding back.
“ Don’t. Don’t you ever fucking stop.”
The words had barely left Yeji’s mouth before Ryujin surged forward again, crashing their lips together in a slower, deeper kiss.
This one was filled with months of tension and everything they had both swallowed down in quiet hallways, on late bus rides, in passing locker room glances, on early morning skates, on late night conversations.
Yeji pressed her body flush against Ryujin’s, pinning her more firmly to the wall, her fingers slipping up.
Ryujin groaned softly into the kiss, her hands sliding down from Yeji’s face to her neck, her thumbs brushing over the rapid, frantic beat of Yeji’s pulse.
Then the voice called again, louder and sharper, snapping them both out of the suspended hush.
Yeji finally pulled back, her face flushed, her breath shaking as she glanced down at Ryujin’s swollen lips.
For a heartbeat, they stayed like that, pressed together, the hallway shrinking to nothing but their shared breath.
She pressed one last, soft kiss to Ryujin’s lips, a contrast to the feverish ones before, then finally stepped back, hands sliding away reluctantly.
She turned, her smirk lingering, her voice low and rough when she finally spoke. “Later,” she promised, her gaze searing one last line across Ryujin’s stunned face before she strode off down the hall.
Ryujin stood frozen, her helmet still on the ground at her feet, lips tingling, her heart crashing against her ribs.
A slow, incredulous laugh spilled out of her mouth as she finally let her head tip back against the wall.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, her entire body felt alive.
Chapter 26
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hours later, the hallways of the hotel had gone quiet, most of the team already asleep or lost in quiet stretches and film study behind closed doors.
Yeji finally slipped into their shared room, the door clicking softly shut behind her. Her shoulders looked heavier tonight, weighed down by the late meeting with the coaches, plans for the quarterfinals, line adjustments, defensive pairings, endless talk that had kept her far from the only place she wanted to be.
In the low glow of the city lights spilling through the window, she saw Ryujin already in bed, sprawled on her side, a blanket tugged up around her shoulders. Her hair was a mess, one arm tucked under her cheek, her breathing slow but not fully asleep.
Yeji paused at the foot of her own bed, then sighed a long, resigned breath.
For a moment, she just stood there, watching. Then she moved, quiet as snowfall.
Yeji hesitated to cross to Ryujin’s bed.
She remembered Ryujin’s words from their game earlier in her mind: the rushed apologies, the muttered "I blew it today, Captain."
She set her jacket aside and decided to cross to Ryujin’s bed. Yeji stepped out of her slides and lowered herself carefully beside her, her movements slow and deliberate, like approaching a startled animal.
"Move over," Yeji murmured, her voice steady but low.
Ryujin stiffened in surprise, her head turning slightly, eyes wide and dazed in the half-light.
Yeji’s expression did not change. She simply looked at her, patient and unwavering, her hands curled lightly at her sides.
After a breathless pause, Ryujin swallowed hard and shifted, scooting back against the wall.
Yeji nodded once in thanks and then lifted the blanket edge, climbing in without hesitation.
Once Yeji had climbed into Ryujin’s bed and settled close, Yeji just looked at her, eyes soft and thoughtful, her thumb tracing slow, gentle lines along Ryujin’s jaw.
“How are you feeling… about the game ?”
The question caught Ryujin off guard. Her brows drew together slightly, lips pressing into a thin line as her gaze dropped toward Yeji’s collar.
After a moment, she let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing beneath Yeji’s palm.
“It felt heavy at first,” Ryujin admitted softly, her voice rough and honest in the dark. “Like all my mistakes were going to crush me when I got back here.”
Yeji’s thumb stilled against her jaw, her breath hitching quietly as she listened.
“But now…” Ryujin paused, her eyes slowly lifting to meet Yeji’s again, glinting softly under the dim city light. “It feels a little less heavy. Like… I can breathe again.”
Yeji’s eyes softened even more, her thumb starting to move again, brushing soothing arcs along Ryujin’s skin.
“Good,” she murmured, “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
“I feel like I let everyone down today,” she mumbled, her voice rough around the edges. “I had that breakaway… I should have finished it. We should have won.”
Yeji watched her carefully, her thumb brushing a small circle across Ryujin’s shoulder blade.
“You didn’t let anyone down,” she said, her voice soft but sure, each word steady and deliberate. “We fought hard. You gave everything. A loss doesn’t erase that.”
Ryujin’s brows furrowed, her eyes squeezing shut. “But you expect more. The team expects more. I expect more…” Her voice trailed off, ragged.
Yeji’s fingers paused, then pressed slightly more firmly against her back, grounding her.
“I expect you to play with heart,” Yeji said. “I expect you to fight until the last second. And you did exactly that.”
Ryujin let out a small, shaky laugh, more air than sound. “You always know what to say, huh?”
Yeji’s lips curved into the faintest, softest smile. “Not always,” she admitted, a quiet vulnerability slipping into her voice. “Just… when it’s you.”
Ryujin turned her head more fully now, eyes open, glassy and searching. “Why?” she asked, her voice so small it almost disappeared into the quiet room.
Yeji’s eyes softened. She hesitated for a moment, choosing her words with care.
“Because it’s you,” she repeated simply, her gaze unwavering. “And because… I don’t want you to carry everything alone.”
Ryujin blinked, her throat working around a sudden lump she could not quite swallow. Then, slowly, she shifted closer to Yeji.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” Ryujin admitted, her voice raw, a hint of a broken laugh tugging at the edges.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Yeji said, her voice a quiet murmur, as though they were sharing a secret only meant for them. “Just… let me be here. Tonight, that’s enough.”
They stayed like that, facing each other, the air warm and heavy between them. Ryujin let out another shaky breath, her shoulders finally relaxing as the tension bled from her muscles.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice so soft Yeji almost missed it.
Yeji smiled, a small, gentle curve of her lips that she did not try to hide.
“Anytime,” she replied.
After a long pause, Ryujin’s voice broke the hush, low and rough from exhaustion but threaded with something bright.
“Do you think they’ll ever serve a decent dessert at these banquets?”
Yeji let out a soft, surprised laugh; quiet but real, vibrating between them. “I doubt it,” she replied. “It’s always the same: dry cakes, over-sweet mousse… You keep trying them anyway.”
Ryujin snorted, her nose scrunching slightly. “I’m an optimist. You never know, one day they might actually get it right.”
Yeji tilted her head just a fraction, her lips curving into a small, amused smile. “You? An optimist?”
Ryujin shot her a mock-offended look, eyes widening. “Hey! I am! Just… selectively optimistic.”
They both laughed softly at that, shoulders shaking lightly against each other.
They stayed close, faces almost touching, breaths brushing lightly against each other. The heaviness of the game had faded into a warm hush, replaced by the quiet spark that only seemed to grow stronger the longer they stayed like this.
Yeji felt Ryujin’s fingers wrapping around hers, her thumb moving in slow, comforting circles.
Then Ryujin shifted, her voice breaking the stillness, low and raw.
"Why didn’t you start that last regular season game?" she asked, her words slow, careful. "Those first seven minutes at Madison... You just sat on the bench."
Yeji’s gaze flickered sharply to her. Then she let out a small exhale. “You’re still thinking about that?”
“It was weird.” Ryujin leaned forward a bit, “You always start. Especially in big games.”
“Strategic call.” Yeji answered.
“That’s vague.”
“It worked.”
“Yeah, but…” Ryujin leaned back again. “Let me guess.”
Yeji did not stop her.
“Reason one,” Ryujin began, counting on her fingers, “your coach wanted to throw us off. Delay the inevitable.”
Yeji’s mouth twitched. “Not bad.”
“Reason two,” Ryujin continued, “you asked to be held until the second shift just to mess with me specifically.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And it worked. I anticipated a check that wasn’t coming. I was skating like a chicken with a broken compass.”
Yeji chuckled softly, “Both reasons could work. But there’s a more fit answer,” she said simply, as though explaining a drill to a rookie. “It was… just a reminder.”
“Reminder of what?”
Yeji tilted her head slightly, a smirk forming on her lips. “That I don’t need the full sixty minutes to beat you.”
Ryujin gawked at her for a long second before a dry, incredulous laugh burst from her throat. “God, I hate how hot it is when you talk trash.” she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. "You... You absolute menace. You did that on purpose."
Yeji raised an eyebrow, her expression perfectly calm. "It worked, didn’t it?"
Ryujin opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out except another stunned laugh.
After a moment, Yeji’s voice softened. "Why did you pick 97?" she asked, her tone shifting into something more tentative, more searching. "For Team USA. You had any number. Why that one?"
"It was my high school jersey number," she admitted, her words quiet and unguarded. "Back in Minnesota. When we played state… the first time you saw me on the ice. The first time I ever really wanted someone to see me play. It felt… right. Like coming full circle."
Yeji’s eyes softened, her shoulders loosening, the fierce edge in her posture melting into something gentler.
"I remember that game," she said quietly, almost to herself. "You played like you were on fire."
Ryujin snorted, turning her head slightly on the pillow to look at Yeji. "You shut me down then, too."
Yeji’s lips twitched, her eyes glinting with that familiar spark. "I always do."
Ryujin’s jaw dropped in mock offense before she shoved at Yeji’s shin with her foot, earning a small, startled laugh from the usually stoic captain.
“So…” Yeji started again after a few minutes of silence, “Should we talk about it now?” Yeji murmured, her voice low, almost challenging, almost afraid.
Ryujin blinked at her, feigning confusion, a tiny smirk tugging at her lips. “Talk about what?” she asked, voice scratchy from sleep but laced with mischief.
Yeji narrowed her eyes, propping herself up with her elbow. “You know what.”
Ryujin gave a small, exaggerated shrug. “You have to be specific, captain.”
Yeji stared at her for one heartbeat then she leaned down and suddenly kissed her.
Ryujin let out a muffled gasp against her lips, her hand shooting up to Yeji’s arm to steady herself, eyes fluttering shut as she melted into it.
Yeji pulled back just enough to hover, her forehead brushing Ryujin’s, her breath shallow and warm between them.
“Does that jog your annoyingly weak memory?” Yeji whispered, her voice rough and tinged with a smirk that barely hid the shaking underneath.
“No. Try doing it again.”
Without another second of hesitation, Yeji crashed forward again, kissing Ryujin harder, deeper, with a force that left them both gasping.
“How about now?”
Ryujin swallowed hard, a soft laugh escaping her lips, her fingers curling tighter around Yeji’s arm.
“Oh, yeah. That.” she panted softly, her lips ghosting Yeji’s as she spoke.
Yeji let out a breathy laugh, warm air hitting Ryujin’s skin.
“I hate you,” Ryujin muttered suddenly, but there was no bite in it, only a teasing warmth, a spark behind her words.
Yeji’s eyebrows shot up, her lips parting in surprise. She let out a small, incredulous laugh, her voice soft but certain as she shot back.
“No, you don’t.”
Ryujin’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment her expression softened completely. The tension slipped from her shoulders, replaced by something raw and honest.
“I really don’t,” Ryujin admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper now. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
Yeji’s breath caught in her chest. Her fingers twitched where they tangled with Ryujin’s, warmth spreading slowly through her chest like sunrise spilling into a dark room.
“I wanna hear you say it,” Yeji pressed, her tone almost challenging, though her fingers held Ryujin’s so carefully.
Ryujin’s eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing as though she was trying to piece together the right words.
“What?” she stammered softly. “That I… like you?”
Yeji leaned in just a touch closer, her forehead brushing lightly against Ryujin’s, her grin turning devilish.
“What was that?” Yeji teased, tilting her head slightly, eyes gleaming. “I didn’t quite catch it.”
Ryujin felt her face flush all the way to her ears. She swallowed hard, her free hand fisting lightly against the sheets. She drew in a sharp breath, her eyes narrowing as she met Yeji’s gaze.
“I said,” Ryujin huffed, her voice dropping into a low, mock-annoyed tone, “you’re annoying, Captain.”
Yeji let out a breathy laugh that broke open the hush between them, her shoulders shaking. Her forehead bumped gently against Ryujin’s as she laughed, the sound warm and soft in the quiet room.
“You’re impossible,” she mumbled, her voice tender even in its exasperation.
Ryujin only squeezed her hand tighter, her grin softening into something gentle and sincere.
Yeji let out a shaky exhale. “You’re lucky I like you too,” she murmured, her voice low but firm, as if she was finally admitting it to herself as much as to Ryujin.
Ryujin froze completely, her fingers tightening on Yeji’s. “Lucky is one word for it,” she murmured. Then she gave Yeji’s side a light, playful poke.
“Did you follow me out there to kiss me?” Ryujin asked.
Yeji’s breath caught, and she let out a laugh, her hand left Ryujin’s and instinctively moved to lightly trace Ryujin’s jawline with her thumb.
“No,” she murmured, shaking her head slowly. “I didn’t plan that.”
Ryujin snorted softly, though her eyes glimmered with something almost shy, almost afraid. “Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered, though her voice cracked right at the end.
Yeji smiled faintly, so small it almost did not reach her lips, and leaned in just enough that their noses brushed.
“I wasn’t thinking at all,” she whispered, her forehead resting against Ryujin’s. “For once, I just… did what I wanted.”
Ryujin went still at that, her eyes softening, her fingers lifting hesitantly to curl around the back of Yeji’s neck.
“Yeah?” she breathed, her thumb stroking a gentle line at the edge of Yeji’s hairline. “And what do you want now?”
Yeji’s breath faltered.
She wanted to say nothing. She wanted to turn her head, to bury it in Ryujin’s shoulder and pretend she could still be the unshakeable captain, the composed protector who never let her own wants get in the way.
But Ryujin’s thumb traced a gentle line on her nape, and suddenly Yeji felt it all pour out of her, raw and unguarded.
“To be able to do that every day,” she whispered, the words cracking open in the quiet.
“Every day, huh? ” she murmured again, her lips curving into a soft, teasing smile despite the rawness in her voice. “Careful… you say things like that and I might actually start believing you want to keep me around.”
Yeji could feel her own heartbeat crashing against her ribs, wild and uneven, so loud she was sure Ryujin could hear it.
She had always prided herself on being controlled, on reading the ice like a chessboard, on seeing everything before it happened. But right now, here in this bed with Ryujin’s eyes soft and searching beneath her touch, every single bit of that control felt like it was slipping away.
“Good,” she whispered, voice low but unwavering. “Because I do. I want you here. I want you with me. Always.”
For a long, breathless moment, Ryujin could not hear anything beyond the rush of blood in her own ears.
The world around them, the echoing hallway, the muffled voices of teammates, all blurred into static.
All she could feel was the faint tremble of Yeji’s breath brushing across her lips. The heat radiating off her skin. The low, breaking softness in her voice as she let those words tumble out.
Ryujin’s fingers flexed instinctively against the back of Yeji’s neck, curling in as if to anchor herself, to prove that Yeji was real and not some fever dream she had conjured up in the late hours alone.
Ryujin’s breath caught, her hand faltering for just a second before she steadied it again.
“That’s dangerous talk, Captain,” she breathed out, her words half a joke but her eyes impossibly soft.
Yeji’s lips twitched into a faint, tired smile. “Maybe I’m done playing it safe,” she murmured, her thumb brushing lightly over Ryujin’s lips, feeling the tiny tremors there.
There was a long, charged silence. Then Ryujin’s voice came out small, hesitant, as if she was almost afraid of her own question.
“And what happens when we’re back on the ice?” she asked. “When we’re rivals again, when the boards are waiting?”
Yeji’s smile widened just slightly, her fingers sliding to the side of Ryujin’s neck, feeling her pulse thrum beneath her skin. “Then I’ll send you to the boards every chance I get,” she said, a spark of playful defiance glinting in her eyes.
Ryujin let out a chuckle.
“God, you’re annoying,” she whispered, though her voice quivered at the edges.
Yeji’s lips twitched into a small smirk, her voice low but steady.
“Don’t ever think I’ll go soft on you just because I wanted to kiss you,” she murmured, her thumb resting against Ryujin’s jaw.
Ryujin let out a short, breathless laugh, her eyes shining as she leaned into Yeji’s touch.
“Oh, is that so?” she teased, though her voice cracked slightly around the edges, betraying just how deeply it hit her.
Yeji’s smile softened immediately, her thumb brushing back and forth slowly now, her forehead lowering to rest against Ryujin’s again.
“I’ll still knock you hard into the boards,” she added, her tone softer but no less sure.
“Who said I was against that?” she shot back, her grin returning.
Yeji let out a low, quiet laugh that rumbled softly in her chest, her shoulders shaking lightly against Ryujin.
“Of course you aren’t,” she murmured, her lips hovering just above Ryujin’s.
Yeji’s lips curved into the faintest smile, an expression so rare, so vulnerable, that Ryujin felt something tighten painfully in her chest.
Then Ryujin leaned up and pressed the gentlest kiss to Yeji’s lips, slow and careful, as if testing the shape of it now that there was no crowd, no bright lights, just them.
Yeji kissed her back just as softly, her fingers sliding into Ryujin’s hair, the contact achingly tender after the desperation of earlier.
When they broke apart, Ryujin rested her forehead against Yeji’s collarbone, her fingers curling in at her side.
Yeji’s hand slid slowly up and down Ryujin’s back, her breath brushing the top of Ryujin’s head.
Ryujin mumbled into Yeji’s neck, her voice small but warm.
“Guess I’ll just have to get used to being checked and kissed by the same person, huh?”
Yeji’s low laugh echoed again, vibrating against Ryujin’s cheek.
“Get used to it,” she whispered back.
Ryujin shifted slightly, pressing her face more firmly into the crook of Yeji’s neck, her breath coming out in warm puffs that made Yeji shiver.
After a moment, Ryujin spoke, her voice muffled but still edged with that familiar, mischievous energy.
“You know, if I let you check me too often, the fans might think I’m losing my edge,” she mumbled, her lips brushing Yeji’s skin lightly with every word.
Yeji huffed out a quiet laugh, her fingers threading deeper into Ryujin’s hair as she tilted her head slightly to look down at her.
“Oh? You think they don’t already know I have you figured out?” she teased, one brow arching in a perfect challenge.
Ryujin jerked back just enough to glare up at her, eyes narrowing, though it only made Yeji’s grin widen.
“Figured me out?” Ryujin scoffed, though a tiny smile threatened at the corner of her mouth. “Please. You couldn’t read me even if I drew you a map and handed you a compass.”
Yeji let out a quiet, incredulous laugh, her forehead lowering until it bumped lightly against Ryujin’s.
“A map, huh?” she teased. “Maybe you should’ve handed that over before you decided to kiss me back so desperately.”
Ryujin’s jaw dropped slightly in exaggerated shock, her hand coming up to rest dramatically against her chest.
“Desperately?!” she repeated, gasping as though mortally offended. “I seem to remember you being the one grabbing my face first, Captain.”
Yeji snorted, “I was making sure you didn’t run away,” she shot back, a hint of breathless laughter in her voice.
Ryujin grinned wide now, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she leaned up just enough to brush her nose against Yeji’s.
“Oh, I wasn’t going anywhere,” she murmured, her voice dropping low and warm. “I was exactly where I wanted to be.”
For a moment, all of Yeji’s teasing edges melted away. Her fingers stilled against Ryujin’s neck, her breath catching softly.
“Good,” she whispered, her eyes softening as they locked on Ryujin’s. “Stay.”
After a few moments of quiet, Ryujin let out a tiny sigh and smirked again.
“But just so you know… I’ll still dangle that puck right past you next time we meet on opposing blue lines.”
Yeji barked out a short laugh, rolling her eyes even as she leaned in to press a small kiss to Ryujin’s forehead.
“Try it,” she muttered. “See what happens.”
They stayed like that foreheads pressed together, hands intertwined, the space between them full of silent confessions.
No more teasing words. No more need to push. Just the quiet knowledge of what had been spoken and what still shimmered, waiting patiently between them.
Tonight, that was enough.
Their laughter faded slowly, leaving only the warmth of shared breath and the hush that felt more like safety than silence. Ryujin’s forehead rested lightly against Yeji’s neck, her hand curled around Yeji’s as though she might never let go.
A small, almost self-deprecating smile tugged at her lips as she let out a breath. "You know," she began, her voice low and almost embarrassed, "I knew you liked me."
Ryujin froze, her brows shooting up, lips parting in a stunned, silent gasp.
Yeji huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound breaking at the edges.
"You were never exactly subtle," she murmured, her chin resting even more firmly against the top of Ryujin’s head. "All those mornings… the extra drills… the way you kept circling back to tap my shin pads after every drill ."
She paused, her voice softening even further, like a secret passed only inches apart.
"The way you looked at me when you thought no one else was watching."
"You— you knew? And you let me embarrass myself this whole time?" she breathed, her voice rising in a half-laugh, half-sputter.
"I knew," she whispered again, this time with all the warmth she had kept hidden behind her walls. "And… maybe I waited because I wanted to be absolutely sure.”
Ryujin pulled in a shaky inhale, her lashes fluttering against Yeji’s skin. She felt Yeji’s fingers squeeze hers again, gentle but certain.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” she asked, her tone more curious than accusing, threaded with soft wonder. “That you liked me too.”
Yeji’s breath caught, her heart stumbling at the simplicity of the question. She let out a quiet exhale, shifting slightly so she could see Ryujin’s face better.
“I thought… I thought you knew,” she admitted finally, her voice gentle, almost hesitant.
Ryujin’s eyes widened for a heartbeat, then softened into something warm and almost relieved. A slow, incredulous laugh slipped past her lips, and she shook her head lightly and pulled back a little.
“How was I supposed to know?” Ryujin asked, her voice teasing but her eyes shimmering with emotion. “You never said anything. You just kept… looking at me with those eyes, then acting like nothing happened.”
Yeji’s lips curved into a small, embarrassed smile. Her cheeks flushed.
“I thought I was being obvious,” she mumbled.
Ryujin laughed again, breathy and bright, and pressed her forehead more firmly against Yeji’s.
“Oh, it was not obvious, at all,” Ryujin teased softly, her thumb brushing a lazy arc along Yeji’s wrist. “But you’re also the captain. You overthink everything. You make everything look controlled — even how you feel.”
Yeji winced slightly at that, her eyes closing briefly. “I know,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to make it harder for you. Or distract you. Or…” Her words trailed off as she fumbled for the right ending.
Ryujin shook her head, her hand sliding up to gently cradle Yeji’s jaw, guiding her face back down so their eyes met again.
“Hey,” Ryujin said softly, firmly. “You are not a distraction. You're kind of the opposite.”
Yeji blinked, startled. “The opposite?” she echoed.
Ryujin’s thumb swept lightly over her cheekbone now, her voice lower, almost like a quiet promise.
“You’re the reason I keep pushing. The reason I want to do better,” Ryujin murmured. “I wanted you to see me. To really see me.”
Yeji’s lips parted, her eyes wide, filling slowly with warmth and something close to relief.
“I always saw you,” she whispered back, her voice trembling. “From the beginning.”
Ryujin’s grin softened into something vulnerable and breathtaking. Her hand stilled against Yeji’s face, her fingers curling slightly as if anchoring them both.
“I know,” Ryujin said quietly. “I just… needed to hear it.”
The room seemed to hush around them after the laughter faded, leaving only the faint hum of the city outside and the soft sound of their uneven breathing.
After a quiet moment, Yeji shifted slightly, moving her hand from Ryujin’s face to gently guide her closer. Ryujin followed without hesitation, her forehead slipping to rest against Yeji’s collarbone, her cheek pressed lightly to the warm curve of her shoulder.
Ryujin released a slow, shaky breath — one that felt like it had been waiting to be set free for a very long time. She slipped her arm around Yeji’s back, her hand spreading lightly across the middle of her spine, fingertips tracing slow, gentle shapes.
Yeji shifted again, nestling in closer until her body pressed fully against Ryujin’s front.
Ryujin let out a quiet sigh, her lips brushing against the fabric of Yeji’s shirt. “This okay?” she murmured, the question soft but steady.
Yeji let out a short, breathy laugh, pressing her chin down against the top of Ryujin’s head. “More than okay,” she whispered back. “Stay right here.”
Yeji’s chest rose and fell slowly against Ryujin’s, her breath finally beginning to settle. She felt Ryujin’s warmth seep into her skin, and for the first time in a long while, she let the tension melt completely from her shoulders.
Yeji pressed a small, barely-there kiss to Ryujin’s hair. So light it felt like a promise rather than a demand.
Their breathing began to sync, slow and deep. The room faded into soft blur around them, the city sounds turning into a faraway hum, like a lullaby just for them.
“You’re warm,” Yeji mumbled softly, her words almost swallowed by sleep.
Ryujin’s quiet laugh rumbled against her neck. “Good,” she whispered. “Means you’ll stay close.”
A faint smile tugged at Yeji’s lips, and her breathing finally evened out completely, her whole body melting into Ryujin’s hold.
As sleep finally pulled them under, Yeji felt Ryujin’s last small sigh against her collarbone, a sound of surrender and trust.
Yeji’s own eyes fluttered shut, her arm tightening gently around Ryujin as if to promise she would still be there when morning came.
Their last shared breath in the waking world was warm and easy, twined together like a quiet secret finally spoken aloud.
Notes:
three chapters at once because why not
Chapter Text
Morning light spilled softly through the thin curtains, painting pale lines across the sheets and casting a faint glow over the floor.
Ryujin was the first to stir, shifting under the blanket with a small, sleepy groan. At first, she barely opened her eyes, only aware of warmth and a faint, steady heartbeat beneath her ear.
Then she felt the weight draped across her.
Slowly, her lashes fluttered open. Her cheek was pressed against Yeji’s chest.
The realization cracked through her drowsiness in a rush of warmth. Ryujin turned her head slightly, just enough to see the messy strands of Yeji’s hair splayed across her pillow, her lips parted a little in the softest, most unguarded expression Ryujin had ever seen.
For a long moment, Ryujin simply watched her breathe, her own chest tightening with something she did not dare name out loud yet.
Ryujin’s eyes widened. Her mouth parted in a tiny, breathless gasp.
“ Oh my god ,” she whispered, so quietly it was almost a thought. “It wasn’t a dream this time.”
Yeji shifted slightly, letting out a small hum. Her fingers curled a little tighter against Ryujin’s side, as though some part of her knew Ryujin was awake and might try to slip away. Her brows pulled together before her eyes blinked open.
“Hm?” she mumbled, her voice low and raspy, still heavy with sleep. “What?”
Ryujin froze, her eyes darting up to Yeji’s face.
“Nothing!” she squeaked out, her voice shooting up an octave as she tried to duck her head further into Yeji’s chest.
“Tell me,” Yeji murmured, her lips curving into a sleepy, curious smile.
Ryujin groaned quietly, hiding her burning face. “Noooo…”
Yeji let out a quiet, amused breath. “Tell me,” she repeated, firmer this time, her thumb brushing teasingly at Ryujin’s cheek.
Ryujin suddenly jolted upright, nearly knocking Yeji off her pillow.
Yeji’s eyes shot open, startled, her hand instinctively flying up to Ryujin’s arm. “What the— Ryujin?” she hissed.
Ryujin was already halfway untangling herself from the blanket, hair sticking out in all directions, eyes wide and bright with some wild, half-formed thought.
“Brush! I need to— hold on!” she babbled, practically tripping as she scrambled to her feet and dashed toward the bathroom.
Yeji watched her, frozen in shock, blinking slowly.
“What are you…” Yeji started before peeking at the alarm clock on the bed side table, “Ryujin, it’s 6:30 in the morning.”
Yeji sighed, long and low, her arm dropping back to her side as she slowly pushed herself upright. She watched Ryujin disappear into the bathroom, her loud, rapid brushing echoing faintly.
With a resigned exhale, Yeji swung her legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood, stretching her arms overhead as if waking from a decade-long hibernation.
Ryujin burst back out of the bathroom a moment later, foam wiped hastily from the corners of her mouth.
“It’s just…” Ryujin started, “Back during training camp… you remember that morning you kept asking me why I was so jumpy during our early morning practice?”
Yeji, now padding across the room in her oversized sleep shirt, turned to give her a flat, unimpressed stare as she shuffled toward the bathroom. “Yes… you were acting weird. You wouldn’t look me in the eye—”
Ryujin nodded, trailing after her like a puppy. “That was because I had a dream… about you.”
Yeji froze. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “A dream? About me?” she teased softly, though her voice was still warm.
Yeji stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the light, her expression flickering somewhere between exasperation and barely-contained amusement. She reached for her toothbrush with deliberate calm, squeezing toothpaste with steady precision as Ryujin kept babbling at the doorway.
“I dreamed that we were skating alone — just you and me on the ice. And then you kissed me,” she said, her voice suddenly dropping, softening into something fragile and honest.
Yeji’s eyes widened slightly, the faintest flush creeping up her neck.
“I woke up and I couldn’t look at you for the entire practice because it felt so real,” Ryujin continued, her voice hushed now. “I kept thinking… if I looked at you, you’d somehow know. Like you’d read it straight off my face.”
Yeji began brushing her teeth, raising her brows at Ryujin in the mirror. Through the foamy bubbles, she mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “ Figures .”
“Is that why you kept missing your shots that morning?” she teased, “You tripped over your own stick twice.”
Ryujin groaned, throwing her head back and covering her face with her hands. “Oh my god, don’t remind me,” she wailed, muffled.
“I was so freaked out,” Ryujin continued, voice dropping slightly as if confessing a deep secret. “I nearly ran into you twice. I thought I was going insane.”
Yeji’s shoulders began to shake. She leaned slightly over the sink, spitting out the foam before she finally let out a quiet, muffled laugh. That rare, beautiful sound Ryujin could never get enough of.
Ryujin watched her, eyes wide with wonder, her grin softening.
“ God, I like that sound ,” she whispered, almost to herself.
Yeji rinsed her mouth and set the toothbrush aside, finally turning to face Ryujin properly. Her lips twitched upward, her eyes bright despite her effort to stay composed.
“So… all that time, you were panicking over a silly dream,” Yeji teased softly, stepping forward and lightly flicking Ryujin’s forehead with her finger.
Ryujin flinched, pouting exaggeratedly as she rubbed the spot. “Not silly! It was life-changing!” she shot back. “Look at us now!”
Yeji rolled her eyes, but she could not fight the smile that bloomed across her face, soft and full of warmth. She shook her head slowly, then reached up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Ryujin’s ear.
“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?” Ryujin muttered weakly, though there was a small, reluctant grin peeking through her mortified expression.
Yeji tilted her head, her own smile softening as she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Ryujin’s lips, slow and unhurried, full of quiet warmth.
When they pulled back, Yeji brushed her thumb lightly across Ryujin’s flushed cheek.
“No,” she whispered, her eyes warm and shining. “Because it was adorable.”
Ryujin’s breath hitched, her fingers curling tighter into Yeji’s shirt as she finally let out a shaky, breathless laugh.
“So,” she whispered, leaning in so close that their lips brushed with every word. “It really wasn’t a dream this time?”
“No,” she breathed. “It’s real. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Ryujin’s answering laugh was small, breathless, full of wonder.
“Good,” she whispered back. “Because I think I’m going to need a lot more mornings like this to really believe it.”
“I won’t mind.”
Ryujin watched her every move, her breath catching at the way Yeji’s hair slipped forward over her shoulder, the calm precision in her small, everyday gestures.
“What?” Yeji finally asked, arching a brow as she stepped past her, heading toward the bed.
Ryujin blinked, snapping out of it, and followed her quickly. “Nothing,” she said, voice soft and suspiciously breathless.
Yeji gave her a look. Then, with a resigned sigh, she dropped back onto Ryujin’s bed, sinking into the still-warm covers.
Ryujin hovered for a second at the edge. Finally, she climbed up and slipped under the blanket, shifting closer until she was pressed firmly against Yeji’s side.
For a moment, they just lay there. Yeji’s hair brushing Ryujin’s cheek, Ryujin’s hand hesitating at the edge of Yeji’s shirt before sliding around her waist.
Yeji’s breath hitched lightly, her fingers twitching against Ryujin’s forearm. After a heartbeat, she let out a quiet sigh and turned into her, pressing her forehead to Ryujin’s temple.
Ryujin lay still for a moment, staring up at Yeji’s face like she was studying something fragile and priceless.
Then, without warning, she surged up and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to Yeji’s lips.
Yeji blinked, startled, but before she could speak, Ryujin pulled back just slightly, her eyes wide and searching.
“Still real,” Ryujin whispered, her voice breathless, almost awed.
Yeji let out a small laugh, her fingers tightening lightly in Ryujin’s hair.
“Of course I’m real,” she teased, her lips curving into a soft, amused smile.
But before she could say more, Ryujin leaned in again — another quick, soft kiss.
Yeji’s giggle slipped out fully this time, bright and unguarded, echoing in the quiet room.
Ryujin pulled back again, eyes scanning Yeji’s face as though expecting her to vanish any second.
Yeji opened her mouth to tease her, but Ryujin was already kissing her again. This time a little longer, her lips lingering as though trying to memorize every inch.
Yeji let out a surprised hum, her laugh caught between their mouths, her hands sliding up to cup Ryujin’s jaw gently.
“Ryujin—” she tried to scold, though her tone was ruined by her giggles. “If you keep doing that, we’re never getting out of bed.”
Ryujin pulled back only enough to look into her eyes, her grin wide and gleaming.
“Good,” she teased softly. “I don’t want to.”
Yeji’s laughter bubbled up again, bright and airy. She leaned forward on her elbows, pushing Ryujin back lightly against the pillow.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, though her voice was soft and dripping with affection.
Ryujin just beamed up at her, breathless and utterly, utterly happy.
As Yeji leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, Ryujin tilted her chin up quickly and stole one more kiss, quick and eager, her lips brushing across Yeji’s in a giddy flutter.
Yeji let out a startled squeak of laughter, collapsing slightly against Ryujin’s chest, her face flushed and her hair falling forward over her shoulder.
“Ryujin!” she gasped, her voice shaking with delight.
Ryujin just chuckled beneath her, her hands sliding lightly along Yeji’s sides.
“Just checking,” she teased softly, her grin so bright it seemed to fill the entire room. “Had to make sure one last time.”
Yeji finally gave up, dropping her head to Ryujin’s shoulder, her giggles muffled against her shirt.
Yeji had just started to relax again, the warmth of Ryujin’s side of the bed seeping into her bones, the blanket pulled high to her chin. She felt the comforting weight of Ryujin’s arm near her, hearing the faint rustling of her soft morning breathing.
She was content. More than content . She could have stayed there for hours, tracing the quiet patterns of Ryujin’s warmth against her skin, hiding from the world.
However, she let out a sigh, her eyes drifting shut again. “We really need to get up,” she murmured, though she made no move to push Ryujin away.
“Five more minutes,” Ryujin murmured, her voice low and almost pleading, leaning down to brush a featherlight kiss against Yeji’s forehead.
Yeji let out a quiet, amused breath, fingers tightening faintly at Ryujin’s sleeve. “You said that twenty minutes ago,” she whispered.
Then, a sharp, abrupt knock at the door.
Both of them froze, eyes wide.
Ryujin jerked upright so quickly she nearly toppled backward, her brain sputtering in full-blown panic mode.
“ Oh my god —”, she hissed, scrambling to shove the blanket aside. In her hurry, she nearly tangled her foot in the sheet, hopping awkwardly as she sprinted toward the door, muttering frantic curses under her breath.
Yeji, half-hidden in the blanket, instinctively ducked lower into the pillows, her brows knitting in a fierce glare at Ryujin’s chaotic flailing.
Ryujin reached the door, pausing for a half-second, heart hammering so loud she thought it might echo into the hallway.
Then she realized… too late .
Yeji was in Ryujin’s bed.
in Ryujin’s side of the room.
with Ryujin’s pillow under Yeji’s head.
But the door was already halfway open.
Winter stood there, wide-eyed and chipper as always, Chaeryeong peeking over her shoulder, holding a half-eaten bagel in one hand.
“Rise and shine, Room 1726!” Winter chirped brightly, leaning forward to peer inside. “Breakfast time! We’re rounding everyone up before Madison steals all the good pastries.”
Ryujin blinked rapidly, her hands shooting up as if to physically block their view of the room behind her. “Oh — morning! Yeah! We were just — I was just — stretching! You know, warm-up routine in bed. Very important!” she stammered, her voice jumping an octave higher than usual.
Yeji almost snorted aloud. Warm-ups in bed?
Winter, eyes wide and oblivious as always, just blinked and tilted her head. “You do bed stretches? That’s… new ,” she said slowly, clearly trying to figure out whether she should be impressed or concerned.
“Stretching?” Chaeryeong echoed, lifting her coffee cup to her lips, her voice slow and dry. “At… seven in the morning?”
Winter’s brows furrowed too once she realized, though her curiosity was still tinged with oblivious cheer. “Why are you so jumpy?” she asked, leaning forward and trying to peek around Ryujin. “Is Yeji still sleeping? Should we wake her up too?”
Ryujin practically flinched at the mention of Yeji’s name, her arms flailing in front of her like a goalie trying to block every shot at once. “No! No need! She’s… she’s doing her own stretching routine! Super serious stuff. Captain business. You know how she is!”
Yeji nearly lost it then and there, her lips pressed into a harsh line as she shook with silent laughter. She stayed perfectly still, her expression somewhere between disdain and pure amusement as she watched Ryujin wave her arms like she was directing traffic.
Chaeryeong’s sleepy gaze slipped past Ryujin’s flailing arms, briefly scanning the room. Yeji met her eyes, calmly, completely unbothered, her head resting elegantly on Ryujin’s pillow.
Chaeryeong paused, eyes narrowing faintly, but before she could fully process it, Winter nudged her with an elbow and thrust the coffee cup into her hands.
“Come on, Chaer! Let them get ready! I want first pick at the fruit table!”
Chaeryeong blinked once, twice, as if her brain was trying to catch up, but Winter was already pulling her away down the hall.
“Wait—” Chaeryeong started, twisting around, but Winter pulled her again.
“Leave them! Ryujin’s just being weird again,” Winter called back, laughing.
Ryujin’s shoulders slumped like a collapsing tent as she shut the door, turning slowly to face Yeji, eyes wide with pure horror.
Yeji remained motionless. Then, slowly, she exhaled through her nose, her lips twitching into the barest hint of a smirk.
“That was… smooth ,” she drawled, voice flat as she sat up.
Ryujin shuffled back toward the bed, her face a mixture of mortified and resigned. Yeji just lifted an eyebrow at her, lips twitching in a barely contained smirk.
“Next time,” she called out, “try checking which bed we’re using before you rush to open the door, genius.”
Ryujin threw her hands up in the air, sighing dramatically. “I was trying to protect you!”
Yeji scoffed, snatching a pillow and tossing it at Ryujin’s chest. “Oh, my hero ,” she deadpanned.
“They didn’t notice, right? Tell me they didn’t notice,” she babbled, her voice climbing higher with each word.
Yeji tilted her head slightly, studying her with a dissecting patience. “Somehow,” she said, each word drawn out like a slow skate drill, “they didn’t realize their captain was on your side of the room, laying in your bed, using your pillow.”
Ryujin let out a strangled noise, dropping to her knees at the foot of the bed. “I’m going to faint,” she wheezed, burying her burning face in the blanket.
Yeji’s smirk spread, subtle but dangerous. She slid forward, her fingers weaving into Ryujin’s hair, gently tugging her head up.
“Maybe let me open the door next time.” she murmured, her voice dropping into that dangerously soft cadence.
Ryujin’s eyes flickered up to her, wide and pleading. “Never again,” she agreed instantly, her voice muffled.
Yeji let out a small, amused breath, her thumb brushing lightly across Ryujin’s cheek.
“ Hopeless ,” she whispered, her tone soft but her eyes impossibly warm.
And for a beat, Ryujin stayed there, frozen under her gaze, until Yeji finally let out a small laugh, bright and sharp, echoing softly through the room.
In that moment, Ryujin’s horror melted just slightly, replaced with a shy, crooked grin.
They stepped out of their room side by side, the early morning hallway echoing faintly with distant chatter and the smell of brewing coffee drifting from the breakfast buffet.
Ryujin dragged her feet slightly, one hand rubbing the back of her neck, her hair still a little wild despite her attempts to fix it.
“I swear,” Ryujin groaned, her voice low and miserable. “I think I lost years of my life opening that door. I was seconds away from just… blurting everything out.”
Yeji snorted softly, sliding her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. “You would have. You’re terrible at lying,” she shot back, her tone calm but tinged with that dangerous amusement that always made Ryujin’s heart stutter.
Ryujin’s head snapped up, eyes wide and scandalized. “Hey! I’m not that bad!” she protested, throwing her arms up in helpless defense.
Yeji tilted her head slightly, arching a brow. “Really? You call what you did earlier ‘lying’ ? You flailed so much I thought you were trying to signal a plane for landing,” she drawled, her lips twitching at the corners.
Ryujin’s jaw dropped open, her hands flapping uselessly in front of her. “I was… improvising!” she tried, her voice cracking halfway through the word.
Yeji let out a low laugh, a soft, throaty sound that slid under Ryujin’s skin like warm water.
“Okay yes, I might as well screamed that you were in my bed but—” she hissed, voice pitching up as she threw her hands up dramatically.
Right at that moment, Lia and Yuna turned the corner ahead of them, both balancing coffee cups and already mid-laugh.
Lia’s head snapped up, her eyes going wide. “Wait — who was in whose bed?!” she called out, nearly spilling her coffee as she squinted at them.
Yuna’s jaw dropped open, her eyes darting rapidly between Ryujin and Yeji. “Did I hear that right?!” she squeaked.
Ryujin’s entire body stiffened, her mouth opening as if to start babbling again, but Yeji’s hand shot out instantly, gripping Ryujin’s sleeve and giving it a firm tug.
Yeji tilted her head slightly, smiling at Lia and Yuna with practiced ease. That smooth, captain-caliber calm that had disarmed countless reporters and officials before.
Yeji stepped forward without missing a beat, sliding a calm, casual arm around Ryujin’s shoulders and guiding her forward.
“She meant I sat on her bed to check the team group chat before we came down,” Yeji said smoothly, her voice steady and lightly amused. “You know how she freaks out over new schedule changes and thinks I’m hiding line-up secrets from her.”
Lia paused, blinking. “Overthinking breakfast meetings now too?” she wheezed, wiping her mouth. Yuna giggled beside her.
Ryujin stood there stunned, her face slowly shifting from horror to resigned relief as Yeji’s words sank in.
Yeji gave her shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before letting go, tilting her head with a small smirk. “Let’s go, I heard Madison plans to eat all the pastries,” she quipped lightly, steering Ryujin forward.
Lia immediately straightened up, her laughter dissolving into scandalized horror. “Not the pastries! We have to move!” she yelped, grabbing Yuna’s arm and dragging her forward.
Yuna, still giggling, stumbled after her. “She already threatened to hoard three plates yesterday!”
They both turned and practically sprinted ahead, already debating breakfast strategy as they disappeared into the buffet area.
Ryujin shuffled after them, her face beet red, shooting Yeji a glare over her shoulder. “You’re an evil genius,” she hissed in a low whisper.
Yeji leaned closer, her breath warm near Ryujin’s ear. “And you are really terrible at lying,” she teased softly, her voice low and edged with affectionate amusement.
Ryujin peeked out between her fingers, eyes wide and still horrified. “Should I be concerned that you’re so good at it?” she croaked.
Yeji smirked, brushing her knuckles lightly against Ryujin’s jaw. “Only if you plan to keep blurting out my secrets,” she murmured, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
By the time they stepped into the dining area, they had mostly reined themselves in. But their shared glow was impossible to hide.
Ryujin loaded her tray with food, sneaking quick glances at Yeji every few seconds, her lips twitching like she could barely hold back a grin.
Yeji, usually the model of composure, caught herself smiling at Ryujin so many times that she had to duck her head behind her water glass to hide it.
At one point, Ryujin brushed past Yeji’s back to grab a second piece of toast. Her fingers ghosted along Yeji’s waist, just for a moment.
Yeji nearly dropped her fork, eyes snapping wide, cheeks flushing pink.
Breakfast passed in a blur of warm laughter and clinking cutlery. Despite Ryujin’s earlier meltdown, the meal went surprisingly smooth. Lia and Yuna teased her a little, but nothing too sharp, and Chaeryeong and Winter seemed more interested in piling fruit onto their plates than digging into anyone’s secrets.
Yeji kept her calm, measured smile the whole time, occasionally bumping Ryujin’s knee under the table in quiet reassurance. Ryujin, cheeks still pink, focused on her orange juice like it held the meaning of life, but a shy smile kept threatening to break through.
Once everyone had eaten their fill, trays were pushed aside and talk shifted naturally to the day ahead.
“We should make the most of our free day,” Chaeryeong suggested brightly, bouncing slightly in her seat. “We barely get to see anything when we travel for tournaments.”
Winter nodded eagerly, already pulling out her phone to look up spots. “We’re in Montreal! We have to explore — markets, cafés, everything.”
Ryujin glanced at Yeji, her lips twitching as if she wanted to say something, but Yeji only raised an eyebrow, her eyes flickering with quiet amusement that said: Behave .
Karina clapped her hands together once. “Alright then, it’s settled! We’re going on a city tour. No hockey talk today. Just good food and good pictures.”
Once they got back to their room after breakfast, Ryujin threw her jacket onto the chair and immediately flopped onto her bed, arms spread wide like she had been tackled at center ice.
Yeji shut the door with a soft click and leaned against it, watching Ryujin with amused, narrowed eyes.
“Are you done acting like you just skated an entire overtime alone?” Yeji drawled, her eyebrow arching sharply.
Ryujin groaned into her pillow, her voice muffled and pitiful. “You don’t understand… Lia and Yuna almost killed me with all those questions. I barely survived breakfast.”
Yeji snorted, pushing off the door and stepping closer, arms crossing loosely over her chest. “You think you had it hard?” she teased, her tone dropping into that low, dangerous softness that always made Ryujin freeze. “I was the one who had to keep my eyes on you the entire time to make sure you didn’t start blurting out that I slept on your bed and that I stole your hoodie.”
Ryujin’s head shot up, her hair sticking out like a startled cat, eyes wide in horror. “I do not! Wait— okay, maybe the hoodie part, but—”
Yeji laughed, a clear, warm sound that made the whole room feel smaller and safer. She leaned in a bit more, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret.
Yeji moved first, gathering her clothes with calm, practiced precision before slipping into the bathroom to shower. Ryujin flopped onto the bed to wait, scrolling idly through her phone but sneaking glances at the closed door every few seconds, a soft grin playing at her lips.
When Yeji emerged, hair damp and cheeks lightly flushed from the warm water, she found Ryujin already standing, gathering her own clothes with a lazy stretch.
Ryujin’s shower was quicker, a messy rush of steam and humming. When she stepped out, hair tousled and damp, Yeji was sitting at the edge of the bed, pulling on her sleek black turtleneck.
“I should actually be scared,” Yeji said, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Scared of spending an entire day with our teammates… because you might slip up again and announce to the world that I kissed you.”
Ryujin’s jaw dropped, her hands flailing helplessly. “I won’t! I promise! You act like I’m a walking press conference,” she sputtered, cheeks turning bright red.
Yeji tilted her head, eyes glinting with playful menace. “Mm. You kind of are. You say one dramatic sentence, and half the room thinks we’re married.”
Ryujin let out a strangled squeak. “I hate you so much.”
Yeji smirked triumphantly, tossing a scarf at her. “Hurry up, disaster. We have a city to explore and a team to convince that you’re just my annoying rival.”
Ryujin playfully rolled her eyes and pulled her hoodie over her head, tugging at the hem, while Yeji had her back turned, buttoning up her coat, her movements as steady and unhurried as always. She could feel Ryujin behind her, shuffling around like she had lost her balance in her own room. Limbs flailing, breath hitching, that same dramatic presence she carried everywhere.
She exhaled slowly, a small, hidden smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Even now, she still found herself amazed by how loud Ryujin could be without actually saying anything. She pulled her hair from under her collar, fixing it over her shoulders, and just as she was about to say something teasing —
She heard it.
“My girlfriend is such a menace,” Ryujin muttered behind her, voice low but clear enough that it cut through the quiet like a puck slicing across fresh ice.
Yeji froze.
For one breath, then another. Her hands stalled mid-adjustment, fingers still tangled in her hair. Her chest clenched so hard she thought her heart might skip completely.
Girlfriend .
The word echoed so loudly in her head that she almost thought she misheard. But she did not. She knew she did not.
It was so casual the way Ryujin had said it, thrown out like it was the most natural, obvious thing in the world. And for Ryujin, who could barely keep her own breakfast stories straight without imploding, to say something so bold, so openly…
Yeji felt heat rise slowly up her neck, pooling at the tips of her ears.
She had always been in control; on the ice, in the locker room, in every single press interview. She was the wall. The calm, unshakable captain. The one who kept the room steady even when the world threatened to tip over.
But in that moment, with those simple words hanging heavy in the air, Yeji felt that composure crack just slightly.
She wanted to turn around immediately, to see Ryujin’s face, to confirm that she really meant it, that it was not just another impulsive slip. But her feet refused to move, rooted to the floor.
Her mind flickered through every moment that had led to this: Ryujin’s endless teasing, the way her eyes softened whenever they met on the ice, the way she melted under Yeji’s hands after their first kiss, the unstoppable flood of warmth that always overtook her chest whenever Ryujin called her name — Yeji , not Captain .
A shaky exhale slipped out before she could catch it.
She turned slowly, almost afraid of what she might find. Ryujin stood there, halfway into her coat, cheeks red and eyes wide with something between panic and defiance.
Their eyes met.
Yeji’s heart stuttered once… then again…
She crossed the space between them in two quick strides and grabbed the front of Ryujin’s coat in both hands, yanking her forward.
Ryujin barely had time to squeak before Yeji’s forehead dropped to hers, their breath mixing in a shaky, electric cloud between them.
“Say it again,” Yeji whispered, her voice so quiet it almost did not sound like her own. Her fingers trembled slightly against the fabric of Ryujin’s coat.
Ryujin’s eyes flickered, wide and bright, her mouth opening again. This time, no hesitation.
“My girlfriend ,” she breathed, her voice cracking at the edges. “You’re my girlfriend .”
The words slid straight down Yeji’s spine like a sudden warmth, dissolving every last piece of her restraint.
A tremor shivered through her hands. Her chest felt too tight, like she had been holding her breath since the moment they met and only now realized it.
Yeji let out a soft, broken laugh against Ryujin’s forehead, her eyes squeezing shut.
At that moment, she wanted to tell her everything. How long she had been waiting to hear those words, how many nights she had spent replaying Ryujin’s laugh in her mind, how terrified she had been to want someone this much.
Instead, she swallowed the storm and pressed her lips to Ryujin’s, slow and careful at first, as if memorizing every small detail she had already dreamed of a thousand times over.
When they finally pulled back, Yeji kept her forehead pressed to Ryujin’s, her voice low and trembling, but steady where it mattered most.
“You have no idea what you just did to me,” she whispered, her breath catching on each word.
Ryujin just laughed shakily, her fingers curling against Yeji’s sleeves as if she might fall if she let go.
“I don’t think I do,” Ryujin confessed, her voice cracking around the edges, “but I know how I feel when I look at you. When I hear you call my name. When I see you after a game. When I wake up and you’re there.”
Yeji’s chest twisted again, painfully sweet, achingly alive, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to let go completely, right there in Ryujin’s arms.
It was dizzying. Terrifying . And yet, she had never felt so certain of anything.
Yeji’s throat tightened. She pressed her lips together.
Ryujin’s hands slid up her arms then, hesitating before curling lightly around Yeji’s wrists, grounding her, keeping her anchored.
“I know I mess up,” Ryujin continued, her voice low and trembling but steady in its raw honesty. “I know I talk too much and panic and nearly tell the entire team every five minutes. But… I also know that every time I mess up, you’re there. You don’t let go of me.”
Yeji’s breath hitched sharply, her fingers tightening against Ryujin’s coat almost involuntarily.
She felt everything at once: the years of rivalry, the weight of her own responsibilities, the constant need to stay strong, and beneath all of that, the pure, simple ache to finally let herself be vulnerable. To choose Ryujin , fully and without armor.
“I don’t want you to let go,” Ryujin whispered, her thumb brushing lightly over Yeji’s wrist, her voice turning small and earnest.
Yeji’s control shattered in that instant.
Her forehead pressed harder against Ryujin’s, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. A small, shaky laugh slipped from her lips, immediately turning into a choked sob she tried to swallow.
She felt Ryujin’s fingers move to cup her jaw, clumsy and gentle, thumbs brushing away the tears Yeji had not even realized had started to slip free.
“You don’t have to be perfect with me,” Ryujin whispered, her voice so soft it felt like it sank straight into Yeji’s chest. “You don’t have to hold everything together all the time. You can just… be you.”
Yeji’s knees nearly buckled, her entire body leaning into Ryujin instinctively. She shook her head once, as if to protest, but no words came.
She did not need them.
Ryujin understood. Somehow, in all her chaotic, impulsive messiness, she had always understood Yeji in a way no one else did.
Yeji finally lifted her head, her eyes locking onto Ryujin’s with a force that felt electric, alive.
“You’re going to destroy me,” Yeji managed to breathe out, her voice breaking in the middle.
Ryujin’s lips curled into a small, crooked smile, that same dumb, bright smile that had always undone Yeji, no matter how hard she tried to fight it.
“Not destroy,” Ryujin whispered, leaning in just enough to brush their noses together, her grin turning tender, “just… melt.”
Yeji let out a half-laugh, half-sob at that, and before she could think, she surged forward, closing the tiny gap and crashing their lips together.
This kiss was nothing like the first hesitant, stolen ones. It was urgent, raw, trembling with every confession they had said out loud. Yeji poured every unspoken ache, every quiet longing, every secret she had kept locked behind her captain’s walls straight into Ryujin’s mouth.
And Ryujin took it all, held her tighter, kissed her back with the same fierce, beautiful recklessness that had terrified and fascinated Yeji since the first day they met.
When they finally broke apart, gasping and trembling, Yeji did not pull away.
Instead, she pressed her forehead against Ryujin’s again, her voice low and ragged, but clearer than it had ever been.
Yeji smiled then, truly smiled, bright and unguarded and so achingly soft it felt like the final piece sliding into place.
A thousand words rose up in her chest, but before she could find any of them, a sudden, sharp knock rattled at the door.
Both of them flinched. Ryujin nearly jumped out of her skin, her hands flying to Yeji’s arms for balance.
Yeji let out a slow, strangled exhale, dropping her head to Ryujin’s shoulder for a moment. She closed her eyes, gathering herself as her mind shifted gears at lightning speed.
She pulled back just enough to look Ryujin in the eye, her lips curling into a slow, dangerous smirk, one eyebrow arching high.
“If they keep interrupting,” she drawled, her voice low and edged with a mischievous threat, “I swear to God, I’m going to punish every single one of them on the ice tomorrow.”
Ryujin’s jaw dropped, her eyes going wide before a helpless giggle burst out of her, bubbling so fast she had to clap a hand over her mouth to muffle it.
“ Yeji — you can’t just—” she squeaked between gasps of laughter, her shoulders shaking.
Yeji tilted her head slightly, leaning in so close their noses almost brushed again, her gaze narrowed like a hunter’s.
“Oh, I absolutely can,” she purred, her smirk turning even sharper. “A few unexpected heavy drills, a few extra laps on the ice… they’ll think twice before knocking again.”
Ryujin nearly doubled over, her forehead thunking gently against Yeji’s chest as she tried, and failed, to control her laughter.
Another impatient knock rattled at the door, louder this time.
Yeji let out a slow sigh, rolling her eyes dramatically. She pressed a quick, hard kiss to the top of Ryujin’s head before reluctantly stepping back.
“We’ll finish this later,” she promised in a low whisper, her voice dark and playful.
Ryujin looked up at her, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, breathless with laughter and leftover warmth. She gave a tiny, crooked grin, nodding fast, her fingers still curled into Yeji’s sleeve as if she couldn’t quite let go yet.
Yeji finally straightened, casting one last sharp glance toward the door, her mind already plotting revenge drills for whoever dared to interrupt them at the worst possible moment.
Chapter Text
The morning broke bright and brisk, with cold air curling through the hotel lobby as Team USA shuffled in one by one. Today was one of their rare sightseeing days. A chance to breathe, to step away from the ice, and to explore Montreal’s old-world charm before the next big game.
Yeji stood near the entrance, gloved hands wrapped around a steaming cup of her usual black coffee, her sharp eyes sweeping across the group like she was still subconsciously checking for missing players. Ryujin hovered close by, pulling her beanie lower over her ears, her face split into a grin that only seemed to grow wider the longer she watched Yeji fuss.
“Do you ever turn that off?” Ryujin teased, leaning in just enough that her voice carried only to Yeji.
Yeji glanced at her, her lips twitching like she wanted to scold her, but instead she just shook her head with a resigned huff. “You’re one to talk,” she muttered, bumping Ryujin lightly with her shoulder.
They started the day in a loose, noisy wave, filing out of the hotel lobby into the biting morning air. The cold nipped at exposed cheeks and noses, and Madison immediately complained loudly, yanking her beanie down so low it nearly covered her eyes.
“I did not sign up for full Arctic exploration today,” she groaned, stomping her boots dramatically on the sidewalk.
“You’d think you’d be used to it by now,” Winter teased, elbowing her playfully. “We play in freezing rinks every day.”
“That’s different,” Madison shot back, huddling closer to Chaeryeong, who just laughed and handed her an extra scarf.
The rest of the team finally gathered, chatter echoing through the lobby. Winter bounced on her toes, snapping pictures of everything from the hotel carpet to the giant decorative planters, while Madison fussed over the lent scarf, complaining it “ kept trying to strangle her .”
Yeji watched all of this with a quiet fondness that she tried to disguise behind her stoic captain’s mask. Beside her, Ryujin walked with her hands shoved into her pockets, leaning closer every now and then, murmuring jokes under her breath just to get that tiny huff of laughter from Yeji.
Jinni and Jules argued good-naturedly about the day’s itinerary. “We should go straight to Old Montreal first!” Jinni insisted, practically bouncing with excitement.
“We can’t skip the bagel shops,” Jules fired back, shaking her head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s criminal not to get a real Montreal bagel.”
“She’s right,” Ryujin interjected, raising a hand like she was offering profound wisdom. “I need at least two for ‘ scientific analysis ,’ obviously.”
A chorus of groans rose around her, but Ryujin just grinned, snagging Yeji’s wrist briefly and giving it a subtle squeeze before they stepped out into the cold.
The group started at Old Montreal, weaving through narrow cobblestone streets lined with quaint shops and warm cafés. Yeji found herself drifting ahead with Ryujin, the two of them occasionally slipping into side conversations in hushed voices.
“I can’t believe you actually wore that scarf,” Ryujin snickered at one point, tugging lightly on the ends of Yeji’s thick wool wrap.
Yeji shot her a glare that lacked any real bite. “It’s warm,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“It’s also basically a neck fortress,” Ryujin teased, her grin bright and unstoppable.
Yeji elbowed her lightly, but her quiet laugh slipped out anyway, echoing softly between the old stone buildings.
Further down the street, Winter and Chaeryeong dragged Madison into a souvenir shop, emerging minutes later with matching maple leaf beanies and oversized mittens. Jules emerged behind them, brandishing a magnet shaped like a tiny hockey stick.
Ryujin hovered too close. Every time Yeji leaned forward to examine something, Ryujin’s hand would ghost lightly at her back, steadying her without thinking.
“Be careful,” Ryujin teased in a low voice once, her breath curling around Yeji’s ear in the cold air. “We wouldn’t want you crashing into a stall and scaring the locals.”
Yeji turned her head sharply, eyes flashing, but the sharpness melted when she saw Ryujin’s crooked grin. Yeji scoffed, shoving her lightly in the shoulder, though her hand lingered longer than necessary before sliding away.
Winter and Chaeryeong were too busy arguing over souvenir magnets to notice the way Yeji’s fingers twitched afterward, like they missed something they had no business missing in public.
At one point, they stumbled into a small artisan chocolate shop. Yuna immediately began filling a basket with every shape and flavor imaginable, her eyes lighting up like a kid in a candy store.
“You’re going to finish that in one night,” Lia warned, shaking her head.
“That’s a challenge I accept,” Yuna declared solemnly, pressing her basket protectively to her chest.
Yeji lingered near the display of delicate truffles, scanning each row with the same concentration she used to read an opponent’s forecheck. Ryujin stood slightly behind Yeji, watching her choose samples. Her phone buzzed suddenly.
[Yeji]
Stop staring.
Ryujin’s fingers twitched. She glanced up sharply. Yeji did not even look back, her focus still on the display case, but Ryujin could see the faint pink at the tips of her ears.
[Ryujin]
make me
A pause. Yeji’s head tilted slightly, as if she felt the message hit her spine. Then her phone buzzed.
[Yeji]
I plan to.
Ryujin swallowed so hard she almost choked on air. She shuffled awkwardly behind her, her fingers slipping on her phone as she typed.
[Ryujin]
you can’t say things like that when we’re in public
[Yeji]
Then stop pushing.
They regrouped outside, the others sharing bites of chocolate and laughing about flavors. Yeji stayed close but kept her hands shoved in her pockets, face impassive. Ryujin caught her eye once, the look she received nearly stopped her heart.
By midafternoon, the group decided to grab a late lunch at a busy diner, crowding into a booth too small for all of them. Winter and Jules got into a heated argument over poutine toppings, while Yuna and Madison challenged each other to a mini arm-wrestling contest at the far end of the table.
Ryujin sat close to Yeji, knees pressed together under the table. An arrangement that might have seemed accidental to anyone else. But Ryujin knew better.
Winter and Karina bickered across the table over which poutine to order, and Lia and Chaeryeong took turns flipping through the menu, oblivious to the undercurrent humming between their two teammates.
At one point, Yeji’s water glass ran empty, and without even glancing at Ryujin, she leaned forward to reach for the pitcher in the center of the table.
Ryujin did not have time to react. Yeji’s movement brought her face dangerously close, so close that for a split, frozen moment, Ryujin could see every flutter of her lashes, every delicate line of her lips, could even feel the soft brush of Yeji’s breath against her cheek.
Ryujin’s hand jerked on instinct, nearly sending her fork clattering to the floor. Her other hand shot out to steady herself against the table edge, her heart hammering so violently it almost drowned out the chatter around them.
Yeji seemed to pause there, hovering for just a fraction of a second too long, close enough that Ryujin’s lungs locked, her eyes wide and unblinking.
Yeji’s head turned slightly, and her eyes flicked up to meet Ryujin’s. It was a fleeting glance. Quick, sharp, and far too knowing. A small, almost imperceptible smirk curled at the corner of Yeji’s mouth, so subtle it might have been imagined.
Then, as though nothing had happened, Yeji grabbed the pitcher, filled her glass with calm, precise movements, and leaned back into her seat, face cool and composed.
Ryujin, meanwhile, sat frozen. She sucked in a breath that shuddered on the way out, one hand still gripping the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles had gone pale.
Winter glanced over, half-laughing at something Karina had said. “Ryujin, you good? You look like you saw a ghost.”
Ryujin snapped her head up, eyes wide, stuttering, “What? Yeah — yeah , I’m fine!”
Yeji did not look at her directly, but she lifted her glass slowly, taking a small sip, her eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the window. Ryujin saw it, though. The faint flush creeping up the side of Yeji’s neck, the tension in her jaw that betrayed her calm act.
Beneath the table, Ryujin’s knee bounced uncontrollably. She typed furiously on her phone under the table.
[Ryujin]
you did that on purpose
A beat later, Yeji’s phone buzzed, but she did not reach for it right away. Instead, she set her glass down with painstaking calm, wiped her fingers delicately with a napkin, and finally picked up her phone.
She typed so slowly Ryujin thought she might combust.
[Yeji]
Maybe I did.
Ryujin’s mouth fell open. Her fingers hovered helplessly over her screen.
[Ryujin]
you’re evil
[Yeji]
You like it.
Ryujin nearly choked on her own breath. Her eyes darted to Yeji, who now pretended to listen to Winter’s story, nodding with polite interest, the faintest curve of a smirk hidden in her lips.
Ryujin ducked her head low, her cheeks burning, biting so hard on the inside of her lip she thought she might draw blood.
When the group moved to Mount Royal Park afterward, they trudged up the final incline to the lookout point, stopping every few minutes because someone had to adjust a scarf or take another photo.
The team paused at the lookout point, taking in the wide sweep of the city skyline glowing under the winter sun.
“Group photo!” Madison yelled, already holding up her phone.
Everyone piled together, jostling and shivering as they tried to fit into the frame. Ryujin slid in behind Yeji, looping an arm casually around her shoulder at the last second. Yeji tensed, her eyes darting around quickly, but no one seemed to notice, too busy laughing and yelling instructions.
“Winter, stop making faces!” Jules shouted.
“Chaeryeong, move your head! I can’t see!” Madison added, nearly falling off the ledge in the chaos.
The photo snapped with Yeji and Ryujin’s faces pressed just close enough to be a secret only they knew.
The rest of the team scattered along the wide stone balustrade, taking selfies, pointing out landmarks, or leaning over to marvel at the view. Winter and Chaeryeong argued playfully over who could spot the arena first, Lia took wide shots of the skyline, and Yuna fumbled with a panorama mode that kept cutting people’s heads off.
Yeji stood a little apart, her gloved hands resting lightly on the cold stone railing. Ryujin drifted over, her eyes trained not on the view, but on Yeji. The sharp line of her jaw against the sky, the way her breath curled in white clouds, the faint flush that always rose to her cheeks in the cold.
Neither of them spoke. For a moment, it was just the low hum of city sounds below, the distant laughter of their teammates, and the soft shush of winter wind over the lookout plaza.
Yeji glanced sideways, her lashes casting small shadows in the fading light. “You’re quiet,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only Ryujin could hear.
Ryujin shifted closer, her breath catching slightly. “I’m… taking in the view,” she said, her eyes locked on Yeji’s face.
Yeji let out a soft, knowing laugh, her head tipping forward as her shoulder shook faintly. She turned her head slowly until they were face to face, so close that Ryujin could see the faint tremor in Yeji’s lower lip, the way her pupils darkened.
“You’re impossible,” Yeji whispered, her voice rough around the edges, her gloved fingers curling slightly on the stone railing.
Ryujin smirked, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “So I’ve been told,” she said, her voice thin but teasing.
Yeji’s eyes searched her face for a long second, her breath coming out shaky. Then, without warning, she leaned forward and pressed her lips lightly against Ryujin’s.
It was just a soft, fleeting peck. A barely-there kiss that might have been missed entirely if anyone turned to look at the wrong moment. But for them, it felt like the world stopped moving.
Yeji pulled back almost immediately, her forehead hovering close, her breath shaky.
“Behave,” she whispered, her voice low enough that it felt more like a pulse than a sound.
Ryujin blinked rapidly, stunned, her lips tingling. After a beat, she managed to breathe out, “You can’t just do that and expect me to behave.”
Yeji’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smirk, her eyes flicking down to Ryujin’s mouth and then back up again. “Then stop looking at me like that,” she murmured back, her thumb stroking the edge of Ryujin’s jaw.
Ryujin let out a short, shaky laugh, her hands still gripping Yeji’s scarf. “I can’t,” she admitted, her voice breaking open, soft and helpless.
Yeji closed her eyes for a second, exhaling shakily. “I know,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to.”
“But try,” she teased softly, before she straightened and turned back toward the group, her expression returning to its usual cool calm.
Ryujin stood frozen for another heartbeat, hand lifting absently to her lips as her mind scrambled to catch up.
As the day wore on, they meandered through local markets, shared steaming paper cups of hot chocolate, and poked around small art galleries. Winter insisted on stopping at every mural for photos, each time dragging different teammates into goofy poses.
After dinner, the team wandered into an arcade near the hotel, drawn by the flashing neon lights and the echo of electronic beeps and triumphant yells spilling out into the night air.
The moment they stepped inside, Madison’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh my god. Basketball hoops! Who wants to lose first?” she shouted, bolting toward the row of arcade basketball machines lined up in a corner.
Winter and Chaeryeong dove into a skee-ball match, while Jules and Riley started furiously smacking buttons at a rhythm game nearby.
Yeji lingered near the entrance for a moment, scanning the noisy chaos, her arms folded tight. Ryujin sidled up next to her, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her eyes already locked on the basketball machines.
“Ohhhh, Captain,” Ryujin drawled, nudging Yeji with her elbow. “Feeling brave tonight? Wanna challenge your favorite forward?”
Yeji gave her a sharp side-eye. “Favorite forward? You mean the one who’s always late to warmups and chirps the goalie every morning?” she deadpanned, arching a brow.
Ryujin let out a loud, scandalized gasp. “Unbelievable! Disrespect from my own captain,” she exclaimed, clutching her chest dramatically.
Yeji rolled her eyes, but a hint of a smile ghosted across her lips. “Fine,” she sighed, stepping toward the machine, her long fingers flexing. “I’ll humor you. But don’t start crying when I beat you.”
Ryujin cackled, bouncing with excitement as she threw in tokens. “Ohhhh, you are so going down, captain.”
The machine lights blinked to life. The timer started counting down.
As soon as the buzzer sounded, Yeji grabbed the first ball with lightning speed, her movements smooth and efficient, each shot arcing perfectly into the hoop with a satisfying swish.
Ryujin, on the other hand, was a whirlwind. Grabbing balls two at a time, firing them with reckless energy. She missed a few, but every time she scored, she let out a triumphant “ HA !”, her grin impossibly wide.
A small crowd of teammates gathered around them, cheering and heckling.
“Come on, Captain! Show her who’s boss!” Chaeryeong yelled, nearly falling over from laughing.
“Ryujin, stop chucking them like dodgeballs!” Madison shrieked, filming on her phone as Ryujin hurled another ball that bounced violently off the rim.
“She’s gonna break the machine!” Winter howled, wheezing as she leaned against the wall for support.
Yeji’s movements remained calm and controlled, her expression steely as she focused. Meanwhile, Ryujin was in full chaotic glory, sweat on her forehead, hair falling into her eyes, giggling wildly between shots.
The final seconds ticked down. Yeji took a deep breath, sinking three more perfect shots in quick succession. Ryujin threw her last ball with a dramatic underhand spin, yelling, “FOR THE CYCLONES!”
The final score flashed: Yeji ahead by a slim five points.
Ryujin let out a wail, dropping dramatically to her knees. “NOOO! ROBBED! THIS IS RIGGED!” she howled, pounding the floor like a kid denied candy.
Yeji just shook her head, stepping over to her, failing to hold back a laugh. “Get up,” she muttered, offering her hand down.
Ryujin grabbed it and used it to yank Yeji closer instead, nearly knocking her off balance. Their faces ended up inches apart, Ryujin’s wide grin shining despite her “ devastating loss .”
“Guess you’re good at something other than cross-checking me into the boards,” Ryujin teased, her voice low and gleaming with warmth beneath the mischief.
Yeji’s lips twitched, her cheeks flushing as she tried to shove Ryujin lightly away. “Shut up,” she hissed, but her laugh slipped through anyway, bright and unguarded.
Behind them, their teammates erupted in cheers and laughter, oblivious to the tiny electric charge sparking in that stolen closeness.
Winter sprinted over, grabbing both of their arms. “REMATCH! REMATCH! I’m putting my money on Ryujin next time!” she declared, nearly vibrating with excitement.
Ryujin jumped up, throwing her arm dramatically around Yeji’s shoulders. “You hear that? Fan support! The people demand my comeback!”
Yeji groaned, ducking her head, but her hand hovered at Ryujin’s waist for a second longer than anyone noticed.
They started another game and the buzzer sounded. The final scores flashed across the machine in bright, mocking numbers: Ryujin’s score gleamed at the top, just barely above Yeji’s.
Ryujin whooped so loud it nearly shook the walls, throwing her hands up in a wild victory dance. “YES! FINALLY! VICTORY FOR THE CHAOS!” she shouted, bouncing in circles.
Winter and Chaeryeong ran over, shrieking in delight. Madison nearly dropped her phone from laughing as she recorded every second.
“Punishment! Punishment!” Jules began chanting, pounding her fists against the side of the machine. “She lost fair and square. There's gotta be a punishment!”
Yeji whipped around, scowling. “There was no punishment for Ryujin earlier?”
“Actually!” Madison jumped in, eyes sparkling like she had just discovered buried treasure. “I have the PERFECT idea.” She glanced at Ryujin, then back at Yeji with a devilish grin. “Yeji has to change her phone wallpaper to her mirror photo with Ryujin.”
Ryujin’s head snapped up so fast she almost fell backward. “Wait, wait, wait” she choked out, grinning so wide it practically split her face. “I like that!”
Yeji’s eyes went wide as saucers, her hands flailing slightly. “No. No way. That’s—”
“Sorry, captain! Rules are rules.” Chaeryeong yelled, pointing at Yeji dramatically as if she had been declared guilty in a courtroom.
The entire team erupted in cheers, chanting in rhythm.
Ryujin looked like she might actually levitate from pure glee. She grabbed Yeji’s wrist, her eyes sparkling with wicked delight. “Come on, captain.” she teased, her voice dropping to that soft, private pitch that always made Yeji’s heart stutter.
Yeji groaned, pressing her free hand over her face. “I hate all of you,” she grumbled, but she did not pull away when Ryujin tugged her phone from her pocket.
Yeji finally peeked through her fingers, her face burning red. She snatched her phone back and turned away, muttering curses under her breath.
She opened her gallery, scrolled down, and found the mirror selfie. The one from the day their Team USA kits arrived. Ryujin, arm slung over Yeji’s shoulder, grinning. Yeji, face expressionless, eyes locked on the camera like she was daring it to blink first.
She paused.
Then, in a move that surprised even Ryujin, Yeji cropped it. Cleanly. Right down the middle.
Ryujin’s half with her grin, her jersey, and her arm over Yeji’s shoulder, became Yeji’s new lock screen wallpaper.
Ryujin sidled up behind her, leaning close enough for her voice to barely carry. “You keep me on your screen like that and people might start thinking you actually like me.”
Yeji shot her a fierce glare over her shoulder, but her lips twitched at the corners, betraying her.
Ryujin just grinned wider, her fingers brushing Yeji’s sleeve for half a heartbeat before she bounded off, arms raised in victory, the team’s laughter and cheers echoing after her.
And though Yeji stood there scowling, phone clutched tight in her hand, a quiet warmth spread in her chest, a pulse she could feel every time she looked down and saw Ryujin’s ridiculous, triumphant grin staring back at her from her screen.
Yeji’s half with her stoic expression, sharp #98, and every bit of her unwilling softness was silently airdropped to Ryujin’s phone minutes later.
She accepted it without comment. Then quietly changed her own wallpaper to match.
Ryujin’s thumb lingered over the screen for a second longer than necessary. Then she looked up and caught Yeji already watching her.
By the time they returned to the hotel, cheeks pink from the cold and arms heavy with small bags, the team spilled into the lobby in one tangled mass of laughter and exhaustion.
“Fun day, huh?” Ryujin murmured, her voice low, soft, and just for her.
Yeji let out a long breath, her shoulders relaxing as she nodded. “Yeah,” she admitted, her lips curving upward. “It was good.”
Ryujin’s eyes softened, her grin turning gentle. “We should do it again sometime. Just us.”
Yeji’s eyes flickered with surprise before she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Back in the elevator, squeezed shoulder to shoulder with Winter humming loudly beside them and Jules dramatically recounting how many desserts she had eaten.
The elevator ride felt like an eternity.
Ryujin stood pressed into the back corner, her hands still jammed into her pockets, shoulders tense. Every floor they passed made her feel like her entire body was vibrating, her mind replaying Yeji’s last whispered words on a loop.
Yeji stood near the front, seemingly composed, one hand lightly resting on the railing. But every so often, she tilted her head just enough to catch Ryujin’s reflection in the shiny elevator door. A small, knowing curve played at the edge of her lips each time, as though she could read every frantic thought rushing through Ryujin’s head.
Winter and Chaeryeong were debating out loud whether to order takeout or try the hotel restaurant. Lia yawned dramatically, leaning against Yuna, who was half-asleep on her feet.
Finally — finally — the elevator dinged for their floor.
The doors slid open.
“See you tomorrow! Early breakfast call!” Lia reminded, her voice cracking from all the laughing, before she vanished down the hallway with Yuna in tow.
Winter and Riley waved lazily, half-dragging each other to their own room, already arguing about who would get the shower first.
Ryujin trailed just a step behind Yeji, eyes fixed on her, captivated by every small movement: the way Yeji’s fingers curled precisely at the fabric, the way her hair fell forward slightly as she slipped the scarf free. Yeji shook her head once to adjust her hair, then tossed the scarf casually over her arm, glancing back with an almost teasing flicker in her eyes as if she knew exactly what Ryujin was staring at.
They reached their room door in a quiet blur. Ryujin fumbled with the keycard, her fingers trembling so badly she nearly dropped it twice.
Yeji reached out calmly, took the card from her, and unlocked the door with one smooth swipe, her eyes never leaving Ryujin’s face.
The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Ryujin whipped around, and all that tension that had been simmering all day finally snapped.
She surged forward, grabbing Yeji by the collar of her coat and pushing her back against the wall, her breathing sharp and ragged.
Yeji’s eyes went wide for a heartbeat, then softened, her lips parting in a quiet, shaky inhale.
Ryujin did not even bother with words. She leaned in, her forehead pressing against Yeji’s for one trembling second before she kissed her. Deep, hungry, almost desperate.
Yeji let out a muffled gasp, her hands flying up to Ryujin’s shoulders. For a moment she tensed, as though startled by the sheer force of it, then she melted completely, her fingers sliding up into Ryujin’s hair, her mouth moving eagerly against hers.
They broke apart only when Ryujin had to breathe, both of them panting, their lips hovering close.
Yeji’s eyes fluttered open slowly, dark and heavy with something that made Ryujin’s stomach flip violently.
“All day,” Ryujin gasped out, her voice wrecked, forehead still resting against Yeji’s. “I’ve been waiting all day to do that.”
Yeji’s breath shivered out in a laugh, low, almost broken. She tilted her head slightly, brushing her nose against Ryujin’s in a soft, teasing nudge.
“You think you were the only one?” she whispered, her voice rough with heat and held-back laughter. “I almost dragged you into an alley three times.”
At that, Ryujin surged forward again, capturing her lips in another bruising, hungry kiss, deeper, messier, the kind that threatened to unravel every careful layer Yeji had ever built around herself.
In a quick, trembling motion, she tore her hands from Yeji’s collar and moved to her shoulders, shoving the heavy coat down Yeji’s arms. The fabric slipped, falling in a slow heap to the floor with a soft thud. Her own following not long after.
Yeji let out a sharp breath, her head tilting back slightly to meet Ryujin’s gaze, her eyes now wide and blown open with shock and heat, her lips red and parted.
“Ryu—” she started, her voice barely a whisper. But Ryujin was already leaning back in, her hands sliding up Yeji’s now-exposed arms, her palms flat against her skin, fingers trembling with urgency.
“What,” Ryujin breathed against her lips, her forehead pressing to Yeji’s again. “Are you going to stop me?”
Yeji’s breath stuttered, her fingers sliding up to cup Ryujin’s face, her thumbs brushing along her jaw in trembling strokes.
“Wasn’t planning to,” she whispered back, her voice breaking halfway through as her eyes fluttered shut.
As Ryujin kissed her again, her hands roamed Yeji’s arms, her sides, slipping under the hem of her turtleneck to splay against warm skin. Yeji shivered at the touch, a soft whimper breaking from her throat as she arched closer, her hands twisting in Ryujin’s hair now, pulling her impossibly closer.
Yeji’s head tipped back against the wall, her mouth falling open with a shaky gasp as Ryujin pressed a line of slow, desperate kisses along her jaw and down her neck, dragging the fabric of Yeji’s turtleneck down to expose more of her skin.
Her breath hitched again when Ryujin paused, forehead resting against her shoulder, both of them trembling and gasping for air in the hush.
“God,” Ryujin groaned, her voice dropping lower as she ducked to press another kiss to the corner of Yeji’s mouth. “You’re going to kill me.”
Yeji’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk, her fingers tightening in Ryujin’s hair.
“Good,” she murmured, her voice a husky whisper against Ryujin’s cheek. “Maybe then you’ll finally shut up for once.”
Ryujin’s jaw dropped open in scandalized shock, but before she could fire back, Yeji pulled her in again, their lips crashing together in another dizzying, messy kiss.
The rest of the world slipped away in that instant. The noisy city streets, the teasing teammates, the echo of winter air, all of it dissolved under the heat thrumming between them.
Yeji smirked faintly, then pushed Ryujin forward by the waistband of her jeans, guiding them away from the door as they kissed.
They shuffled backward, barely breaking their kiss, Ryujin’s fingers grasping at Yeji’s shirt, tugging impatiently.
They reached the edge of the bed. Ryujin paused, her lips still hovering over Yeji’s, her breathing ragged. She searched Yeji’s eyes one last time, as if asking for permission, for reassurance, for everything all at once.
Yeji’s gaze locked with hers, open and raw and unguarded in a way that made Ryujin feel like her knees might give out.
“Don’t you dare stop now,” Yeji whispered, her voice low and certain, her hands sliding up to cradle Ryujin’s face.
That was all Ryujin needed.
Yeji pushed lightly, making Ryujin sit. Yeji stepped forward, her fingers slipping under the hem of Ryujin’s hoodie, dragging it upward slowly, exposing warm skin inch by inch.
Yeji’s fingers tightened at the hem of her own turtleneck.
Ryujin could only watch, utterly transfixed, as Yeji slowly lifted the fabric over her stomach. The soft glow from the city lights creeping in through the window caught on every line of muscle, every small shiver of movement.
When Yeji tugged her sweater higher, Ryujin saw the strong, sculpted lines of her abdomen. The quiet testament to all the hours Yeji had spent pushing her body to its absolute limits. The hours she had never bragged about, the strength she had never flaunted.
Yeji’s arms lifted, and finally the sweater slipped fully over her head. She tossed it aside with a quiet exhale, her hair falling back around her shoulders in soft waves.
Yeji climbed onto Ryujin’s lap, straddling her, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side.
For a moment, she just sat there, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven waves. Ryujin’s gaze swept up, drinking in every inch of her. The soft curve of her collarbones, the gentle definition of her abs, the strength coiled in her arms and shoulders.
Their lips found each other again in a slower, deeper kiss, tongues sliding together, breaths merging. Ryujin reached up, curling her fingers at the nape of Yeji’s neck, pulling her back down until her back hit the mattress.
Then, Ryujin’s hands found her waist. She hesitated, her fingers trembling against the hard lines of Yeji’s sides, her thumbs brushing lightly over her obliques, tracing the sharp dip where her ribs met the start of her abs.
She sucked in a shaky breath as her hands slid upward, mapping the taut lines of Yeji’s stomach. Her palms hovered there, trembling faintly.
Ryujin’s hands traced back up, memorizing every dip, every curve, every strong line that had always been hidden beneath layers of gear and oversized fabric.
Yeji pulled back, her lips swollen, her eyes dark and searching. She leaned in, pressing a few softer kisses along Ryujin’s jaw and down to her neck, lingering just above her collarbone. Ryujin tilted her head to give her more space, a small, choked sound escaping her throat.
“ Yeji… ” Ryujin breathed, her voice shaky, almost pleading.
Yeji pulled back enough to look at her, one hand cupping her cheek gently. For a moment, there was only quiet. The low hum of the heater, the distant city traffic, and the heavy rhythm of their hearts thudding together.
Then Yeji leaned in again, kissing her. Slow this time, careful, full of everything they had not been able to say all day. Ryujin kissed back just as fiercely, her fingers threading into Yeji’s hair, tugging her even closer.
As they kissed, Ryujin’s hands never stopped moving, exploring, holding, pressing, as if she needed to convince herself Yeji was truly there beneath her palms. And Yeji let her, shivering lightly under each touch.
And when the last layer of distance between them disappeared, it felt less like a crash and more like a long, deep exhale, two waves finally meeting, melting into each other completely.
The city lights outside flickered like distant stars, casting shifting patterns across the room. But inside, their world had narrowed down to the warmth of tangled limbs, the shared breaths, the quiet gasps and low murmurs that filled the dark.
Chapter Text
It was only four a.m., that thin, precarious line where night still clung to the world and morning had not yet truly dared to break. Inside their room, the city lights beyond the glass flickered faintly, slipping through the narrow crack of the curtains in silver threads that barely reached the bed.
The room was heavy with warmth and the remnants of hurried breaths, restless hands, and the soft, shuddering whispers that had filled the dark just hours before.
Yeji woke up first, her breath hitching slightly as she shifted beneath the covers. She felt the quiet, familiar warmth beside her. Her eyes blinked open slowly, as if her body already knew to savor every quiet second before the world could intrude.
She turned her head slightly, taking in Ryujin’s sleeping face beside her. Ryujin was sprawled on her stomach, half of her hair plastered across her cheek, the other half a wild mess against the pillow. One arm was tucked under her head, the other stretched haphazardly across Yeji’s waist, her fingers curled loosely into the hem of the shirt as if she had refused to let go even in sleep.
Last night came back in vivid waves: the quiet confessions, the soft gasps, the way their names had turned into shaky prayers on each other’s lips. The way they had finally let every barrier fall, piece by fragile piece, until there was nothing left between them but raw, breathing honesty.
Careful not to wake her, Yeji lifted a hand and brushed a few stray strands of hair away from Ryujin’s face. Her fingertips hovered there for a moment, tracing the soft curve of Ryujin’s cheek, the faint freckles she only ever got to see up close like this.
Ryujin shifted slightly at the touch, her nose scrunching up before she let out a small, sleepy groan. Her fingers flexed at Yeji’s waist, tugging the shirt as if to pull her closer even in her dreams.
How did we get here? she thought. How did I let myself get here?
She had spent so long being careful. Carefully holding the line, carefully staying composed, carefully building walls around every soft part of herself. But Ryujin had slipped past them all, melting each barrier with a crooked smile and too many shameless texts, with every teasing chirp and every fierce, unstoppable rush down the ice.
Yeji glanced down again, her lips parting slightly as she took in Ryujin’s face up close. The same face she had wanted to memorize a hundred times before she even admitted it to herself.
Yeji let out a quiet, breathy laugh, the sound so soft it barely reached the air. She stayed there for another long moment, savoring the quiet, the low hum of Ryujin’s breathing. But then she felt that familiar itch. The tug of a captain’s mind pulling her back to focus, to responsibilities waiting outside their warm little cocoon.
She shifted carefully, her hands pressing lightly into the mattress as she tried to move without disturbing Ryujin too much.
Ryujin immediately let out a low, muffled whine, her arm tightening around Yeji’s waist as her face burrowed further into the oversized shirt Yeji was wearing.
Yeji paused, her eyes softening as she looked down at her. “Sleep,” she whispered, her voice low and warm. “I’ll be right here.”
Ryujin grumbled something incoherent but eventually loosened her hold, her fingers slipping away as she flopped back into the pillows.
Yeji eased herself out of the bed, the oversized shirt slipping lower on her shoulder as she stood. She bent to grab a dark gray sweater from the floor.
She pulled her hair into a quick, messy tie, fingers deft and practiced despite the early hour. Then she padded over to the small table by the window where her tablet lay waiting, its screen lit up to the last session she had started.
Yeji settled into the chair, tucking one leg up under her, the oversized sleeves falling forward to nearly cover her hands.
Her tablet sat propped up before her, its glow lighting her focused expression in soft, flickering pulses. She moved through game footage with methodical precision: slow-motion replays, angles of defensive formations, moments when she had broken up an advance or shifted the rhythm of an entire line with a single read. Occasionally, her eyes narrowed, her fingers pausing mid-swipe as she caught some small detail that demanded her attention.
Beside her, her black notebook lay ready, its pages already crowded with her sharp, almost surgical handwriting. Defensive schemes, zone coverage adjustments, transition notes, Yeji mapped them all, each thought neatly stacked and underlined, each margin peppered with small, almost private reminders to herself. The quiet scratch of her pen against the paper punctuated the room’s hush, a steady counterpoint to Ryujin’s deep, slow breathing behind her.
Yeji paused, her thumb hovering above the screen. Something inside her softened in that instant. A slow, warm ache that tugged at her ribs.
Every so often, Yeji would glance over her shoulder. Her eyes would linger on Ryujin’s sleeping form, drawn back to the bed by an invisible thread.
The delicate arch of her back, the stray strands of hair draped across her cheek, the soft, vulnerable slack of her mouth against the pillow. In those moments, her expression would flicker, something warm and unguarded breaking through the rigid concentration.
Then she would turn back to the screen, her jaw tightening slightly as she pressed play again. It was an old habit to rise before dawn, to find the flaws and polish the edges before anyone else woke. But this morning felt different. The city hummed quietly beyond the window, the smell of Ryujin still clinging to her skin, the heavy warmth of the shared bed only a few steps away.
She paused her footage once more, letting her pen hover above the notebook. For a breath, her eyes softened as they drifted back to Ryujin, this chaotic forward who could unravel her so easily, even in sleep.
With a quiet exhale, she pushed the chair back and stood, pulling the sweater tighter around herself. She carried the tablet carefully in one hand, crossing the room in silent steps.
As she reached the edge of the bed, she hesitated for a moment. Ryujin had quieted again, sprawled face-down across the mattress, her cheek pressed into the pillow. One arm stretched out toward where Yeji was laying earlier, fingers curled slightly as if searching for her in sleep. A blanket clung to her back but barely covered the upper curve of her spine, leaving her arms, shoulders, and the delicate line of her neck exposed to the dawn air. Each breath she took stirred the thin fabric, revealing fleeting glimpses of the marks Yeji had left, faint trails of pink that bloomed like small confessions along her skin.
Yeji let her eyes wander, lingering on those half-hidden secrets, on the gentle slope of Ryujin’s shoulder, on the quiet vulnerability of her bare back, the soft rise and fall that hinted at the life she so fiercely carried on the ice. It felt almost sacred to look at her like this, as if she was seeing Ryujin stripped of every layer of defense she had ever worn, every sharp edge softened in the hush of dawn.
The bruises from past games, the faint scars she never bothered to hide — each one felt like a quiet, unspoken confession to Yeji now.
Then, with a small, fond shake of her head, she climbed back in carefully, slipping under the blankets without disturbing her too much.
Ryujin stirred almost immediately, her nose scrunching as she let out a groggy whine.
“ Yeji… ” she mumbled, voice muffled and rough, her arm moving instinctively to find her.
“I’m here,” Yeji whispered, settling against the headboard and pulling Ryujin closer to her waist. She propped the tablet on her knees, the soft glow casting gentle shadows across their faces.
Ryujin groaned again, blindly burrowing into Yeji’s side. She hooked an arm around Yeji’s middle, her fingers curling into the hem of the sweater.
Yeji glanced down, her eyes flicking briefly from the screen to the wild tangle of Ryujin’s hair spread across her stomach.
“Ryujin,” she started, her voice even but edged with amusement. “What are you doing?”
Ryujin let out a sleepy, muffled groan, tightening her hold as if Yeji might disappear. “Nothing,” she mumbled into Yeji’s side, her voice low and thick with sleep. “Just… being here.”
Yeji huffed, her lips curling despite herself. She turned her attention back to the tablet, fingers swiping to the next clip.
But Ryujin was relentless. She shifted again, her hand slipping under Yeji’s shirt to rest warm and possessive against her stomach. She pressed her cheek fully to Yeji’s side now, her breath slow and warm against her skin.
Yeji’s fingers hesitated on the screen, her spine straightening at the sudden intimate touch.
“Ryujin,” she warned, her voice dipping lower now, trying to sound firm.
“Mm?” Ryujin hummed, sounding entirely too pleased with herself. She pressed a lazy kiss to Yeji’s waist, just above her hipbone. “Don’t mind me. Do your captain stuff.”
Yeji let out a sharp exhale, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment before she forced them back open to focus on the footage. She rewound a defensive play, trying to ignore the way Ryujin’s fingers drummed lightly against her hip.
A few minutes passed, punctuated by Ryujin’s small movements: a gentle squeeze here, a thumb brushing lazy patterns against Yeji’s stomach, another soft kiss to her side.
“ Shin Ryujin .”
“Okay, okay, ” Ryujin sighed contentedly, voice muffled as she squished her cheek against Yeji’s. “I’ll be quiet.”
Yeji tried to refocus on the tablet, but after a few seconds, she could feel Ryujin’s tiny smile against her waist, the gentle hum of her breathing, the solid warmth of her hold.
Yeji kept her eyes on the screen, her focus sharp as she analyzed each clip, but her free hand never stopped moving in Ryujin’s hair.
After a while, Ryujin peeked up, eyes squinting at the tablet. “You’re gonna make me learn this with you later, aren’t you?” she mumbled.
Yeji smirked faintly, her eyes still on the footage. “Would that be so terrible?” she asked, voice low and teasing.
Ryujin groaned one more time, but this time, she shifted to lay her head fully on Yeji’s chest, pressing her ear right over her heart.
“Fine,” she muttered, her voice softening in reluctant surrender. “Only because I like your voice more than the commentator’s.”
Yeji finally let out a small, quiet laugh, rumbling softly through Ryujin’s ear. She leaned down, her lips brushing lightly over Ryujin’s forehead.
And so they stayed tangled under the blankets, the quiet hum of the tablet mixing with Ryujin’s soft, steady breaths. Yeji’s focused eyes scanned the screen, while her hand threaded constantly through Ryujin’s hair, keeping her anchored there, close and safe.
Ryujin stirred again about an hour after, her fingers tightening slightly on the fabric of the sweater before her eyes cracked open.
“ Hey you ,” Yeji whispered, her voice low and soft, the words slipping out like a secret only Ryujin could hear. “Finally awake?”
Ryujin blinked at her slowly, still fighting her way out of sleep. She let out a shaky breath and then broke into a lopsided, lazy grin.
“Wow,” she murmured, her voice thick and rough with sleep, words almost slurring together. “Waking up next to the captain naked… Must be breaking about fifteen team rules right now.”
“You always did love causing trouble.” Yeji snorted, her eyes narrowing in mock disapproval. “Could have been just fourteen though,” she shot back, her voice dry but tinged with fondness, “if you listened to me and wore something before sleeping.”
Ryujin let out a loud, dramatic groan, her head falling back into the pillow as her arm flopped across her eyes. “ Oh my god, are you really going to scold me now?” she whined, voice muffled.
Yeji rolled her eyes, but a small laugh slipped out before she could catch it. She reached over, tugging Ryujin’s arm off her face.
“Yes,” Yeji said firmly, pinning her with a mock-serious glare. “Because I told you to put something on. But no , Miss I-Do-What-I-Want decided she was above pajamas.”
Ryujin let out a strangled whimper, her shoulders hunching up. “How long have you been up?” she mumbled.
Yeji glanced briefly at the tablet screen before replying. “Since around four,” she answered easily, as if it were normal. “I wanted to get through the opponent footage before practice.”
Ryujin shifted her head just enough to squint up at her. “You’re insane,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but tinged with reluctant awe.
Yeji chuckled quietly, “I know,” she said, her thumb brushing lightly across Ryujin’s temple. “But someone has to keep you out of trouble on the ice.”
Ryujin let out a sleepy snort, her lips curling despite herself. “Good luck with that,” she mumbled.
Yeji leaned down then, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to Ryujin’s forehead. “I’ll manage,” she whispered against her skin.
Ryujin groaned softly, nuzzling deeper into her side. “Can I sleep for five more hours?” she mumbled, her voice rough and sleep-heavy.
Yeji snorted, her chest shaking with a soft laugh. “ Hours ? You wish,”
Ryujin shifted, cracking one bleary eye open. “Captain, please ,” she drawled weakly. “Let your poor, exhausted winger recover.”
Yeji rolled her eyes but smiled, unable to hide the fondness curling around her lips. “You’re acting like you played three overtime periods alone.”
Ryujin groaned again, “Might as well have,” she grumbled, her words muffled on Yeji’s side.
Yeji let out a low laugh, tilting her head to look at her. “You’re so dramatic,” she said.
Ryujin peeked at her, eyes still dazed. After a beat, she scowled faintly. “Stop looking at me like that,” she grumbled.
“Like what?” Yeji asked, feigning innocence, her brows lifting.
“Like you’re about to take a million mental pictures to blackmail me with later,” Ryujin muttered, her cheeks turning pink as she squirmed under Yeji’s steady gaze.
Yeji’s lips twitched into a slow, dangerous smirk. “Who said I’d keep them just for blackmail? I might use them to remind myself how soft you actually are,” she joked, leaning forward slightly, her eyes glinting.
Ryujin finally sat up. Her skin felt too exposed, tingling from every remembered touch, every echo of the night before. Pushing off the bed, she rose on shaky legs, pulling the blanket instinctively around her waist as she moved closer.
When she finally stood before the mirror, she froze.
In the low city glow and the flicker of Yeji’s tablet screen, Ryujin saw herself fully for the first time. Her hair fell wildly across her collarbones, but it was her back that made her breath hitch sharply in her throat.
Faint, blooming marks covered her skin. Shallow scratches running across her shoulders, soft reddish blotches where Yeji’s mouth had pressed too hard in the heat of it all. Thin, trailing lines mapped down her sides like desperate signatures left in the dark.
Ryujin lifted a hand slowly, her fingers grazing one of the deeper marks along her shoulder blade. The contact sent a shiver racing through her, a vivid echo of Yeji’s grip, of the shuddering gasp against her neck.
She let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh, half hidden behind her hand. In the mirror, she saw her own eyes wide and bright, caught somewhere between awe and shock, her lips parted around a breath she had forgotten to release.
From across the room, Yeji watched in silence. Her pen stilled above her notebook, her tablet paused mid-replay. There was no teasing smirk now, no wry remark ready on her tongue. Only that deep, unwavering calm in her gaze. A quiet, protective pride mixed with something softer.
Ryujin met her eyes in the mirror, her throat working around a sudden lump. Her fingers curled against her own shoulder, feeling the raw edges of every memory pressed into her skin.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Yeji on the bed, Ryujin standing half-hidden in the morning gloom, her back marked like a secret love letter no one else would ever read.
A sharp breath shuddered through Ryujin, her voice emerging low and raw. “You… you really did not hold back,” she managed, her lips twitching upward despite the flush burning across her face.
Yeji’s jaw tensed slightly, her gaze darkening as it swept once more over Ryujin’s reflection. Slowly, she set her pen down, her fingers curling into her palm as if resisting the urge to stand and close the distance.
Finally, a faint, husky reply cut the hush between them. “I did not want to,” Yeji murmured, her voice quiet but steady, each word slipping through the early darkness like a promise.
Ryujin’s lips parted, her breath shaky as she struggled to find her voice. No words were coming out from her mouth.
Instead, Ryujin’s gaze swept the room in silence before landing on the mess of clothes strewn around. Her bare skin prickled in the cool morning air.
She finally saw a hoodie draped over the back of a chair.
Yeji’s navy blue Sentinels hoodie, HWANG 26 stitched in clean, bold letters, the captain’s faint “C” on the front.
Without a word, she stumbled across the room, still completely bare beneath the thin sheet she had half-dragged with her. Yeji watched, eyes wide and amused, as Ryujin grabbed the hoodie and yanked it on in one rushed, uncoordinated motion.
It swallowed her immediately, falling low on her thighs, the sleeves hanging past her fingertips. Ryujin tugged at the hem, glancing down as if realizing for the first time she had nothing else on underneath.
As she drew it around her, she could smell Yeji in every fold; peppermint, detergent, and that subtle warmth that felt like something only Ryujin had been allowed to know.
A small shiver ran down her spine, not from the cold this time, but from the memory of Yeji’s lips on her neck, the quiet gasp against her ear, the unsteady breath when her own name fell from Yeji’s mouth like a plea.
She turned back toward the bed, cheeks already starting to flush bright red.
“Really?” she drawled finally, voice low and edged with laughter. “That’s your outfit choice for the morning?”
Ryujin opened her mouth, clearly ready to spit out a snarky retort but no sound came. She fumbled with the sleeves again, her face flushing even brighter.
“I— it was cold,” she mumbled, her voice small and defensive, avoiding Yeji’s gaze as she shuffled awkwardly back toward the bed.
Yeji tilted her head, smirk playing at her lips as she reached out, catching one sleeve and tugging her closer. She pulled Ryujin down into the bed again, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist and pulling her close until their noses brushed.
“Cold, huh?” she teased, eyes glinting. “Funny… I don’t remember you complaining about being cold last night.”
Ryujin’s jaw dropped, her entire face turning scarlet in an instant. She let out a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a horrified squeak, trying to bury her face into the hoodie.
Yeji laughed, a real, bright sound that cracked right through the early morning hush.
Ryujin peeked out from the hoodie, her eyes wide and flustered, but a shy, crooked smile finally spread across her lips.
“Shut up,” she muttered, her voice muffled but warm, her hand sneaking up to rest lightly against Yeji’s chest. “You’re mean.”
Yeji only grinned wider, her free hand coming up to brush a stray lock of hair from Ryujin’s forehead before she leaned in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to her lips.
“And you,” Yeji whispered against her mouth, “look very cute in my hoodie.”
“Figured if you’re going to keep stealing mine, I should borrow yours.”
Yeji tilted her head. “So you want to cosplay as the disciplined one today?”
“Only for an hour,” Ryujin said, eyes glinting. “Then I go back to being fun.”
“Do not ruin it,” Yeji warned, folding her arms loosely across her chest, though her eyes softened.
“I’ll treat it with honor,” Ryujin replied solemnly. “Like it belongs to someone very uptight and terrifying.”
“Keep talking,” she murmured, her tone half-chiding but the warmth was unmissable.
After a moment, Ryujin asked, “Can I… Can I stay in this? At least until breakfast?”
Yeji huffed a soft laugh, her hand rising to brush back Ryujin’s messy fringe again. “You’re asking like I could actually say no to you right now,” she said, rolling her eyes affectionately.
Ryujin’s mouth twitched into a crooked, bashful grin. “Yeah,” she breathed, her voice warming. “Because I know you’re weak for me.”
Yeji snorted again, pulling her close for another quick, playful kiss. “Sleep for a few more minutes before I change my mind,” she ordered softly.
Minutes passed like that, Ryujin drifting in and out, the soft click of the tablet and Yeji’s quiet murmurs filling the room.
Finally, Yeji let out a quiet sigh and set the tablet down on the nightstand. She rolled her shoulders back, stretching her arms above her head. The motion lifted her shirt, exposing the lean muscles of her stomach for a moment, and Ryujin’s eyes immediately latched onto the glimpse.
Yeji slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom, pausing by the door to glance back at Ryujin, who was still staring unabashedly.
“Go back to sleep,” Yeji teased lightly, her eyebrow arching. “You look like you need another hour.”
Ryujin just grinned sleepily, her voice a raspy whisper. “I’m good. This is… a great view.”
Yeji just rolled her eyes and closed the bathroom door behind her.
A few minutes later, the faint sound of running water filled the room. Ryujin closed her eyes, listening, a small, content smile tugging at her lips. She shifted onto her back, stretching her arms above her head, her body still warm and pleasantly sore from the night before.
Ryujin woke up again, this time her senses catching up more fully as she slowly blinked her eyes open. The room felt different now. A pale glow creeping in from between the curtains, a quiet hum of the morning settling into her bones.
She shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of Yeji’s hoodie against her bare skin, and her gaze wandered around the room.
Then she saw her.
Yeji was standing in front of the dresser mirror, tying her hair up into her usual half bun. The city light from last night had only offered fleeting glimpses, shifting shadows and quick flashes of skin under her touch.
But now… now Ryujin could see her fully.
Yeji wore a fitted black sports bra and soft gray sweatpants that sat low on her hips, her toned stomach and strong arms fully visible now. Ryujin’s breath caught, her eyes widening as she drank in every line and curve Yeji usually kept hidden under layers of jerseys and oversized shirts.
Her back muscles shifted smoothly with each movement, her shoulders strong and perfectly defined. As she reached up to secure her hair, Ryujin’s eyes traveled lower, locking on the toned line of Yeji’s stomach. Her abs cut neatly beneath smooth skin, a small scar just under her ribs that she had never noticed before.
Ryujin felt her breath catch, her mouth going dry as her eyes traced every inch she had only felt last night under the faint city glow. She had run her hands across those lines, felt the tautness and warmth, but seeing it now, seeing Yeji standing there in daylight, solid and real and so stunningly strong, made something tighten deep in her chest.
Yeji glanced in the mirror and caught Ryujin’s stunned stare. A slow, sly smirk curled at her lips.
“Oh?” she drawled, her voice edged with mischief as she turned slightly, her fingers still finishing the last twist of her bun. “Finally awake?”
Ryujin swallowed, her eyes dropping helplessly to Yeji’s stomach and then snapping back up to her face.
Last night, there had only been the ghostly shimmer of city lights slipping past the curtains, turning Yeji’s body into a moving silhouette. In the dark, Ryujin had traced the shapes with trembling hands, memorizing every dip and plane by touch alone: the firm slope of Yeji’s shoulders, the cut of her abs under her palms, the quiet power hidden just beneath her skin.
But now, she saw it all. The sharp lines of her toned arms, the fine definition of her biceps as she moved to tie her hair back. The deep, clean lines of her abdomen, muscles honed and disciplined, a silent testament to every early morning skate, every weight lifted, every push beyond the point of exhaustion. The way her ribs curved under smooth skin, the faint flush still painted across her collarbones from the night before. It all unfolded before Ryujin’s stunned gaze like a revelation.
“You are staring,” Yeji said again, her voice low and edged with a husky morning rasp, a hint of challenge beneath the calm.
“Holy fuck —” she croaked, cutting herself off with a strangled noise.
Yeji chuckled low, stepping closer to the bed with deliberate, easy confidence. She paused just out of reach, tilting her head slightly as she watched Ryujin struggle to speak. She calmly put her hands in her sweatpants’ pockets.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Yeji teased, her eyebrow quirking up. “Or maybe you’re just remembering exactly what you were touching last night?”
Ryujin groaned, “ Yeji ,” she whined, her voice muffled and embarrassingly high.
She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the sleeves of the hoodie. “I did not see you properly last night,” she confessed, her voice almost trembling. “It was dark. I could only feel…” Her words trailed off as her gaze traced the lines of Yeji’s abdomen.
Yeji’s mouth twitched at the corners, her expression softening in the morning light. “And now?” she asked, tilting her head, her eyes sharp but filled with quiet warmth.
Ryujin let out a shaky exhale, her shoulders dropping slightly, the tension melting into something raw and open. “Now I think… I might actually die,” she said, her tone a mix of awe and something dangerously close to a confession.
Yeji laughed. A soft, low sound that felt like it slipped directly into Ryujin’s bloodstream.
“Hey,” Yeji said, her voice dropping slightly, warm but steady. “Look at me.”
Ryujin peeked up, her eyes wide, heart hammering.
Yeji leaned forward then, her hand resting lightly on the mattress near Ryujin’s shoulder, her abs flexing as she bent down. “You didn’t think I looked like this under all that gear and baggy shirts?” she teased, her grin sharp but her eyes soft.
Ryujin opened her mouth, spluttered, and then snapped it shut again. After a long, shocked beat, she finally managed to choke out, “I—I knew, but—seeing it is… different.”
Yeji’s smirk softened into a smaller, more private smile. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Ryujin’s cheek, tracing down along her jaw.
“You’re teasing.”
Ryujin scowled weakly, her eyes still wide and dazed. “Says the one walking around half-naked like a sportswear model,” she muttered.
Yeji snorted, her lips twitching. “Oh? Did I distract you?” she said, leaning in just close enough that Ryujin could feel her breath.
Ryujin let out another whimper, her hands coming up to cover her face again.
Yeji chuckled, pressing a light kiss to Ryujin’s forehead before straightening. “Get up,” she said softly, her voice dropping to that low, commanding warmth that always made Ryujin’s stomach flip. “We have training soon.”
Ryujin peeked through her fingers, still scowling but unable to hide the small, crooked smile tugging at her lips.
“Fine,” she mumbled. “But only because you kissed me.”
Yeji rolled her eyes, already turning to grab her shirt. “Sure, whatever helps you get moving,” she said over her shoulder.
As she pulled the shirt over her head, Ryujin could not stop her eyes from following every small movement. Each flex and shift of muscle, the gentle curve of Yeji’s waist.
Yeji paused at the mirror, catching Ryujin’s stare again, her smirk returning full force.
“Eyes up, darling ,” she called lightly, her voice amused but warm.
Ryujin groaned, flopping back onto the mattress, her heart pounding and her thoughts a complete, lovesick mess.
Suddenly, the quiet was broken by the sharp ping of both of their phones lighting up on the nightstand.
Puck Around and Find Out
[Lia]
captain, coming up to your room! need to borrow your hair gel
[Chaeryeong]
and i need the wrist brace i left in Ryujin’s bag!!! be there in 2 mins
[Lia]
on my way! Room 1726, right?
[Chaeryeong]
yep!
Ryujin’s eyes shot open fully then, her body going rigid.
“Oh my god,” she hissed, nearly dropping her phone. “They’re coming up.”
Yeji turned around from the dresser. “What…? Who…?”
“Lia. Chaeryeong. Here. Now!” Ryujin sputtered, pointing frantically at the door.
She froze, looking around the room. Clothes from the night before were scattered everywhere: Yeji’s coat on the chair, Ryujin’s socks by the door, a tangle of shirts and pants half under the bed.
Ryujin sprang out of bed, cursing under her breath as she darted around, grabbing pieces of clothing and tossing them into a pile behind the bed frame. She tripped over her own sweatpants on the floor before finally yanking them on, hopping around as she tried to pull them up without falling.
Yeji went to grab the clothes Ryujin piled and bundled her coat, scarf, and a shirt into her arms, stuffing them hurriedly into a drawer. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Ryujin still struggling to shove her head through a new hoodie sleeve.
“God, you’re hopeless,” Yeji said, rushing forward. She grabbed the hoodie and yanked it down over Ryujin’s head properly, her fingers brushing lightly against Ryujin’s warm neck.
For half a second, they paused. Too close, breaths mingling, eyes locking.
Then Yeji’s expression hardened again. “Focus,” she muttered, lightly smacking Ryujin’s arm.
Ryujin tugged her hoodie and glanced around wildly. “Anything else?” she gasped.
Yeji scanned the room one last time, hands on her hips, chest heaving. “The beds,” she whispered, her eyes going wide. “We didn’t touch the other bed after housekeeping yesterday.”
They both turned at the same time to look:
One bed, a chaotic mess of tangled sheets and rumpled pillows.
The other, pristine, perfectly made, not a single crease.
Ryujin’s face was drained of all colors. “ We’re screwed,” she whispered.
A loud knock came at the door, making them both jump.
Ryujin’s face went pale as she scrambled, “I’ll get it! I’ll… stall them!”
Yeji buried her face in her hands, half-laughing, half dying inside. “Do not fully open the door.” she groaned. “You’re the worst liar alive.”
Ryujin threw her a desperate look over her shoulder, her hair sticking up in wild directions. “You’re not helping!!! Do I look okay?! They’re going to know!”
“You look fine — just open the damn door before they start yelling.”
She opened the door quickly, trying to plaster on a normal, casual smile.
Lia and Chaeryeong bustled inside, chatting between themselves, hardly paying attention at first.
“Morning!” Lia called, waving a hand as she stepped over the threshold, her eyes already sweeping around the room. “I just need to borrow your hair gel, Yeji—”
Chaeryeong followed close behind, scanning the beds absentmindedly. “And I think I left my wrist band in your bag yesterday—”
At first, they did not notice anything strange. Their eyes naturally fell on the neat, untouched bed, and they both assumed immediately it was Yeji’s.
Chaeryeong pointed at it with a small laugh. “Of course the captain’s side is all perfect and neat,” she teased, glancing at Yeji. “Looks like you didn’t even sleep there.”
Lia snickered. “Meanwhile Ryujin’s side looks like a tornado hit it.”
Ryujin let out an awkward, forced laugh. “Haha… yeah… you know me…”
But as they moved farther in, Chaeryeong’s eyes landed on something that made her stop short.
Near the neat bed, she noticed Ryujin’s duffel bag propped against the side table. Her gloves peeked out from the half-zipped top, along with her own sneakers lined up carefully beneath.
Chaeryeong froze.
Lia, noticing her sudden stillness, frowned and followed her gaze. Her eyes flicked from Ryujin’s gear… to the untouched bed… to the chaos of the other bed where Yeji still sat, stretching lazily.
A beat of silence.
Then Chaeryeong’s eyebrows slowly climbed up her forehead.
“Wait… hold on,” Chaeryeong murmured, her voice dropping, eyes darting back and forth. “That’s Ryujin’s stuff… but… that bed is…”
A slow, creeping realization washed over Lia’s face like a sunrise. Her eyes widened, her lips parting, her hand slowly rising to cover her mouth.
“Oh my god,” Lia whispered, her voice a sharp mix of horror and delight. “Wait… wait… are you… you’re—”
Chaeryeong suddenly burst out, her words tumbling over each other in excitement and disbelief. “I knew it! Yesterday! When we came to get you for breakfast, Yeji was on Ryujin’s bed! I knew it looked weird, but I thought maybe I was imagining it—”
Ryujin froze, mouth opening and closing uselessly. Her face flushed so quickly she looked like she might combust.
Lia turned to Chaeryeong sharply, her expression wild. “You didn’t tell me that!”
“I thought I was hallucinating!” Chaeryeong shrieked, bouncing in place.
“There’s no way out of this,” Yeji muttered under her breath, her tone resigned but gentle.
Lia turned slowly to Ryujin again, her expression morphing from confusion to open-mouthed shock. “Ryujin…” she said, her voice a rising whisper. “You slept… on Yeji’s bed last night?”
Ryujin sputtered, her hands flailing helplessly in front of her. “I—uh— we— It’s not—”
Chaeryeong’s eyes flew back and forth between them, gears visibly turning in her head until everything clicked in one blinding flash.
Her jaw dropped.
“No way,” she breathed out, voice squeaking. “You two… are you… ARE YOU—”
Ryujin practically shrieked, lunging forward to grab Chaeryeong’s and Lia’s arms before they could make any more noise. She lunged forward so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet, her hands shooting out to clamp over both their mouths at once.
Their surprised muffled noises filled the room as Ryujin hissed, “Shhh! Do you want the entire floor to hear you?! Winter is literally two doors down!”
Lia and Chaeryeong froze, eyes comically wide above Ryujin’s hands, before they started snickering against her palms, their shoulders shaking.
Ryujin’s face burned bright red, her heart hammering in her ears as she glanced frantically at the door, still wide open, voices faintly echoing from the hallway. In one quick, half-panicked motion, she released them and practically dove for the door, yanking it shut with a loud thunk .
Yeji let out a strangled laugh, half mortified and half breathless, pressing both palms to her face as if she could disappear behind them.
Lia immediately threw up her hands in surrender. “Secret’s safe with us! Cross our hearts!”
Chaeryeong nodded furiously, her face splitting into a grin. “Absolutely. But… can we at least hear the story later?”
Yeji’s lips twitched, barely hiding a reluctant smirk. “We’ll see,” she muttered.
Without thinking, Ryujin wrapped her arms around Yeji’s waist, pulling herself in against her back. She ducked her head, pressing her forehead between Yeji’s shoulder blades to hide her burning face.
Yeji jolted a little at the sudden contact but did not push her away. Instead, she sighed again, her hands coming up to rest lightly on Ryujin’s forearms as if to steady them both.
Lia’s mouth dropped open. Chaeryeong’s hand flew to her own face, her eyes huge as she pointed.
“Oh my god,” Chaeryeong squeaked, her wide eyes suddenly narrowed as she pointed directly at Ryujin. “Wait a second!” she blurted, her voice rising in pitch. “RYUJIN!”
Ryujin froze behind Yeji, her entire body going stiff.
Chaeryeong’s jaw dropped, and she burst into scandalized, delighted laughter. “You literally told me during camp like a week ago that you ‘ didn’t think you’d ever get a chance with her’ !” she screeched, nearly doubling over.
Ryujin let out a strangled groan, her forehead slamming lightly against Yeji’s back again. “OH MY GOD, CHAERYEONG, SHUT UP!” she wailed, her voice muffled and cracking.
Lia burst into high-pitched giggles, nearly dropping her coffee. “She did? Was she dramatic, too?”
Yeji blinked, her lips parting, a surprised laugh bubbling up despite herself. “Really?” she drawled, glancing back with an eyebrow arched, smirking slightly.
Ryujin groaned even louder, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m never talking to you two again,” she moaned into Yeji’s shirt.
Yeji’s fingers twitched, unconsciously brushing small circles on Ryujin’s forearms as she looked at them with calm finality. “Alright, that’s it. Out,” she said evenly, her voice so soft it almost sounded gentle but there was no room for argument.
Lia and Chaeryeong practically tripped over each other as they bolted for the door, yelping hurried goodbyes. The door clicked shut behind Lia and Chaeryeong, leaving a hush in the room so thick it nearly echoed.
Ryujin finally peeked out from behind Yeji’s shoulder, her cheeks flushed red and her breathing uneven. She looked like she might melt straight into the floor.
Yeji shifted her weight, turning slightly so she could look at Ryujin properly, her lips twitching with a smirk.
She arched an eyebrow slowly, her eyes glinting as she opened her mouth, clearly about to say something — the kind of sharp, teasing remark she always wielded with perfect timing.
Ryujin saw it immediately. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly, hands still gripping Yeji’s sides like an anchor.
“Don’t even,” Ryujin blurted, her voice dropping low even in a panic. “Don’t you dare.”
Yeji froze mid-breath, her eyebrow still raised, her lips curled halfway into a mischievous grin.
Then she burst out laughing, a low, warm laugh that rumbled straight from her chest. She tilted her head back slightly, her shoulders shaking as the sound spilled out, unguarded and bright.
Ryujin groaned, hiding her burning face in Yeji’s shoulder again, her fingers tightening like she might crawl inside her hoodie and disappear forever.
Yeji finally settled her laughing down, her hand slipping up to gently cradle the back of Ryujin’s head, her fingers threading lightly through her hair.
“Okay, okay,” Yeji breathed out, her voice still dancing with laughter as she bent closer, pressing her lips to Ryujin’s temple in a quick, affectionate kiss. “I won’t say it.”
Ryujin just let out a muffled whimper, shaking her head against Yeji’s shoulder.
Yeji chuckled again, softer this time, her thumb brushing gentle circles at the back of Ryujin’s neck.
“For the record, you always had the chance.”
Yeji’s words landed heavy and warm between them, cutting through the leftover tension in the room. Her voice was low and softer now, stripped of all her usual teasing sharpness.
Ryujin froze completely at those words, her breath catching against Yeji’s sweatshirt. Slowly, she lifted her head just enough to look up, her wide eyes searching Yeji’s face in stunned disbelief. Yeji did not elaborate further. As soon as the words were said out loud, she was already on her way back to what she was doing earlier.
Later that morning, the warmth of their shared bed was replaced by the cold echo of skates scraping across the ice.
Yeji stood at center ice, her posture straight and composed in her training jersey, her hair tied back into that no-nonsense half-bun Ryujin always teased her about. The captain mask was firmly back on. Sharp, observant, and steady.
Ryujin, meanwhile, flew through the drills with her usual restless energy, weaving in and out of cones like a blur, her stick handling crisp and purposeful. She carried an edge today, a leftover spark from their morning warmth, channeled into every sharp turn and shot on net.
Coach Donovan’s voice boomed across the rink. “Eyes up! Transitions faster! We’re not dancing out there — you move, or you sit!”
Yeji’s gaze darted to Ryujin automatically, tracking her every move. She caught a quick flash of Ryujin’s grin as she blew past Jules on a one-on-one, flicking a wrist shot top shelf.
Yeji could not help the quick, proud huff that escaped her. Almost a laugh, almost a sigh, before she caught herself and schooled her expression again.
Near the boards, Chaeryeong was shoving Winter lightly, laughing. “She’s in monster mode today,” Winter called out, nodding at Ryujin.
Chaeryeong snorted, adjusting her gloves. “Must’ve had a good breakfast,” she joked, shooting a sly glance in Yeji’s direction.
Yeji ignored them expertly, tapping her stick twice on the ice to call the next group forward.
During a quick water break, Ryujin skated over, bumping Yeji’s hip lightly with her own.
“Captain,” she drawled, breath still heavy, cheeks pink. “You look like you’re about to kill someone.”
Yeji raised her brow coolly, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth. “If someone misses their mark again,” she said lightly, “I might.”
Ryujin leaned in, voice dropping to a low whisper only she could hear. “Should I be scared?”
Yeji’s eyes flickered to her, sharp and steady. “Terrified,” she replied flatly. Then, she said softer, so quiet Ryujin barely caught it, “Behave.”
Ryujin’s grin nearly split her face in two. She ducked her head, chuckling, before pushing off and skating away again, the word behave echoing in her chest like a private brand.
Back at the boards, Lia exchanged a look with Chaeryeong. “They’re weirdly in sync today,” Lia muttered.
Chaeryeong snorted. “Right? It’s creepy. If they weren’t always at each other’s throats, I’d almost think they were—”
Lia elbowed her sharply before she could finish, both of them bursting into quiet snickers.
Yeji turned away briskly, hiding the faint warmth that threatened to break her focus.
And as they reset the drill, blades biting the ice, pucks rattling, they moved together as if they had been cut from the same piece of ice. Teammates, rivals, and something deeper still, flickering beneath every pass and push.
Later that evening, after dinner and team meetings, Yeji and Ryujin found themselves tucked into a quiet corner of the players’ lounge. A small, warmly lit space with low couches and a giant whiteboard propped against one wall.
Yeji sat forward, elbows resting on her knees, brows furrowed in deep concentration as she scrolled through game footage on her tablet and wrote on her black notebook. Ryujin lounged beside her, one leg folded up on the couch, her head tilted so she could watch the screen from over Yeji’s shoulder.
She should have looked bored, that was Ryujin’s usual reaction to any “ strategy talk ”. But tonight her eyes stayed sharp and focused, following every pause and pointer Yeji made.
“You’re scary when you’re in study mode,” Ryujin murmured, her voice low and warm, more affectionate than teasing.
Yeji did not look up, flipping a page. “Focus,” she scolded softly, though the corner of her mouth twitched faintly.
Ryujin huffed, shifting closer until her knee brushed against Yeji’s side. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she watched Yeji’s fingers glide over a diagram of a rink.
“What are you writing now?” Ryujin asked, leaning in even more.
“Breakdown of their power play structure,” Yeji answered without missing a beat. “They like to collapse their forwards into the slot and shift their point shot to the weak side. If we cut that early, we can force them to reset.”
Ryujin blinked slowly, clearly trying to keep up. Then she let out a low whistle. “Hot. Terrifying, but hot.”
Yeji snorted lightly, finally flicking her gaze down at Ryujin, her eyes softening despite herself. “Pay attention,” she said again, tapping the notebook lightly.
“I am!” Ryujin insisted, though her eyes immediately darted to the black notebook instead of the diagram.
Yeji tapped the screen with her stylus, freezing the video on a frame showing their upcoming opponent’s top line. “See their left wing?” she said, her voice calm but edged with that practiced authority. “She likes to cut inside after the second forechecker pulls wide. If you trail too far behind, she’ll sneak into the slot before you even realize it.”
Ryujin nodded slowly, her brow creasing as she leaned closer. “So stay tighter on the boards, force her to stay wide,” she murmured, piecing it together.
Yeji glanced sideways at her, slightly surprised. “Exactly,” she said softly, her tone almost turning fond for a split second before she cleared her throat and pressed on.
She tapped again. “And their defense? They pinch hard on the blue line. You can bait them — feint a breakout, then flip the puck behind them and use your speed. You’re faster than both their D.”
Ryujin’s lips curved into a small, excited grin, her eyes flicking up to meet Yeji’s. “I love it when you talk dirty,” she teased under her breath.
Yeji let out a strangled sound, smacking Ryujin lightly on the arm with the back of her hand. “I said focus,” she said, though the edges of her mouth betrayed a small, reluctant smile.
Ryujin caught her wrist gently, her thumb brushing along Yeji’s pulse point. “I am,” she said, her voice dipping lower, earnest now. “I really am. Keep going.”
Yeji hesitated, momentarily thrown by how intently Ryujin looked at her, like she was not just absorbing hockey tactics but memorizing every curve of her mouth as she spoke.
She swallowed, turning back to the tablet with a quiet exhale. “Okay… if they get the puck deep, they’ll overload the strong side. We have to be careful not to collapse too much. You’ll have to read when to drop back and when to attack the puck carrier.”
Ryujin nodded again, her fingers still lightly tracing along Yeji’s wrist. “So… trust my instincts,” she summarized softly.
Yeji’s eyes snapped to her again, searching. She held Ryujin’s gaze, her jaw tightening a fraction.
“Yes,” she finally breathed. “Trust yourself. You’re good at that.”
For a beat, neither of them spoke. The lounge felt smaller then, the low hum of distant conversation and the occasional thud of doors down the hall fading to nothing.
“Hey,” Ryujin said, breaking the silence, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Do you… have a page in there about me? Or about the Cyclones?”
Yeji froze for just a split second, so brief Ryujin might have missed it if she had not been watching so closely. Her fingers drummed lightly against the notebook cover before she finally raised her eyes again, calm but glinting with something unreadable.
“And if I did?” Yeji asked evenly, her eyebrow arched.
Ryujin’s mouth fell open in exaggerated shock. “You do!” she blurted, eyes wide. “You totally do! Oh my god—”
Yeji clicked her tongue, reaching out to flick Ryujin’s forehead lightly. “Shut up,” she muttered, her cheeks faintly pink now despite her controlled expression.
Ryujin giggled, shifting up so she could lean closer, her legs still tangled across Yeji’s lap. “I knew it,” she teased, her grin spreading so wide it nearly split her face. “You have a page about me. I bet it’s labeled ‘annoying chaos factor’ or something.”
Yeji tried to hide her smirk behind her hand, failing miserably. “You’d be surprised,” she mumbled, flipping her notebook closed quickly and setting it aside on the table.
Ryujin’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, one hand immediately reaching for the notebook, only for Yeji to catch her wrist halfway.
“Not a chance,” Yeji warned, voice low and final.
Ryujin pouted, leaning even closer until their noses nearly brushed. “Oh? Afraid I’ll see all your secret love notes?” she teased.
Yeji snorted softly, her fingers still wrapped around Ryujin’s wrist. “More like I don’t want you reading my tactical breakdowns out of context and thinking they’re compliments,” she retorted.
Ryujin’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “So there are compliments,” she whispered, her voice almost reverent now. Her eyes glinted with playful determination. She pushed up, leaning in closer. “Just one page? One little peek?”
Yeji rolled her eyes, shifting away and lifting the notebook high above her head, her other hand braced on the couch to keep balance.
“Nope,” Yeji said firmly, her tone mixing authority with a hint of a smirk. “Confidential. You should focus on your own notes, star forward.”
Ryujin pouted dramatically, then her eyes flickered with mischief. Without warning, she surged forward, catching Yeji by surprise and pressing a quick, firm kiss to her lips.
Yeji’s hand faltered at the sudden contact, her balance tipping forward. The notebook dipped lower, her fingers loosening just enough.
Ryujin pulled back just slightly, her breath warm against Yeji’s lips, a sly grin playing there.
“Cheater,” Yeji muttered, her voice low and slightly breathless now, her fingers still hovering weakly above the lowered notebook.
Ryujin laughed softly, sliding her hands around Yeji’s waist and leaning in again, her nose brushing against Yeji’s cheek. “All’s fair in love and hockey, captain,” she teased softly, her breath ghosting against Yeji’s lips.
Yeji tried to hold the glare, but her lips betrayed her, twitching into a reluctant smile. With a small, defeated sigh, she finally let her hand drop, the notebook slipping into Ryujin’s waiting hands.
Ryujin lit up immediately, her eyes bright as she flipped it open eagerly. She skimmed the pages, reading the meticulous notes and sketches.
When she finally found a page labeled Shin NYC #17 , she let out a loud, delighted laugh.
“Oh my god, you really did!” she exclaimed, her fingers tapping at her name scribbled in the margins. “I knew it! You’ve been studying me!”
Yeji groaned, burying her face in her hands as her shoulders shook with reluctant laughter. Then she exhaled, eyes darting down briefly to Ryujin’s lips before flicking back up again, and a quiet, secret smile curled across her face.
“Now, focus,” she finally muttered, cheeks burning again as she grabbed the notebook from Ryujin once more. “We have a quarterfinal to win.”
And in that quiet corner, two of the country’s best players sat. Captain and star forward, leader and chaos engine, rivals and something infinitely closer, plotting the game not just with tactics, but with a silent promise: to have each other’s backs, no matter how hard the battle ahead.
Chapter Text
Today was the day hockey transformed from a tournament into a battlefield.
The quarterfinals .
The line between survival and heartbreak, between a team’s echo in history and its quiet disappearance into memory.
Canada vs Denmark — 10:30 AM
The first game of the day at Centre Bell unfolded like a tidal wave, setting the tone for the entire quarterfinal marathon.
From the first puck drop, Canada dominated with fierce, relentless energy. The home crowd, a sea of red and white, roared as if trying to lift the roof off the building. Their forwards pressed Denmark deep into their own zone, cycling the puck with brutal efficiency and firing off sharp-angle shots that kept the Danish goalie scrambling.
Denmark fought valiantly, blocking shots with bodies and diving into passing lanes, but they were overwhelmed by Canada’s depth and speed. Canada’s top line opened the scoring early, and each successive goal only fueled the crowd’s deafening chants and rhythmic drumming.
By the third period, Canada had fully taken control, their defenders pinching high and their goaltender barely tested in long stretches. The game ended decisively in Canada’s favor, the final score echoing their complete dominance.
As the final horn sounded, the entire arena rose, singing the anthem in unison while flags rippled across the stands. A powerful, jubilant start to the quarterfinal day and a thunderous statement of Canada’s intent to march all the way to the final.
Finland vs. Sweden — 1:30 PM
The second quarterfinal of the day was a clash that felt less like a game and more like an ancient, inherited battle.
From the opening face-off, the ice crackled with tension. Both teams moved with sharp, elegant precision, each shift a blend of quiet calculation and sudden violence. Finland leaned into their disciplined, structured defense, forcing Sweden to weave intricate passing plays to even find a glimpse of open ice.
Sweden responded with relentless creativity and speed, attacking in layered waves, trying to pull Finland out of their tight formation. The game swung back and forth like a pendulum: each side trading chances, every turnover sparking immediate rushes that made the crowd lurch to its feet.
As the third period ticked down, the score was tied, the noise inside Centre Bell rising into a constant, urgent hum. Finally, in a tense final sequence, Finland slipped behind Sweden’s high press, threading a quick, clinical finish that broke the deadlock.
Despite Sweden’s desperate final push, Finland held strong, closing lanes and sacrificing bodies to protect their lead. When the final horn blasted, the Finnish bench exploded onto the ice, players crashing together in exhausted joy.
In the stands, blue-and-white flags whipped wildly, drowning out the heartbreak on Sweden’s bench. A fierce, emotional victory that propelled Finland forward and left the arena vibrating with the echo of an old Nordic rivalry renewed and resolved, at least for today.
At exactly 4:00 PM, Team USA’s bus turned into the underground loading bay of Centre Bell, its engine rumbling low like a distant storm rolling across frozen ground. Above them, the crowd inside the arena already pulsed with restless anticipation. The sound rising and falling in great, echoing waves that shivered down through the concrete corridors.
When the doors finally hissed open, a crisp rush of cold air met the players, carrying with it the muffled thud of pucks hitting boards and sticks tapping in warm-up rhythms. Germany and Czechia were on the ice at that very moment, skating through their final pre-game drills before the 4:30 PM face-off.
Ryujin was the first to step off, her boots hitting the concrete with sharp, impatient energy. Her helmet dangled from her fingers, her other hand already busy reworking the tape on her blade. Tearing, smoothing, tearing again. Her gaze darted toward the hallway monitors, which showed glimpses of the two teams’ warm-up rushes.
Yeji followed close behind, her pads carried neatly against her side, her posture upright and commanding even in the cramped corridor. Her gaze slid from the monitor to Ryujin, her jaw ticking once in a tiny motion that spoke volumes.
On the screen, German forwards sprinted sharp, powerful lines, snapping quick, crisp passes, while Czech wingers circled and pivoted, their edges slicing elegant curves into the bright white ice. However, Yeji’s eyes were locked onto the defensive rotations on screen, her mind already dissecting every small mistake and weakness.
Without shifting her gaze from the screen, Yeji murmured, “You can cut inside. They spread wide to trap along the walls, leaving their middle soft and shallow.”
Ryujin’s eyes flicked to Yeji then back to the screen “So… break them open from the heart,” she echoed softly, as if carving the words directly into her bones.
As the team gathered just outside their locker room, the low, rhythmic sound of sticks clacking against the boards echoed faintly down the tunnel, punctuated by sharp turns and pucks ringing off the glass.
Ryujin kept her eyes on the monitor, her fingers flexing around her stick in restless anticipation. She let out a short, sharp laugh, the sound bouncing off the cold hallway walls.
Czechia vs. Germany — 4:30 PM
After Team USA settled into their locker room at Centre Bell, the rhythmic echo of pucks against boards and the dull thump of bodies in warm-up drills above gradually gave way to a deeper, wilder roar. Germany versus Czechia had begun.
Down in the hallway, the cold concrete seemed to hum with the force of each shift unfolding above. Every few minutes, the muffled thunder of fans rolling in waves washed through the tunnel, vibrating faintly beneath their feet.
Yeji, already half dressed in her underlayers, stood by the door, carefully adjusting the straps of her pads. At her side, Lia clutched her small notepad, tapping the cover lightly against her palm as if keeping time with the cheers echoing above.
Ryujin had abandoned her stall halfway through tying her skates. She stood at the tunnel entrance, one hand braced against the doorframe, helmet dangling from her other fingers. Her hair stuck in damp strands to her cheeks, her eyes alive and darting, tracking every flicker on the small screen showing the live game feed.
Chaeryeong crept up behind her, practically bouncing on her toes, her eyes huge. “Can you see it?” she whispered, leaning around Ryujin’s shoulder.
Ryujin shot her a quick, sharp grin, then jerked her chin toward the corridor that led up to the boards. “Come on,” she muttered, her voice low and almost conspiratorial. “Let’s go look for real.”
Moments later, a small cluster formed: Ryujin, Chaeryeong, Winter, Riley, and Casey, all creeping toward the narrow slit of open space where the hallway met the players’ tunnel. They leaned in carefully, peeking out just enough to see the ice.
The arena above roared as Germany forced a turnover and stormed into the Czech zone. From their hidden vantage, they watched the German forwards crash the net, the boards shuddering under the Czech defense’s desperate collapse.
Ryujin’s breath quickened; she leaned forward so far that Chaeryeong had to grab the back of her jersey to keep her from tipping out into open view. Her grin stretched wide and feral, her fingers flexing around the edge of the tunnel wall.
“They do spread too wide on the boards,” she murmured, voice vibrating with excitement. “Yeji called it.”
Behind them, Winter’s eyes narrowed, her lips moving silently as she mapped out possible counter-rushes in her mind. Riley elbowed Casey softly, their eyes wide, each move above unfolding like a living playbook in front of them.
Further back in the hall, Yeji finally stepped forward, half-wrapped in her jersey, her hair damp against her neck. She watched them from a distance, one eyebrow arching in patient exasperation.
“Get back here before you get spotted on camera,” she called quietly, her voice calm but edged with steel.
Ryujin turned halfway, grin still bright and wild. “Just scouting!” she called back, shrugging as if she had merely wandered over to check the weather.
Yeji let out a long, low exhale. She stepped closer, stopping just behind them. For a moment, she let her eyes drift past Ryujin’s shoulder to the ice, catching a glimpse of Germany’s aggressive pinch, their heavy bodies pressing Czechia deep.
Quietly, she leaned forward, her voice dropping low so only Ryujin could hear. “ Hey .”
Ryujin stilled. Then her head tilted slightly, her grin softening into something sharper, something almost intimate.
Yeji’s eyes lingered on her for a second longer before she straightened, turning to shoo the rest of the group back into the hall with a quick wave.
Reluctantly, Ryujin slipped away from the tunnel, throwing one last glance over her shoulder at the ice before following the others.
As they filed back toward the locker room, the final echo of Germany’s goal horn thundered through the tunnel, followed by an eruption of cheers that shook the steel beams above.
Team USA slipped into the quiet of their locker room again, each player carrying that glimpse of the ice like a secret flame.
As the German players filed off the ice, their sweat-soaked jerseys clinging to them, they began funneling into the long, dim hallway that led past Team USA’s locker room. Their heavy footsteps, laughter, and ragged victory cries filled the air, mixing with the sharp scent of cold sweat and cut ice.
Inside Team USA’s locker room, the players paused. Helmets in laps, half-taped sticks frozen mid-wrap. The low, thunderous sound rolling down the corridor felt almost like an approaching storm.
Ryujin, sitting near the door, stilled completely. Her fingers flexed once around the tape she had been fidgeting with all afternoon. Her head tilted slightly, a grin slowly creeping across her lips, as if she could already taste the next game in her blood.
Yeji stood a few paces back, one glove halfway on, watching the doorway in silence. Her jaw tensed, eyes narrowing slightly as if tracking every German laugh and shout like a hunter tracking prey through brush.
As the first few German players came into view, still panting and flushed with adrenaline, one of them, a towering forward with a hawkish grin, turned her head sharply toward Team USA’s door. Her eyes raked across the small group of Americans peeking just beyond the doorway, and a smirk curled at the edge of his mouth.
“Hope you enjoyed the show,” she called out, her voice loud and sharp, still tinged with the rasp of hard-fought adrenaline. “Try not to blink.”
A few of her teammates barked laughter behind her, echoing her words, their mocking cheers bouncing off the walls. One player even mimicked a stumbling motion with her stick, laughing as if imagining American defenders sprawling in their wake.
Ryujin’s grin widened immediately, her fingers curling tight around her stick as she leaned half forward, eyes locked on the German forward like a predator catching the scent of prey.
Beside her, Chaeryeong sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers instinctively grabbing the edge of Ryujin’s jersey as though she feared she might actually lunge forward.
Yeji stepped forward then, her eyes pinned on the German’s face, her expression ice-cold and unwavering. She did not speak. She just held her gaze, jaw set, shoulders squared in quiet, absolute challenge.
The German paused, her grin twitching, faltering for just a breath as if she felt the quiet weight behind Yeji’s stare. Then she snorted, barked out one final, “See you in the semifinals!” and turned sharply, shoving her teammate ahead as they disappeared down the tunnel, still laughing and jeering.
“ If you’ll win tonight.”
A chorus of rough laughter exploded behind her as her teammates picked up the cue, slapping their sticks against the wall, jeering and mimicking the word if with exaggerated, mocking shrugs.
In the sudden quiet, Ryujin’s breath hitched with an eager, almost delighted laugh. She turned her head slightly toward Yeji, her voice dropping to a hush only they could hear.
“Can I take her head off in the semis, first shift?” she whispered, her grin flashing, eyes burning alive.
Yeji’s jaw twitched, the faintest flicker of something almost like a smile ghosting across her lips. She reached out, pressing her gloved hand firm against Ryujin’s arm.
“Earn it tonight,” she murmured. “Then take everything in the semifinals.”
USA vs Japan — 7:30 PM
By the time Team USA stepped onto the ice for their quarterfinal, the building felt less like an arena and more like a living heart
The echoes of Germany’s taunts still burned in the hallways behind them, fusing with the rising energy from the thousands of fans packed shoulder to shoulder in red, white, and blue waves.
The lights dropped low, casting the ice into a pale, trembling glow as the players lined up in the tunnel. Ryujin rocked on her blades, helmet already on, her head tipped forward, fingers twitching around her stick like a live wire. Just behind her, Yeji stood silent and steady, one gloved hand resting lightly against Ryujin’s shoulder guard, a small, anchoring touch.
Then the announcement thundered through the speakers:
“Team USA!”
The crowd erupted. Flags whipped through the air, the deep bass of drums rolled through the stands, and the rink lights swung out in sweeping arcs that caught every glint of steel and sweat.
Yeji was first onto the ice, each stride sharp and commanding, her edges cutting clean lines across the fresh sheet. Ryujin exploded out after her, carving aggressive, looping arcs that turned into bursts of speed as she soaked in the roaring avalanche of sound, her grin sharp enough to cut glass.
Across the ice, Japan waited. They were smaller in build but wiry and sharp-eyed, a team built on lightning strikes and precision. They moved in warm-ups like a flock of sparrows, darting and weaving, their passes were crisp, every shift promising to test every ounce of Team USA’s structure.
When the puck dropped, the opening minutes unfolded like a knife fight in a dark room. Japan swarmed early, using quick, high-speed rotations to pull USA’s defensive pairs wide.
Yeji commanded her zone with iron steadiness, her stick sweeping away slot passes, her voice echoing.
Ryujin, meanwhile, hunted with feral glee. She darted into lanes, snatched pucks off Japanese sticks, and turned on a dime, exploding up ice in sudden, blinding bursts.
Midway through the first period, Japan forced a turnover high in the zone, turning it into a two-on-one. Yeji dropped low, tracking the puck carrier, eyes cold and locked. As the Japanese forward slid a pass across, Yeji lunged, her stick snapping the puck away with precision before muscling it up the boards.
The bench erupted, sticks hammering the boards as Ryujin swept in, scooping the loose puck. She shot up ice, her strides long and violent, her body low and coiled.
Yeji’s voice from their review last night echoed in her mind: Feint high. Flip behind. Go .
At the blue line, Ryujin sold the high cut, her shoulders rolling as if she would pass across, and the Japanese defense bit instantly, stepping up to close the gap. In one fluid motion, she chipped the puck behind them, dropped her hips, and tore past before they could even pivot.
The arena seemed to hold its breath. Ryujin snatched the puck on her blade again, dipped her head, and snapped it top shelf past the Japanese goaltender before crashing into the corner boards, arms spread wide.
The crowd detonated in a deafening roar that felt like it rattled the steel in the rafters. Her teammates swarmed her, fists pounding her helmet, gloves clapping her back. Over the pile, Ryujin turned her head just enough to find Yeji at the blue line, their eyes meeting for a single, electric second.
Japan fought back fiercely. Their counterattacks were swift and merciless, weaving intricate patterns that forced Lia into several sprawling saves. In the second period, one rush nearly cracked USA’s armor, but Yeji collapsed into the slot at the last second, sweeping the puck clear as a Japanese forward lunged for a rebound.
Late in the second, USA doubled their lead. Winter fed a low cross-slot pass to Riley, who whipped it under the goaltender’s pads, sending the building into another tidal wave of sound.
In the third, Japan turned frantic, pressing with speed and desperation. USA bent but did not break. Each blocked shot and cleared puck met with an explosion of noise from the bench. Yeji anchored the defense like an unmovable wall, her skates cutting controlled angles, her voice guiding each pivot, every clear.
As the final minutes drained off the clock, Ryujin nearly slipped in a third goal, buzzing around the crease like a lightning strike, leaving two defenders sprawling before being tied up.
The horn finally blasted, and the scoreboard burned bright: USA 2, Japan 0.
Players surged over the boards, crashing into Lia at the crease. Helmets flew, gloves pounded backs, and above it all, the roar of thousands of fans thundered into the night.
Ryujin turned toward Yeji, their eyes locking through the chaos. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, throwing her arms around Yeji’s shoulders in a wild, laughing hug. For a moment, Yeji’s eyes went wide, then her face softened, her arms wrapping tight around Ryujin’s back in a rare, private surrender.
Above them, flags waved, fans screamed, and reporters rushed to the glass. But in that fierce, trembling heartbeat, only two things existed: the echo of Germany’s taunt still alive in the dark corners of the rink, and the silent promise burning between them.
They will answer back in the semifinals.
Chapter Text
The hotel room was quiet in that late hour hush, the kind that wrapped around them like a thick blanket after the storm of their quarterfinal win. Outside, the city of Montreal glittered under a pale, frozen moon, streets almost empty, the echoes of fans and celebrations now softened into distant ghosts.
Inside, their shared room was half-lit. A single bedside lamp casting a warm halo that left the rest of the space in soft shadow. Gear bags lay half-zipped by the cabinets, towels draped over chairs, and two water bottles forgotten on the nightstand.
Yeji stood near the window, still in her post-game clothes: a loose black shirt clinging to her damp skin and sweatpants cinched tight at her waist. Her hair was slicked back, the leftover glow of competition still alive in her shoulders.
Ryujin lay sprawled on the bed, propped up on one elbow, her damp hair pushed back, eyes following Yeji with unguarded intensity. She looked exhausted, her cheeks still flushed from the game and the adrenaline that refused to settle, but there was something else shimmering beneath her gaze. That wild, unstoppable spark that always found its way to the surface around Yeji.
After a long silence, Ryujin finally broke, her voice low and rough from hours of shouting on the ice.
“I can’t believe I’m dating the captain,” she breathed, the words slipping out like an exhale she could no longer hold back.
Yeji froze at the window, turning sharply, her brow arching, eyes sharp even in the soft lamplight.
“Technically you aren’t,” she countered, her tone flat but carrying that familiar, teasing edge that only Ryujin ever seemed to draw from her. “You haven’t even asked me out yet.”
For a second, the room felt like it paused. The thin hum of the heater, the muffled city noise beyond the glass, even Ryujin’s restless breathing.
Then Ryujin pushed herself upright so quickly the blanket slid off her shoulders. Her eyes widened, brightening with that sudden rush of challenge that had always defined her on the ice.
“Oh, so that’s how we’re playing it?” she said, her grin blooming wide and feral.
Yeji let out a short, incredulous laugh, stepping back as Ryujin swung her legs off the bed. “Ryujin, wait—”
But Ryujin was already standing, moving toward her with determined, quick steps. She stopped right in front of Yeji, close enough that Yeji could feel the heat radiating off her, close enough that Ryujin’s breath brushed faintly against her cheek.
“Yeji,” Ryujin said, her voice suddenly softer, stripped of all the teasing bravado, eyes locked onto hers with a raw, unwavering intensity. “Will you go out with me?”
Yeji’s mouth fell open, her breath catching somewhere between a protest and a laugh. She reached up as if to push Ryujin’s shoulder back, but her fingers just hovered there, trembling slightly.
“Can’t this wait some other day?” she tried, but her voice broke on the last word, softer than she intended.
Ryujin shook her head immediately, her grin tugging at the corners of her lips even as her eyes shone with something gentler.
“I can’t wait to say I’m dating the captain,” she whispered, the words carrying that unfiltered honesty she only ever offered Yeji. The kind that felt like an open net, an unguarded crease.
Yeji swallowed hard, her hand finally resting on Ryujin’s chest, feeling the rapid, uneven beats of her heart under her palm. Slowly, her fingers curled into the fabric of Ryujin’s shirt, pulling her closer by inches that felt like entire lifetimes.
“God,” she whispered, her shoulders shaking with a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
“But… is that a yes?” she whispered back, her voice small and fragile despite the mischief still tugging at the corners of her lips.
Yeji’s fingers tightened in hers, her head lifting just enough that their eyes met fully, open and unguarded. She let out a long, shaky sigh before whispering, so low it nearly disappeared into the space between them.
“Yes,” she breathed at last.
Ryujin’s answering grin cracked wide open, so bright it could have lit the entire quiet street outside.
“Good,” she said, her voice trembling with relief and triumph all at once. “Because I really, really couldn’t wait another day to say it.”
Then, in one explosive exhale, Ryujin blurted it out, her voice low and giddy but shaking on the edges:
“I’m fucking dating the captain!”
Yeji’s eyes snapped up immediately, her brows shooting so high they nearly disappeared under her hair. For a split second, she just stared, and then her lips parted in mock scandal, a sharp huff of a laugh escaping.
“Thought you were gonna say something else entirely for a sec,” she shot back dryly, though her voice cracked with poorly hidden amusement.
Ryujin’s head jerked up so fast she thought she was going to have a whiplash, her eyes going comically wide.
“YEJI—!” she yelped, her voice pitching up into something between a squawk and a broken laugh, her entire face turning red from her neck to her forehead.
Yeji lost it completely then. She threw her head back, laughter bursting out in sharp, bright waves, her shoulders shaking. She clutched at Ryujin’s hand again to steady herself, as though she might actually fall over from laughing so hard.
“Captain!” Ryujin sputtered, trying and failing to look indignant as her grin split so wide it nearly broke her face. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”
Yeji tried to pull herself together, but every time she looked at Ryujin’s horrified, red-faced expression, another wave of giggles overtook her.
“You’re so easy to fluster.” she wheezed out finally
Ryujin just rolled her eyes playfully, “Grab your coat,” she blurted, her voice hushed but urgent, her grin blooming so wide it nearly split her face.
Yeji’s brow furrowed, her lips parting. “What—right now? Ryujin, it’s past midnight. We just played—”
Ryujin shook her head fiercely, her hands sliding down to catch Yeji’s wrists and squeeze them tight.
“I can’t wait,” she said, her voice low but trembling with that unstoppable spark. “I need to do this right. Right now.”
Yeji stared at her, the last of her protest snagged somewhere in her throat. Slowly, almost against her own logic, she let Ryujin tug her toward the chair where her coat hung.
“Are you serious?” she asked, her voice thin, a touch exasperated but already softening under the edges.
Ryujin only laughed, quick and sharp, the sound echoing in the small room like an exhale she had been holding all game. “Dead serious,” she said, already pulling on her own hoodie and shoving her hair into a loose, messy knot.
Moments later, they stepped out into the frozen hallway, each breath rising in quick, pale clouds as they hurried through the lobby and out onto the hushed street.
Montreal at 1 a.m. felt like a secret city. The sidewalks glistening under streetlamps, neon signs flickering over shuttered shops, stray snowflakes drifting slowly under the orange glow of traffic lights.
Ryujin’s hand stayed wrapped around Yeji’s wrist the entire walk, firm and warm even through the cold, each step filled with half-skips and little sideways glances that betrayed how she was barely holding back her excitement.
They turned a final corner, and there it was: a small retro diner, its faded neon sign buzzing above the door in soft pink and teal, casting a warm, gentle glow onto the empty sidewalk. Inside, the booths were half-empty, a lone server wiping counters, and a jukebox in the corner humming out an old, dreamy ballad.
Ryujin pushed the door open first, the little brass bell above jangling softly, and tugged Yeji inside.
The warmth wrapped around them the moment they stepped through, a sharp contrast to the cold that still clung to their hair and cheeks. The place felt like it belonged to another decade: red vinyl booths, chrome-trimmed stools, a jukebox humming an old, slow love song in the corner.
Yeji shivered once, tugging her jacket closer around her as she looked around in bewilderment. “Ryu…” she began, but her voice trailed off as Ryujin steered her gently toward a booth by the window. Far enough from the few late-night stragglers that it felt private, cocooned in the soft hum of the diner’s lights.
Once they slid in, Ryujin leaned across the table immediately, her hands wrapping around Yeji’s before she could even set them down. Her grin faltered just a fraction, the playfulness giving way to something fragile, bright, and wholly genuine.
Yeji stared at her, the girl who had once been her fiercest rival, her sharpest thorn, the endless echo on the other end of every rink, and all at once, every barrier in her eyes crumbled.
And in that little retro diner, under flickering neon and the quiet hum of a love song on the jukebox, Yeji finally laughed. A warm, trembling sound that curled into the late-night air like a secret promise.
For a long moment, they stayed there, breathing each other’s air, the clatter of a distant dish and the murmur of the jukebox fading to a faraway hum.
Then, Ryujin pulled back just enough to look down at their joined hands. “We should order something. Otherwise the server’s gonna think we’re just here to make out over the table.” she said, her voice lightening, mischief curling at the edges.
Yeji snorted, an unguarded laugh breaking through at last. “You dragged me out past midnight in the freezing cold. You’re buying.”
Ryujin straightened proudly. “Anything you want, captain.”
Yeji rolled her eyes but her smile glowed, wide and helpless. “I want pancakes,” she declared, her voice finally steady, her fingers still clinging to Ryujin’s as if they might disappear. “And hot chocolate. With extra cream.”
Ryujin’s face lit up like the final goal horn in an overtime game. “Perfect,” she said, lifting her hand to flag the sleepy night server.
“Pancakes and hot chocolate for my captain. And I’ll have a cheeseburger,” Ryujin declared confidently, her fingers drumming lightly on the tabletop. “Extra pickles, extra onions. And—” she paused, tapping her chin theatrically as if considering a major life decision, “curly fries. Lots of them. Oh, and a strawberry milkshake.”
Yeji’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing in mock horror. “A milkshake? After all that skating? In this cold? You’re insane,” she blurted, though she was already fighting back another laugh.
Ryujin only shrugged, her grin twisting into something almost mischievous. “I need to replenish my energy, captain,” she teased, leaning forward as if to whisper a secret across the table. “And besides… you’re the one who’s always telling me to be ready to outrun anyone. This is my fuel.”
The server chuckled softly under her breath, scribbling down the order before stepping away with a small shake of her head, muttering something about “young love” and “hockey players and their midnight appetites.”
Yeji hid her face in her free hand for a moment, her shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.
As they waited for their orders, the warmth of the diner began to seep deeper into their bones. Outside, the city stretched on in a quiet hush, neon lights painting soft reflections on the window beside them.
Yeji had finally stopped hiding behind her hands, now propping her chin on her palm as she watched Ryujin with an exasperated fondness she could no longer hide.
Ryujin, sprawled comfortably across her side of the booth, was bouncing one leg under the table, her fingers still lightly brushing Yeji’s whenever she found the chance. She looked like she might burst from holding in all the giddy energy that had been building up since they left the hotel.
Then suddenly, Ryujin tilted her head and let out a sharp, exaggerated gasp, her eyes widening in mock horror.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, her voice dramatic, one hand flying up to clutch her chest. “I can’t believe the media hasn’t found us yet. They must be slipping.”
Yeji’s eyes narrowed instantly, her shoulders stiffening. “Don’t even joke about that,” she hissed, though a reluctant laugh still twitched at the corner of her mouth. “The second they do, we’re finished.”
Ryujin burst out laughing, unable to hold back, her whole body shaking with the force of it. “Can you imagine?” she managed between giggles, wiping at her eyes. “Tomorrow’s headline: Team USA Captain Spotted Sharing Pancakes and Milkshake with Cyclones’ Star — Chaos Ensues !”
Yeji groaned, her face dropping into her hand again, though she was very clearly fighting back her own laughter now.
“Stop,” she muttered into her palm, her voice muffled but unmistakably warm. “You’re going to jinx us. They probably have someone posted outside every exit already.”
Ryujin leaned forward immediately, sliding her hand across the table to tug Yeji’s hand away from her face. When their eyes met again, Ryujin’s grin softened, her thumb sweeping lightly across Yeji’s fingers.
“Then let them,” Ryujin said, her voice dropping low, all the humor melting into something quieter, steadier. “I meant what I said. I can’t wait to tell the world I’m dating the captain.”
Yeji’s breath caught, her lips parting as she searched Ryujin’s face, her fingers curling tighter around hers without realizing it.
“You are going to get us both in trouble,” she muttered, her voice hushed, somewhere between warning and wonder.
Ryujin’s grin cracked wider, reckless and tender at the same time. “Worth it,” she answered without missing a beat.
Then Yeji laughed again, shaking her head as her forehead dropped toward their joined hands, her shoulders trembling with quiet laughter she could not fight anymore.
For a moment, the air between them stilled completely, the hum of the jukebox and clatter of dishes fading into a far-off blur.
A few minutes later, the sleepy-eyed server slid their plates onto the table with a tired but knowing smile. A towering stack of pancakes landed in front of Yeji, dusted with powdered sugar and already melting under a thick swirl of butter. Next to it, a steaming mug of hot chocolate sat crowned with an impressive mound of whipped cream, the edges just beginning to slide down the rim.
Ryujin’s plate arrived with a classic cheeseburger and a side of curly fries, which she dug into immediately, her eyes never leaving Yeji’s face.
Yeji hesitated at first, her fingers curling around the fork as if she was still deciding whether she truly belonged in this small, glowing moment. She cut into the pancake slowly, the syrup running down the sides like a quiet invitation.
“You’re staring,” Yeji muttered, cheeks warm as she took her first bite, her eyes dropping to her plate.
Ryujin did not even pretend to look away. She just grinned, a fry poised halfway to her mouth. “Of course I’m staring,” she said, her voice open and bright. “You’re finally letting me watch you eat something that isn’t a sad protein bar or half a salad.”
Yeji rolled her eyes but could not stop the smile that tugged at her lips as she chewed. She reached for the hot chocolate, lifting the mug carefully with both hands. The whipped cream smeared lightly onto her nose, and she did not notice at first, too focused on the warmth that bloomed in her chest as she swallowed.
Ryujin’s eyes went wide. She nearly dropped her fry. “Oh my god,” she burst out, leaning across the table. “Wait—don’t move.”
Yeji paused mid-sip, brows furrowing. “What—”
But Ryujin was already standing up halfway in the booth, reaching forward, her thumb brushing gently across Yeji’s nose to swipe away the stray cream.
Yeji stiffened, her breath catching at the sudden contact. Ryujin’s thumb lingered for a beat too long, her eyes soft and bright, caught somewhere between playful mischief and a sudden, fragile tenderness.
“There,” Ryujin said finally, her voice low and almost shy now. She sank back into her seat, her grin small but shimmering. “Perfect.”
Yeji blinked once, then again, the warmth creeping up her neck in slow, stubborn waves. She opened her mouth to retort, but the words crumbled somewhere in her throat. Instead, she just pressed her lips together, fighting the embarrassed smile that broke through anyway.
She picked up her fork again, focusing intently on her pancakes. “You’re… so annoying,” she muttered, her voice barely audible but laced with quiet affection.
She glared up at her, her expression trying to be stern but utterly betrayed by the small, shaky laugh that escaped anyway.
They fell into a gentle rhythm after that: Yeji slowly working her way through the pancake stack, Ryujin stealing a bite here and there when she thought Yeji was not looking, only to be caught every single time, earning a light kick under the table and a quiet, muttered curse.
Ryujin would dramatically pretend to wince, then reach for another fry, grinning as though each scolding was a small gift.
Yeji’s eyes softened as she watched Ryujin tear into the last bite of her burger, sauce smudged faintly at the corner of her mouth.
Yeji reached across without a word, thumb brushing over Ryujin’s lower lip, mirroring the gentle swipe Ryujin had given her earlier.
Ryujin froze mid-chew, eyes snapping wide, her entire body going still under Yeji’s touch.
“Messy,” Yeji murmured, her voice low and almost shy, but steady.
Ryujin swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing red, her lips parting slightly as though she wanted to say something but could not find the words.
Instead, she just sat there, staring at Yeji as if she had never seen anything so clear and alive in her life.
As Yeji finally looked away to take another sip of her hot chocolate, Ryujin’s grin returned, soft and stunned, her fingers curling around the edge of the table as if she had finally found the one place she belonged most in the world.
“I can’t believe you didn’t order black coffee tonight.”
Yeji paused mid-sip, lowering the mug just enough to glare at Ryujin over the rim. Her brows shot up, a sharp huff of disbelief escaping her lips.
“What about it?” she muttered, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her, fighting the pull of a reluctant smile.
Ryujin just leaned back, a triumphant laugh bubbling out as she pointed playfully at the mug. “Oh, come on! Every team flight, every bus ride, every cold rink morning — black coffee, no sugar, no cream. Like you’re punishing yourself for fun,” she teased, her voice rising with gleeful energy.
Yeji shook her head, rolling her eyes, though her fingers still clutched the mug like a small, stolen comfort.
“Because I need to stay alert,” she retorted sharply, but there was no real bite behind it.
Ryujin grinned wider, scooting forward again until her elbows nearly knocked over the napkin holder. “And yet here you are, captain of all captains, drinking hot chocolate with extra cream. Extra ,” she emphasized, eyes sparkling as she bounced slightly in her seat.
Yeji pressed her lips together, her jaw working as if she was trying to keep the dam of her smile intact, and failing spectacularly.
“It’s just tonight,” she grumbled at last, her voice dropping lower, almost shy under Ryujin’s gaze. “It was… a hard game. I needed something warm.”
Ryujin’s grin softened then, slipping into something gentler, more reverent. She reached across the table, her fingers finding Yeji’s hand where it gripped the mug. She wrapped her palm over it, her thumb brushing softly against Yeji’s knuckles.
“Good,” Ryujin said, her voice quiet now, threaded through with something raw and true. “I like seeing you choose something soft, even if it’s just tonight.”
Yeji swallowed hard, her eyes flicking up to Ryujin’s, the warmth from the mug now eclipsed entirely by the warmth curling through her chest. She leaned back in the booth, her hands wrapped snugly around her hot chocolate mug. Her cheeks were still warm, a softness in her posture that only Ryujin ever seemed to bring out.
Across from her, Ryujin sat forward slightly, elbows on the table, her eyes locked on Yeji with open, unguarded warmth.
“What are you thinking about?” Ryujin asked suddenly, her voice gentle, low. Not teasing, but curious in that soft, careful way that always seemed to slip past Yeji’s walls.
Yeji froze mid-sip, her lashes flickering downward as she lowered the mug to the table, her fingers lingering on the warm ceramic as though it could shield her.
“Nothing,” she said at first, her voice too quick, betraying the crack of something delicate underneath. “You’re going to tease me if I tell you.”
Ryujin’s eyebrows shot up, her grin sharpening immediately. “Now you have to tell me,” she urged, bouncing slightly in her seat like she was gearing up for a breakaway. “You can’t just drop that and stay quiet. Come on!”
Yeji hesitated, her fingers drumming softly against the mug. Slowly, she drew in a careful breath, her shoulders rising and falling in one small, shaky motion.
“It’s just…” she started, her voice barely above a whisper, “I finally understood what Taylor Swift meant when she said… ‘ I feel so high school every time I look at you.’ ”
The words trembled in the air between them, soft and shy, as though they might disappear if she spoke any louder.
Ryujin did not laugh. She did not smirk. Instead, her eyes softened instantly, her breath catching as though she had been struck in the chest by something impossibly tender.
She reached across the table without hesitation, her hand sliding over Yeji’s and wrapping it in a warm, steady hold.
Yeji swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as her eyes shimmered faintly under the soft diner lights. Her fingers curled tighter into Ryujin’s, as if holding on to something she hadn’t realized she’d been reaching for all along.
“I don’t know why I said it,” Yeji admitted in a small, raw whisper, her voice trembling. “It just… slipped out.”
Ryujin’s lips curved into a soft, reverent smile, not the wide, mischievous grin she usually wore, but something smaller, steadier, something that shone only for Yeji.
“I’m glad you did,” she murmured, leaning forward until their foreheads nearly touched over the table, her breath warm against Yeji’s skin. “Because… I feel the same way when I look at you. Every single time.”
Yeji’s breath caught. A small, shaky laugh slipped out, quiet and disarmed, carrying the relief of being seen fully and still held close.
The rest of that night slipped by in a hush of soft laughter and small, stolen glances across the diner table. When the check finally arrived, Ryujin insisted on paying, puffing out her chest dramatically as if she had just scored an overtime winner. Yeji only rolled her eyes, but her shy, fond smile betrayed her completely.
They stepped back out into the frozen Montreal streets past 2 a.m., the hush of the sleeping city folding around them like a heavy blanket. Snow clung to their hair and lashes as they walked side by side, hands brushing occasionally in the dark, each small touch sparking warmth that lingered far longer than the cold could steal away.
The city felt almost unreal at this hour, the streets stretched wide and empty, dusted with a thin layer of soft snow that caught every glimmer of neon and streetlamp glow.
Ryujin fell into step just a little behind Yeji at first, her eyes tracing the subtle curve of Yeji’s shoulders beneath her coat, the small puff of her breath drifting into the cold air.
She wanted to reach out to slip her hand into Yeji’s and feel that warmth again, but something in the hush of the night made her hesitate, made her hold the space between them like it was fragile glass.
They walked in that gentle, comfortable silence for a few blocks. Ryujin kept glancing over, trying to catch Yeji’s eyes, but Yeji kept her head tilted slightly downward, lost in her own rhythm, her boots leaving soft prints along the sidewalk.
Then, quietly, like a note slipping under a closed door, Ryujin heard it.
Yeji began to hum.
It started low, tentative, the sound barely rising above the shuffle of their steps and the distant hum of a passing car. A soft, winding melody that drifted into the night air, warm and achingly tender.
Ryujin felt her heart skip, her chest tightening around that small sound like it was the last drop of warmth left in the world.
She recognized it, even without the words. It was the song Yeji mentioned a while ago. The shape of the melody alone felt like a confession. Like a secret Yeji had been carrying just for her.
Yeji did not notice that Ryujin had slowed, her eyes wide, watching her as if she were seeing her for the very first time.
Every note of that quiet hum felt unguarded, almost childlike. A piece of Yeji no one else would ever see beneath the helmet and the sharp eyes and the captain’s armor.
Ryujin swallowed hard, her breath trembling as it left her lungs. She did not dare interrupt. She did not dare move closer just yet.
Instead, she just listened, her fingers curling inside her pockets as if to keep herself from reaching out too soon.
It was only a few lines, a simple wandering hum, but by the time Yeji fell silent again, Ryujin felt as if she had been handed something so precious it left her raw and shaking inside.
Yeji did not say anything when she stopped humming. She just kept walking, head still slightly bowed, the city lights flickering softly against her dark hair.
Ryujin exhaled, finally stepping forward to catch up and fall into stride beside her again. She did not say a word, afraid to break whatever fragile magic had slipped into the space between them.
By the time they slipped back into the hotel lobby, their laughter had softened to quiet smiles and long, quiet looks that carried every unspoken promise between them.
The warmth of that diner glow still hung faintly around them the next evening, but the atmosphere had shifted, sharpened into something tighter, more electric.
In Yeji and Ryujin’s shared room, the only light came from the glow of Yeji’s tablet propped on the desk. The screen flickered in rapid clips: Germany’s defensive rotations, their aggressive pinches, the forwards’ heavy hits into corners. The quiet hum of the tablet speakers seemed to echo off the walls, each blade scrape and crash carrying a heavy, tense weight.
Yeji sat forward in the desk chair, a pen spinning between her fingers as she paused and rewound the same ten-second sequence over and over. Her eyes were sharp, locked in that unwavering, analytical focus that had terrified and awed so many on the ice.
Behind her, Ryujin sprawled across one of the beds, hair damp from a quick shower, still dressed in an oversized training shirt and shorts. One knee bounced in a restless rhythm, her eyes following every clip with careful intensity.
On screen, Germany played with terrifying aggression. Their forwards plowed into corners without hesitation, sticks hacking at loose pucks, elbows driving defenders off balance. Their defensemen pinched high and fast, crushing breakouts before they even started.
Yeji paused the video, rewinding a sequence where a German winger barreled straight through a Czech defenseman, leaving her sprawling on the ice. She tapped the screen once, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“They push hard here,” she said, her voice low and even. “If they sense hesitation, they will collapse and pin you into the boards immediately.”
Ryujin let out a low, short laugh, not mocking, but almost reverent, her grin slow and dangerous as it spread across her face.
“You make it sound like carving through fresh ice.”
Yeji snorted softly, her lips twitching before she forced them back into a flat line. “This is not poetry, Ryujin. This is precision.”
Ryujin laughed outright this time, dropping her head into her hands for a moment before lifting it again, her eyes locked on Yeji’s. “Everything’s poetry when it’s you explaining it,” she shot back, her voice so quiet it nearly dissolved between them.
Ryujin’s knee began to bounce lightly, her fingers drumming against the armrest as she watched the replay again. Her eyes darted from the screen to Yeji’s face, and then back, her jaw flexing.
For a long moment, she did not speak. Then, slowly, she leaned forward, her elbows dropping onto her knees, her face slipping into the soft glow of the screen.
“Be careful out there tomorrow,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet but firm, the words dropping heavy into the small space between them.
Yeji looked up sharply, eyes catching Ryujin’s across the table. She held that gaze, surprised at first, then something softened behind her eyes, a tiny flicker breaking through her usual carved composure.
“I can handle them,” Yeji replied, her tone measured, but it came out a shade gentler than usual.
Ryujin did not move. Her fingers curled tighter, knuckles paling, her breath catching as she leaned in even closer.
“I know,” she murmured, her grin small, shaky at the edges now, not her usual wild flash but something private and trembling. “But… don’t give them a clean shot at you. Don’t let them corner you.”
Yeji’s lips parted, her next words catching in her throat. Instead of answering right away, she set the tablet down, her hand shifting slowly across the table until her fingertips brushed Ryujin’s wrist. Hesitant at first, then pressing lightly, deliberately.
A small, invisible tremor passed between them. Ryujin turned her hand, catching Yeji’s fingers fully, their palms locking together in a quiet, protective hold.
After a heartbeat, Yeji inhaled, her voice barely above a whisper. “You too,” she said. “Don’t let them catch you clean. You are faster than them. Stay that way.”
Ryujin’s laugh escaped in a shaky exhale, her forehead bowing slightly as though she needed that moment to steady herself. “I will,” she whispered.
Their hands stayed locked together, pressed tight in the dim light, the flickering video still replaying German hits and hard pivots behind them.
“Did you know,” Ryujin began, her voice low, barely threaded together, “the first time I saw you in high school, I thought you were untouchable. Like—” She paused there, her laugh coming out short and broken, her breath catching in her throat. “Like no one could ever get close enough to knock you down.”
Yeji’s eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as if to interrupt her, to brush it aside like she always did. But Ryujin only shook her head slowly, insistently, her fingers tightening around Yeji’s hand as though anchoring both of them in the moment.
“But then I watched you take that open-ice hit against my school,” Ryujin continued, her voice now trembling around each word, “in that state championship game. The one that fractured your wrist.”
Yeji’s breath caught sharply, her jaw twitching as memories, long buried under layers of ice and time, rose to the surface.
“You stood right back up,” Ryujin pressed on, her thumb brushing slow, uneven lines across Yeji’s skin. “You didn’t even look at the person who hit you. You just… turned, cleared the puck like nothing happened. You acted like your wrist wasn’t even broken. Like pain was just another shift on the ice you had to finish before the buzzer.”
Yeji’s lips trembled then, her shoulders rolling forward slightly as if the words, the quiet reverence behind them, pressed too close to the softest parts of her.
“You were terrifying,” Ryujin whispered, her voice breaking on the edges, eyes glimmering as she searched Yeji’s face. “And so, so brave. I hated you for it, and I admired you more than anyone. That’s when I knew…”
“I realized then that you are strong not because you never get hit,” she said, voice softening further, “but because you get hit, and you always get back up. That is what terrifies me.”
Yeji’s breath shivered through her ribs, her jaw working once, twice, before she finally found her words.
“And that is why you charge into three defenders without thinking,” she whispered back, the corner of her mouth tugging upward in a small, fragile shape of a smile. Part sorrow, part affection.
Ryujin’s laugh broke again, sharp and shaky. “Yeah,” she rasped. “I get it from you, you know.”
They sat there in heavy silence, the glow of the paused video flickering behind them, frozen frames of German defensemen crashing into corners, helmets snapping back, sticks scattering like broken bones.
Yeji finally leaned forward, closing the last inches of space between them until their foreheads rested together, her hand shifting to cradle Ryujin’s jaw. She closed her eyes, exhaling deeply, as if releasing every coiled thread of worry knotted behind her ribs.
“Just…” Yeji whispered, her voice now a frayed echo, “if they come for you tomorrow… look for me first. Let me clear it for you.”
Ryujin’s lips parted in a small, sharp inhale, her other hand rising to grasp Yeji’s wrist now, anchoring them together.
“Always,” Ryujin breathed, her voice trembling around the single word, as if it carried every vow she had no other language to express.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Her question slipped out so softly it almost vanished into the small space between them. But Ryujin heard it, felt it in the slight quake of Yeji’s fingers, in the thin line of her shoulders that had begun to waver.
Ryujin exhaled shakily, her thumb brushing across Yeji’s jaw in a slow, reverent line. Her forehead pressed harder, her voice breaking open in the quiet.
“Because tomorrow,” Ryujin whispered, her words trembling like a blade held too tight, “they are going to come for you. You’re the backbone of the team. They are going to crash into you, try to shatter you the way they do everyone else.”
She paused, her breath hitching.
“And I know… you will stand up. You will clear the puck. You will keep going like you always do.”
Her fingers slid up into Yeji’s hair now, curling lightly, as though trying to hold her there, to anchor her through the echo of every bruise and every silent sacrifice.
“Ryujin…” she finally managed, her voice splintering on her name like thin ice under heavy weight.
Ryujin’s head dipped lower, her forehead sliding down to rest against Yeji’s temple. Their noses brushed lightly, small, uneven exhales tangling between them.
“I am telling you this,” Ryujin murmured, softer now, almost like a prayer, “because I want you to come back to me tomorrow. Not just standing, but whole. Breathing. Because you matter more than any game.”
A tiny sound broke in Yeji’s throat, half a gasp, half a sob, quickly muffled as she pressed closer. Her hand in Ryujin’s hair fisted tight, her entire body curling inward, as though trying to pull every word into her bones.
Outside the window, the city stretched quiet beneath a thin veil of moonlight.
Inside, two hearts, worn raw from competition and years of unspoken longing, finally stood side by side in quiet, unsteady solidarity, each small touch a new promise stitched into the night before battle.
Tomorrow, the rink would echo with blades and boards and roaring crowds.
Chapter Text
The arena swallowed them whole. The echo of their steps on concrete, the dull roar of early-arriving fans beyond the walls, the cold electric pulse of the boards waiting to be carved up.
This was it: the semifinals .
One game to decide whether they would play for gold or go home with hearts heavy and heads bowed.
And as the locker room door swung shut behind them, the tension sharpened, pulling tight across every shoulder and every quiet breath. Each player carrying their own silent hopes, each heartbeat counting down to the moment they would step out into the light together.
Earlier that afternoon, the arena had already exploded once. Canada, playing in front of a roaring home crowd clad in red and white, had crushed Finland in a decisive, blistering game. The final score — 5–2 — left no doubt, and the entire building shook with deafening cheers as Canadian flags rippled from every corner.
By the time Team USA began to prepare for their own semifinal, the echo of that victory still hung in the hallways like a living pulse, every doorway humming with leftover energy.
Ryujin leaned against her locker, taping her stick in slow, thoughtful motions, the sharp scent of fresh wax mixing with the damp chill of the concrete. Beside her locker, Yeji sat half-suited, her gaze fixed on a diagram pinned to the wall: Germany’s defensive rotations and penalty kill patterns mapped out in scribbled lines and arrows.
Their teammates moved around them in a quiet storm: Chaeryeong pacing and muttering small curses under her breath; Lia bouncing her blocker hand lightly against her thigh; Winter forcing a big, exaggerated yawn to shake out her nerves.
The coaches moved between lockers in low, tense murmurs, final instructions passed with clipped hand gestures and nods.
Germany was no stranger. Heavy, punishing hits, quick, brutal counters, and forwards who never hesitated to crash the net with full force. They had swaggered into the tunnel already once today, their black, red, and gold jackets sharp and loud, their eyes sweeping over Team USA with smirking confidence.
The hallway beyond seemed to thrum with a low, electric current. Every blade of every skate clicked on the concrete, every shoulder check and helmet adjustment rang loud and sharp in the hushed buildup.
They stepped forward together, hearts steady but coiled tight, each echo off the walls carrying them closer to the ice, closer to the waiting storm.
Winner to the battle for gold.
Loser to the battle for bronze.
The hallway to the ice felt impossibly long. The concrete under their skates hummed with each careful step, every edge clicking sharply in the still air. The faint roar of the crowd beyond the tunnel walls pulsed like a heartbeat, distant but growing closer, a tidal wave waiting just beyond the curtain of darkness.
Ryujin rolled her shoulders back, her stick balanced lightly in her left hand. Each breath she took felt cold and sharp, slicing through the warmth still clinging to her skin. She glanced sideways and caught sight of Chaeryeong bouncing on her toes, whispering rapid-fire to herself, head bobbing along to a silent beat only she could hear.
Lia, standing near the front, tilted her helmet back just slightly, her eyes shut, one gloved hand pressed flat to her chest as if steadying her own pulse. Winter, a few steps behind them, kept tapping the butt of her stick against the wall in a quiet rhythm, her gaze distant but electric.
Yeji stood at the front of the line, her shoulders set, spine perfectly straight. She looked almost statuesque, the hard edge of her jaw tight, her eyes locked forward into the darkness of the tunnel. Her gloved fingers flexed against her stick handle over and over, like she was practicing invisible saves only she could see.
Ryujin’s gaze dropped briefly to Yeji’s gear: the “C” stitched in crisp white on her jersey, the small scuff marks on her shoulder pads that she had come to recognize as intimately as her own scars.
Without thinking, Ryujin leaned forward just enough to whisper, her voice low and nearly lost in the hollow echo of the hallway.
“Hey,” she breathed, her lips almost brushing Yeji’s ear through the cage of her helmet. “If you start getting too serious out there… just imagine me doing my warm-up dance at center ice.”
Yeji’s head twitched a fraction, her lips pressing into a hard line. For a moment Ryujin thought she would ignore her entirely, but then she saw it: the tiniest twitch of Yeji’s mouth, the edge of a smirk threatening to break loose.
“Shut up,” Yeji hissed without turning, but her voice trembled just slightly, cracking around the edges like thin ice.
Ryujin’s grin spread, quick and fierce, and she dropped back into line behind her, her heart slamming wildly against her ribs.
Further down the line, Chaeryeong let out a sudden, sharp whoop , her stick rising as she turned in a quick, bouncing circle to shake out her nerves. Lia’s eyes snapped open, meeting Chaeryeong’s, and she cracked a brief, sharp laugh that rang out across the hallway, breaking the tension for just a heartbeat.
Yuna, still tapping her stick, rolled her eyes with a huff. “Save it for the goal horn, Chaer,” she muttered, but even her voice trembled with a hint of excitement that softened her usual cool edge.
The coaches appeared near the tunnel entrance then, their hands raised to call the team forward. The faint echo of the crowd had grown into a solid wall of noise now, the rumble shaking the very air around them.
Ryujin inhaled deep, tilting her head back for a moment as she closed her eyes, feeling every sound, every vibration slip under her skin and set her blood alight.
Yeji shifted forward first, stepping to the mouth of the tunnel. She turned her helmet slightly over her shoulder, her gaze flicking down the line.
The coaches gave the final signal.
Yeji exhaled, shoulders squaring, and stepped forward. One skate blade touched the cold lip of the rink, the bright flood of arena lights exploding into their eyes.
The roar of the crowd slammed into them like a physical wave. Flags whipping, horns blaring, thousands of fans rising to their feet, their chants echoing off every steel beam.
The rest of the team surged forward behind Yeji, each player slicing across the fresh, bright ice, the boards rattling under the weight of every stride and hit against the glass.
Ryujin hit the ice last, her blades catching in perfect rhythm, her lungs flooding with cold, sharp air that tasted of sweat and adrenaline and something impossibly alive.
USA vs. Germany — 7:30 PM
The puck dropped with a sharp crack, and immediately the building roared to life. A wall of noise rolling over the ice like a storm.
Yeji’s shift started. Her skates dug deep, slicing wide arcs as she pivoted, her head already swiveling to read Germany’s forecheck, eyes flickering between gaps like she was mapping an escape route in real time.
Germany came hard, just as they had scouted. Heavy bodies, punishing hits along the boards, wingers streaking in at full speed to cut off any soft outlets. On her first shift, Yeji took a brutal shoulder into the glass, her helmet rattling against the stanchion. She rebounded instantly, turning and shoving the German forward off balance before clearing the puck to center ice without a single glance backward.
On the bench, Ryujin watched the sequence, her gloved hands flexing around her stick as she bounced on her toes. The moment her line was called, she vaulted over the boards in one clean, explosive motion, hitting the ice with a sharp, slicing cut that sent a spray of snow into the air.
Ryujin took the puck near center ice. At the last second, she snapped inside, slicing right through the slot before flipping a low shot to the far pad, creating a rebound that Winter buried on the backhand.
A gasp rose from the crowd as Germany’s goalie was not able to smother it, her glove did not snap shut just in time.
1-0 USA
Ryujin’s grin split wide behind her mouthguard as she circled back toward the boards, her eyes sweeping across the ice to find Yeji’s.
Yeji stood at the bench door, chest heaving under her pads, her gloved hand tapping the dasher in an unconscious rhythm. Their eyes locked for half a second. Just long enough for Ryujin to see the tight line of Yeji’s jaw soften, her head dipping in a small nod that no one else would catch.
The game surged on.
Germany pressed their heavy, physical style: chipping pucks deep, pinning Team USA in their own zone for extended shifts, trying to wear down Yeji’s defensive pair and rough up Ryujin’s line. But Team USA matched them stride for stride, each hit answered, each board battle fought with grit and snarling intensity.
The rest of the period roared by in a flurry of hits, fast rushes, and desperate blocks. Germany answered with heavy forechecking and vicious board battles, but Team USA refused to yield an inch. Lia turned away a dangerous point-blank chance in the dying seconds, sending the puck skittering harmlessly into the corner as the buzzer finally rang.
USA skated off with a hard-earned 1–0 lead, sweat dripping from their faces, breath ragged.
As they funneled down the tunnel, Ryujin fell into step behind Yeji, close enough to see the tension rolling off her shoulders. She leaned in, her voice just loud enough to reach above the echoing noise.
“Hey,” she called softly, her grin small but burning. “Nice start, Captain.”
Yeji glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing, but Ryujin saw it then, unmistakable even in the low tunnel light: that quick, almost shy flicker of pride in Yeji’s gaze.
And as the door swung shut behind them, they carried the same silent promise forward into the intermission:
One period down. Two to go.
The second period began like a held breath finally breaking, the crowd’s roar crashing down in waves as the puck dropped.
Yeji skated onto the ice first with her defensive partner, Jeongyeon, her blade edges cutting sharp, confident lines as she anchored the blue line. Her eyes flicked constantly between the puck and the German forwards, reading each rush before it fully formed. She absorbed each hit with that calm, heavy presence. A silent wall that turned away rush after rush, sending frustrated German wingers slamming into the boards or spinning off balance.
Germany amped up their aggression, sending two deep forecheckers to harass Team USA’s breakout. Yeji stood her ground, pivoting effortlessly along the blue line. When a German forward tried to chip it past her, Yeji dropped low, her stick slicing through the passing lane, snatching the puck and sending a crisp outlet pass up the ice before they could react.
Ryujin exploded into motion the moment she touched it, flying down the wing, her skates slicing up snow in long, powerful strides. Just like Yeji had told her: You can cut inside. They spread wide to trap along the walls, leaving their middle soft and shallow.
Ryujin faked wide, then snapped inside, slicing between two staggered German defenders, her shoulders dipping like a serpent winding through open water. She ripped a quick wrist shot that pinged off the crossbar, echoing through the arena in a sharp, metallic ring that sent a collective gasp rippling across the crowd.
Ryujin let out a sharp curse, wheeling back toward the boards. She looked up instinctively and there was Yeji, standing at the blue line, eyes locked on her.
Their gazes collided like two sparks off steel. Yeji did not move, did not shout, but the tight set of her jaw and the almost imperceptible nod sent a shock of energy straight down Ryujin’s spine.
Germany answered with punishing rushes, crashing two and three players into the slot, looking for dirty rebounds and chaos in front of Lia.
Yeji was everywhere: clearing bodies from the crease, tying up sticks, throwing her own shoulder into forwards twice her size to regain control.
Midway through the period, Ryujin drew a high-sticking penalty after slicing through the German defense and taking a stick up under her chin. Team USA set up for the power play, Yeji commanding the blue line with all the precision and calm of a seasoned general.
Ryujin faked a slap shot once, twice, dragging the German penalty killers to commit and collapse. With a quick flick, she slid the puck to Riley along the half-wall.
Riley tried a sharp-angle shot and it went in.
2–0 USA
The period raced on in a blur of hits and counterattacks, each shift a war of inches, every puck battle echoing like a drumbeat against the glass.
Finally, the horn blared, closing the second period with the score locked at 2–0 USA .
They skated toward the tunnel slowly, chests heaving, sweat dripping in steady lines down their faces. Ryujin glided up beside Yeji just as they stepped off the ice, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
“You owe me an assist,” Ryujin panted, her voice rough but bright, a small grin fighting its way onto her face despite the exhaustion.
Yeji scoffed, her lips twitching in a tight, hidden smirk. She did not turn, but her voice came out low, breathless, and undeniably warm.
“Put it in next time.”
Ryujin let out a rough, breathless laugh, tilting her helmet back slightly.
“Yes, ma’am,” she fired back, her grin sharpening, shoulders rolling with unspent adrenaline.
They stepped into the tunnel together, the roar of the arena echoing behind them, the cold concrete closing around the hot pulse of their shared momentum.
Two periods down. One to go.
The third period had spiraled into an all-out war. Every shift felt like skating through a hailstorm. Sticks clashing, bodies colliding, boards rattling so hard they seemed to shiver in their frames.
Yeji absorbed another brutal hit along the half-wall. A German forward came barreling in, shoulder dropping low into Yeji’s ribs, slamming her into the glass so hard the entire pane trembled.
The crowd gasped.
Her helmet cracked back, stars bursting across her vision. Her ears rang. For a split second, she felt like she was underwater, her vision narrowing into a thin, echoing tunnel.
She staggered for a breath — one, two — her knees nearly buckling. But she forced herself upright, her stick digging into the ice like a lifeline. She gritted her teeth, sucked in a ragged lungful of cold air, and pushed off, pivoting back toward the slot.
She scanned the ice, adrenaline flooding her head like fire. Just as her eyes found the puck again, she saw Ryujin streaking across the neutral zone, cutting inside past a German defenseman.
Ryujin had been a constant threat all game, dancing past defenders, turning them inside out. She was faster than any player on the ice. Her speed and quick cuts left them scrambling. Every time she touched the puck, the German bench leaned forward, tense, wary.
Then it happened.
She had no idea a German forward cut across her left, shoulder-first into her gut.
A split second later, a German defender came barreling in from the blind side, shoulder high, not even pretending to go for the puck.
Ryujin’s helmet snapped sideways, her skates left the ice for a split second before she crashed violently into the boards. Her body folded awkwardly, crashing down hard onto the ice.
The sound was sickening.
The building seemed to dig in a horrified inhale as one — a sharp, shocked, silence.
The hit came so fast, it barely looked real.
Yeji saw everything unfold through her cracked visor.
She took off at full speed.
Yeji’s vision tunneled, her lungs seized up. The roar of the crowd, the sharp bark of whistles, the echo of sticks clattering. All of it flattened into a single, muffled beat.
She ripped off her helmet with shaking hands, her cracked visor tearing away with a sharp, plastic shriek. She flung it to the ice as she pushed off with every ounce of power left in her battered legs.
She ignored her own aching ribs as she sprinted forward, all the pain in her body eclipsed by pure protective instinct.
She felt her thoughts fracture, splintering into a single, frantic chant.
Get up.
She took another stride, nearly tripping as her skate caught.
Get up.
Her stick dropped from her hands without her noticing, her gloves curling into fists.
Get the fuck up, Ryujin.
Her breath came in sharp, tearing bursts, her mouth opening on a silent, raw sound that never left her throat.
Yeji did not even realize she had crossed the blue line until she felt her skates carve hard into the ice beside Ryujin’s crumpled form. She dropped to one knee, her gloved hands hovering helplessly over Ryujin’s shoulders, fingers trembling so hard they seemed to vibrate through her bones.
Ryujin’s helmet shifted just slightly, her fingers twitching once against the ice. A low, ragged groan slipped out of her, and her head tilted enough for Yeji to see her eyes flutter open, glazed but conscious.
Yeji sucked in a breath so sharp it stung her ribs, her shoulders collapsing forward, her forehead nearly dropping onto Ryujin’s helmet in relief.
Officials swarmed in, the medical staff already sliding across the ice. Yeji felt them pulling at her arms, trying to guide her back, but she resisted for a moment, her fingers brushing once, quick and desperate, against the side of Ryujin’s glove.
Ryujin’s eyes cracked open again, unfocused but searching. Yeji forced herself to pull back, her hands curling into trembling fists at her sides.
Yeji felt the pull of the officials on her arms again, as medical staff rushed to Ryujin’s side. But the moment she looked up, the moment her eyes found the German player who had delivered the hit, skating away with head turned and shoulders loose as if nothing had happened, something inside her snapped.
She shoved free of the linesman’s grip, her blades cutting violently across the ice, churning up a harsh spray in her wake.
Her vision tunneled, every sound drowned out except for the drumbeat of her heart.
First, she rocketed straight into the player who hit Ryujin. Her shoulder collided square into the forward’s chest, sending her flying backward, knocking her back off her skates. The boards rattled so hard the glass nearly popped out of the stanchions, the sound echoing through the arena.
Yeji barely paused.
She spun on her skates, pivoted, and locked eyes on the second player.
With explosive force, she lunged forward again, checking the defenseman so hard she toppled onto the ice in a tangled heap, sliding helplessly into the corner.
Without pause, Yeji yanked the defenseman back up by the collar of her jersey with her gloved hands.
The forward rushed to intervene, but Yeji pivoted, shoving her back with one arm.
The German player she was gripping tried to shove back, trying to twist away, but Yeji yanked her closer again, her forehead knocking lightly into the other’s visor. She did not throw a punch — not yet — but her entire body coiled with barely contained violence, every muscle trembling against the hold.
“You try to come near her again… you fucking answer to me .” her voice bursting free in a harsh, raw snarl that vibrated against the boards.
Ryujin lay on her side at first, disoriented, her breath jagged. Then she lifted her head, eyes blurry, catching sight of Yeji standing over her attacker.
Linesmen and teammates rushed in instantly. Yeji’s chest heaved, eyes wild and unblinking.
It took two officials and Chaeryeong grabbing her from behind to finally drag Yeji back, her skates digging harsh grooves into the ice as she fought every step. Her chest heaved, her fists still clenched so tight her knuckles ached under her gloves.
Yeji twisted in the officials’ grasp, her eyes locking onto Ryujin with a look that split open all the way to her core: raw, terrified, and burning.
As Ryujin’s head finally lifted and their eyes met across the chaos, Yeji’s lips parted, her voice catching on a shaky exhale.
Get up. Please. Just get up.
Ryujin was slowly being helped up to her knees, her head lowered, her shoulders shaking as she struggled to steady herself.
And seeing Ryujin start to rise, seeing her fight to her feet despite everything, Yeji finally let her fists loosen, her shoulders slumping as if the entire world had dropped off her back all at once.
Yeji was assessed a 2-minute roughing penalty plus a 10-minute misconduct for aggression and was forcibly escorted to the penalty box.
But even as the officials pushed her toward the box, her glare never left the German players.
Yeji sat alone in the box, helmet off, sweat dripping into her eyes. Her fists stayed clenched so tight her knuckles were white against the tape.
The moment Ryujin was helped to the bench, the entire building seemed to hold its breath. She sat hunched forward, helmet still on, gloves pressed to her knees, every breath rattling out of her like it was clawing free from her ribs.
Yeji’s eyes locked on Ryujin’s back. Her chest heaved, sweat and adrenaline burning through every muscle like acid.
She leaned forward, eyes searching until Ryujin settled on the bench and met her eyes.
For a long moment, they just looked at each other — no words, no gestures, only shared relief and a raw, fierce gratitude radiating between them.
Germany smelled blood.
Two minutes of 4 vs 5 on the ice, and another 10 minutes of Yeji off the ice.
With Yeji gone and Ryujin not yet cleared to jump back on the ice, Germany seized their chance.
They stormed the American zone with a fury they had been holding in reserve, their passes crisper, their forecheckers biting hard, every shot slamming toward Lia like a hammer strike.
A minute into Yeji’s penalty, Team Germany struck. A quick turnover in the neutral zone, a two-on-one rush. Jeongyeon dove to cut off the pass, her stick flat against the ice, but the puck deflected off the German winger’s skate and slid across to an open forward. The shot snapped high, over Lia’s glove, into the net.
The arena shuddered with a shocked roar.
2–1.
From the penalty box, Yeji rose halfway off the bench, her glove pressed flat to the glass, her breath fogging up in wild bursts.
Hold. Hold. Hold .
Team USA tried to reset, but Germany kept coming, crashing every line, each hit rattling the boards like thunder. They skated harder, cutting across every angle, their stick clashing violently with German blades, their gloves shoving forwards out of the crease.
Then it happened again.
A sharp cycle below the goal line, a missed coverage on the weak side. The puck found its way to the slot, and before anyone could collapse, a German stick hammered it home.
2–2.
The arena erupted. Part elation, part horror. The noise rolling in violent waves. The German bench exploded, players slamming the boards, fists pounding helmets.
On the bench, every player on Team USA knew it without needing to say a word: they had to finish it in regulation.
They could feel it in every bruised rib, every trembling leg. Germany’s relentless, punishing checks had left them battered and raw.
Another twenty minutes of overtime? None of them knew if their bodies, or their hearts, could take further pounding.
Ryujin sat on the bench, hunched over, a trainer crouched beside her. Heavy tape snaked around her ribs and thigh, sweat dripping off her nose in steady beads. The trainer shined a small light into her eyes again, checking her pupils carefully. Sweat and stray strands of hair clung to her forehead, her mouthguard clenched tight between her teeth.
Yeji kept glancing over, her breath ragged, her chest rising and falling in sharp, vicious bursts. Every time she glanced at Ryujin, her fingers curled so hard around her stick they threatened to splinter.
After an endless, nerve-shredding moment, the trainer finally gave a small, sharp nod.
“Cleared,” he called to the coaches over the din. “No concussion. She’s good to go.”
Ryujin did not wait to hear anything else. She shoved her helmet on with shaking hands, her breath tearing out of her chest in sharp, electric gasps.
The coaches turned, eyes wide, hesitating. But Ryujin did not wait for permission. She vaulted over the boards the moment her line was called, blades hammering into the ice, each stride shaky but alive with raw defiance.
Every muscle in her body felt like it was burning, but the second her blades hit the ice, she looked almost reborn. Shoulders rolling back, eyes bright and wild again behind the cage.
The moment she crossed the blue line, a German defender tried to pin her to the wall. But Ryujin twisted away, the hit glancing off her shoulder as she surged toward the point. She batted a loose puck out of the zone, buying precious seconds and roaring encouragement back at her teammates as she stumbled to reset.
On her next shift, Ryujin hooked a German forward’s stick just enough to throw off a shot, forcing it high into the netting. The whistle blew, the crowd howled, and the seconds bled away like water down glass.
Finally , Yeji’s penalty expired. Just under two minutes remaining.
She tore out of the bench, blades churning so violently they dug deep scars in the ice. She cut straight across the neutral zone, intercepting a last-ditch German stretch pass, and pivoted sharply back up ice.
The crowd rose as one, roaring.
Ryujin’s gaze burned into her. No panic, no fear. Only that raw, wild fire that had always lived behind her grin.
Yeji tapped her stick once against the ice, her voice low but sharp as she called across to her team:
“Reset.”
A single word.
A single order.
And as the puck dropped again, every player in red, white, and blue surged forward, their eyes blazing with the same silent vow that pulsed between Yeji and Ryujin like a shared heartbeat.
The score hung at 2–2.
The arena trembled under the pounding of feet, flags, and hearts. A riot of noise folding into a single, frantic roar.
They took the puck at center, Germany collapsing immediately, all five players falling back into a tight, desperate shell. Yeji took the puck first, circling up high near the blue line, her head whipping back and forth, scanning for any glimmer of space.
Ryujin coasted wide, leaning hard on her inside edge, her stick tapping once against the ice: a single, clear call.
Yeji saw it.
She feinted a slap shot, forcing two German defenders to lunge up to block. In that instant, she snapped a pass low and sharp to Ryujin, who caught it on her forehand, dragged it in, and spun off her like a knife slicing free.
Ryujin darted toward the boards, pulling two Germans with her. At the last possible second, she twisted her hips and sent the puck right back across the slot, a perfectly weighted dish that curved.
Yeji was already there.
She stepped into the pass at full stride, her stick sweeping down in a clean, blistering one-timer. The puck snapped off her blade with a thunderous crack, ripping past the German goalie’s glove and smashing into the back of the net.
The goal horn split the air like lightning.
Yeji’s momentum carried her forward as the netting rippled violently, and for a moment she stood frozen, stick still extended, chest heaving. Then Ryujin slammed into her from behind, arms wrapping around her waist, helmet crashing into her shoulder.
Yeji stumbled forward from the force, Ryujin’s weight nearly knocking them both down. She turned just enough to catch Ryujin’s face behind the cage. Her grin wild, half-broken, eyes shining so bright they looked like they might burn through the visor.
“You—” Yeji started, her voice breaking on the first word.
Ryujin only laughed, breathless and ragged. “We did it,” she gasped, her voice shaking, forehead pressing into Yeji’s neck. “You did it, Captain.”
Their teammates poured in, crashing into them, sticks slamming against helmets, gloves thrown high into the air. The boards shook under the weight of bodies piling in, and the whole world seemed to collapse into that single, roaring moment.
Yeji’s hands rose instinctively, curling around Ryujin’s shoulders, holding her upright as she pressed their helmets together.
“Thank you,” she whispered — a confession no one else would hear, a promise slipped through steel and sweat and noise.
Ryujin’s fingers dug into the small of her back, her laugh trembling against Yeji’s throat.
And above them, the scoreboard shone out like a beacon:
USA 3 — Germany 2.
Final .
No overtime. No chance for Germany to grind them down again. They had ended it, just in time.
As they clung to each other in that wild, shivering crush of celebration, the only truth left humming between them was raw and simple:
They could barely stand, but they had finished it. Together. In regulation. Exactly when they had to.
Chapter 33
Notes:
sorry for the long-ass chapter. heh
Chapter Text
After the final buzzer, after the wild crush of bodies and victory cries and echoing horns, Yeji found herself sitting alone on the narrow wooden bench in the locker room. Ryujin was probably still in the medic’s room getting taped and changed.
The room still thrummed with the ghost of the crowd’s roar, echoes of stick taps and locker doors slamming shut reverberating around her. She sat perfectly still, her new helmet, the stark, unfamiliar one, resting in her lap, her fingers curled so tight around it they left deep dents in the padding.
Around her, the team celebrated in small pockets: Winter tossing her gloves into the air, Yuna shouting and hugging everyone in arm’s reach, Chaeryeong clapping a hand to Lia’s shoulder, laughter bursting out in bright waves.
But Yeji could not move.
Her mind ran in tight, stinging loops.
That penalty.
She replayed it again and again: the blind rage in her chest, the crack of her visor tearing away, the penalty box door slamming shut behind her, the heavy clang of the lock.
And then the scoreboard — 2–2 — while she sat helpless, forced to watch her teammates fight and bleed to hold the line.
I almost cost them everything.
Her jaw clenched until her teeth ached. Her breath sawed out in shallow bursts, her ribs ached so bad, her shoulders hunched forward like she could fold herself into nothing.
She pushed up from the bench suddenly, her legs shaky but carrying her forward by sheer instinct. The hallway outside the locker room was cold. The walls smelled of sweat and old paint, distant echoes from fans still drifting in waves from the concourse.
Yeji sat on the cold floor, her back against the wall, her head tilted down so her chin nearly touched her chest. The spare helmet, still unmarked, still painfully foreign, rested beside her on the floor, her gloves tossed haphazardly on top.
Her hair clung to her temples in damp, tangled strands, sweat still trickling in thin lines down her jaw. Her forearms were propped on her bent knees, fingers twitching slightly, opening and closing as if they could not decide what to hold.
Captain.
I’m supposed to be the leader.
The calm.
The shield.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
But I lost it. For her.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, that old iron band around her heart tightening until she thought she might break apart from the inside.
"Yeji?"
She flinched at the soft voice. She recognized it to be Lia’s.
Yeji did not look up. Her shoulders rose once in a sharp, uneven breath, then fell again, as if every muscle had finally gone slack.
Lia crouched in front of her, her own hands hovering in the air for a moment before she slowly reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of Yeji’s knee.
“Hey,” Lia tried again, softer this time, her thumb pressing lightly into the fabric of Yeji’s jersey. “Talk to me.”
"Do you think… being with her is a mistake?" Yeji asked.
Lia blinked, her mouth parting as if to ask her to repeat it, but Yeji’s stare was unwavering. Terrified and exposed.
"Tonight… I almost lost us the game," Yeji pushed on, the words breaking around the edges. "I was reckless. I… I wasn’t thinking. I just saw her on the ice, not moving, and… I snapped. I wasn’t a captain. I was just… hers."
Her breath shook, a shallow, ragged noise echoing in the hallway. She finally looked up, eyes rimmed red, her expression a fragile tangle of fear and longing and guilt.
“I thought she wasn’t going to get up,” Yeji whispered, her voice so thin it was almost lost in the hallway’s empty echo.
Lia’s own chest tightened. She shifted closer and stayed silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, she reached out, fingers curling lightly over Yeji’s wrist, grounding her, steadying her in that simple, quiet way.
“You didn’t cost us the game,” Lia said softly, her voice gentle but unwavering. Her gaze stayed locked on Yeji, unwavering. “You saved us. You gave everything you had. You fought like hell. For the team, yes, but especially for her. And she fought just as hard for you.”
Yeji’s lips parted, her eyes shimmering.
Lia’s fingers squeezed her wrist once, an unspoken reassurance.
"Being with her doesn’t make you less of a captain." Lia’s thumb traced lightly across the inside of Yeji’s wrist, slow and comforting.
“I almost did something,” she whispered, her voice low and rough, cracking around the edges.
Lia’s brows drew in softly, her head tilting. “Almost did what?” she asked gently.
Yeji let out a ragged exhale, her shoulders trembling as if the memory itself still pulsed under her skin.
“When I saw her… when she didn’t move…” She swallowed hard, her mouth twisting as she fought to find the words. “I almost ripped off my glove. I wanted to.. to swing my fists. To break them in half.”
Lia went still beside her, her eyes wide but soft.
Yeji’s voice dropped even lower, almost a rasp now. “I was going to. My fingers were already under the cuff. But then I… I knew. I knew I couldn’t get thrown out. I knew she would need me if she got up. And if I was gone—”
Her voice broke completely, shattering into a jagged whisper.
“You did exactly what you had to do,” Lia said quietly, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of deep, unwavering admiration. “You were her anchor. You stayed. Even when everything in you was screaming to fight.”
Yeji’s head finally dropped forward, her hair spilling over her face. A single, sharp breath rattled through her, her ribs twinging under her gear.
Lia squeezed her wrist again, leaning closer, her forehead nearly brushing Yeji’s shoulder. “That is what makes you a captain, Yeji. Not just the statistics. Not the image. This.”
Yeji’s head jerked up slightly, her eyes wide, caught between disbelief and desperate relief.
Lia had watched everything unfold during the game.
She stood pressed against the inside of the goalie crease, her fingers curled tight around her stick, her knees bent, body coiled and ready. Her eyes darted constantly, tracking the puck, the forwards crashing the slot, the defensemen holding the blue line. She had done this a thousand times, each movement stitched into her muscle memory, her mind sharp and clear even in chaos.
A collision — no, a brutal impact — cracked across the ice like a gunshot. The boards rattled, and in that split second, all the noise in the arena seemed to vanish.
Ryujin did not move.
Then she saw Yeji.
Yeji was already pushing off, her skates carving deep grooves into the ice, her body low, her stick dropped behind her without a second thought. Lia saw the moment Yeji’s eyes locked on Ryujin’s motionless figure. She saw the raw, wild terror flood across her usually steady face.
Yeji skated faster than Lia had ever seen her move, as though her entire being had been reduced to a single instinct: reach her.
It was like watching a dam break open.
Yeji did not hesitate, did not even glance at the puck now sailing away down the ice. She dropped to her knees beside Ryujin. Her hands hovered above Ryujin’s shoulders, trembling visibly even from the goal line.
Lia’s heart slammed against her ribs. She could see Yeji’s lips moving, frantic, begging words that no one else could hear. The captain, their unshakeable, immovable captain, looked so small in that moment, so desperately human.
For a flicker, Lia’s mind tried to keep analyzing: check for retaliation, scan for the incoming German forwards, prepare for the next whistle.
But a sudden movement snapped through the air like a spark. Ryujin’s fingers twitched faintly against the ice.
All of that strategy, that trained mental rigidity, cracked apart when Lia saw Yeji’s head drop, forehead pressing to Ryujin’s helmet in a silent, broken plea.
Lia saw the split-second collapse of Yeji’s entire frame into relief as Ryujin finally, painfully, started to move.
She could see it clearly now, standing there in the crease, shoulders heaving beneath her gear: Yeji had almost unraveled.
Yeji had always been the calm. The shield. The one who took the hits and never struck back.
But that night, she had crossed a line for Ryujin.
The penalty was called quickly.
As the officials escorted Yeji across the ice, she glanced back only once, toward Ryujin, who was now kneeling, trainers beside her. Even from this distance, Lia could see the devastation in Yeji’s eyes, the silent apology buried beneath the rage.
It did not make her less of a captain, Lia thought fiercely, jaw clenching beneath her mask. If anything, it revealed the impossible depth of her loyalty, her capacity to protect.
And as the game resumed, as bodies crashed and sticks flew and the puck snapped across the ice like a live wire, Lia swore to herself: she would guard the net for them both, hold the line until Yeji returned.
Because that night, their captain had bled her heart onto the ice. And Lia, more than anyone, knew what it meant to stand for someone like that.
Lia pressed the butt of her stick against her pads, steadying her breathing.
She knew, in that painful, crystalline moment, exactly what it meant to be with someone enough to forget the world around you.
Yeji was no longer just their leader. She was someone’s. And for the first time, Lia understood that being with someone like that was not a weakness. It was a ferocious, unstoppable kind of strength.
The kind that could make even the calmest captain cross an ocean of ice without a second thought.
"Yeji," Lia began again, her voice soft but carrying a quiet authority that could hush entire rooms, "I have known you since high school."
Lia’s lips twitched into the smallest, almost bittersweet smile.
"I’ve watched you become this.. this unstoppable force on the ice, this captain who never falters, never lets anyone see her crack," Lia continued, her voice tightening just slightly. "I’ve seen you carry whole teams on your back, carry everyone else’s fears and doubts, like they weighed nothing. You’ve been doing that since we were teenagers."
Yeji swallowed hard, her fingers curling reflexively into Lia’s hold.
"But tonight? You finally let yourself feel something for you. Not for the jersey, not for the crowd — for you," Lia said, her voice dropping even lower, each word deliberate and tender. "You didn’t lose us the game. You fought harder. Even if you chose to protect her without thinking."
"Is it risky? Of course," Lia went on, her thumb brushing gently over Yeji’s wrist. "But you, of all people, have never been afraid of taking the hard path. And being with Ryujin doesn’t make you less of a captain."
Yeji’s breath shuddered, her chest collapsing forward slightly as her shoulders sagged.
Her head bowed, a raw, shaky sob slipping out despite her best efforts to swallow it. Lia leaned forward fully now, her arms coming around Yeji’s shoulders, holding her as Yeji buried her face against Lia’s collarbone, her fingers fisting into the back of Lia’s jersey.
"You’re allowed to like her," Lia murmured against Yeji’s hair, her voice like a steady hand on a storm-tossed ship. "And she’s allowed to like you back."
"And you deserve that," Lia finished softly. "You’ve always deserved something that is yours."
“She gets in my head,” Yeji admitted. “And on the ice, that’s dangerous. I’m supposed to be the anchor, the one no one has to worry about. The one who never wavers.”
Lia’s hand brushed slowly along Yeji’s back. “Yeji… You’re still that person,” she said quietly. “But you’re also human. You don’t have to hold your breath forever.”
Yeji let out a shaky laugh, a sound halfway between relief and despair. “It terrifies me,” she whispered. “Wanting her. Letting her in. Feeling all of this… it makes me feel like I’m losing control.”
Lia leaned her head lightly. “You’re not losing control,” she said softly. “You’re allowing yourself to feel something real. That doesn’t make you weak, it makes you alive.”
Yeji’s eyes filled, her breath stuttering in her chest.
After a few moments, she dropped her hand, looking at Lia with raw vulnerability in her eyes. “How do you do that?” she rasped. “Say exactly what I needed to hear.”
Lia gave a small, crooked smile, her thumb squeezing Yeji’s hand one last time. “That’s my job,” she teased lightly. “Besides… I’ve always known you weren’t really made of stone.”
Yeji let out a breathy laugh, a tear slipping down her cheek before she could catch it. Lia reached up and brushed it away gently, her touch warm and grounding.
“I remember the first day you walked into tryouts,” Lia continued, her lips curling into a small, nostalgic smile. “You had that same dead-serious expression, like you were ready to fight anyone who looked at you wrong. You barely talked to anyone. Everyone thought you hated us.”
Yeji let out a weak laugh. “I didn’t hate you,” she muttered hoarsely. “I was terrified.”
Lia chuckled softly, nudging her shoulder gently. “I know,” she said. “But back then, even terrified, you wouldn’t let yourself show it. You played like your life depended on it, like you had to be perfect every second. And you carried that all these years — even now, as our captain.”
Yeji looked down, her thumb nervously rubbing circles against the side of Lia’s hand.
“You’ve always been so good at building walls,” Lia continued, her voice quiet but unwavering. “But even in high school, I saw through them. I saw how you stayed behind to help tape up sticks for rookies when no one asked. How you stayed up late reviewing play footage even if we only lost by one goal. How you cared more than you ever let on.”
Yeji’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
Lia gave a gentle squeeze to her hand, her expression softening even further. “I’ve always admired you for that. But Yeji… you’re allowed to have something for yourself too. You don’t have to be made of iron all the time.”
Yeji finally let out a shaky laugh, tears slipping freely now as she ducked her head. “I don’t know how to do that,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “I don’t know how to want her so much and still be… this.”
Lia shifted to fully face her then, both hands now cradling Yeji’s.
“You’re still you,” Lia muttered, her voice full of steady certainty. “You’re still our captain. You’re still that unstoppable force who terrified all of us on day one.”
Yeji’s lips quivered as she tried to form a response, but nothing came out.
“And Ryujin?” Lia continued, her eyes softening even more. “She doesn’t weaken you. She makes you human. She makes you better — because you finally let yourself be open.”
Yeji let out a shaky, breathless laugh, her tears slipping down onto Lia’s hands. “God, I hate when you’re right,” she whispered.
Lia laughed softly too, her own eyes glimmering. “Someone has to keep you in check.”
When Lia finally coaxed Yeji to lift her head from her shoulder, Yeji’s face was a mess of sweat, stray tears, and uneven breath.
Lia eased back, keeping one steadying hand on Yeji’s arm as she rose to stand. Yeji wavered, her legs almost buckling under her, but Lia caught her quickly, guiding her toward the nearby medic’s room just off the hallway.
Inside, the room smelled sharply of antiseptic and sweat-soaked tape. A medic glanced up, eyes widening slightly at the sight of Yeji’s unsteady form, her damp hair plastered to her cheeks, her arms hanging heavily at her sides.
Without waiting for instructions, Yeji began peeling off her protective shirt and pads, her fingers clumsy and slow. Lia helped her, gently tugging at straps, peeling away layers until Yeji stood in just her sports bra, her chest heaving with raw, shallow breaths.
Purple and red splotches already bloomed along her ribs and side, the clear evidence of every hit she had absorbed, every battle at the boards, every reckless moment she had thrown her body in front of someone else’s.
The medic inhaled sharply. “We need to tape that up,” he muttered, already reaching for a roll of wide, white support tape.
Yeji did not respond. She stared straight ahead, her arms held loosely out to the sides as if she were barely present. Lia stayed close, one hand gripping Yeji’s wrist, her thumb rubbing gentle, steady circles against her pulse point.
As the medic wrapped the first layer of tape around her ribs, Yeji flinched, her face pinching in pain. Her fingers flexed once, gripping Lia’s hand tighter, her nails digging faint crescents into the skin.
Yeji drew in a shaky inhale as the tape cinched tighter, her breath catching halfway through. She exhaled in one ragged rush, her eyes squeezing shut.
Another slow wrap. Another tightening pull around her bruised ribs. Yeji’s breath came faster, sweat dripping off her jaw onto the floor. But she did not pull away. She did not collapse.
When the final layer of tape was secured, the medic stepped back, his hands hovering near her shoulders as if expecting her to topple. But Yeji remained standing, just barely, her chest rising in small, cautious movements under the new support.
Yeji swallowed, her gaze drifting toward the doorway. She inhaled again, carefully this time, her newly taped ribs stretching under the pressure.
The locker room was a storm of noise when Yeji finally pushed the door open.
Laughter, sticks rattling against benches, gloves and pads tossed in loose piles on the floor. Music pulsed faintly from a speaker someone had propped on a shelf, voices overlapping in shouts of relief and joy.
Then Ryujin appeared.
She pushed up from her spot near her locker, her ribs, thigh, and now shoulder were heavily taped, her movements cautious but urgent. Her eyes found Yeji immediately. Bright, wild, and almost panicked despite the crooked grin half-formed on her lips.
“Where the hell have you been?” Ryujin breathed, her voice raw, pitched low enough that only Yeji could hear. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Yeji noticed the stark, thick bandage wound tightly around Ryujin’s right shoulder. The tape braced her joint high across the collarbone, clearly done in haste but expertly enough to allow some range of motion.
Yeji’s entire body went rigid. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as she approached, each step echoing off the tile.
“You managed to hide a shoulder injury,” Yeji began, her voice low, steady. Too steady, the kind that trembles underneath if you listen closely, “and play the remaining minutes?”
Ryujin froze, her head whipping up. Their eyes locked, Ryujin’s wide and startled, Yeji’s dark and burning.
“I—”
Yeji stepped closer, towering over her despite the bruises that laced her own ribs. “How?” she pressed, her voice tightening, the word laced with something sharp and raw. “How did you even move that arm?”
Ryujin swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. She glanced away, her jaw working as if trying to find the right answer. “I didn’t have a choice,” she finally murmured, her voice so soft it almost dissolved into the noise of the room. “I needed to be there.”
Yeji’s breath shuddered out, her shoulders trembling as her eyes swept over the bandage again. Every strip of tape, every small stain was a glaring map of everything Ryujin had kept hidden in those final minutes.
“You’re insane,” Yeji whispered, her voice breaking now, her hand rising to hover above Ryujin’s bandaged shoulder but not quite touching. “You're absolutely insane.”
Ryujin let out a small, shaky laugh, her gaze sliding up to meet Yeji’s again, full of that same defiant warmth she always carried onto the ice. “I thought you knew that already,” she teased weakly, though her eyes glimmered wetly at the edges.
“You don’t get to do that again,” Yeji whispered fiercely, her breath trembling. “Not without telling me. Not without me beside you.”
Ryujin’s good hand came up then, slipping around Yeji’s wrist, her thumb rubbing slow, gentle circles. “Okay,” she murmured, her voice soft and uneven. “Okay… captain.”
Yeji opened her mouth, but the words were caught. She dropped her head slightly, her shoulders curling in as if bracing for something she could not quite name.
Ryujin’s fingers curled until their palms pressed together, thumb brushing over the sharp ridge of Yeji’s knuckles.
“Hey,” Ryujin said again, softer this time, leaning in close enough that their foreheads almost touched. “Captain.”
Yeji hesitated, then slowly lifted her gaze. Their eyes met, Yeji’s still shimmering with something fragile and unspoken, Ryujin’s blazing with a warmth so fierce it felt like it might burn straight through the cold in her bones.
“You did everything right out there,” Ryujin whispered, her breath catching at the edges. “You led us. You saved me. You kept all of us together.”
Yeji’s lips parted, her fingers twitching weakly in Ryujin’s grasp.
“But—” she started, her voice breaking on the first word, barely above a whisper.
“No,” Ryujin cut in, her grip tightening. “There’s no but. You did it. You carried us home.”
Yeji had moved first. She had surged forward without thinking, crossing the space between them and pulling Ryujin into a hard, breathless hug. It was as if she had been propelled by every raw edge inside her, the echo of Ryujin’s words, the weight of her own fear, the flood of relief that had burst through her aching ribs all at once.
Ryujin barely had time to react. Her eyes had gone wide, her free arm hanging loose for a fraction of a second before she instinctively wrapped it around Yeji’s shoulders, tugging her closer with a sharp, protective pull.
“You’re allowed to breathe now,” Ryujin murmured, her voice nearly swallowed by the low background chatter. “We’re here. We’re safe. You can let it go.”
For a moment, the room blurred around them, the laughter, the music, the shouts, all of it washed away in the hush of that shared breath.
A tremor ran through her, and then finally… finally Yeji exhaled.
It was ragged and low, but it was free.
Ryujin’s lips split into a small, relieved grin, her eyes softening into something tender, almost reverent.
“That’s my captain,” she whispered, so quietly it barely reached Yeji’s ears.
Yeji let out a strangled, broken laugh, her forehead tipping further into Ryujin’s neck, her hand still gripping her jersey as if she might never let go even if her ribs were protesting at the bend.
For a suspended moment, the entire room froze. A helmet dropped to the floor and rolled unnoticed into a corner. Someone’s mouth hung open in shock. Another player let out a strangled half-laugh, unsure whether to cheer or scream.
From the far side of the room, Lia’s eyes went comically huge, her mouth shaping a silent oh my god as she grabbed Chaeryeong’s arm so hard it nearly made her drop her water bottle.
Chaeryeong turned sharply, her own eyes mirroring Lia’s wide panic. They glanced back and forth between each other and the pair at the center of the room, reading the silent alarm in each other’s expression.
Lia sucked in a breath, her fingers flexing on Chaeryeong’s forearm. "We have to do something," she hissed, voice barely above a whisper.
Chaeryeong nodded rapidly, her ponytail bouncing. "They’re gonna get exposed… Everyone’s staring!"
Their eyes locked, a silent, panicked understanding passing in a single heartbeat.
"Team hug," Chaeryeong mouthed, her eyebrows shooting up.
Lia’s eyes blazed, her lips stretching into a wild grin. "Team hug," she whispered back, already leaning forward.
Without another word, they launched themselves across the room in perfect, chaotic tandem. Lia let out a shrill, rallying war cry as she jumped the nearest bench, her arms spread wide like she was going into a full dive. Chaeryeong barreled forward from the side, dodging stray gloves and water bottles, nearly slipping in the rush.
"TEAM HUG!!!" Lia screamed, her voice echoing off the walls like a siren.
"TEAM HUG! TEAM HUG!" Chaeryeong echoed, her high-pitched chant threading through the shocked laughter now starting to rise from their teammates.
Before Ryujin and Yeji could even react, Lia and Chaeryeong crashed into them, arms hooking around their shoulders and waists, effectively sandwiching them in a tangle of limbs and squealing giggles.
The entire locker room erupted then, the tension snapping in an instant. Cheers and howls burst through the air, players jumping from benches and scrambling across the floor to pile in. Someone chanted "U-S-A! U-S-A!" off-beat, another threw a towel like a victory flag, and gloves flew in every direction.
Yeji let out a strangled gasp, her face burning red, her arms instinctively tightening around Ryujin’s back even as she stumbled under the sudden crush. Ryujin’s stunned laugh rang out, loud and bright, her head dropping forward to rest against Yeji’s shoulder as she tried and failed to catch her breath.
Lia clung tightly to Yeji’s side, her face buried against her friend’s shoulder to hide the triumphant smirk tugging at her lips. She could feel Yeji’s heart pounding, the tremor of both relief and surprise humming beneath her skin.
Chaeryeong practically draped herself across Ryujin’s back, chanting U-S-A as if it were a sacred mantra. In the small, frantic chaos, she whispered low near Ryujin’s ear, "You owe us for this later," followed by a mischievous snort.
In the middle of that wild dogpile, the truth of Yeji and Ryujin’s embrace was swallowed into the larger chaos, disguised as just another spontaneous burst of team love. The carefully guarded secret, so fragile, so dangerously close to being seen, dissolved into harmless laughter and warmth.
Yeji squeezed her eyes shut, her cheek pressed against Ryujin’s hair, a shaky laugh escaping her lips as the noise surged around them.
For the first time since she had thrown herself into that impulsive hug, she could finally breathe.
Once the locker room began to quiet and the reporters were finally ushered away, the door creaked open again. Coach Donovan stepped inside first, followed closely by the team’s lead trainer, a heavy kit bag slung over his shoulder.
The chatter died instantly. Every player turned, tension rippling through the room like a sudden cold breeze.
Donovan’s eyes scanned the group. Proud, but hard-edged with a strict kind of love only a coach at this level could carry. His gaze finally settled on Yeji and Ryujin, both sitting on the same bench, leaning subtly into each other as if they could not help it.
“Yeji. Ryujin.” His voice was low, unyielding, but laced with an undercurrent of concern that only those who knew him best would hear.
They both straightened at once, despite the winces and quiet groans, hands bracing against the bench.
The trainer stepped forward, setting his kit on the floor with a heavy thump. He crouched in front of them, pulling out fresh rolls of compression tape, extra ice packs, and some over-the-counter pain relievers.
“Listen closely,” the trainer began, glancing pointedly from Ryujin’s taped shoulder to Yeji’s tightly wrapped ribs. “Tonight, no extra movements. No reviewing game film, no ‘light stretches’ you think are harmless. I want full rest. That means lying down, elevating legs if needed, and keeping those cold packs rotating.”
He turned to Ryujin first, his voice shifting slightly, sharper. “Your shoulder. Absolutely no sudden lifts, no using it to push yourself up. You ask for help if you need to get up. If you so much as try to tie your skates tomorrow without me or Yeji nearby, I will personally tape you to the wall. Understood?”
Ryujin blinked, a sheepish grin cracking through her exhausted features. “Yes, sir,” she rasped, though she glanced sideways at Yeji as if expecting to be scolded even more strictly later.
The trainer turned to Yeji next, his gaze softer but just as firm. “Captain. Your ribs — keep them compressed tonight and tomorrow. Deep breathing is fine, but avoid sudden twisting. No unnecessary contact, even joking shoves. You are not to so much as pick up a single stick until I clear you in the morning. Understood?”
Yeji swallowed hard, her jaw twitching once before she nodded, her voice low but steady. “Understood.”
Coach Donovan stepped forward then, folding his arms, his eyes sharp and assessing. “Tomorrow, we walk through tape. Strategy only — no on-ice drills, no contact.” He scanned the room slowly, making sure every player understood this was not just for the two of them, but for the whole team.
“You’ve all bled and crawled your way to this final. We do not win by burning out the night before. We win because we are smart enough to hold our fire when it matters most,” Donovan said, his voice steady and echoing slightly in the silent room.
Finally, his gaze returned to Yeji and Ryujin, his expression softening, even if only by a fraction. “You two have held this team together with spit and wire and raw nerve. Now, you let us hold you up. That is your only job tonight and tomorrow.”
Yeji lowered her gaze, a single tremor running through her shoulders, while Ryujin exhaled, her fingers twitching as if itching to move, to do more.
“Get taped. Get ice. Get to bed,” the trainer ordered as he rose, already motioning to an assistant to help unpack the supplies.
As they shuffled forward obediently, Ryujin leaned in close to Yeji, her lips just brushing the edge of her ear. “Guess we’re officially on nurse duty for each other,” she whispered, her voice low, warm, and trembling with a hint of laughter despite the pain.
Yeji’s lips twitched faintly, a small, tired smile breaking through the iron resolve. “Guess so,” she murmured back, her voice barely holding.
They stumbled back into the hotel room long after midnight, the electric hum of the arena still ringing in their bones, the echoes of the crowd still alive somewhere deep in their chests.
Ryujin’s arm hung in a fresh white sling, the soft fabric cradling her injured shoulder. Every small movement sent a ripple of pain through her ribs and thigh, but it was the shoulder that seemed to quiet her the most, the one thing she could not bluff her way through, no matter how many times she insisted she was fine.
Yeji hovered at her side, a cautious hand hovering near Ryujin’s back, as if ready to catch her at the first stumble. Her own ribs were still wrapped tight beneath her loose training shirt. Every movement made her wince, but her focus never drifted away from Ryujin, every small shift of her weight, every flinch.
“Sit,” Yeji ordered softly, nodding toward the edge of the bed.
Ryujin hesitated, her fingers curling around the hem of her shirt as she looked up at Yeji with a crooked, sheepish smile. “Yes, ma’am,” she teased weakly, her voice hoarse.
Ryujin sucked in a sharp breath as the bandages were revealed, bruises blooming in angry purples and deep reds along her ribs and side. Yeji’s fingers hovered just above her skin for a moment, trembling faintly.
“God,” Yeji whispered, her voice splintering into something thin and almost broken. “You took so many hits tonight.”
Ryujin tried to laugh, but it caught in her throat, dissolving into a shallow wheeze. She ducked her head, her hair falling forward to hide her face.
Yeji reached up, brushing the hair back behind Ryujin’s ear, her fingers slow and careful. Then, without a word, she rose, and slipped out into the hallway, her ribs aching with every careful breath, and found the team trainer just finishing up with another player.
When the trainer saw Yeji approaching, eyes sharp and unwavering even in her exhaustion, he let out a quiet sigh. “How’s she holding up?” he asked immediately, voice low, glancing over Yeji’s shoulder toward the room.
“Stubborn as hell,” Yeji muttered, her jaw tight. “But… she’s awake. Breathing. Joking.” Her voice snagged slightly on the last word.
The trainer gave a small, tired smile. “Sounds like Ryujin.” He glanced down at the medical kit in his hands and then handed Yeji a roll of fresh bandage tape, a small flexible cold pack, a couple of pain relievers, and a bottle of muscle-soothing gel.
“She needs to keep her ribs supported tonight. Re-wrap them if the current tape starts loosening. Use the cold pack on and off, no more than fifteen minutes at a time, then at least a fifteen-minute break in between.” he said, voice shifting into that firm, no-nonsense cadence Yeji recognized from the bench.
Yeji’s fingers closed tight around the supplies. She nodded once.
“Help her roll when she gets up. No sudden twisting, no quick bending. She’s going to want to prove she’s fine, but you can’t let her push it,” the trainer continued, his eyes narrowing, knowing exactly how Ryujin operated.
Yeji exhaled shakily, her mouth tightening. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t move more than she has to,” she said, her voice low but iron-strong.
“Good.” The trainer paused, his eyes softening for a heartbeat. “And, Yeji — remind her to breathe slowly. Even if it hurts. Shallow breathing can make it worse overnight.”
Yeji stood still for a moment, clutching the bandages and cold pack as if they were lifelines. She drew in a deep, shaky breath, as deep as her own bruised ribs allowed, and nodded again.
When she returned to the room, Ryujin looked up from where she was hunched forward on the bed, one arm wrapped protectively around her side. Her eyes softened immediately at the sight of Yeji, but she tried to straighten, a smirk tugging at her lips.
“Did they promote you to a personal nurse now?” she teased weakly, voice raspy but warm.
Yeji ignored the quip. She dropped to her knees in front of her, carefully setting the supplies on the mattress. Her fingers worked fast but gentle, peeling away the older tape around Ryujin’s ribs, inspecting each bruise with narrowed, assessing eyes.
Ryujin flinched slightly under her touch, sucking in a sharp breath, but Yeji only glanced up once. A warning glint in her gaze that said Do not move.
“I’m re-wrapping this,” Yeji murmured, her voice low but unwavering. “Fifteen minutes with the cold pack, then fifteen minutes off. You roll only with help. No sudden movements. And you breathe.”
Ryujin blinked, the words falling over her like a warm, fierce shield. For a long moment, she just watched Yeji work. She watched the way her brows knit together in concentration, the small tremor in her hands from her own exhaustion.
Then Ryujin let out a low, quiet laugh, breaking the hush. “You sound like you’ve been waiting all your life to boss me around like this.”
Yeji’s fingers paused briefly, her eyes snapping up, her jaw working as if she might snap back. But instead, her expression softened, her eyes dark and steady, her lips parting in a small, barely-there smile.
“Maybe I have,” she whispered, her voice almost too soft to hear.
Ryujin’s grin faltered for a moment, her eyes going wide before her expression collapsed into something warm and raw, her fingers twitching as if to reach for Yeji.
Yeji finished re-wrapping the tape, pressing down each layer with a careful firmness, then lifted the cold pack, settling it gently over Ryujin’s ribs. Her free hand rose instinctively to cup Ryujin’s cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye.
Yeji’s gaze never left her; sharp but soft, fierce but impossibly tender. She adjusted the cold pack gently, shifting closer until her forehead nearly brushed Ryujin’s.
“Does it hurt too much?” Yeji asked quietly, her voice low, words slipping out like a secret.
Ryujin lifted her eyes, a small, defiant spark still flickering behind them despite the exhaustion. “Only when you’re not touching me,” she rasped, a crooked smile ghosting across her lips.
Yeji scoffed softly, a tiny, breathless laugh breaking out despite herself. “You’re impossible,” she murmured, but her voice cracked at the edges.
“And you love it,” Ryujin shot back, her laugh breaking into a cough that made her wince sharply.
Yeji’s hand flew to her side, supporting her, her thumb tracing careful lines across her ribs. “Careful,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to do this every time,” Ryujin murmured, her voice low, raw around the edges. “You can let the trainers handle it. You don’t always have to fix me yourself.”
Yeji’s fingers curled instinctively around hers, her thumb pressing faint, deliberate circles into the base of Ryujin’s palm.
“But I want to,” Yeji whispered, her voice so soft it seemed to disappear into the shadows. “I need to.”
Ryujin’s lips parted, her throat working around a small, shaky laugh that nearly slipped into a sob. “You don’t owe me that, you know. You don’t have to make up for tonight.”
Yeji’s head snapped up at that, her eyes catching Ryujin’s with a sharp, wounded clarity. “It’s not about owing,” she rasped. “It’s because I choose to. Because every time I look at you, all I can think is I want you whole. I want you safe.”
Ryujin’s breath caught, her grip tightening until her fingers pressed hard into Yeji’s. She pushed herself forward slightly, wincing as her taped ribs stretched, until their faces hovered only inches apart.
Yeji’s free hand rose, her touch trembling but impossibly tender. Her eyes scanned every line, every bruise, every slight twitch of pain.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Ryujin whispered, her voice breaking with quiet, helpless laughter. “Like I might shatter if you breathe too hard.”
Yeji’s thumb drifted down, pausing at the sharp line of Ryujin’s jaw. “Because you almost did,” she answered softly.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was their uneven breathing, the gentle tick of the bedside clock, the distant echo of car horns below.
Then Ryujin surged forward the last inch, her forehead resting against Yeji’s, their noses brushing, breath warm and shaky between them.
“I’m fine,” Ryujin murmured, her lips almost grazing Yeji’s. “I’m here. With you.”
Yeji’s eyes slid shut, her shoulders trembling faintly under her own exhaustion. “I know,” she whispered, “But let me take care of you, just this once… and every time after.”
Ryujin’s laugh finally came, quiet and watery, spilling out in a small, trembling puff of air against Yeji’s lips.
“Okay, Captain,” she breathed, her smile curving slow and sure despite the pain. “Whatever you say.”
Yeji pulled back just enough to look at her and then pressed a gentle kiss to Ryujin’s forehead, her lips lingering as if anchoring them both there.
The room fell into a soft hush, only the low hum of the hallway beyond breaking the stillness. Ryujin shifted, carefully leaning back against the pillows, her breath coming in slow, measured pulls under Yeji’s watchful eye.
Yeji sat at the edge of the bed. Her ribs twinged sharply each time she breathed too deep, but she hardly seemed to notice. Her hands twisting nervously in her lap.
She drew in one shaky breath, her lips parting as she finally gathered the courage to speak.
“Ryu—”
But Ryujin’s eyes snapped open the moment she heard the tremor in Yeji’s voice, sharp and clear despite her exhaustion.
“Don’t,” Ryujin rasped, her voice low but resolute, slicing through the hush like a blade.
Yeji froze, her mouth still half-open, the word she had not yet spoken caught behind her teeth.
Ryujin pushed herself up with a slow, pained groan, her good hand immediately reaching out, catching Yeji’s wrist before she could pull away. Her fingers wrapped firm and steady around the fragile tremor there.
“You’re about to apologize,” Ryujin said, her eyes locking onto Yeji’s with a burning certainty. “Don’t.”
Yeji’s lips trembled, her lashes lowering in a desperate attempt to hide the crack forming across her expression. Her free hand hovered helplessly in the air, as though she could shield herself from the truth Ryujin had just ripped wide open.
Ryujin tugged gently at her wrist, urging her forward until Yeji shifted shakily up the bed, close enough that their knees bumped.
“Don’t you dare apologize to me,” Ryujin breathed, her thumb pressing slow, steady circles into the pulse point of Yeji’s wrist. “Not for that. Not ever.”
Yeji’s head dropped, her hair falling forward to hide her face. Her shoulders shuddered, each shallow breath a quiet battle against the wave building inside her.
Ryujin’s fingers tightened, anchoring her. “I know what you’re going to say,” she whispered, her voice softer now, breaking at the edges. “I saw it in your eyes the second I went down. But you don’t have to carry that. You don’t get to.”
Yeji let out a thin, strangled sound, something between a sob and a plea. Her forehead hovered just above Ryujin’s good shoulder, her whole body trembling.
“You were there,” Ryujin said again, fiercer now, her own voice quivering. “Even when you think you were late, you were there. You’re always there.”
Yeji finally collapsed forward that last inch, her forehead pressing into Ryujin’s shoulder, her hand curling around Ryujin’s fingers with a desperation so raw it made her ribs flare in protest.
Ryujin leaned forward too, despite the tug of pain in her shoulder and torso, their foreheads meeting, breaths crashing together in small, shivering gasps.
Ryujin pulled her even closer, her hand moving to cradle the back of Yeji’s neck, their hearts thudding unevenly in the fragile hush.
After a while, Yeji exhaled as she pulled back, her shoulders dropping as she finally allowed herself to feel the weight of everything. She pressed the heel of her palm lightly into her own taped ribs, wincing as a fresh ache bloomed under her touch.
Ryujin’s eyes drifted to her immediately, narrowing in concern. “Your turn,” she rasped, her voice rough but firm. “Take that off.”
Yeji hesitated, her fingers pausing at the hem of her training jersey. For a moment, she looked almost like she might argue. The captain was always so composed, so in control, so focused on everyone else before herself.
But Ryujin simply held her gaze, steady and unwavering, her fingers curling lightly in the sheets.
With a shallow, careful inhale, Yeji finally lifted the hem of her jersey. She peeled it up and over her head, moving slowly to avoid twisting too sharply, her ribs flaring in quiet protest.
The fabric slipped free and fell to the floor in a soft heap, leaving her in just her black sports bra and the tight, white tape wrapped around her torso. The bruises underneath pressed faint purple shadows along her skin, small angry bursts against the pale stretch of her ribcage.
Ryujin’s eyes softened instantly, her breath catching at the sight.
“Ji…” she started, but the word broke in her throat.
Yeji kept her head lowered for a moment, her hair falling forward to curtain her face, shoulders tight as if bracing for judgment. Slowly, she shifted forward, her hand rising to brush her damp hair back behind her ears.
When she finally lifted her gaze, Ryujin was staring up at her. Her eyes wide, raw, and filled with something that looked dangerously close to heartbreak.
Yeji tried for a small, dismissive scoff. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, her voice rougher than she intended. “I’ve had worse—”
But before she could finish, Ryujin reached forward, her hand trembling slightly as it found Yeji’s wrist. She pulled her down, inch by inch, until Yeji settled on the side of the bed.
Ryujin’s fingers moved slowly to trace the edge of the tape, feather-light and reverent.
Yeji’s mouth parted, her lips trembling faintly. Her free hand rose instinctively to cover Ryujin’s, pressing it flat against her taped ribs as if anchoring herself there.
For a moment, neither spoke. They simply breathed together.
Then Ryujin gave the faintest, crooked smile, her thumb brushing lightly along Yeji’s skin. “You look good,” she teased softly, her voice cracking just enough to reveal the fear still pulsing under her words.
Much later that night, Yeji sat in the hotel room’s dim glow, her ribs wrapped tight beneath a clean shirt.
Ryujin lay beside her on the bed, finally dozing, her breathing slow and uneven, her taped shoulder shifting slightly with each exhale. Even in sleep, her fingers curled loosely toward Yeji, as though reaching out by instinct alone.
Yeji sat perched on the edge, elbows propped on her knees, her face buried in her hands. The adrenaline had long since drained from her muscles, leaving behind only a gnawing ache and the echoes of everything that had nearly slipped away.
In her mind, the final seconds of the game replayed on an endless loop. The empty lane. The way Ryujin had held the puck just a moment longer than she should have, baiting two players wide. The pass, so perfectly timed it felt almost unreal, sliding across the ice toward her stick as if it had always belonged there.
At the time, she had acted on pure instinct. Skate forward, close the lane, fire. But now, in the heavy hush of the room, her heartbeat slowed enough for her mind to finally piece together the undercurrent.
Ryujin had not simply made a split-second play. She had given her that goal.
Yeji’s breath hitched. A tremor ran through her shoulders, the realization crashing into her ribs harder than any body check.
Yeji saw now; Ryujin had choices. She could have gone for the net herself, and she had the skill, the hands, the instinct to finish it. But in that last split second, Ryujin had turned her head, scanning, and locked onto Yeji instead.
Because Ryujin had seen it.
The fine line Yeji was walking.
The edge of losing herself to rage after that brutal hit, the near-snap when she had almost ripped off her glove to fight.
She knew Yeji was seconds away from unraveling. She was fraying at the edges, her mind and heart clashing in the aftermath of that penalty.
Ryujin had known that Yeji needed a way back in.
Not as a punishment, but as a redemption.
So Ryujin had given her the finish.
The control.
The final say.
The trust that she was going to bury that game-winning goal.
Yeji felt the tears rise, hot and blurring her vision, slipping down her cheeks to soak the edge of her palms.
In that quiet space, with the echo of Ryujin’s trust still ringing through her, Yeji knew she would carry that gift forever. Not just the game-winning goal, but the belief that, even at her worst, Ryujin saw the best in her.
Not to mention, it was a goal securing them a podium finish.
She turned slightly, looking at Ryujin’s sleeping form. In the soft, fractured glow of the bedside lamp, Ryujin looked impossibly young, her features slack with exhaustion, her injured shoulder held carefully by the sling even now.
A shaky laugh escaped Yeji, half-sob, half-sigh, as she reached out and brushed a loose lock of hair from Ryujin’s forehead.
“You knew,” Yeji whispered, her voice trembling so badly it nearly disappeared in the room’s quiet. “You knew it was going to break me. You gave me something to hold on to instead. Just so you can say I carried all of you home.”
Her fingers lingered at Ryujin’s temple, tracing light, reverent lines as though trying to memorize her shape all over again.
Yeji leaned forward then, resting her forehead gently against Ryujin’s, breathing her in like air after nearly drowning.
“Thank you,” she whispered, the words trembling against Ryujin’s skin. “For saving me… when I thought I was saving you.”
Ryujin stirred faintly at the touch, her lashes fluttering but not quite waking. A small, content exhale slipped past her lips, her fingers twitching once before settling again.
Yeji’s lips curved into a small, broken smile, her hand pressing lightly over Ryujin’s good hand on the blanket.
And as she sat there, ribs aching, head bowed, the weight of that silent gift settled into her bones.
Ryujin had not just trusted her with the final shot. She had trusted her with her heart, her composure, the very thing that made her captain.
“You drive me crazy,” Yeji whispered, her voice so low it almost disappeared into the hum of the city outside. “You scare me more than anything. You make me want to tear the whole rink apart if it means you’ll stay safe.”
A small, shaky laugh escaped her, dissolving quickly into a thin exhale.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say this when you’re awake,” Yeji admitted, her forehead dipping closer until it hovered just above Ryujin’s. “Because you’ll tease me, or you’ll smile that stupid, beautiful smile, and I’ll forget how to speak.”
Her lips trembled as they curved into the ghost of a smile, her eyes closing for a moment as she drew in a careful breath.
“I love you, Shin Ryujin.”
Chapter 34
Notes:
if the last chapter was long, i dont know how to apologize for this one...
anyway, happy update :)
Chapter Text
Back in Room 1726, Yeji awoke before the sun.
The dim gray of early morning pooled in the corners of their hotel room, spilling gently across the rumpled sheets, the stray ice packs abandoned on the nightstand, and the tangled nest of blankets they had clung to through the night. It was quiet. The kind of quiet that felt fragile, like it might shatter if she even dared to breathe too deeply.
Yeji stayed still for a long moment, her ribs tight and sore beneath the fresh bandage she had wrapped herself in before collapsing into bed hours earlier. She felt every bruise from the Germany game echo through her bones, but even as pain hummed beneath her skin, another feeling overshadowed it, sharp and warm in a way that made her chest feel impossibly full.
Slowly, carefully, she turned her head.
Ryujin slept curled beside her, sprawled diagonally across the bed. One arm lay tossed above her head, her fingers twitching slightly even in sleep. Her shoulder was tightly wrapped, and her ribs rose and fell shallowly, each breath catching on a hint of pain she probably would have denied if awake.
Yeji’s heart ached at the sight.
She let her eyes wander, across the dark bloom of bruises at Ryujin’s ribs, the faint scrapes near her collarbone, the soft shadow of vulnerability that flickered across her face in sleep. It struck Yeji all at once, raw and real and so much sharper than any hit she had taken on the ice.
She thought back to the night before: the noise of the crowd, the sharp scent of the locker room, the white-hot thrum of adrenaline that had coursed through her veins until her hands trembled even as she laced her skates. Then later, the exhausted hush in this very room, the way Ryujin had finally drifted into sleep after endless reassurances, her fingers still tangled lightly in Yeji’s hoodie like she was afraid to let her drift too far.
And Yeji, exhausted beyond measure, ribs burning, mind racing, had looked down at Ryujin’s sleeping face and felt the words claw their way up her throat before she could stop them.
I love you, Shin Ryujin.
She had whispered it so quietly that she almost was not sure she had actually said it aloud. But she had. And now, in this gray wash of morning, the truth of it rang louder than any roaring crowd or echoing horn.
Yeji’s fingers twitched against the sheets, the urge to reach out and trace the curve of Ryujin’s cheek so strong it nearly undid her. But she did not move. Instead, she lay there, feeling the tremor of those words echoing back through her chest.
It was terrifying .
Terrifying because it felt irreversible. Because it felt like surrendering every piece of armor she had ever built around herself. Every careful, controlled breath on the blue line, every steady command as captain.
But it was also a relief .
Like exhaling after holding her breath underwater for far too long.
Yeji closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gather herself. She replayed the soft shape of the words on her tongue, imagined them filling the space between them when Ryujin was awake, when she could no longer pretend it had been a fleeting slip of exhaustion.
Would Ryujin laugh?
Would she throw it back with a teasing smirk, some flirtatious jab to hide how deeply she felt things?
Or would she freeze, eyes wide, heartbeat stuttering as her mind caught up to the truth they had both been circling for what felt like years?
Yeji opened her eyes again, gaze settling on Ryujin’s face once more. She let herself watch the slow, careful rise and fall of her chest, the fragile proof that she was still here, still breathing, still fighting.
A shaky breath shivered out of her.
She knew, deep in her bones, that the gold medal game waited just beyond this sunrise.
The cameras, the bright lights, the noise… it all waited.
But none of it felt quite as real, as terrifying, or as necessary as this small moment beside the person she loved more than she had ever dared to admit.
Yeji swallowed, her fingers finally twitching forward to barely brush a stray strand of hair from Ryujin’s forehead. The contact was featherlight. Then she settled back into her pillow, her ribs aching but her chest somehow lighter.
Tomorrow would come.
The gold medal game would come.
The culmination of every battle, every drill, every moment they had dared to push past the edge of their limits.
But for this moment, here in the soft gray glow of morning, Yeji let herself have this one quiet truth.
A sharp knock rattled through the quiet hush of the room, splintering the fragile cocoon Yeji had wrapped around herself in the gray dawn. She flinched instinctively, her hand snapping back from where it had been hovering over Ryujin’s hair.
Ryujin stirred, her brows furrowing, a low groan vibrating in her chest as she shifted against the sheets. Her eyes cracked open, dark and glassy with sleep, darting first to Yeji and then to the door as the knock came again, firmer this time.
Yeji drew a slow breath, making her ribs sting. She swallowed down the flicker of panic and the soft ache of the moment she had just lost. Then she pushed herself upright, one hand pressing lightly against her side as she moved to stand.
“Stay here,” she murmured to Ryujin in a low voice, her tone slipping easily into that familiar, commanding steadiness she used on the ice. But there was something softer under it too.
A plea more than an order .
Ryujin blinked at her, lips parting as if to protest, but she stopped when she saw the set of Yeji’s jaw, the way her fingers twitched at her side. Slowly, she let her head sink back into the pillows, her breath still shallow, her shoulder stiff beneath its wrap.
Yeji shuffled to the door, every step a negotiation with her bruised ribs and the heavy stiffness clinging to her body. When she cracked the door open, the hallway light spilled in, harsh and sudden against the soft dawn shadows.
“Morning, Captain,” the trainer greeted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Her gaze immediately fell to Ryujin on the bed, taking in the tangle of ice and tape with a low, thoughtful hum. “How are the two of you holding up? Tomorrow is not exactly forgiving territory.”
Yeji exhaled slowly, the sound cutting through the quiet like a blade. “We will be ready,” she answered, her voice low but resolute, as though she could will it to be true despite the deep bruising hidden beneath her own taped ribs.
She nodded in Ryujin’s direction. “She finally fell asleep a few hours ago,” she murmured.
The trainer nodded, moving quietly toward Ryujin. She set the kit bag down at the edge of the bed and crouched low, her fingers expertly peeling back the edges of the bandages on Ryujin’s shoulder.
“Morning, sunshine,” the trainer teased gently, though her hands never stopped their steady, practiced work. “Try not to punch me when I poke around.”
Ryujin let out a groggy, humorless laugh that turned into a wince almost immediately. “No promises,” she muttered, voice thick with sleep and pain.
Yeji hovered behind the trainer, her arms folded loosely in front of her, one hand occasionally drifting to her ribs as though to steady her breath.
Despite her own discomfort, her focus remained fixed on Ryujin, her eyes darting to every twitch and flinch.
“You have got to stop trying to prove that you are indestructible,” the trainer muttered, her voice a careful balance of gentle admonishment and genuine worry.
Ryujin forced a weak, crooked grin, her eyes flicking toward Yeji’s rigid silhouette by the window. “We both know who’s worse,” she rasped, tipping her chin slightly at Yeji.
The trainer let out a short, sharp laugh but did not look up from her work. “You two are going to age me twenty years before this tournament is over,” she said, carefully adjusting the bandages.
The trainer pressed carefully along Ryujin’s ribs, pausing each time she drew a sharp breath or her fingers curled into the sheets.
Yeji instinctively stepped closer, her fingers curling around the back of the chair beside the bed, her eyes locked on Ryujin’s face.
“Breathe, Ryu,” Yeji murmured, her voice low, warm, that captain’s steadiness threaded with something gentler, something only for Ryujin.
Ryujin’s eyes snapped to Yeji’s, her jaw clenched tight. Slowly, she drew in a shallow, shaky inhale, then let it out through her nose, her gaze pinned to Yeji’s like it was the only tether she had left.
The trainer paused briefly, her eyes flicking between them before her mouth twitched. A small, knowing curve. Then she continued her examination in silence.
“Still tender,” she observed quietly. “Range of motion in the shoulder?”
Ryujin attempted to lift her arm, making it only halfway before a hiss escaped her lips. She dropped it back down with a resigned grunt, turning her head slightly toward Yeji.
Yeji’s jaw tensed, but she did not move forward. Instead, she held Ryujin’s gaze, silently reminding her to breathe, to take it slow.
“Rest today,” the trainer said firmly, taping down the new bandage with practiced precision. “I mean it. Both of you. I already saw the ice schedule. You are not touching it.”
Yeji opened her mouth to protest, but the trainer cut her off with a sharp look.
“And you,” she added, turning her focus on Yeji. “I know you are itching to run drills, but that rib is still fragile. You so much as skate too hard, you will tear it worse.”
Yeji exhaled heavily, her shoulders slumping as she finally nodded. “Understood,” she said, though her voice hinted at reluctant acceptance rather than true surrender.
When the trainer finally rose to pack away her supplies, she gave them both a long, assessing look. “Rest today. Light mobility work if you must, but no ice time, no last-minute drills. You need every ounce of strength for tomorrow. You both understand?”
Ryujin nodded first, her shoulders sagging in relief even though she rolled her eyes dramatically. Yeji followed with a slower, more reluctant nod, her fingers curling into a loose fist against her knee.
The trainer’s expression softened just enough to reveal the sliver of affection beneath her professional guard. She gave Yeji a careful pat on the shoulder and squeezed Ryujin’s wrist lightly before stepping toward the door.
“Take care of each other,” she said over her shoulder, her voice lower now, touched with something almost maternal. “That gold medal game will be waiting. You will need each other at your best.”
As the door clicked shut, a heavy silence fell over the room once more. Ryujin shifted, grimacing as she tried to push herself higher against the pillows. Yeji instinctively reached out to help, guiding her gently without a word.
“Rest,” Yeji murmured, her thumb lingering just at Ryujin’s temple.
Ryujin let out a shaky breath, leaning slightly into the touch. “Only if you do,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible.
Yeji’s lips curved into a tired but genuine smile. “Deal,” she answered simply, as though it were the easiest promise in the world.
By the time the room had settled again into a fragile hush, the morning had stretched into a pale, gentle glow.
The city outside was fully awake now. The muffled rumble of cars slipping through the streets, the faint clatter of sidewalk cafés coming alive, the soft rise and fall of voices drifting through the window cracks.
Yeji stayed perched at Ryujin’s bedside for a while longer after the trainer’s checkup. She watched Ryujin’s chest rise and fall, the fresh bandages tight against her ribs, her face soft in that rare, unguarded way it only seemed to be when Yeji was close.
Eventually, Ryujin’s breathing evened out again, her lashes fluttering shut as exhaustion reclaimed her. Yeji lingered there, fingers itching to smooth a stray strand of hair from Ryujin’s forehead. But she held still, her own chest tight with the echo of words she had whispered the night before, words that still buzzed in her bones like an unfinished confession.
After a long, silent moment, Yeji rose carefully from the edge of the bed. She moved slowly, one hand pressed lightly against her taped ribs, her body wincing in small tremors with every shallow breath. She glanced back at Ryujin, who was still asleep, her face now turned into the pillow.
Yeji gathered her wallet, room key, and carefully shrugged on her jacket, moving as quietly as she could, careful not to disturb her ribs. She slipped to the door, her fingers curling around the handle, her breath held as if the smallest sound might shatter the fragile quiet of the room.
Just as she began to turn the handle, a low, hoarse voice rose from behind her.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Yeji’s entire body stiffened. She turned slowly to find Ryujin pushing herself upright on her good arm against the headboard, her hair a tangled mess around her face, her eyes half-lidded but sharp, her body rigid as she worked to sit up without jarring her ribs or thigh.
“Go back to sleep,” Yeji ordered softly, her voice slipping into that captain’s steadiness. “I was going to get coffee and bread for us.”
Ryujin scoffed, though it came out more like a cough, her hand flying to brace her ribs. She let out a slow, pained breath, then fixed Yeji with that familiar, mischievous glint that even injuries could not dull.
“I’m coming,” she rasped.
Yeji’s brows shot up. “You need to rest—”
Ryujin’s brows knitted together, her lips twisting into a stubborn line. “Rest? I need to move. Trainer’s orders — ‘light mobility ,’” she added, imitating the trainer’s strict tone.
Yeji exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening on the door handle. She looked at Ryujin for a long moment, taking in the defiance in her eyes and the subtle tremble of her hands as she pushed the blanket away. Slowly, Yeji’s resolve softened.
Yeji’s jaw worked soundlessly for a moment. She glanced at Ryujin’s wrapped shoulder and taped thigh, her ribs hidden beneath her loose shirt, and let out a sharp sigh.
“You are unbelievable,” she muttered, though her voice softened at the edges.
A small, triumphant grin broke across Ryujin’s face, bright despite the pain that flickered behind it. “I’ll come. Call it… exercise ,” she insisted, already awkwardly reaching for her jacket.
Yeji’s lips parted, an exasperated protest rising to the tip of her tongue, but it died when she looked closer.
Yeji exhaled, her shoulders sinking. She gave a small, reluctant nod, “Fine,” she murmured. “But you’re moving slow today. And you listen to me .”
Ryujin rolled her eyes, “Yes ma’am,” she croaked, her lips twitching into a small, crooked grin.
After a moment, Ryujin swung her legs over the side of the bed, planting her feet carefully on the carpet. She paused, her breath hitching as her thigh tensed beneath her. Yeji hovered nearby, hands twitching as though she might reach out, but she stayed still, letting Ryujin fight through it on her own terms.
Once Ryujin steadied herself, she shuffled toward the bathroom, her steps uneven and slow. Yeji followed, close enough to catch her if she faltered but careful not to hover too obviously.
Ryujin leaned heavily against the sink, one hand braced on the counter as she struggled to unscrew the cap of her toothpaste. Her fingers trembled, her taped shoulder refusing to cooperate fully. After a few failed attempts, she let out a sharp, frustrated huff, her head bowing low.
Yeji watched for a heartbeat longer, then stepped forward silently. Without a word, she took the toothpaste from Ryujin’s hand, twisting it open easily and squeezing a neat line onto her toothbrush.
Ryujin’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. “I can do it,” she muttered, though her voice was shaky and more embarrassed than angry.
Yeji’s gaze softened, her eyes holding that same calm weight she always carried on the blue line. She set the toothpaste aside, gently pressing the toothbrush into Ryujin’s palm.
“I know,” Yeji murmured, her voice low and even. “But you don’t have to right now.”
Ryujin held her gaze for a long, stubborn moment before her shoulders slumped. She ducked her head, bringing the toothbrush to her mouth with slow, careful movements. Every now and then she paused, grimacing as the motion tugged on her bruised ribs and tight shoulder.
Yeji stayed close, hovering quietly at her side, her hand resting lightly against Ryujin’s back in silent support.
When Ryujin finally finished, she spat into the sink and leaned forward heavily, her forehead nearly resting against the mirror. She let out a long, shaky breath, her eyes slipping shut as though the weight of the entire week had just collapsed onto her shoulders all at once.
Yeji reached up then, her fingers threading lightly through Ryujin’s hair, smoothing it back in slow, comforting motions.
After a beat, Ryujin cracked one eye open, her lips curling weakly. “Don’t think this gets you out of buying me the good pastry,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against her own arm.
Yeji let out a laugh, a real one, soft and surprised, echoing faintly in the small bathroom. “Fine,” she said, her fingers pausing to rest against the back of Ryujin’s neck. “But you’re carrying your own coffee.”
Ryujin scoffed, straightening with another wince but managing to stand a little taller. “Okay,” she rasped, her grin crooked and bright despite everything.
They emerged from the bathroom slowly, moving like two old soldiers who had fought too many battles but were somehow still laughing about it.
Yeji carefully pulled her jacket back over her shoulders, her breath catching once as the fabric dragged across her taped ribs. She paused, bracing her hand against the dresser, her eyes closing in a brief moment.
Ryujin watched her from the edge of the bed. Her lips twitched as she tilted her head, her hair falling forward to frame her face.
“You look like you’re about to go negotiate a trade deal, not get coffee,” Ryujin teased, her voice still scratchy but now edged with playful warmth.
Yeji opened her eyes slowly. “I have to be prepared,” she shot back, her tone dry. “I am going with a professional troublemaker.”
Ryujin’s grin widened, crooked and bright. She tossed her toothbrush onto the nightstand and pushed herself up with a low groan, standing on her good leg first.
“You know,” she said, stretching carefully as she glanced toward her duffel bag by the corner, “if we’re already up and moving…”
Yeji’s gaze snapped toward her instantly, sharp and knowing.
“Ryujin.” she warned, her voice dipping low, slipping easily into that captain’s timbre that could make even the loudest locker room fall silent.
But Ryujin only raised her hands in mock surrender, her grin unfading. “Hear me out,” she began, limping over to the bag and dropping into a chair with a wince. “Light skate. Just… easy laps. No drills. No shooting.”
Yeji’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “No.”
“Stretch the legs,” Ryujin insisted, hobbling closer, her gear clutched against her chest like a kid smuggling contraband candy. “Feel the ice under us before tonight. We don’t have to push.”
Yeji crossed her arms, her breath shallow, her ribs twinging in protest. “You can barely walk,” she snapped, though her voice trembled slightly.
Ryujin softened a little then, her grin faltering. She stepped closer, stopping just within Yeji’s reach. “I know,” she said, her voice dropping low, almost gentle. “Okay, let’s just watch them practice?”
Yeji looked at her, really looking at the bruises still darkening Ryujin’s collarbone, at the careful way she shifted her weight off her injured thigh, at the gleam of stubborn, raw devotion in her eyes.
There was a long pause. Yeji’s jaw worked silently, her fingers twitching where they rested on her crossed arms. Finally, she let out a shaky breath, tilting her head back slightly as though offering a silent prayer to the ceiling.
“Okay,” she said finally, her voice low and sharp. “Don’t bring your skates. Just to be sure. We leave the second you start limping more than you already are.”
Ryujin’s entire face lit up, her grin bursting back across her features as if the sun had broken through. “Deal,” she breathed, already leaning forward to rest her forehead against Yeji’s shoulder for a brief, reverent moment.
Yeji sighed again, one hand lifting to press lightly at the back of Ryujin’s neck, her thumb brushing a slow arc there.
“We’ll grab coffee first,” she muttered, though her lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a smile. “So you have enough energy to come crawling back when you collapse.”
Once they were both bundled and steady on their feet, they shuffled carefully down the hallway, every step a challenge with their battered bodies.
The early morning chill nipped at their skin when they stepped outside, but it felt clean, almost reviving after the stifling air of the rink and recovery rooms.
The café was tucked along a quieter stretch of Rue Saint-Urbain, its windows fogged with warmth and the scent of fresh espresso bleeding into the street. Inside, it was cozy. Wood-paneled walls, soft jazz humming from a speaker, and the faint clatter of cups behind the counter.
Yeji stepped forward first, scanning the small chalkboard menu.
Ryujin moved to hover near a display case, her eyes lighting up as she pressed her forehead to the glass, inspecting flaky croissants and delicate tarts.
Yeji made her way to the counter, her movements steady despite her injury. When the barista turned to her with a warm, accented “Bonjour,” Yeji straightened subtly, her chin lifting.
“Bonjour,” Yeji greeted back, “ Nous voudrions deux cafés — un noir, un au lait, s’il vous plaît… Et deux pains au chocolat et une baguette.” Yeji said in smooth, fluent French. Her voice dropped slightly as she spoke, the words rolling low and sure.
Ryujin’s head snapped up so fast she nearly jostled her shoulder. She stared, eyes wide, mouth dropping open in shock that dissolved almost immediately into a crooked grin.
The barista tapped the register, then looked up and asked with a slight tilt of the head, “ Sur place ou à emporter? ”
Ryujin did not understand the words, but Yeji’s soft smile, paired with the casual way she responded, made her stomach flip.
“ À emporter . Merci bien. ”
Yeji handed over the cash, calmly accepting the change and turning to find Ryujin gaping at her.
“ Holy shit ,” Ryujin whispered, suspiciously impressed. “You understood that?”
Yeji gave a faint shrug, eyes still forward. “She asked if it was for here or to go.”
“You… you didn’t tell me you spoke French,” Ryujin spluttered, her voice pitching high despite the rasp still clinging to it.
Yeji’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smirk. “You never asked,” she replied, her voice dipping low again, almost conspiratorial.
Ryujin stared at her for a beat longer before a slow, incredulous grin spread across her face. She stepped closer, her fingers brushing Yeji’s elbow lightly for balance.
“God, I wanna kiss you right now,” she murmured, voice low, a rough whisper only for Yeji.
Yeji’s dark eyes glimmered, her lips twitching as she leaned in just slightly. “What’s stopping you?” she asked, her tone dipped low again, just as it had been at the counter.
And Ryujin froze.
Just… froze .
She stood there, blinking once, lips parting slightly, caught between instinct and consequence. The city sounds outside dulled, and all that remained was the steam of the espresso machine, the quiet jazz, and the press of Yeji’s gaze.
Yeji smirked, stepping past her to collect their order as the barista called out.
“Do it next time when it’s not just an empty threat,” she said over her shoulder. Then muttered a soft “Mercí” to the barista as she gathered their order.
Ryujin exhaled in a slow, stunned breath, then swallowed as the corner of her mouth twitched helplessly upward. She was still standing in the exact same spot when Yeji turned around, paper bag and two coffees in hand, nodding toward the door.
“Come on, superstar,” Yeji said, with deliberate weight on the words. “Before you do something we both regret having on tomorrow’s front page.”
Ryujin let out a breathy, incredulous laugh, shaking her head as she followed, her limp pronounced but determined, heart pounding loud beneath every step.
Their careful shuffle back from the café felt impossibly long, each step echoing with the ache of bruises and the silent, unspoken words hanging heavy between them.
When they reached a narrow side street just a block from their hotel, Ryujin suddenly paused. She glanced around.
No cars, no early pedestrians, no stray fans with camera phones; and then she turned, grabbing lightly at Yeji’s sleeve.
Yeji froze mid-step, her breath catching as she looked back, her eyes wide with quiet surprise. Ryujin’s fingers trembled faintly against the thick fabric of Yeji’s jacket, her own injuries making the small movement look almost delicate.
Yeji’s breath shivered out in a white puff in the cold air. Her eyes searched Ryujin’s face for a moment, as though checking every fragile crack beneath the stubbornness and the bruised smirks.
Her eyebrows raised. “Thigh acting up?”
But Ryujin was already stepping closer. One careful, deliberate pace, then another. Her eyes never left Yeji’s. “No,” she said softly.
Then Ryujin’s hand rose slowly, slipping to the side of Yeji’s face. Her thumb brushed gently under Yeji’s eye, and for a moment, Yeji just stood there, her own breath caught, her chest trembling.
Ryujin’s lips parted, her eyes going glassy as she searched Yeji’s face for any sign of hesitation, of doubt.
But there was none.
Only that steady warmth, not disappearing even in the biting cold.
Ryujin leaned forward, closing the space between them in one slow, certain movement.
Their lips met.
A soft, careful kiss at first, almost shy, trembling with the weight of all the hidden pain and the careful restraint they had been forced to carry. Then it deepened, Yeji tilting closer, Ryujin’s hand steadying her jaw, anchoring her.
When they pulled apart, breaths mingling, Yeji stayed close, her forehead resting against Ryujin’s.
“It wasn’t an empty threat,” Ryujin murmured.
Yeji gave Ryujin a look – half exasperation, half helpless adoration. Ryujin’s thumb was still sweeping lightly along Yeji’s jaw as if she could memorize every fragile tremor there.
Yeji snorted softly, her smile twitching wider as she shook her head, her voice a low, teasing rasp. “Couldn’t wait one more block?” she challenged, eyebrows lifting in playful accusation.
Ryujin let out a low breath that almost sounded like a laugh, her dark eyes rolling just faintly as she leaned in closer again.
“It’s a long walk,” she murmured, “Then there’s the hotel lobby. Then the long-ass elevator ride. Then the long hallway to our room…”
She paused there, letting the words hang in the thin winter air. Her lips hovered barely an inch above Yeji’s, her breath mingling in tiny white puffs that curled between them.
Ryujin’s grin faltered at the edges, her breath catching, her fingers tightening lightly in Yeji’s sleeve. Her eyes flickered down to Yeji’s mouth, then back up, wide and dazed.
“So impatient, mon cœur, ” Yeji murmured, her voice dropping into that low, velvety French that had already undone Ryujin twice that morning. The words slipped out like warm honey, carrying a quiet authority that made Ryujin’s entire body go still.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Hwang Yeji.” she whispered, her voice wrecked and bright all at once.
They arrived at the hotel and stepped into the elevator at last, the doors sliding shut with a soft metallic sigh that swallowed the world outside, the crisp Montreal air, the lingering scent of butter and coffee, the distant hum of morning chatter.
Inside the small space, Ryujin leaned heavily against the mirrored wall, her breath uneven, her thigh still protesting every step. Yeji stood beside her, careful not to let her bruised ribs touch the cold surface, the bag of pastries and coffee balanced neatly in her hands.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Their reflections glimmered in the polished walls: two battered warriors, hair mussed from the wind, cheeks pink with cold and something deeper that neither dared to name outright.
Ryujin finally broke the silence, her voice still hoarse but now edged with restless curiosity. Her head tipped sideways against the wall, eyes fixed on Yeji with a quiet intensity.
“ Mon cœur ,” she echoed softly, her lips shaping the words as if testing them for the first time. “What does that mean?”
Yeji’s eyes flicked to her, startled for a moment, as though she had not expected to hear it spoken back so soon. Her fingers twitched faintly around the paper bag, her breath catching in her chest.
She swallowed, her voice low and careful when she finally answered. “Literally?” she began, her dark gaze steady on Ryujin’s face. “It means ‘my heart .’”
Ryujin’s eyes stayed locked on hers, unblinking. She took a slow breath, her fingers curling against her jacket hem as though she needed to hold onto something.
“And… what does it actually mean?” she pressed, her voice dropping into something softer, stripped bare of all her usual bravado.
Yeji’s lips parted, her jaw working once as though the words snagged at the edge of her throat. She glanced down at the coffees in her hands, then back up, her gaze tender and unguarded in a way Ryujin had rarely seen off the ice.
“It means…” Yeji paused, exhaling shakily before her voice slipped out in a whisper, so quiet it barely reached the small space between them. “ My darling .”
The words hovered in the air like a held breath.
Ryujin’s eyes widened, her lips parting as though to laugh or protest or tease, but nothing came out. Instead, her expression crumpled softly at the edges, her hand rising instinctively to press lightly against her own chest, right where her heart stuttered beneath her ribs.
For a long, heavy moment, the elevator seemed to shrink around them. The hum of the motor climbing floor by floor, but neither of them moved.
Then Ryujin exhaled, her breath shuddering as she dipped her head forward, her hair falling around her face like a soft curtain. A small, disbelieving laugh broke from her lips.
“ My darling ,” she echoed, her voice trembling.
Yeji only watched her, her ribs aching with each uneven breath, her fingers still clutching the warm bag as if it were the only thing anchoring her.
When the elevator finally pinged at their floor, neither of them moved for a beat longer, the words still echoing between them. Then, slowly, Yeji reached forward, the pastry bag brushing lightly against Ryujin’s elbow.
“Breakfast first.” Yeji murmured, her voice steady now, even as it wavered with something deeply tender.
Ryujin looked up, her lips curling into a small, quiet smile. She gave a single shaky nod before pushing herself upright to follow.
As they stepped into the hallway and began the careful walk back to their room, Ryujin’s hand hovered close to Yeji’s, fingers twitching every few steps as though aching to close that last inch of space, as if fighting the urge to reach out and tug Yeji back to her.
They shuffled in silence for a few steps down the hall, the distant hum of hotel housekeeping carts drifting faintly behind closed doors.
Finally, she drew in a careful breath, her voice slicing softly through the hush.
“Should I,” she began, her words uneven with a quiet, teasing edge, “be worried that you know how to flirt in French?”
Yeji stopped mid-step. She turned her head slowly over her shoulder.
“Worried?” Yeji repeated, her voice low, the faintest smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She tilted her head slightly, “Why would you be worried?”
Ryujin took another slow step forward, her grin cracking wide, “Because,” she shot back, her voice raspy but growing steadier with each word, “I’ve spent years thinking I knew all your tricks… and now you pull this out of nowhere?”
Yeji turned fully then, her back resting lightly against the wall, her arms curling protectively around the bag of pastries and the two coffees. She lowered her gaze, her smirk softening into something more tender, more deliberate.
“ Mon cœur ,” she murmured, slipping easily back into that smooth, velvety French cadence that had already left Ryujin rattled all morning.
Yeji leaned in just slightly, her voice dropping lower. “You think I learned that to flirt with anyone?” she asked, each word measured, each syllable heavy with quiet certainty. “No one was worth the trouble.”
The pale carpeting of the hallway, the soft overhead lights… all of it blurring into the edges of Ryujin’s pounding pulse.
Her mouth fell open, her grin faltering into something softer, almost stunned. Her hand twitched again, her fingers curling into her sleeve as though she needed to hold herself together.
“ Fucking hell, ” she finally managed, her voice low and wrecked with awe, “you’re insane.”
Yeji’s lips curled further, her breath shallow but unwavering as she straightened up, shifting the bag and coffees in her hands. “Maybe,” she murmured. “But you’re the only one who gets it.”
For a moment, Ryujin just stood there, her eyes wide, her chest rising and falling in short, careful breaths. Then a small, helpless laugh burst out of her, sharp and bright, echoing down the empty hallway.
“Get back in the room,” she choked out between soft giggles, her eyes shining, her face flushed and alive despite every bruise. “Before I forget we’re in public and break every injury rule we just promised the trainer.”
Yeji snorted, a rare, warm laugh spilling from her lips as she finally turned, her steps slow but steady as she led them the final stretch to their door.
The room was wrapped in a hush, the early light drifting lazily across the rumpled bedsheets and the scattered remnants of their quiet breakfast. Empty cups and a half-eaten pastry left on the small table. The energy from their brief morning adventure had already begun to fade, replaced by the slow, heavy ache that seeped into every bruise and wrapped bandage.
Ryujin lay back against a mound of pillows, her face turned toward the ceiling, eyes half-closed as she struggled to breathe without stirring the sharp pain in her ribs. Her shoulder throbbed beneath the thick bandage, and her thigh pulsed with a deep, hot ache that refused to settle.
Yeji stood at the foot of the bed, her expression tight with focus. She looked Ryujin over, taking in the swelling along her ribs and the way her fingers trembled against the sheets. She stepped closer, reaching out to press a careful hand to Ryujin’s injured shoulder.
“Hold still,” Yeji ordered, her voice low but edged with authority. The firmness in her tone left no room for protest, and Ryujin went quiet, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths.
But then Yeji paused. She glanced down at her own torso, the edge of her shirt shifted, revealing the tight band of white tape spiraling around her bruised ribs. Every breath stung, her muscles tight and unsteady beneath the bruises she had barely allowed herself to acknowledge since the final buzzer.
She let out a slow exhale and stepped back from the bed. Without a word, she reached for the hem of her shirt and tugged it over her head, careful not to aggravate her ribs. The garment slipped to the floor with a soft rustle, revealing the deep purple bruising scattered under her sports bra, the tape tight against her skin like an extra layer of armor.
Ryujin’s eyes flickered open fully now, tracking every movement with a mix of concern and something softer, more tender. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but Yeji lifted a hand to silence her, her gaze unwavering.
Yeji moved to the table, picking up a fresh roll of bandage. She carefully unwound the older wrap around her ribs, wincing as the tape peeled away from bruised skin. Her jaw clenched, a thin sheen of sweat starting to form at her temple as she worked. Once the old bandage was free, she drew in a breath, steadying herself before tightening the new wrap around her torso, layer by careful layer.
She paused only once, closing her eyes against the sting. Then she reached for an ice pack, pressed it firmly against her side, and let her head tip forward, her hair falling across her face as she held it there.
For a few long moments, the room was silent except for the occasional hiss of Yeji’s breath and the low, restless shifting of Ryujin on the bed.
Finally, Yeji straightened. She brushed her hair back from her face, her eyes sharpening as they found Ryujin’s again. Slowly, she moved back to the bedside, her hand hovering above Ryujin’s shoulder once more.
“Alright,” Yeji murmured, her voice lower now, softened by fatigue and the echo of pain. “Your turn.”
Ryujin let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding. Her eyes drifted down, catching the lines of Yeji’s taped torso and the soft flex of muscle beneath each movement. A teasing, fragile smile crept across her lips despite the bruising pain.
“Are you trying to distract me with your abs?” she rasped, her voice hoarse but laced with that flickering mischief only Ryujin could still summon.
Yeji’s lips curved faintly, her fingers finally landing against Ryujin’s shoulder to adjust the bandage with meticulous care. “Is it working?” she asked, her tone slipping into that low, even register that always seemed to unravel Ryujin’s composure.
Ryujin let out a short, breathy laugh that shook her ribs and made her wince. “Am I still moving?” she croaked, her eyes bright with defiance.
Yeji paused mid-motion, her eyes locking onto Ryujin’s with quiet intensity. She shook her head slowly, each movement deliberate and certain. “No,” she answered, her thumb brushing softly along the edge of Ryujin’s bandage.
Ryujin’s grin softened, her fingers curling weakly into the sheets as her body sagged deeper into the pillows. “Then yes,” she breathed, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Yes, it’s working.”
Yeji’s laugh spilled out then, low and shaky, breaking the tension just enough to slip between them like warmth on a cold morning. She leaned in, resting her forehead gently against Ryujin’s, her breath a soft echo against her skin.
A few hours later, Yeji stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel through her hair with one hand and checking her own phone with the other. She padded over to Ryujin and leaned over slightly.
“Did you get it yet?” she asked.
Ryujin nodded, pulling up the app their team managers used for scheduling rink access. Her brows furrowed as she zoomed in on the morning slots.
“Found it,” Ryujin said through a yawn, dragging the screen down to refresh. “Updated schedule for today.”
Yeji turned slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Ice time?”
Ryujin nodded, scrolling slowly. “Yeah. Whole team’s training together. No group rotations. Just one long session.”
“Two straight hours,” Yeji murmured, eyes scanning the page. “No half-ice splits, no line groups?”
“Nope.” Ryujin handed her the phone. “They’re locking in chemistry, I guess. Last prep before the gold medal game. Want to go watch?”
Yeji hesitated. Her ribs still ached when she twisted too sharply, and her hoodie was hiding the ice pack she had wedged against her side earlier.
Ryujin, meanwhile, had one leg stretched out with the compression wrap still wrapped around her thigh. They both looked like they had been through hell and maybe still lived in it.
But they were restless.
And the quiet ache of not being on the ice, of not feeling the rhythm of the game as the team pulled tighter and faster around them, was worse than any bruise.
“I want to see what the final lines are,” Yeji said finally. “And what they’re doing with Jeongyeon on the penalty kill.”
Ryujin gave her a knowing smile. “And you want to make sure they don’t mess with your pairings without telling you.”
“I am the captain,” Yeji replied dryly.
Ryujin laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Yeji moved to her bag, slowly pulling her jacket over her hoodie. “We go at two. Five minutes after the skate starts. Not early enough to be noticed, not late enough to look dramatic.”
Ryujin started moving too, tossing off the blanket and reaching for her sweatpants, wincing as she stood. “What if I want to look dramatic?”
“Of course you do,” Yeji muttered without turning, grabbing a protein bar for the walk down.
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
By the time they were lacing up their sneakers at the door, the rest of the hallway was beginning to stir. Footsteps in the distance, muffled thumps of gear bags being rolled past.
Neither of them wore their full tracksuits. They were not required on the ice. They were not skating.
But they were going.
Yeji paused, one hand on the doorknob. “We stay at the bench. No stepping out. No stick in hand. No chirping.”
Behind her, Ryujin raised both brows as she zipped up her jacket, her thigh brace peeking out over the hem of her sweatpants. “I’m literally injured,” she deadpanned. “You think I can chirp?”
Yeji turned her head just slightly, enough to give her a long, unimpressed look.
Ryujin caved immediately, exhaling through her nose with a sheepish smile. “Okay, yeah,” she muttered. “I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
Yeji arched an eyebrow, turning back to the door. “Just your mouth?”
Ryujin’s grin widened. “Can’t make promises about my face .”
Yeji snorted, but the corner of her lips twitched before she could suppress it. She shook her head once, pulled the door open, and gestured with a tilt of her chin.
The rink was nearly silent that afternoon, the crisp scrape of blades echoing faintly through the cold air as a few early players circled the ice in slow warm-up drills. The overhead lights cast long, pale reflections across the smooth surface, turning it into a quiet stage waiting for the day’s battles to begin.
Ryujin and Yeji moved carefully down the hallway that led to the rink entrance, the soft squeak of their sneakers muffled against the concrete floor.
Yeji walked in her usual steady stride, though her ribs reminded her of every hit with each breath. Ryujin limped slightly, her free hand occasionally ghosting to her thigh or shoulder, but her eyes sparkled with mischief.
As they slipped past the entrance doors, the cold hit them like a sudden slap, curling around their cheeks and wrists.
Yeji inhaled deeply, the sharpness of the rink air drawing a small, satisfied exhale from her lips. Ryujin grinned beside her, her breath puffing in small clouds as she scanned the empty stands and the glimmering ice.
They both paused at the edge of the boards, leaning over to watch a few teammates drifting lazily through skating drills.
“God, I missed this smell,” Ryujin muttered, eyes locked on the ice like a starved predator.
“It hasn’t even been an entire day,” Yeji glanced at her, her lips curling into a small smirk. “You’d miss the smell of the boards even if you were half-dead,” she teased, her voice low and edged with quiet affection.
Ryujin shot her a crooked grin, bumping her elbow lightly into Yeji’s side, careful not to press against her taped ribs. “What can I say? I have standards.”
Before Yeji could retort, a sharp voice rose behind them, cutting through the cold haze like a blade.
“Hey!”
They both flinched, spinning around in unison to find their trainer standing at the top of the entryway stairs, arms crossed over her chest and a glare that could have frozen water faster than the cold.
“Didn’t I tell you both no ice time today?” she barked, her eyes narrowing as they dropped to the snacks and the paper bag in Ryujin’s hands.
Ryujin blinked, her lips parting, a moment of genuine surprise flashing across her face before her grin snapped back, bright and dangerous. She tilted her head, her hair falling into her eyes as she gave her best innocent look.
“You didn’t say anything about watching ,” Ryujin chirped, her voice light and casual, as if she had just found a clever loophole in a school rulebook.
Yeji stifled a laugh beside her, her hand rising to cover her mouth as her shoulders shook slightly, the sound slipping out in a soft, breathy huff that made her ribs ache.
Yeji did not turn to look at her. “Not even a minute in,” she whispered dryly to Ryujin, “and you’ve already chirped.”
The trainer’s mouth fell open for a beat, her eyes darting between them: Ryujin’s gleaming, defiant smirk and Yeji’s half-hidden amusement. She pressed her lips together, her jaw working as though fighting a war between exasperation and reluctant affection.
She let out a sharp sigh, throwing her hands up. “Alright,” she snapped, though her tone had softened just a fraction. “You can watch. But if I see even a toe on that ice, you’re both getting dragged straight to the therapy room and wrapped up like mummies. Understand?”
Ryujin’s grin only grew, her eyes crinkling with delighted triumph. “Crystal clear,” she chimed, lifting her coffee cup in a mock salute.
Yeji finally lowered her hand, her face flushed with laughter despite her attempts to appear serious. “Understood,” she echoed, her voice low but steady, her gaze still glinting with warmth as she glanced sideways at Ryujin.
The trainer gave them one last hard look before turning on her heel, muttering under her breath as she stalked back toward the locker rooms.
Once she disappeared, Ryujin leaned in closer to Yeji, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know,” she teased, her grin sharp and bright, “you were about two seconds away from breaking and laughing first.”
Yeji finally glanced her way, unimpressed. “Your mouth moves more than your legs at this point.”
“I’m conserving energy,” Ryujin said, sipping again. “Gold medal recovery tactic. You should try it.”
“You should try silence.”
“Wow,” Ryujin said, eyes wide, voice full of mock hurt. “Injury’s made you mean.”
Yeji smirked. “I’ve always been mean. You just like it more now.”
Ryujin opened her mouth, paused, then pointed at Yeji with her bag of snacks. “See? That’s chirping. You’re chirping now.”
Yeji rolled her eyes but could not fight the small, helpless smile that curled at the corner of her lips.
They stood along the boards for a while, the cold seeping slowly through their jackets and into their bones, but neither of them seemed to mind.
Ryujin shifted her weight from one leg to the other, her thigh stiff and her shoulder taped beneath her jacket, her fingers tightening around the paper bag of pastries every few minutes as though it anchored her there.
Out on the ice, the team’s practice unfolded like a quiet symphony of sharp edges and gliding grace. The rink rang with the rhythmic scrape of blades, the crack of pucks against sticks, and the occasional bark of a coach echoing across the boards.
Winter zipped up and down the ice, weaving around cones with her usual effortless speed, her edges so clean they sent thin sprays of snow curling into the air. Jeongyeon stood at the blue line, demonstrating defensive angles to one of the younger players with her steady, patient demeanor. Karina and Jinni sparred in a half-rink battle drill, sticks clashing as they fought for puck control, their laughter rising above the more serious shouts.
Ryujin leaned forward against the boards like a restless cat, her eyes tracking every tight turn and feint. Every so often, she made a small noise, half a scoff, half a laugh, when someone missed a pass or when a drill broke down.
Yeji would glance at her then, a small, patient smile tugging at her lips.
“Relax,” Yeji murmured after Ryujin let out an especially sharp huff when Casey lost a puck on a tight turn. “You’re going to vibrate out of your skin.”
Ryujin shot her a sharp side-eye, her nose wrinkling. “I’m just saying,” she rasped, her grin threatening to break past her scolding tone, “I could do that blindfolded and on one leg.”
“Really?” Yeji teased, lifting an eyebrow, her voice smooth and warm despite her own taped ribs. “With that thigh?”
Ryujin scowled dramatically, shifting to bump her good shoulder lightly against Yeji’s arm. “Rude,” she muttered, but the edges of her words were softened by the quiet glow in her eyes.
They fell into silence again, the distant echo of blades and pucks filling the gaps between breaths.
“Eat,” Yeji ordered gently, tearing off a piece of their leftover pain au chocolat and holding it out.
Ryujin glanced at the piece, then at Yeji, her brow lifting in challenge before she leaned forward and took it right from Yeji’s fingers, her lips brushing lightly against her skin.
Yeji froze for a heartbeat, her breath catching so sharply she nearly dropped the rest of the pastry.
“Shin Ryujin, I fucking swear—,” she hissed, her ears flushing pink beneath her hair.
Ryujin chewed slowly, her grin spreading even as she winced and pressed a hand to her ribs. “What? I thought it was for me,” she shot back, her voice muffled but bright.
Before Yeji could answer, a loud crack on the ice drew their attention. Riley had taken a sharp shot on net, the puck ringing loudly off the crossbar and skipping off into the corner. Lia, in full goalie gear, let out a muffled curse from under her mask, her gloves slapping the ice in frustration.
Ryujin cackled, smacking her good hand against the boards. “Sick shot!” she hollered, her voice carrying easily even in her rough rasp.
Several heads turned in surprise. Lia lifted her mask halfway, squinting across the ice. “Hey! Aren’t you two banned from skating today?”
Yeji immediately straightened, her expression slipping back into her captain’s calm authority. “We’re just watching,” she called back, her voice firm but tinged with reluctant amusement.
Riley waved her stick in acknowledgment, then pointed it at Ryujin. “Next time you’re out here, you’re running these shooting drills with me, shoulder or not!” she yelled.
Ryujin blew her a dramatic kiss in response, leaning into Yeji as she snickered.
The coach skated over then, pushing back his helmet as he eyed them both. “Honestly, I should kick you two out,” he grumbled, though there was no real heat in his tone. His gaze softened slightly when it dropped to the visible bruises. “But… it’s good for them to see you here.”
Yeji dipped her head respectfully, her hand curling slightly around Ryujin’s sleeve. “We’ll behave,” she promised, her voice soft but carrying that steady weight that always settled the room.
The coach just shook his head and skated off with a muttered, “ God help me ,” leaving them leaning against the boards again, coffee cups steaming gently in the cold.
For the rest of practice, they stayed like that, shoulder to shoulder, sharing bites of pastry, occasionally exchanging sharp comments or quiet laughter. Every so often, Yeji would tilt her head toward Ryujin to check if she was favoring her leg too much, and Ryujin would roll her eyes but shift closer anyway, her fingers sometimes ghosting over Yeji’s wrist in silent reassurance.
When practice finally ended, players began to trickle off the ice, sweat-soaked and pink-cheeked, sticks tapping the boards in greeting as they passed.
As Ryujin and Yeji slowly shuffled away from the boards, they paused near the entry tunnel to let the team file past them. One by one, the players skated off, each dripping with sweat and laughter, their sticks clattering lightly against the rubber mat.
Winter, still catching her breath, skated up. She tugged her helmet off, her hair sticking in damp strands to her forehead, her eyes glinting with playful suspicion. She stopped in front of Ryujin and squinted at her dramatically.
“Seriously? You came to watch us practice? You’re like hockey ghosts haunting the rink,” she teased, flicking her stick lightly at Ryujin’s good leg.
Ryujin snorted, her hand flying to her ribs as she winced through her grin. “It’s called moral support,” she shot back. “And clearly, you need it. Your edge work looked like a baby deer out there.”
Winter gasped in outrage, half turning to Yeji. “Captain! You’re really going to let her talk to me like that?!”
Yeji just shrugged, her mouth twitching at the edges.
Winter let out an affronted squawk, slamming her helmet back on her head before stomping, as best one can in skates, down the hallway, muttering under her breath.
Next came Lia, slipping her goalie mask up onto her head, her hair plastered to her forehead. She gave Ryujin and Yeji a long, unimpressed stare.
“I saw that stunt with the eating of pastries off of each other’s hands from the post,” she deadpanned, voice muffled behind her chest protector. “Do it again and I’m throwing my blocker at both of you.”
Ryujin cackled, nearly doubling over before her ribs reminded her to breathe carefully. “I’d love to see you throw.”
Lia arched an eyebrow. “Try me,” she replied, giving Yeji a pointed, exasperated look as though to say this is your problem to handle.
Yeji simply shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she were the only adult left in the room, though the fond smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
Behind Lia, Karina and Jinni skated up side by side, each of them smirking like they had rehearsed it.
“You two look like suspicious hockey moms spying on their kids’ practice,” Karina teased, her helmet hanging from one hand. “Next time bring orange slices and juice boxes.”
Ryujin cracked a lazy grin. “Do suspicious hockey moms usually wear jackets and limp?”
Jinni snorted and chimed in immediately. “But if they’re hockey moms, they’re the scary ones who yell at the refs and fight in the stands.”
Ryujin snorted so hard she nearly dropped her water. “She’d fight a ref,” she said, jabbing a thumb at Yeji. “No hesitation.”
Yeji lifted her chin with exaggerated dignity. “Only if he deserves it,” she said crisply. “Some of them are blind, honestly. I still remember how many times I checked Ryujin into the boards with zero calls. I think they just enjoy watching me throw her around.”
Ryujin’s jaw dropped. “I knew it!” she cried, pointing at Yeji with exaggerated betrayal. “You’ve been doing it on purpose!”
Yeji did not flinch. She took a very calm sip of her water and said, “Of course I have.”
That made Jinni burst out laughing near the bench gate. “See? This is why they shouldn’t be allowed to stand next to each other.”
“Please,” Ryujin muttered, slumping back against the wall with a dramatic sigh. “I’m the victim here.”
Karina patted her on the head as she passed. “A very mouthy victim with a bruised ego.”
Yeji smirked and leaned back, quietly watching the players wind down their drills. “She usually gets me back by scoring two shifts later,” she said.
“Three,” Ryujin corrected with mock offense. “I let you have one shift to feel good about yourself.”
“Generous,” Yeji murmured. Then, without missing a beat, “Then I shut her out the next game.”
That earned an audible gasp from Jinni, “ Nooo way,” she cackled. “You did not just say that.”
Ryujin gawked at Yeji, her hand over her chest like she had been stabbed. “She did. She really did.”
Karina and Jinni dissolved into wheezing laughter, nearly colliding with the boards as they peeled away toward the locker room.
A few grinned knowingly at Ryujin and Yeji, muttering under their breath about “ the world’s worst patients ” and “ captain’s favorite troublemaker. ”
At last, Riley and Jeongyeon brought up the rear, each moving more deliberately than the others, their steps heavy from extra conditioning drills.
Riley pointed her stick at Ryujin accusingly. “I’m holding you to that shooting duel, you know. No skipping out just because you’re playing nurse right now.”
Ryujin rolled her eyes dramatically. “I’d still outshoot you with one leg and a broomstick,” she fired back, sticking out her tongue like a kid on the playground.
Jeongyeon snorted at that, shaking her head as she nudged Riley forward. “Just don’t make her laugh too hard,” she warned Ryujin, her voice warm but edged with protectiveness. “We need both of you healthy for the final.”
Yeji’s expression softened, her gaze following Jeongyeon for a moment before she nodded, acknowledging the quiet support beneath the teasing.
As the last echoes of laughter faded down the hallway, Yeji finally turned to Ryujin, her expression exasperated but bright with affection.
Yeji paused, her hand frozen on Ryujin’s sleeve, her lips parting as though she might say something more. But instead, she let out a soft huff of a laugh, her forehead dipping forward to rest lightly against Ryujin’s for one brief, quiet second.
Then she straightened, her eyes glittering as she gently nudged Ryujin toward the hallway. “Let’s leave before someone decides to lock us in the therapy room.”
Ryujin let out a long sigh, her gaze lingering on the empty ice, her fingers drumming against the boards as if itching to jump over.
Yeji watched her, her eyes softening, and then she gently nudged her shoulder.
“Come on,” Yeji said quietly, her voice dipping low. “Time to go before the trainer finds an actual net to throw over you.”
Ryujin laughed, wincing but bright, her grin curling wide as she leaned heavily against Yeji on the slow walk back toward the tunnel.
They moved off together, Ryujin still limping but brighter than she had been, their easy bickering and laughter trailing behind them like a quiet echo of their bond.
Donovan found them outside the locker rooms. He took a step forward then, his hands bracing against his hips. He studied both of them in silence for a long moment, eyes flicking between Yeji’s steady posture and Ryujin’s defiant grin. Then he sighed. A long, heavy exhale that seemed to echo across the empty rink.
“You two,” he grumbled, shaking his head as though resigning himself to a losing battle. “A pair of the most stubborn players I’ve ever coached. I swear you thrive on making my hair turn gray.”
Ryujin snickered immediately, elbowing Yeji lightly. “Guess we’re doing our jobs right.”
Yeji shot her a sharp look, but her lips twitched at the corners despite herself.
Donovan groaned again, turning to the other coaches. “Get them upstairs and feed them before they decide to lace up and sneak on the ice,” he ordered, as if the idea were anything but completely realistic with these two.
Maddox clapped Ryujin lightly on the good shoulder as he passed, muttering, “Next time you want to heckle, at least bring snacks for the rest of us.”
Ryujin’s grin widened, her teeth flashing as she leaned conspiratorially toward Yeji. “We really should, huh? Maybe some bagels next time…”
Yeji groaned under her breath, shaking her head.
As they started to move past the coaching staff, Coach Harper paused to rest a hand gently on Yeji’s arm, his eyes locking with hers in a rare moment of quiet sincerity.
“You good?” she asked quietly, low enough that only she could hear.
Yeji’s gaze flickered briefly to Ryujin, who had already started chirping Maddox again up ahead. She swallowed, her jaw working for a moment before she nodded.
“Yeah,” she murmured, her voice low and sure. “We’ll be okay.”
Inside, the lounge was already buzzing. A few players had filtered in from the locker rooms: Winter sprawled across one of the couches with an ice pack balanced precariously on her shin, Karina propped up on the floor stretching her hamstrings, and Lia carefully stacking water bottles into a small pyramid at the edge of the counter.
When Ryujin and Yeji stepped inside, the room stilled for a heartbeat, eyes flicking up to them immediately.
Winter sat up first, eyes wide, her grin blooming across her face. “Oh my god,” she cackled, “the ghosts of the rink have arrived!”
Karina glanced over her shoulder, smirking. “You two get lost on the way to the therapy room?”
Ryujin huffed, plopping heavily into a chair with a dramatic groan, her thigh immediately complaining. “We were supervising. You should be thanking us for making sure no one tripped over their own egos,” she shot back, tossing her head back against the seat.
Lia snorted, leaning her elbows onto the counter, her half-built bottle tower swaying dangerously. “If anything, you two being there probably caused more chaos than helped,” she deadpanned.
Yeji shot her a look as she lowered herself carefully into the chair next to Ryujin, her jaw tightening as her ribs protested. “At least no one picked a fight with the crossbar today,” she teased, her voice soft but carrying that sharp, familiar authority that still managed to make Lia roll her eyes like a petulant younger sister.
Madison and Riley strolled in next, each holding protein shakes, still bickering about who had more successful shots on net that morning. They both paused when they saw Ryujin and Yeji.
Madison pointed her bottle at them accusingly. “I knew you two couldn’t stay away. You’re addicted to the rink.”
Ryujin gave her a lazy two-finger salute from her chair, her grin unstoppable. “Miss me already?”
Riley rolled her eyes so hard it looked like they might get stuck.
Yeji snorted quietly, unable to stop the smile that slipped across her lips despite the dull ache in her side.
As the lounge continued to fill, players drifted closer, tossing towels onto hooks, perching on counters, or sprawling on the floor to stretch and cool down. It turned into a small orbit around Ryujin and Yeji without anyone saying it out loud, like gravity pulled them into the center despite their injuries.
Karina handed Ryujin a stray snack from her bag, muttering, “Eat this before you get cranky and start heckling again.”
Winter balanced her ice pack on Ryujin’s shoulder, cackling when Ryujin swatted at her weakly.
Lia passed Yeji a water bottle, her expression somewhere between teasing and genuinely worried, her fingers lingering on Yeji’s wrist a moment longer than necessary before she moved away.
“At least you’re all keeping her from staging a full jailbreak,” Donovan grumbled, jerking a thumb at Ryujin. “Last thing we need is her on the ice chasing pucks with a taped shoulder and half a thigh.”
Ryujin perked up at that, her grin turning mischievous as she raised her hand like a kid in class. “Technically, I could do that,” she chirped, earning immediate groans and exclamations from the entire room.
“Ryujin, sit down!”
“Oh my god, don’t encourage her!”
“Lia, get your blocker ready, we might have to physically restrain her!”
Laughter spilled out from every corner, echoing high and warm against the lounge walls. Winter threw a scrunchie at Ryujin, hitting her square in the chest, which only set her off in another round of giggles.
Yeji sighed, her head tipping forward to rest briefly in her hand. But when she lifted it again, there was a helpless fondness in her eyes, the kind that softened the stern lines of her captain’s mask.
After a while, as the chatter dissolved into smaller clusters of tired conversation and lazy stretching, Karina shuffled over to Ryujin and Yeji, plopping down cross-legged on the floor beside them.
“Hey,” Karina started, tugging absently at the hem of her training shirt, her voice unusually tentative. “You two gonna be okay tomorrow?”
Ryujin blinked at her, the teasing ease in her expression faltering for just a heartbeat. She opened her mouth, but Yeji squeezed her forearm first, cutting her off gently but firmly.
“We’ll be ready,” Yeji said, her voice quiet but edged with the steel that always emerged when it mattered most. Her gaze met Karina’s, unwavering. “We’ve come this far together. We finish it together.”
Karina searched her face for a moment longer, then nodded slowly, exhaling a shaky breath as though she had been holding it since the semifinal. “Good,” she muttered, a small, relieved grin breaking across her face. “Because the rest of us… we’ll hold the line with you. No matter what.”
Ryujin finally spoke then, her voice softer than usual, the edge of mischief gone. “That’s all we need,” she said, leaning back slightly so her head tipped against Yeji’s shoulder, her eyelids drooping.
Karina nodded again, then stood with a stretch, ruffling Ryujin’s hair once on her way back to the couches.
The easy back-and-forth flowed naturally, filling the room with warmth that felt worlds away from the cold violence of the Germany game, or the hush of quiet confessions in the early hours of morning. It was loud, messy, familiar, a living heartbeat of shared history and bruises and laughter echoing against the walls.
Eventually, as the chatter softened into quiet conversations, a comfortable silence took over, the low murmur of quiet jokes, the scrape of water bottles, the creak of chairs as teammates stretched or curled up for impromptu naps.
Ryujin slouched further into her chair, her head tipping sideways to rest lightly against Yeji’s shoulder. Yeji tensed for a moment, her ribs flaring, but then she exhaled slowly, her shoulders easing as she let her head tilt minutely toward Ryujin’s hair.
No one said anything. They did not need to.
Ryujin felt her eyelids grow heavy, her body finally giving in to exhaustion now that the adrenaline of jokes and mock arguments had faded. Yeji shifted beside her, adjusting so Ryujin’s head could rest fully against her collarbone without pulling at her ribs too sharply.
In that crowded, buzzing lounge, surrounded by teasing teammates and clinking bottles and the faint smell of sweat and soap, Yeji also let her eyes close for a brief moment. Ryujin’s warmth seeped into her side, and the soft thrum of conversation washed around them like a protective tide.
The night before the gold medal game, the team gathered for a dinner arranged by the coaches in one of the private dining rooms of a quiet restaurant tucked along a narrow, lamplit street in downtown Montreal.
Outside, the city buzzed softly beneath the glow of streetlights, the air crisp with that gentle summer-late chill that hinted at the transition between seasons. Inside, warmth spilled across the long, wooden table where plates and glasses clinked beneath a gentle hum of conversation and laughter.
Yeji arrived first with Ryujin, both moving a touch slower than usual, but unmistakably together. Ryujin still clung to her limp, and Yeji’s ribs ached with every breath, but neither of them complained. They simply exchanged small glances every few steps.
They chose seats near the middle of the table, Ryujin slouching immediately into her chair with a long sigh that made Karina, across the table, snort in amusement.
“Look at her,” Karina teased, sliding into her own seat with Winter following close behind. “She acts like she played three games today instead of just lurking by the boards.”
Ryujin flicked a piece of cloth at her, scowling playfully. “We supervise with our minds,” she shot back, tapping her temple with exaggerated flair. “It’s a higher-level discipline.”
Winter rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they did not get stuck. “Higher-level nonsense, maybe.”
Across from them, Lia and Jinni leaned into each other, snickering as they scrolled through photos on Lia’s phone. Riley and Jeongyeon sat further down, already arguing over whether to order extra plates of pasta or share. Coach Maddox hovered nearby, keeping a watchful eye on the menus and intercepting any attempts to add too many desserts.
Coach Donovan stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, pretending to look stern but unable to hide the fond amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.
As everyone finally settled, drinks were poured, water, juice, and for a few, cautious sips of sparkling cider. The gentle clink of glasses rose through the room, weaving softly into the gentle hum of French music drifting from the speakers above.
Yeji sat upright, her posture calm and commanding even now, but her eyes drifted often to Ryujin, checking each small wince and every shift in her seat.
Every time Ryujin caught her looking, she shot her a smirk or wiggled her eyebrows until Yeji rolled her eyes, biting back a smile.
Jeongyeon, noticing this, lifted her glass with a mischievous glint. “To our captain and her chaos gremlin,” she called out, loud enough to turn all heads toward them.
The entire table erupted in laughter and cheers, Winter pounding her fist on the table, Lia howling with delight, Riley nearly choking on her drink.
Ryujin leaned forward, grin sharp and bright. “Damn right,” she croaked, raising her own glass, a little unsteady, but proud. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”
Yeji rolled her eyes again, but this time she did not hide her smile, her hand curling protectively around her glass as she lifted it in quiet acknowledgment.
“To all of us,” Yeji said then, her voice lower but firm enough to cut cleanly through the laughter. “One more game. Together .”
For a moment, silence held the table, heavy and warm, before glasses clinked together with a soft chorus of together, together.
Platters began to arrive. Plates of pasta steaming with rich sauces, grilled chicken, salads heaped high with fresh greens, and baskets of warm bread. The room shifted into a comfortable rhythm of passing dishes, sharing bites, and leaning across one another to sneak pieces off neighboring plates.
Winter tried to steal a piece of chicken from Karina’s plate and nearly lost a finger. Riley offered extra bread to Jeongyeon in exchange for more tomato salad, while Lia somehow managed to end up with three desserts in front of her before anyone realized.
Meanwhile, Ryujin tore a piece of baguette and pushed it across to Yeji without a word, her chin tilted, eyes glinting as though daring her to refuse. Yeji took it silently, her lips twitching as she accepted, brushing her fingers against Ryujin’s just slightly longer than necessary.
At one point, Coach Harper drifted past them, leaning down to murmur something too low for anyone else to catch. Yeji nodded solemnly, her eyes sharpening briefly — a silent promise of readiness and focus. Ryujin just gave Harper a lazy salute, which earned her an exasperated sigh and a muttered “ impossible ” before she moved on.
As plates emptied and the last crumbs were claimed, Donovan finally stood again at the head of the table.
“Tomorrow,” he began, his voice rough but steady, “you all know what’s at stake. But tonight, I want you to remember this… this table, this noise, this team.
The gold medal is the goal, yes. But this…” He gestured broadly at all of them, the half-empty glasses, the messy plates, the bright, tired faces. “This is the heart. This is why you fight.”
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling into every chest. Then, quietly, Lia began to tap her fork against her glass in slow, steady rhythm. One by one, the others joined in, a soft, echoing chorus that grew louder, a heartbeat rising from the table itself.
Yeji sat quietly through it, her head bowed, her eyes bright beneath her lashes. Ryujin leaned in then, her shoulder pressing lightly against Yeji’s, her voice so low only she could hear.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the edge of Yeji’s sleeve. “No matter what. Together .”
Yeji lifted her gaze slowly, her eyes locking onto Ryujin’s. For a breath, everything else disappeared — the plates, the forks, the gentle drumbeat around them.
“ Together ,” Yeji echoed, her voice shaking just faintly at the edges.
And as the tapping grew into full, resounding claps, the team rose to their feet, laughter and cheers bouncing off the walls.
Tomorrow, they would lace up their skates for the biggest fight of their lives. But tonight, they stood shoulder to shoulder, battered, loud, unstoppable, held together by shared scars, stubborn hearts, and the quiet, unbreakable promise that they would face it all side by side.
Chapter Text
On the final day of the IIHF Women’s World Championship, Team USA’s brutal victory over Germany was still taking over the sports world in a storm of headlines and in-depth analysis.
Across televisions in bustling cafés, on the front pages of national newspapers, and splashed across every major sports site, the narrative was unanimous: that was a game that would be remembered for a generation.
“USA Survives Brutal Semifinal Battle Against Germany: A Game for the Ages” blared one major sports network, the accompanying highlight reel looping on repeat: slow-motion shots of bone-rattling checks into the boards, fierce puck battles in the corners, and sprawling saves that seemed to defy physics.
That game had been a masterclass in physicality and resilience.
Reporters and analysts called it “a war on ice,” praising both teams for their relentless grit and uncompromising pace. From the opening faceoff, it was clear that Germany came to disrupt, crashing bodies into every USA breakout attempt and peppering the American net with shots.
“ Bruised, battered, but unbreakable: USA stands tall after a semifinal war — and the world is watching ” declared The New York Times , the article running alongside a striking photo of Yeji and Ryujin after taking the brutal hit from Germany.
Their connection, already a topic of fascination, was dissected with obsessive detail. The moment on the bench where Ryujin reached out and squeezed Yeji’s wrist after a big block was replayed again and again, fans swooning at the unspoken trust and closeness.
Some fan captions read:
“Yeji’s tape might be holding her ribs together, but Ryujin is holding her heart.”
“Bruised bodies, unstoppable souls.”
“If love was a hockey game, it would look exactly like this.”
International coverage was equally effusive. European outlets praised Germany for their ferocious challenge and recognized Team USA’s incredible mental fortitude.
French sports papers dubbed the game “ le match de la survie ,” while a popular German magazine acknowledged: “ They played like warriors — no shame in falling to a team that refused to break. ”
Sports shows debated how Team USA would recover in time for the gold medal game. Analysts questioned if Yeji’s ribs could hold up under another full-speed battle, and whether Ryujin’s shoulder and thigh could endure one more punishing sprint into the offensive zone. But every commentator, regardless of doubt, ended with a similar refrain:
“If any team can rise from the ashes of that semifinal, it’s this one — led by two players who seem to play not just with each other, but for each other.”
For the moment, the story was clear: Team USA had survived hell on ice, led by two warriors whose bond and brilliance had come to define not just a game, but an era.
In a few hours, the world would watch them. But right now, there was only the distant hum of the elevator, the muffled shuffle of trainers prepping gear, and the soft echo of Ryujin and Yeji’s footsteps as they walked side by side toward the Team USA medical suite.
In the makeshift clinic room set up on the fifth floor, the fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead. Foldable privacy screens divided the space, white tape marked off supply carts and ice coolers, and a faint scent of tape, antiseptic, and clean laundry clung to the air.
The trainers moved with quiet efficiency, running their usual rounds through the roster, but this morning, they lingered just a little longer with every player.
Today, everything had to hold.
Ryujin sat on the edge of the padded table, jacket unzipped halfway, her black tank top a bit exposed to show where the compression wrap hugged her shoulder.
She winced as the trainer gently rotated her shoulder, the stiffness of yesterday’s therapy still clinging to her muscles. Her breath hissed through her teeth.
“Still tender here?” the trainer asked, fingers pressing just below her collarbone.
“A little,” Ryujin said. “But manageable. I’ll tape it, warm it up slowly.”
The trainer nodded, made a few quick notes on the chart, then gestured toward her wrap. “Let’s unwrap and check the swelling.”
The trainer gently unwrapped the arm and exposed the skin underneath. It was faintly red from the cold pack earlier that morning. She moved her arm in slow, cautious rotations as the trainer watched, fingers lightly pressed to the deltoid.
Then came the harder part: standing.
Ryujin eased to her feet and bent at the knee, then pushed off into a soft squat. Her thigh, once so tight it had locked her stride. It now allowed full motion, though the effort made her jaw clench.
“Still hurts?” the trainer asked.
“Yeah,” Ryujin admitted, “but not enough to stop me.”
“Pain out of ten?”
“Six when I sprint. Two just standing around being hot.”
Yeji let out the faintest huff on the other side of the curtain.
The trainer smiled faintly. “You’re cleared. You’ll be sore, and we’ll need ice after, but the inflammation’s gone down and the tissue’s responding. Just don’t overextend on your turns. Especially off faceoffs.”
Ryujin nodded, stretching her arm out once more. “No deep cuts. Got it.”
On the other side, Yeji’s voice floated in, low, steady, slightly hoarse from sleep. “No change since yesterday,” she was saying, the subtle rasp in her tone more evident when she spoke softly. “Mobility’s fine, bruising’s controlled.”
“She’s lying,” Ryujin muttered under her breath, loud enough to be heard. “She winced putting on her jacket.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Yeji’s voice, flat and cold, was heard. “Do you want me to ask for contact clearance?”
Ryujin chuckled, wincing as the trainer poked a little too close to her ribs. “See?” she said to him. “Terrifying even when injured.”
Yeji’s ribs were still a pain, though the bruising had begun to stop throbbing. Her breathing was steadier, more controlled now. Still tight, still sore but not restrictive. The trainer pressed carefully along her right side, asking her to breathe deep, to twist, to lean forward.
She complied, grimacing only slightly.
“Pain level?” she asked.
“Three,” Yeji answered. “If I move fast, four.”
“Stable,” The trainer nodded. “No flaring since yesterday?”
“No.”
“Wrap it again and you’re cleared,” she confirmed. “But keep it tight. No diving blocks unless you’re winning by four.”
Yeji exhaled through her nose, giving a small nod.
The curtain rustled as Yeji stepped around it, hoodie slung over one shoulder and her torso already rewrapped with fresh tape. The edge of the bruise along her side peeked out from beneath the hem of her sports bra, darkening but contained.
Her eyes met Ryujin’s, sharp and searching, like she was silently checking for any falter or hesitation the trainer might have missed.
“Donovan signed off on both of us,” Yeji said quietly. “We’ll warm up. Make the call then.”
Ryujin held her gaze. “I’m playing.”
“You’ll be cleared,” the trainer cut in before either of them could escalate the stare-down. “But you’re both on restricted shifts to start. We’ll adjust period by period. If there’s any locking up, you come off.”
Neither of them responded right away.
Yeji finally exhaled through her nose. “Understood.”
Ryujin glanced at the monitor logging her blood pressure, then back at Yeji. “You good?”
Yeji’s lips twitched just slightly, like she might smile, but did not. “Are you?”
Ryujin did not answer with words. She just nodded once and reached for her shirt. The morning still felt suspended in ice, but they were awake now. Bruised but ready.
The gold medal game was in a few hours.
And whatever shape they were in, they would meet it head-on.
After their check-ups, the two made their way quietly down the hall toward the elevators, the faint buzz of team staff moving through morning routines echoing softly around them.
Ryujin still had one hand tucked lightly against her taped side, walking with a limp that she tried to make look casual.
Yeji walked just ahead of her, shoulders straight, but her left arm hung just slightly more still than usual, guarding her ribs without drawing attention.
Neither spoke until they were alone in the elevator, the doors sliding shut. The hum of movement inside filled the silence, but Yeji could feel Ryujin’s eyes on her.
Yeji kept her eyes forward. “You were wincing.”
“So were you,” Ryujin replied without missing a beat, her voice low.
Yeji glanced at her through the mirrored panel, the corner of her lip barely curving. “We’ll both get through warm-ups. Even if we’re bruised to hell.”
Their injuries had been deemed manageable.
That was the word the trainers used.
Manageable .
Tape here, ice after, limit contact where possible, monitor swelling. They were cleared to play, not at one hundred percent, but enough.
And for athletes like Yeji and Ryujin, “ enough ” was more than they needed to push themselves to the edge.
Ryujin leaned her head lightly against the elevator wall behind her. “Gold medal game,” she murmured. “We actually made it.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m not,” she said, turning her head just enough to look at Yeji directly. “I just… didn’t expect it to feel like this. Tired. Sharp. Like everything’s on the edge of something.”
Yeji met her eyes. For a moment, she softened.
“That’s exactly what finals feel like,” she said quietly. “Everything tightens. Every breath feels like it might be the last clean one you get before it starts.”
The elevator dinged when they had reached their floor. Yeji walked ahead, still half in her thoughts, arms folded loosely over her torso. The bandage beneath her hoodie tugged slightly every time she moved, but she showed no sign of discomfort. Her jaw was tight, her eyes fixed forward with a calm that was only partly real.
Behind her, Ryujin trudged in soft steps. Her shoulder was stiff under the brace and her thigh twinged with every step, but she did not complain. Not out loud, anyway.
She was watching Yeji’s back the whole time, memorizing the set of her shoulders, the way her hand occasionally rubbed over her ribs when she thought no one was looking.
They turned a corner, passing a cluster of equipment bins stacked neatly beside the wall.
“You’re walking like a robot,” Ryujin muttered, just loud enough to cut into the silence.
Yeji glanced over her shoulder. “So are you.”
“Yeah, but I’m charming when I do it.”
Yeji rolled her eyes but did not slow down. “Your limp says otherwise.”
“My limp is very dignified, thank you.”
“You look like you wrestled a moose.”
“I kinda did, remember?” Ryujin huffed. “Germany’s number 18. She’s built like a barn.”
Yeji stopped abruptly and turned to face her, eyes narrowing. “You shouldn’t have returned back in after that hit.”
“You shouldn’t have either.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It is,” Ryujin said quietly, stepping closer. “You were hurting before that second period even ended, Ji. I saw you reach for your ribs every time you pivoted. You didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t either,” Yeji replied, tone clipped.
“Because I didn’t want to leave you alone on the ice.”
Yeji blinked, thrown off for half a second. She looked away quickly, jaw flexing as her throat worked around the sudden tightness there. “That’s not your job.”
“It’s not?” Ryujin asked, voice lower now. “Because it kind of feels like it is. Not just as your winger.”
Yeji swallowed hard.
Ryujin tilted her head, the edge of her voice softening. “We’re both playing today, aren’t we?”
“If the warm-up clears us, yes.”
“Then you better start treating me like I’m going to be on your shift, not on your bench.”
Yeji looked at her for a long time. She looked at the swelling around Ryujin’s shoulder, the faint bruise along her thigh where the wrap peeked out from her shorts, the stiffness in the way she held her arm.
But more than that, she saw the steadiness behind her eyes. The same quiet fire that had burned there since they were seventeen, battling for state in Minnesota. The same flame that never went out, even under pressure.
“You’re going to be okay?” Yeji asked, softer now.
“I will be. I promise.”
Yeji opened her mouth to say something, but instead let out a slow exhale, nodding once. They began walking again, this time slower, the tension in their bodies less brittle. Their shoulders brushed lightly as they moved side by side down the hall, and though the pressure of the gold medal game still loomed over them, the silence between them had shifted.
“I’m glad you’re playing,” Yeji murmured after a while.
Ryujin glanced sideways at her, smirking faintly. “You’re going to miss me if I wasn’t?”
“No,” Yeji said. “I just need someone to blame when I turn the puck over.”
“Oh, you wound me, captain.”
Yeji almost smiled. “Don’t get dramatic. You’re not cleared for that.”
“Wait till I score,” Ryujin said under her breath. “I’m doing a whole monologue.”
“Score and I’ll let you get away with it.”
Yeji finally swiped the card. The door beeped and unlocked. As soon as they went into their room, she let out a sharp exhale.
“This is it, ” she said quietly. “Last day.”
Ryujin stood beside her, just inside the threshold. She took in the stillness of the room, the bags half-zipped, the navy blue and red jerseys laid out on the bed, the faint smell of liniment and energy drinks still clinging to the air.
Her eyes searched Yeji’s profile: the calm, sharp lines of her face, the composure she always wore like armor, and the tiny telltale signs of strain underneath.
“I know,” Ryujin replied after a beat, her voice softer now, more thoughtful. “I keep thinking about it, and it still doesn’t feel real.”
Yeji nodded slowly. “After today, it’s done. The training camp. The hotels. The flights. Waking up in some freezing hotel room with you hogging the blanket.”
“I don’t hog the blanket,” Ryujin said immediately, before softening. “Okay, I do. But only because you sleep like you’re trying to avoid all human contact.”
That finally drew a small smile from Yeji. One corner of her mouth curved up, warm and quiet.
Ryujin’s voice dipped quieter. “We’ve been here for what? A month? Every day thinking about this game, chasing this lineup, trying to be perfect under all the lights. It just… doesn’t feel like it should be over already.”
Yeji’s hands were tucked into her hoodie pockets, fingers twitching slightly. “After tonight, we go back. To our teams. To being in different states. To being on the opposite sides of the ice.”
The words were not cold. They were simply true. And heavy.
“Yeah,” Ryujin said. She shifted, one hand brushing Yeji’s arm gently. “But not before we finish this right.”
Yeji turned to look at her, really look. There was something raw in Ryujin’s eyes. Tired, yes, and bruised, and weathered from a couple of grueling games, but also focused.
And maybe something else.
Yeji’s voice came a little quieter now. “Do you think we’ll ever get to do this again?”
Ryujin did not hesitate. “If they’re smart, they’ll call us both up next tournament too.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“One more game,” Ryujin said again, her voice low, steady. “Then we’ll find out.”
“We either win gold, or we live with silver.”
Ryujin gave a small scoff. “You ever notice how no one talks about silver like it’s worth anything?”
Yeji’s voice was dry. “Because it’s not gold.”
Ryujin gave a faint laugh at that, not quite a grin. Just a slight lift at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes, though still heavy, gleamed warmer now, brighter.
“You okay?” Yeji asked, softer now.
Ryujin shifted her weight slightly, feeling the stretch in her thigh, the ache in her shoulder. She gave a small nod. “Yeah. I mean… not totally okay, but I’m here. And I’ll be on the ice tonight.”
Yeji’s jaw tensed. “I don’t want you out there if you’re hurting too much.”
“I’m hurting,” Ryujin admitted, “but I’m not broken.”
Yeji was quiet again. Then, carefully, she said, “I worry.”
Ryujin studied her face for a second, then asked, gently, “As my captain? Or as my girlfriend?”
That finally made Yeji pause. She looked directly at her. “Both.”
Her hand slipped away from the door, arms folding across her chest. “As your captain,” she began, voice steady and even, “I’m telling you not to push beyond what your body can handle. You’ve already done more than anyone expected. You don’t need to be a hero tonight.”
Ryujin nodded once, solemn. “And as my girlfriend?”
There was no hesitation this time.
“As your girlfriend ,” Yeji said, softer now, “I’m terrified. Because I know you’ll ignore every ounce of pain for the team, for the scoreboard, for me . And I know how much it costs you every time.”
Ryujin did not interrupt. She stood quietly, taking in every word, her fingers curling slightly at her sides.
Yeji took a step closer. “But I also know… I don’t want to win this without you. Not the way we’ve come this far.”
Ryujin reached up and brushed Yeji’s wrist, fingers warm despite the cold creeping in from the outside windows.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured. “Not off the roster. Not off your unit. Not off your side.”
Yeji’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a frown.
“You promise me,” she said, “if it gets worse, you tell me. Right away.”
Ryujin nodded. “I promise.”
They stood there like that, a foot apart, a whole history humming quietly between them.
From Minnesota high school rinks to the world stage.
From rivals to something else entirely.
“And just so you know… I’m scoring the game-winner tonight.”
Yeji looked over her shoulder, one brow lifting. “Not if I get there first.”
Ryujin let out a low chuckle. “I love it when you talk cocky.”
Yeji rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now. Genuine, soft, a little tired.
“Come on,” she said, laying back down on their shared bed. “Rest while we still can.”
Hours later, the locker room buzzed with a strange, quiet energy. Not loud like the earlier rounds, not sharp like the semifinal. This was something different. A bit heavier.
The low thump of a bass-heavy playlist pulsed from a speaker tucked into one corner, but even that felt subdued compared to usual.
Players were scattered across the space, lacing skates, adjusting pads, stretching on yoga mats, eyes already narrowed in concentration. Some chatted in murmurs. Others moved in silence, headphones in, zoned in. The coaching staff had not arrived yet, but everything felt like it was already in motion, everyone bracing for the final push.
Yeji and Ryujin stepped through the doorway like they belonged there. Not just because they did, but because the team expected it. Even bandaged, even bruised, they were still cornerstones.
Still the pulse of the ice.
A few heads turned as they entered. Chaeryeong looked up from where she was kneeling to re-tape her stick and gave a small nod in greeting. Winter, sitting cross-legged, pointed toward the pair of lockers with her chin.
“I put your new helmet on the top shelf of your locker, Captain,” she said casually. “The equipment manager handed it over earlier.”
Yeji gave a quick nod of thanks and made her way to her usual corner. Ryujin trailed behind her, smiling at Winter before easing herself slowly down beside her gear bag. Her thigh ached the way it always did after rest, but it was background noise now, something she had learned to file away under adrenaline.
Lia appeared moments later, carrying two water bottles and a bag of extra tape. “Trainers say you’re cleared for warm-ups?”
Yeji met her eyes, then Ryujin’s. “Conditionally.”
Lia offered a half-smile. “Figures. Just don’t be stupid.”
“Define stupid,” Ryujin said.
“Falling over because your thigh gave out mid-shift,” Lia replied flatly.
“Okay, fair,” Ryujin muttered.
Yeji was already pulling off her hoodie, carefully managing the motion so it would not aggravate the wrap under her torso. She moved slowly, methodically, every step deliberate, as if every breath she took was measured and counted.
Karina wandered past, sipping from her shaker bottle. “You two get a pre-game nap in or what? You look calm.”
“Too calm,” Yuna added, eyeing them suspiciously from across the room. “Like you’re either going to dominate or combust.”
“We’re saving the dramatics for the ice,” Ryujin said, winking.
“We don’t need dramatics,” Yeji replied smoothly. “We just need sixty minutes of clean, aggressive hockey.”
Someone clapped from the door. Coach Donovan, stepping in with Coach Maddox right behind him, both in team track jackets and serious expressions.
“That’s all we need,” Donovan echoed. “Sixty minutes. Every shift counts. Every rotation. This is it, ladies.”
The room shifted. Energy rising, conversations silencing. Everyone straightened.
The gold medal game was no longer an idea. It was here. Right now.
Donovan glanced across the team once, then toward Yeji. “Captain, you up for warm-ups?”
Yeji nodded. “Yes, coach.”
“Ryujin?”
“Ready.”
“Then let’s get to it.”
The tunnel to the ice was colder than usual, the concrete walls humming with tension. Each step echoed with soft thuds of skate guards over rubber matting, and the sound of sticks tapping shoulders, helmets being clipped on, gloves flexed in and out of muscle memory. It was routine, identical to every other game, but it felt different. Tighter. Louder in the silence.
Yeji led the team through the tunnel, helmet tucked under one arm, stick gripped loosely in her left hand. The ache in her side had dulled to a tight burn, but she kept her expression unreadable. She had learned long ago how to make pain look like discipline.
Ryujin was just behind her, balancing her stick across her shoulders like a yawn waiting to happen. She looked relaxed. Maybe even bored. But Yeji knew her too well. Her jaw was too tight, her fingers fidgeted against the tape. The buzz in her bones had started. Ryujin only looked calm when her head was loud.
A low rumble of the crowd seeped in from the arena above them. Final game. Full house. The gold medal match of the international tournament, and Team USA was skating out first.
Karina gave a little nudge to Ryujin’s elbow. “Last walk. You gonna survive this without chirping the opposing goalie?”
Ryujin smirked. “No promises. I’m injured, not silent.”
“Thank God,” Chaeryeong muttered behind her. “You being quiet would’ve scared me more.”
Yeji did not turn around, but her voice cut through calmly. “Focus.”
It silenced them instantly, but not in a way that shut them down. If anything, it tightened them, brought them in line, drew their collective attention forward like a magnet to steel. When Yeji spoke like that, it was not a command. It was a signal.
A moment later, Coach Donovan’s voice came down the hall from behind them.
“Warm-up group, you’re cleared. Ice is ours for the next twenty. Use it well.”
Yeji exhaled through her nose and finally placed her helmet on, tightening the chinstrap with practiced efficiency. She felt Ryujin step slightly closer behind her, just within earshot.
“You good?” Ryujin murmured.
Yeji tilted her head just enough to glance back. “You ready?”
“Always,” Ryujin said, and for a heartbeat, they held each other’s gaze.
Then Yeji turned forward again. The gate to the ice opened with a sharp metal click, and cold air poured through like a breath from the rink itself.
She led them out.
The arena erupted with sound: horns, cheers, a sea of red, white, and blue against the boards. The crowd roared as Team USA stepped onto the clean sheet, blades carving sharp white lines into untouched ice.
The team dispersed with smooth precision: wingers to the perimeter, defenders curling wide for puck drills, goalies skating back to their creases with practiced ease. Coaches stood at the gate watching every movement.
Yeji skated out slowly, controlled, testing the wrap under her gear with each stride. It pulled. It burned. But it held.
Ryujin pushed off with a short, explosive start, her stride not quite full strength but still fluid. She circled once before slowing beside Yeji, falling into pace with her effortlessly.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Ryujin asked, flicking the puck across her blade once, casually.
“That we’ve only got one period to find our rhythm before it really counts?”
Ryujin grinned. “No, I was thinking about how this’ll be your last chance to set me up for a highlight reel goal.”
That earned her a glance.
Yeji’s brow lifted, unimpressed. “Bold of you to assume I’ll be passing.”
Ryujin gasped, mock-wounded, pressing a hand to her chest like Yeji had just broken her heart. “You mean to tell me the captain of Team USA isn’t devoted to padding her girlfriend’s stats?”
Yeji turned fully now, shifting her weight with practiced ease, stick resting against her hip. Her voice dropped, just enough to be private.
“I’m devoted to winning,” she said smoothly. “But if you happen to be in position, and I happen to thread the puck through two defenders, and you happen to bury it top shelf… well. I won’t complain if they call it a highlight.”
Ryujin beamed, eyes dancing with adrenaline and mischief. “So what you’re saying is… I should start practicing how I celebrate now.”
Yeji rolled her eyes. “What I’m saying is stay open, keep your head up, and stop telegraphing your wrist shots.” she said, then skated off toward the blue line without looking back.
And Ryujin, now grinning from ear to ear, chased after her.
A few minutes later, the buzzer blared to end warm-up, and the team began skating toward the bench.
Their last game. One more chance. Everything they had built, everything they endured was about to unfold on the world’s stage.
The locker room after warmups was quieter than before, but not empty of noise. There was the zip of gear bags being opened and closed, the muffled thud of pads being adjusted, the sharp tear of tape being pulled across shinguards.
Coaches spoke in low tones near the whiteboard, finalizing rotations, reinforcing matchups. There was no fire-and-brimstone speech. No need. The weight of what lay ahead was already heavy in every breath.
Ryujin sat on the bench, slowly unstrapping one of her skates to adjust the tape just beneath her ankle. Her shoulder throbbed from warm-up drills, and her thigh ached from every pivot. She was tired, sore, and skating at maybe eighty percent, but the adrenaline masked most of it now. Her hands were steady.
Beside her, Yeji sat straight-backed, her gloves folded in her lap. Her gaze was distant, fixed on the floor, and her breathing had slowed into the deliberate rhythm she always adopted just before battle. She was hurting too. Ryujin knew it. But she would never show it.
She had taken hits bigger than this and never once asked for help. But today, her mouth was set in a line even tighter than usual. She was calculating something. Planning. Probably visualizing every shift down to the second.
Ryujin watched her for a moment, then leaned forward, elbows on her knees.
“You thinking about their first line?” she asked quietly.
Yeji looked up. Her voice was calm, but not cold. “Yeah. If they double-stack their right winger, I’ll cover outside.”
Ryujin nodded slowly. She hesitated. Then said, more softly, “Your ribs okay?”
Yeji’s answer came without pause. “They’ll hold.”
There was a beat of silence between them, the din of the room like a dull thrum in the background. Ryujin looked down at her gloves.
“We’ve been through a lot to get here.”
Yeji gave a faint nod, her eyes steady on Ryujin’s face. “We earned this.”
Ryujin met her gaze again. “Whatever happens, I’m glad I got to do it with you.”
“So am I.”
The door opened a moment later, and Coach Donovan stepped in, his presence enough to command the room’s attention without raising his voice.
“Unit one,” he called out. “You’re up.”
The air vibrated with focus. There was no anthem playing yet. No flashing lights. No crowd chants or overhead spotlight.
Just the tunnel and the sharp scrape of skates against tile as the team moved as one.
It was quiet for a while. Just the low hum of a distant crowd waiting beyond the doors. But that noise felt far away. In this space, there was only the sound of breath, of skates shifting in place, of gloves being tugged tighter.
This was the calm before everything.
In the low light of the tunnel, just minutes before they went back on ice, Yeji watched Ryujin from the side.
She had that look again: shoulders drawn tight, lips pressed in a firm line, grip tense around her stick. She was bouncing the blade lightly off the floor like a metronome, locked in her own rhythm.
But her eyes… her eyes were somewhere else.
Somewhere days ago. Somewhere back in that other game.
Yeji recognized it instantly.
The weight of Ryujin’s almosts .
She stepped in close, slow and deliberate, her hand grazing Ryujin’s arm just enough to ground her. No helmet yet. Just raw breath and the soft squeak of their blades shifting on rubber matting.
Ryujin did not look at her, but she did not move away either.
Yeji tilted her head. “You’re still thinking about it.”
Ryujin exhaled, long and low through her nose. “You were there. You saw it. I had two. Not just one. Two.”
“I know baby ,” Yeji said gently.
Ryujin blinked. Just once but it was enough. Her grip on her stick eased ever so slightly. Her breath caught in the back of her throat, soft and short, as if her lungs had stuttered on the word.
She lifted her eyes toward Yeji, not with shock, but with something quieter. Something searching.
Yeji did not flinch. She did not take it back. Her eyes were already on Ryujin’s, clear and unwavering, her fingers brushing lightly over Ryujin’s wrapped shoulder like the word had always belonged.
She did not say anything about it. Not then.
Ryujin let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Then you know why I’m still thinking about it. And the save—God, I had her. I saw the opening. I just—”
“You didn’t choke.”
“I didn’t finish.”
“Listen to me.” Yeji’s voice dropped, steady and warm. “You took the shot when no one else would. No one else could .
And you’ll do it again. Because that’s what players like you do.”
Ryujin’s throat worked. She stared ahead at the tunnel entrance, where the light from the rink burned cold and bright.
Yeji turned her head and murmured just for her:
“Just take the shot, Ryujin. Every time. No fear. No ghosts. Never fucking stop trying. It’ll just be you, the puck, and the net that already knows your name.”
Ryujin swallowed hard. Her hand shifted on her stick, fingers flexing as if trying to release something she had been holding far too tightly.
A long silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of memory and pressure and everything this night meant.
Then Ryujin whispered, “What if I miss again?”
The question was barely audible, the words cracking at the edges, not from fear but from exhaustion. From the ache of carrying a moment that had replayed a thousand times behind her eyes. From the sharp, unrelenting sting of doubt that not even the loudest arena could drown out.
Yeji did not answer right away.
Instead, she reached up, cupped Ryujin’s cheek in one hand, her thumb ghosting just below her eye. The hallway around them faded: the coaches, the footsteps, the nerves humming in the walls.
It was just the two of them, suspended between past and present.
Her voice was soft but sure. “Then we reset. Get another puck. Try again.”
“I’ll be the first one at your side. And I’ll be there when you take the next one, too. Because I trust you,” she added.
“So just take the shot, superstar. Every time. ”
Silence hung between them. Then Ryujin let out a soft, crooked breath that was almost a laugh.
Yeji gave a small smile, the kind only Ryujin got to see.
“And besides,” she added softly, “if anyone lays a finger on you tonight, I’ll send them flying.”
That finally made Ryujin huff a laugh. It broke the air open just enough for her to breathe.
Her shoulders loosened just slightly. Her jaw unclenched. The fire that had dulled behind her eyes flickered back to life.
Yeji nudged her gently with her elbow. “So go out there and break their hearts.”
A beat passed.
Then Ryujin gave a low, breathless grin. “With pleasure, Captain.”
Ryujin pulled on her gloves slowly, fingers flexing in leather. Yeji stood beside her, fixing the last strap on her elbow pad. She reached down without looking and tugged Ryujin’s sleeve lightly.
They filed out of the tunnel together. The sound of the crowd was thunder now.
The gold medal game began not with the puck drop, but with the slow crescendo of anticipation that built as the lights dimmed and the national flags unfurled overhead.
The air inside the arena was electric, humming with history. Every seat was filled, every corner packed with supporters wearing red or white, waving banners, holding signs, chanting names.
The roar was deafening even before the anthem ended.
Players stood on the blue lines, solemn and still, shoulders squared and expressions carved from iron.
For Team USA, it was not just another game. It was the culmination of training, sacrifice, and battles fought; some on the ice, some far beneath it. The line stood shoulder to shoulder, and at the center of it all— Yeji .
The camera panned to her face just as the anthem faded into silence. She did not blink. Her jaw was tight, her eyes sharp beneath the shadow of her helmet.
The bruising from earlier games was carefully hidden under fresh padding, her ribs still sore, but her posture was unflinching. Her fingers tapped lightly against her stick once. A rhythm only she understood.
Beside her, Ryujin was loose but coiled, like a storm waiting for release. She bounced slightly on her skates, adjusting her grip, jaw shifting with tension. The moment Ryujin and Yeji locked eyes, there was no exchange, no smirk, no need.
Everything had already been said between them in the lead-up, in the locker room, in the tunnel, and in glances.
Then the lights snapped back to full. The refs skated to the dot. Cameras flashed. Coaches gave last-minute words that none of the players truly heard.
Team USA’s first line huddled near the bench, Ryujin at left wing, Riley at center, Winter on the right. Yeji and Jeongyeon on defense. Lia was already skating out to the crease, tapping each post twice before dropping into her stance.
Ryujin’s skates cut across center ice, heart pounding beneath her chest protector. She kept her stick low, her stride wide but cautious, the way the trainers had asked, but the fire in her limbs told a different story.
She was already buzzing with the rhythm of the game. This was not just adrenaline anymore. It was instinct.
She could feel Yeji somewhere behind her. Not because she heard her, Yeji never made much sound on the ice, but because she knew her rhythm like her own pulse.
The steady, deliberate glide of a defenseman who surveyed everything, like a commander reading a battlefield in real time. When Ryujin looped back around, she spotted her at the blue line, stick tapping once before she passed a puck cleanly to Seulgi at the point.
No wasted motion. Just readiness.
The whistle blew once from the bench.
They formed up.
First line forward.
First defensive pair.
Ryujin skated up near Yeji at the faceoff circle. Canada was across from them, already crouched into their positions, focused and lethal. Their top center was locked in, visor low, stick twitching for the drop.
The referee stepped in, puck in hand.
Yeji’s voice came low, barely audible beneath the screaming fans.
“They’re going to hit hard on the opening shift.”
Ryujin did not even glance at her. “Let them.”
Yeji’s eyes flicked to hers just once, helmet hiding most of her expression, but not the twitch at the corner of her mouth.
The puck dropped.
And chaos exploded.
Chapter Text
The first period of the gold medal game began with a thunderclap of intensity.
From the moment the puck dropped, it was clear that neither Team USA nor Team Canada had come here to ease into the rhythm. There were no tentative passes. No conservative shifts.
This was not a chess match. It was a storm. Fast and heavy and unrelenting.
Ryujin was on the starting line, paired with Winter and Riley on the forward line, with Yeji and Jeongyeon anchoring the back.
The moment the puck hit the ice, Ryujin exploded forward, her skates cutting sharp across the circle as she battled for early control. Canada won the faceoff, but the puck barely made it two strides into their zone before Yeji stepped up and knocked it loose with a clean, punishing check along the boards.
The arena roared.
The early minutes were all momentum. Shifts were not longer than thirty seconds, bodies thrown against the boards, blades carving deep into the surface as both teams fought for territory.
There were no clean breakouts, no room for elegance. Just collisions and clawed inches. Skates crashed forward. Sticks clashed.
Ryujin’s first contact came just minutes in: a heavy check near the boards that rattled the glass and drew a roar from the stands. She dodged the brunt of it but felt the shock ripple through her bad shoulder. She grimaced and kept skating.
Yeji peeled back immediately, cutting off a Canada breakout and shoving their winger wide toward the wall. Her ribs flared with pain, but her stick was steady, perfectly placed. She stole the puck clean and swung it up the ice.
Ryujin caught it in stride, shoulder tensed, pain blooming like heat beneath her pads, but she drove forward anyway. She crossed the blue line and pulled the puck onto her forehand, faked a high glove, then cut low.
And shot.
The Canadian goalie got a toe on it. Barely.
The bench rose. The crowd screamed.
The play reset.
After their shift, Yeji and Ryujin skated to the bench, Ryujin nearly stumbled into her, panting from the effort. Yeji reached out instinctively, steadying her by the elbow without looking, guiding her toward the end of the line.
“Shoulder?” Yeji asked under her breath.
“Fine,” Ryujin lied. “Thigh’s worse.”
Yeji gave a tiny nod, chest rising and falling beneath her gear.
They sat side by side on the bench, helmets tilted back, watching as the second unit jumped over the boards.
Neither spoke for a while.
And then Yeji murmured, eyes still locked on the ice, “One shift at a time.”
Ryujin turned toward her. The noise around them faded, just for a second.
“Yeah,” she said. “One shift at a time.”
The first period passed in a blur of speed and bruises.
Canada came in relentlessly with quick zone entries, aggressive forechecking, and brutal board battles that tested every inch of Team USA’s structure.
But USA held on.
Every time the opposing team surged, Yeji was there, anchoring the blue line like an immovable force. Her reads were sharp, her body positioning perfect despite the pain that clawed at her ribs. She took hits with gritted teeth and gave them right back, never once letting her movements slip.
Ryujin, meanwhile, danced along the edges of chaos.
She was not the fastest player on the ice that night, not with her thigh still recovering, but she was still the most unpredictable.
Her stickhandling was precise, cutting through defenders with creative angles and sudden turns. Twice she created breakaway opportunities for her line, and once she came heartbreakingly close to scoring, only to hit the post.
With minutes left in the period, Canada came surging back.
Their second line was fast. They cycled the puck with remarkable speed, forcing Yeji and Jeongyeon into a long shift. A quick snap pass from behind the net left the Canadian winger wide open in the slot.
She shot.
Lia dropped instantly and robbed her with the glove.
A full stretch, arm snatching the puck out of the air like she had been waiting for it the whole time.
The crowd gasped. The Canadian bench deflated.
The whistle blew, and Yeji turned immediately, tapping Lia’s helmet once with the blade of her stick.
“Perfect glove,” she said, voice crisp but unmistakably proud.
Lia did not say anything, just nodded once, already resetting her stance.
By the time the first period buzzer sounded, the score was still 0–0, and the air in the locker room felt carved from ice itself. No panic. No shouting. Just focus.
Yeji sat hunched slightly, unfastening her chest protector with short, controlled breaths. She could feel every bruise blooming deeper beneath the tape, but she did not complain.
She glanced at the whiteboard as Coach Donovan outlined adjustments, then reached down and retightened the wrap herself before standing.
Across the room, Ryujin sat half-peeled out of her gloves, chugging water with one hand while icing her shoulder with the other.
She caught Yeji’s eye and mouthed: Still good?
Yeji gave a small nod. You?
Ryujin tapped her thigh once. Mostly alive.
Coach Maddox entered with a fresh printout of Canada’s adjusted penalty kill. The staff had seen them change their triangle formation mid-period, and now Team USA needed to adjust.
“Yeji, you’ll lead the powerplay with Chaeryeong,” Donovan called. “Ryujin, second unit. Keep your shifts short.”
Yeji glanced at Chaeryeong, a brief flicker of something like surprise in her eyes. It was not doubt, just recognition.
They rarely played together in official pairings. Their styles were too similar on paper: calculated, fluid, composed. But this play was not about brute force. It was about timing.
Ryujin tilted her head. “Short like Yeji’s temper or short like Winter’s fuse?”
There were chuckles around the room.
Yeji looked at her from across the room and gave a single, pointed look that said: Behave .
Ryujin just answered with a wink.
The second period began with fire.
Team Canada came out of the locker room with blood in their teeth, clearly aware that Team USA was bruised. Not just in pride, but in flesh and bone.
The scouting reports had been studied. The bruised ribs. The taped shoulders. The weary legs. All of it was fair game now. This was not a game of grace anymore. This was attrition.
Within the first minute, the change was evident. Canada tightened their forecheck, forcing frantic puck movement from the USA defense.
The pressure was suffocating. Every retrieval in the corners came with a price. Stick slashes, body checks just at the edge of legal, constant physical reminders that Canada intended to wear them down… or break them.
Canada struck first blood near the halfway mark.
A long shift, exhaustion, and a broken breakout pass led to a quick turnover at the blue line. Lia saved it with her pads but they scored from a rebound off a lucky bounce that Lia never even saw.
The red and white section of the arena roared, and for the first time all tournament, the pressure shifted squarely onto Team USA.
1–0, Canada.
The air tightened.
Yeji responded like she always did.
She doubled down on her physical game, forcing turnovers along the boards, stripping pucks with quiet precision, and locking down the slot with pure grit.
She was everywhere: communicating on the fly, resetting plays, checking in with the bench between shifts with short, efficient nods.
Then, Ryujin lit the spark.
On her next shift, she finally gave Team USA a whistle.
She drew a slashing penalty by darting between two defenders and forcing them to collapse on her too fast. The whistle blew and one of the Canadian players on ice was being escorted into the penalty box.
The penalty had been rough enough to stop play entirely, and with the call made, Team USA was set to begin the powerplay with a faceoff deep in offensive territory.
As Ryujin skated off after the whistle, her stick tucked under her arm, she passed Yeji and muttered, “Your turn, Captain.”
Yeji locked eyes with her and nodded, skating slowly back to the bench.
Back in the bench, Ryujin was already tapping her stick on the boards, helmet slightly askew, mouthguard tucked between her teeth.
Coach Donovan leaned over the bench with a hard nod. “You four know the drill. Cycle wide. Low press. Eyes on Ryujin at the backdoor, but no forcing it.”
Then he turned to look at Yeji. “Can you run point or do we rotate?”
Yeji did not answer. She just nodded once and skated back toward the ice.
The faceoff dropped in the offensive zone.
Yeji took the first pass at the point, calm as ever, and ran the powerplay with brutal elegance.
Yeji corralled the puck off the drop, nudged it to Chaeryeong, who skated laterally, drawing two Canadian penalty killers high. Then a no-look drop back to Yeji, who had rotated wide.
Yeji drifted forward into open ice, her eyes scanning, her posture collected, baiting the box to move. The Canadian defenders shifted with her, just a second too slow.
She dragged both defenders with her, one shoulder angled as if preparing to shoot, body tilted just enough to sell the illusion. But it was a setup.
Ryujin read the moment. She slipped from behind the net to the weak side, silent and fast, her skates light, her stick low and waiting.
Yeji never turned. Never glanced.
But the puck came anyway.
A no-look backhand pass; perfect, deliberate, and so achingly familiar it almost hurt. It split the gap between skates and sticks, gliding across the ice with the kind of trust built not in drills, but in the private hours they had spent together.
Ryujin caught it in stride and did not hesitate. She ripped it top shelf, stick-side, clean and fast.
The kind of shot that made jaws drop.
The kind she owed herself.
The red light ignited behind the net.
1-1
They were back in it.
Ryujin threw her arms up in celebration, despite the sharp pain of her shoulder heavily masked by adrenaline, her stick raised, her mouth open in a shout of release.
Her teammates swarmed her, but her eyes went straight to Yeji.
Still breathing hard, Yeji just looked back at her. No wild grin, no shouting. Just the smallest smile, the kind that said: I told you. You’d get it.
The final seconds of the second period were ticking down, the scoreboard frozen at 1-1.
The energy inside the Centre Bell Arena was a storm. Every shift was louder, every breath was shorter.
The Canadian defense had settled low, suffocating the slot. Team USA was cycling high, trying to find an opening, and Ryujin was flying in from the left side boards, angling her stick for the drop pass from Winter. She barely had control of the puck when the hit came.
A blindside shoulder, clean but brutal, delivered with momentum and just enough height to drive Ryujin hard into the boards.
The crack of the impact echoed, sharp and unmistakable.
Ryujin crumpled for a breathless second, one knee dropping to the ice as her stick spun free across the corner. The crowd gasped. The Canadian defender immediately backed off, gliding away as the puck ricocheted to neutral.
Yeji was already moving, she had turned mid-shift, her skates slicing ice as she raced back into the defensive zone. Her heartbeat roared in her ears, louder than the crowd, louder than the whistles that followed.
Ryujin pushed herself up slowly, favoring her left arm. Her right shoulder hung just slightly lower than it had at puck drop.
It was subtle but Yeji noticed.
Of course she noticed.
The horn blew. The second period ended.
Cheers and sirens drowned out the tension, but Yeji’s eyes were fixed on one person.
Ryujin skated toward the bench, not quite limping, but clearly tight. Each stride was more mechanical than fluid, and her mouth pressed into a flat, determined line.
She did not speak when Coach Donovan called the team into the tunnel. She just nodded and slipped behind Lia and Chaeryeong as the team funneled back toward the locker room.
Yeji caught up to her just before the doors.
“You okay?” she asked low, matching Ryujin’s stride step for step.
“Fine,” Ryujin muttered, jaw clenched. She did not even look at her.
Yeji did not buy it for a second.
The locker room was a mix of energy and adrenaline. Some players slammed water bottles down, others dropped into the seats and grabbed protein bars, already talking strategy for the third period. The coaches moved quickly, talking through clips, tweaking plays.
But Yeji did not move toward the whiteboard. She knelt down beside Ryujin, who was sitting stiffly on the bench, head down, gripping her thigh with her good hand. Her right arm hung limp for a second before she reached for her water bottle, fumbled, and hissed.
Yeji caught it before it dropped. She held it out wordlessly.
Ryujin took it with her left hand, but said nothing.
“Ryujin,” Yeji said, quieter now, “what happened?”
Ryujin shook her head. “Shoulder’s just stinging. It’ll ease up.”
“That was more than stinging.”
Ryujin finally looked up, and her eyes were sharp, not angry, but defensive. “Yeji. I can finish this game.”
Yeji exhaled through her nose, controlled but visibly tense. She dropped her voice lower so no one else could hear. “I’m not doubting you. I just need to know exactly how bad it is so I can cover you if I have to.”
Ryujin blinked. Then something softened in her face, just a crack.
“I can still shoot,” she said. “I can still move. It’s just… every hit sends fire up my arm. I’ll need you to box out low for me. I can’t pin anyone against the boards right now.”
Yeji nodded slowly. “Done.”
Ryujin gave her a tight, grateful smile. “You always have my blindside.”
“Always,” Yeji said, steady. “But you have to talk to me out there. No trying to be a hero. No solo drives.”
Ryujin gave a quiet scoff. “You’re taking all the fun out of it.”
Yeji leaned in just slightly, just enough for their knees to touch, her voice no longer her captain voice, but something else. Something only Ryujin ever heard.
“If we win this, I am going to spend the next month making sure you don’t lift your arm above your head without my help. You understand?”
Ryujin’s smile twitched, wry and full of pain.
“Sounds romantic,” she murmured.
“Then win it with me,” Yeji whispered.
They sat like that for just another second. Two war-torn bodies, bruised and taped, staring into the last twenty minutes of the biggest game of their careers.
Then the buzzer sounded to signal the end of intermission.
And they rose, shoulder to shoulder, to meet the ice one last time.
The third period opened with the tension of a war drum. Both teams had returned to the ice with the full weight of the gold medal hanging in the balance.
No more saving energy. No more calculating risks. Everything was on the line, and it showed in every shift, sticks slamming, blades slicing, voices barking orders across the neutral zone.
Ryujin had barely sat down from her last shift before she was called up again. The lines were tightening, and the top units were running more often.
Coach Donovan gave her a look, a silent check-in , but Ryujin only nodded, chin tilted with that stubborn fire in her eyes. Her shoulder still ached like hell, but it would hold. Just twenty more minutes. Less, if she played it right.
Yeji rotated back onto the ice seconds later, skating across the blue line with that gliding calm she always carried in her stride. Her ribs were sore, but she moved like nothing touched her.
USA cycled the puck deep again, and Ryujin streaked into the offensive zone, taking a high loop toward the left circle.
The Canada defense had started to clamp down harder on her, one of their defenders shadowing every move she made since that brutal second-period hit.
And now, Ryujin could feel it, the same player was angling in again, closing in without hesitation.
Another blindside.
Ryujin tensed, about to absorb the hit.
But it never came.
Because Yeji saw it coming.
She was behind the play by a few strides, covering for a winger who had stayed high. But when she caught sight of the Canadian defenseman veering off her path, eyes locked on Ryujin, shoulders loaded for a hit, Yeji’s reaction was immediate.
She cut across the ice with frightening speed that should not have been possible in her condition, pushing off the edge of her skate so hard it sent up a spray of ice. Her stick came up just enough to signal she was closing the gap, but her body did the real work.
Right before the Canadian defender could drive into Ryujin again, Yeji slammed into her from the side with a clean, vicious shoulder-to-shoulder check.
The sound of the collision reverberated through the glass.
The Canadian player went flying sideways, crashing into the boards with enough force to make the arena gasp.
It was legal.
Brutal, but legal.
Perfect timing.
And for once, the referees kept their whistles down.
Ryujin jerked slightly in place, blinking, half-expecting the blow to have landed on her again. Instead, a blur of navy and red cut across her periphery like a lightning strike.
Her captain .
She twisted and looked back, catching the moment Yeji stood over the downed Canadian defender for a split second.
Yeji’s face was unreadable, breathing was hard, but her message was crystal clear.
Not this time.
Ryujin skated to her, eyes wide, mouth half-open in disbelief. “Did you just—?”
“I saw her lining you up,” Yeji said, voice low, clipped, her eyes locked on the opposing defender still trying to get back up on her feet. “That’s not happening again.”
Ryujin, still catching her breath, glanced sideways with a breathless grin. “You sent her flying,” she whispered, a hint of awe in her voice. “That was… I mean… that was hot .”
Yeji did not break focus, did not even glance her way. She just reached over, grabbed a fistful of Ryujin’s jersey near the waist, steadying her. “I told you,” she muttered under her breath, “if someone lays a finger on you, I’ll send them flying.”
Ryujin’s smile widened, heat curling behind her ribs. “Try not to get yourself killed,” Yeji added, finally looking at her with a sharp tilt of her brow, “and maybe I’ll hit someone else for you later.”
Ryujin bumped her knee against Yeji’s just as the ref stepped in. “Promise?”
Yeji’s gaze flickered over her shoulder. “No more blindside hits,” she said again. “Not when I’m here.”
And when the puck dropped seconds later, it was not just Team USA that pushed forward.
It was Yeji and Ryujin, back to back, shoulder to aching shoulder, fighting their way toward the end with fire in their lungs and vengeance in their bones.
And this time, no one dared to touch Ryujin again.
The final ten minutes of the third period felt like they stretched across a lifetime.
Every shift was shorter now. Thirty seconds, maybe forty if they were pressing. The coaches were rolling the top lines relentlessly, trusting experience and chemistry to break through.
The crowd in the arena was deafening. Drums pounded in the upper decks. Flags waved from every corner. But Ryujin only saw the ice, her pulse locked to the rhythm of the game.
She had not said it out loud, but Yeji knew she was gritting through every shift. The tension in Ryujin’s jaw, the way her right shoulder drooped ever so slightly after every burst of speed, was enough for Yeji to track her without looking directly at her.
The clock bled down to its final seconds like a dying heartbeat, thick, heavy, impossible to ignore.
1–1
The gold medal game between Team USA and Team Canada had been everything it was built up to be: relentless, physical, brilliant.
Bodies collided at every zone entry. Shots rang off the pipes like warning bells. Every shift had the weight of history pressed into it, and no one, not the roaring crowd, not the bench players with white knuckles wrapped around sticks, not even the coaching staff, dared to breathe too loudly.
Then, the final moments began with a turnover.
A deflected pass in the high slot, a desperate stick lift that spun the puck loose toward center ice, and suddenly, Canada was sprinting the other way.
The breakaway unfolded in a flash. Their center snatched the puck mid-glide and rocketed down the neutral zone, flipping it to their winger in full stride.
But before Yeji could pivot into coverage, she felt it, an arm, then a shoulder, then the full weight of a body slamming into her side.
Not legal. Not clean.
No call.
The hit came high and fast, right under her ribs, and it knocked the breath clean out of her.
She went down hard.
Her ribs screamed as her back hit the ice, her stick flung uselessly aside. Her helmet rang with the jolt. She barely registered the scrapes of skates behind her, or the way the crowd surged louder with every stride the Canadian winger took up ice.
Yeji scrambled, trying to push up onto one elbow, but her body betrayed her for a beat too long. She twisted, gasping, one arm clutching her side as the game raged forward without her.
She could finally hear it.
The rising roar of the crowd. The echo of skates thundering toward Team USA’s zone. The slap of the puck being reeled in at the top of the circles.
From the bench, coaches were already yelling. Players were standing. Time slowed down again.
Ten seconds.
Canada surged up the ice with terrifying speed. Their top line was quick, brutal, and endlessly coordinated. They threaded through the neutral zone like it was second nature.
Ryujin was already on the ice. She had seen it. She had seen Yeji go down and the winger take off anyway.
She cut across the backcheck with everything she had left, burning legs, battered shoulder, teeth grit so hard her jaw ached.
Seven seconds.
Yeji shoved herself upright on one knee.
Canada’s center dished the puck off to their winger, #19, lightning-fast and sneaky all game.
She caught the pass clean, dragging it wide to the left side of the crease.
Lia, locked in for Team USA, flared out to cover, her glove ready. The crowd was deafening. The bench was on its feet.
Five seconds.
The Canadian winger lunged forward.
Four .
The puck snapped off her blade.
Three.
It went sailing top shelf past Lia’s glove.
Two.
It went into the net.
The red goal light lit up behind Lia.
The arena exploded.
For a heartbeat, the world cracked open.
Team Canada erupted from the bench like cannon fire. Helmets flew. Gloves scattered across the ice like confetti.
The winger who scored dropped to her knees, fists clenched, screaming into the roar of the Montreal crowd.
Coaches leapt, arms raised, the air punched from their lungs in triumph. It was chaos. Pure, dizzying chaos.
And Yeji, still breathless and shaking, finally dragged herself to her feet, sweat and adrenaline soaked, fury blazing in her eyes.
Not because of the no-call.
Not even because of the hit.
But because for those terrifying seconds, she had not been there.
The sound hit her like a wall. An entire nation’s roar pouring down from the stands. It felt like a blow to the chest.
She turned her head just enough to see Ryujin, stopped dead in the crease, one glove still outstretched, lips slightly parted.
Her expression had not caught up yet. She had not processed anything yet.
None of them had.
Ryujin could not breathe.
This was not how it was supposed to end.
She staggered back a step, as if hit again, and leaned hard on her stick to keep herself upright. Her gaze darted to the clock.
1.8 seconds.
Yeji felt it then.
That lurch in her stomach.
Not just the devastation of defeat.
No… it was something else.
Wrong .
Something was wrong .
Her eyes snapped up to the big screen, replay already being cued up above center ice. Her instincts took over. Her body reacted before her mind did.
“ Offside ,” she breathed.
The coaching staff immediately signaled from the bench. Officials gathered near the penalty box, hands to their ears, eyes locked on the overhead screens.
The arena’s raucous energy turned confused, scattered, waves of celebration turning to murmurs of doubt.
Referees were already blowing their whistles, heads down, speaking into their headsets as they skated urgently toward the scorer’s table.
The celebration faltered.
Confusion rippled through the arena like a sudden gust of wind.
The red light turned off.
The jumbotron flickered,
REVIEWING PLAY.
Canada’s players paused in their embrace. The bench stopped mid-leap. A few turned their heads, brows furrowing as the officials circled. The noise in the arena changed pitch, cheers bleeding into uncertainty, into disbelief.
“No goal?” someone shouted behind the glass.
Ryujin finally blinked, snapping out of it. Her eyes whipped up to the scoreboard, then across the ice to Yeji, who was already skating straight toward the linesman, her voice sharp.
“She was across before the puck,” Yeji said. “Left winger. Skate touched before the zone entry. Check it.”
The linesman gave no response, only a curt nod as the other officials gathered near the scorer’s table, headset cables pulled taut, eyes already locked on the first frame of the replay.
The arena held its breath.
On the jumbotron, the slow-motion footage played.
Canada’s breakout. The pass to the wing. The blue line.
There it was.
The winger’s skate: across.
The puck: still behind.
One second. Maybe less . But it was enough.
Gasps. Boos. Someone near the glass threw a hat in frustration.
The referee conferred, then conferred again.
Then he skated to center ice, lifted both arms, and made the signal:
Offside.
No goal.
The arena erupted again, but this time, it was a cacophony:
Cheers from the red-white-and-blue section.
Groans and protests from the Canadian bench.
Coaches slammed their hands against the glass.
Players barked at the officials. But the call had been made.
The red light that had once seemed so final now felt like a cruel illusion.
Canada’s bench deflated in a single exhale.
Yeji, still panting at the faceoff dot, dropped her head briefly and exhaled so hard her shoulders shook.
Ryujin clutched the boards, then buried her face in the crook of her elbow for a second, just one second, before lifting her head again, sharp and locked back in.
It was not over.
The scoreboard still read 1–1.
1.8 seconds left.
They had been inches from defeat.
Now they were going to take the gold themselves.
Chapter Text
OVERTIME — USA vs CANADA
The clock reset to 20:00. Sudden death.
One goal would decide everything.
The teams did not go back to the locker rooms. No speeches. No time to breathe. They stayed on the benches.
Coaches huddled. Trainers watched with quiet tension. The crowd, packed shoulder to shoulder, never sat. Not after the overturned goal.
Not after the eruption of whistles and confusion and the final verdict — offside . No goal. Still 1–1.
Everything was riding on overtime.
Yeji sat with her helmet off, towel pressed to her ribs. Her eyes stayed locked on the center ice, where the fresh lines glimmered under the lights. Her chest rose and fell slowly, measured. Controlled. A bruise darkened along her left side. Her jaw was clenched. She had played through worse. But this was different.
This was the game.
Ryujin sat beside her, shoulder taped and thigh bound tight. She was not cleared for a full shift, not after the hit in the second, but the trainer had muttered reluctantly that she could “take a short skate, no contact.”
Ryujin had looked him in the eye and nodded once. “Noted.”
Coach Donovan gathered them quickly.
“No heroes,” he said. “No reckless pinches. You see a lane, take it. But be smart. Protect each other. Make them work for every inch.”
Yeji met his eyes and gave a single, silent nod. Then she turned to Ryujin, who was already tightening her gloves.
“If you’re not feeling right—”
“I’m not,” Ryujin cut in, eyes burning. “But I’m still going.”
Yeji stared at her. Then quietly muttered, “Stay on my side. No deep cuts unless I call it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, captain.”
The puck dropped.
The first few minutes were a brutal chess match. Both teams cautious but fast, managing risks, testing lines, probing for weakness.
Canada came close three minutes in: a fast rush off a bad turnover. But Lia read it like a book, came out of her crease, and smothered the puck before the winger could even deke.
USA answered back. Winter found a seam and cut through the neutral zone, slicing past two defenders before feeding Riley at the top of the slot. The shot went wide by an inch. The rebound bounced dangerously off the boards, but no one was in position to bury it.
At 9:14, Yeji took a heavy hit in the corner but still managed to chip the puck out. She staggered for half a second before resetting her stance and skating back into the play. Ryujin was on the bench, watching every step, gripping the boards so tightly her fingers ached.
At 12:46, Canada nearly ended it.
Their captain cut inside, dragged the puck across the slot, and shot glove-side. Lia stretched, full extension, and snagged it with the tip of her glove.
Whistle.
Save.
The entire bench exhaled at once.
Midway through OT, Ryujin finally stepped back onto the ice.
Her stride was slower than usual. More deliberate. But her eyes were locked in, scanning, reading every shift in Canada’s formation. She stayed wide, never too deep. Her first touch came off a controlled entry — Chaeryeong dumped it low, and Ryujin chased with just enough speed to pressure without drawing contact.
She moved like a ghost, hovering at the edge of danger. Always an option. Always ready.
At 16:38, it happened.
Canada fumbled a pass at their blue line. Yeji jumped the gap, intercepted cleanly, and turned the puck with a tight pivot. She looked up and Ryujin was there.
Wide open.
Yeji fired the puck off the boards behind the net. It ricocheted perfectly, she meant it to , and Ryujin caught it in motion. She dragged the puck toward the crease, barely beating the Canadian goalie’s stick. She slipped the puck under the glove side.
But it hit the post.
The crowd screamed.
Ryujin gasped. Fell to one knee. Yeji skated in and lifted her up without a word.
The game continued.
At 18:55, a scramble in front of the USA net sent everyone diving. Sticks flew. Helmets clashed. The puck bounced free, and Yeji dove across the crease, swatting it out with the heel of her stick.
One minute left.
Time slowed. Everything hurt. But no one was giving in.
Everyone felt the suffocating tension and physical toll as overtime dragged into its final moments.
By then, both teams were beyond exhaustion. Muscles were cramping. Injuries were flaring. But no one backed down.
Every second was a battle between pain and will.
In the moments that followed, Canada managed to exploit a rare breakdown in coverage. They drew Lia just far enough out of her crease on a deceptive cycle, pulling her left with a sudden cross-crease pass.
The puck moved faster than the defense could rotate.
The net— open . A clean lane. Stick pulled back.
The entire rink seemed to hold its breath, watching the puck race toward the back of the net.
But the captain had seen it coming.
Before the pass. Before the release. She had already shifted, already pushed off her right edge, cutting across the blue paint with everything she had left. Her ribs screamed. Her legs threatened to collapse beneath her. But her timing was flawless.
With seconds left in OT, she lunged across the crease, fully committed, and dropped to her knees and slid just as the shot was released.
The shot had been a rocket from Canada’s captain, their deadliest forward, and it was headed bar down before Yeji stepped into its path and took the full brunt just below her ribs. It knocked the air from her lungs, but the puck did not cross the line.
The sound of puck meeting padding and flesh was a low, brutal thud that cut through the rink louder than the horn that never came.
Gasps turned into a roar.
Yeji did not move at first, winded by the hit, but she had done what no stat sheet could measure.
No highlight reel could capture the decision, not the reflex. Not instinct. But choice.
She threw herself in front of that shot with one goal: give her team another chance.
And she had.
The horn blared seconds later.
Still tied . 1–1.
Because the captain had kept them alive.
Yeji barely had time to steady her breath before she felt arms wrap around her from behind.
Lia .
The goalie had skated out of her crease the moment the horn sounded, yanking off her mask as she went, heart hammering from the chaos of the last play. But when she saw Yeji down on one knee, chest heaving, ribs rattled from the block that saved the game, she did not hesitate.
Lia dropped to the ice beside her and pulled her in, helmet and all, into a fierce, unrelenting hug.
“You crazy, fearless idiot,” Lia whispered against Yeji’s shoulder, voice cracking with adrenaline. “You saved it. You freaking saved it.”
Yeji did not answer right away. Her breath was still shallow, the ache in her ribs pulsing harder with every second. But she let herself lean into the hug, forehead resting on Lia’s, her gloved hand clutching the back of Lia’s jersey like she needed to anchor herself somewhere.
Yeji remained on one knee just outside the crease, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps, the imprint of the puck already blooming into another bruise beneath the layers of tape wrapped around her torso. Her head was bowed slightly, sweat dripping from her chin to the ice. Her stick trembled faintly in her grip.
And then, one by one, they came.
Winter reached her first, dropping to one knee beside her, hand on Yeji’s back in silent support. Riley followed, helmet off, lips pressed into a hard line, eyes flicking from the puck mark on Yeji’s side to the net she had just protected. Then Jeongyeon.
Ryujin skated toward her on stiff legs. Her shoulder burned. Her thigh threatened to lock with each stride. But none of that mattered now. Her stick clattered to the ice as she slowed near the edge of the group.
When Yeji looked up, Ryujin was already there.
Without a word, Ryujin reached down, cupped the back of Yeji’s helmet with her gloved hand, and leaned her forehead against it. Just the softest contact, but it was everything.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Ryujin whispered, breathless, so low it barely reached above the noise.
Yeji tilted her head back slightly, her breath still ragged. “You and me both.”
Ryujin crouched beside her, their foreheads brushing now, closer than anyone else could hear. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes,” Yeji whispered, voice hoarse. “I did.”
And in that stillness, they closed around her. A huddle of bruised, battered players, backs bent, heads low, hands gripping jerseys, not in celebration, not yet.
But in honor.
They knew what she had done. What it had cost. The captain had thrown herself in the path of a sure goal and traded pain for a few more minutes of hope.
Yeji finally stood, slowly, wincing, but steady.
The crowd roared even more as she straightened. Not just Team USA fans. Everyone . Even the Canadian bench, silent and stunned, could not help but register the sheer weight of what she had done.
She nodded once toward the glass, a ghost of a smirk on her lips, then turned back to her team.
Yeji made it to the bench under her own power, but every step was deliberate. Controlled. Pain woven into her posture like another piece of equipment she had learned to wear without complaint.
The trainers tried to guide her toward the tunnel, but she brushed them off with a curt shake of her head.
Coach Donovan started to object. “Yeji, we’ve got to check that out” , but one look at her face silenced him.
She sat down stiffly, shoulders tight, clutching her side. Her gloves stayed on. Her helmet was still fastened. She had no intention of leaving.
Behind them, the ref called for the shootout list.
At center ice, beneath the harsh white glare of the arena lights, the referee held the puck and a coin. Both teams gathered around their benches, nerves stretched tight, skates tapping anxiously on the boards.
One Canadian assistant captain skated forward: tall, composed, the maple leaf proud on her chest. From Team USA, it was Yeji who moved, slow and deliberate, the captain’s ‘C’ still bold on her jersey despite the heavy ice pack now wrapped tight beneath her gear.
The ref turned toward the captains.
“Captain Hwang,” he said, lifting the coin. “You call it.”
Yeji nodded once, firm. “Tails.”
The ref flipped the coin high. It spun in a quick silver blur before landing clean in his palm.
“Tails it is.”
A soft breath of relief passed between the coaches.
“USA will shoot second,” Yeji confirmed immediately. Strategically sound, they would know what Canada put on the board first. More pressure. More control.
The Canadian captain looked surprised for half a second before she composed herself again. It was common to choose to shoot first, to set the tone and apply pressure.
But Yeji had her reasons. She always did.
Ryujin’s brow furrowed slightly at the bench. Second ?
Coach Donovan muttered something approving under his breath. “Smart.”
Karina, standing beside Ryujin, leaned in and whispered, “She wants the last word.”
Ryujin blinked. Her gaze slowly shifted back toward Yeji, who was now turning away from the dot, skating back with that same unreadable expression.
“We go with the five,” he said. “In order: Winter, Yuna, Madison, Yeji…”
Coach Donovan stepped close enough that only the immediate row could hear. “Can you take the fourth?”
A silence pulsed through the space around them. Chaeyoung stopped taping her stick. Yujin’s eyes flicked over. Ryujin froze in place, eyes narrowing at the corner.
Yeji did not answer right away. She sat upright slowly, testing her core with a shallow breath. Her face barely twitched, but it was enough. Ryujin saw it. That tiny flash of tightness just under her left eye. She masked it instantly.
“I can,” Yeji said.
Donovan studied her. “You sure?”
She nodded. “You need a score in the fourth. I’m calm. I know her tendencies.”
He hesitated just a beat longer, then muttered, “Alright.” A tap on the shoulder. “You’re fourth. If we need the fifth, Ryujin finishes it.”
Yeji dipped her chin in acknowledgment. She reached for her helmet, slow but sure, the pain beneath her ribs flaring and tightening as she adjusted the chin strap. But there was no hesitation in her fingers. Just a practiced rhythm. Like her body had learned to obey even when it screamed otherwise.
Ryujin blinked once.
She pulled back, sitting at the far edge of the bench, alone for a moment amid the tightly packed bodies. Her knee bounced. She rested her helmet between her skates, gaze fixed on the ice but unfocused, mind playing a thousand silent scenarios at once.
Fifth .
If it got that far, she would be the one to decide it. Not start the momentum. Not answer back. Not claw their way level.
End it.
The arena had gone electric. Noise rolled through the stands in waves. Cheers, drums, chants, pounding feet echoing across the ice. Every fan was on their feet. Flags waved. Tension tightened across every inch of the rink like a wire ready to snap.
Team USA stood along the bench, arms slung over shoulders, sticks clutched tight. No one moved much. No one needed to. Their focus narrowed, eyes locked on the lone skaters gliding down the center of the ice one by one, one chance at a time.
Round 1
Canada’s first shooter approached with confident speed, faked forehand, and slipped it low glove side.
Goal.
1–0.
For USA, Winter skated in smoothly, sold a hesitation, then fired five-hole before the goalie could close.
Goal.
1–1.
Round 2
Another high-skill winger for Canada, patient, quick wrists. She snuck it in off the post.
Goal.
2–1.
For USA, Yuna came in sharp and clean, pulling wide before snapping it top shelf blocker side.
Goal.
2–2.
Round 3
Canada’s winger made straight-line speed and a sudden backhand flick.
Goal.
3–2.
For USA, Madison took her time, dragging the puck across the crease before flipping it over the pad.
Goal.
3–3.
Round 4
Canada made a quick shot off the wrist, just under the glove.
Goal. 4–3.
Ryujin stood at the edge of the bench, her gloved fingers gripping the top of the boards so tightly her knuckles ached.
She had never been still in her life: always in motion, always energy and noise and movement. But now, as Yeji stepped onto the ice for Round 4, Ryujin was stone.
The noise dulled in Ryujin’s ears when she saw her. Yeji’s hair was plastered to her jawline beneath her helmet, sweat dripping from her chin. She held her stick with both hands, body tilted in slight discomfort from her taped ribs, but her eyes… her eyes were steel.
Yeji skated to center ice like gravity could not touch her.
Everything about Yeji looked composed. Her stride was controlled, balanced. No hesitation. Not even the faintest flinch from the bruises around her ribs. She skated like she was born to be there, like pressure was just another language she happened to speak fluently.
Ryujin had watched her take a thousand shots in practice. But never like this. Not with everything on the line.
Yeji collected the puck with a gentle tap at center ice, then moved forward, not fast, not flashy. Just smooth.
Her blade cradled the puck in slow, calculated drags, left to right, inch by inch as she approached.
Ryujin’s heartbeat pounded in her ears.
The Canadian goalie twitched slightly, bracing for a wrist shot.
Yeji did not blink. She did not even look up.
Three strides out, she shifted.
A slight fake: shoulders tipping just enough to sell the shot, then a clean pull to the backhand.
The goalie went down.
Yeji did not lift it recklessly. She just placed it. Backhand, high corner, gentle as a sigh.
Goal.
4-4.
Yeji skated back like it was nothing. Like she had expected to score. Like it was just another repetition in the drill they had done together a hundred times before sunrise.
But as she passed the bench, she let her eyes flick toward Ryujin.
Ryujin felt the breath catch in her throat.
That look. That fire. That unshakable trust.
It was not loud or cocky or dramatic. But it said: We’re not done yet.
And Ryujin felt her chest burn with something deeper than nerves.
Because she was up next.
Round 5
The arena had gone still again, the kind of heavy silence that feels like it sinks into your ribs. Ryujin’s heart thudded behind her sternum as the fifth Canadian shooter stepped out onto the ice, stick low, expression unreadable. Just a girl in a red jersey with gold hanging on her blade.
Across the ice, Lia stood alone in the crease. Her knees were bent, stick steady, eyes locked on the approaching skater. Her breath fogged faintly behind the cage of her mask. She had already let in four. But not this one. Not now.
Canada’s skater took a wide approach. Right side, sharp angle. She moved fast, puck bouncing slightly along her forehand, then cut hard across the slot to force Lia to track her laterally. It was a clever move. Ryujin could see it unfold from the bench, how it would pull Lia just enough to expose the far side.
The shooter faked once, pulled left, then tried to tuck it in just under the blocker.
Lia stayed with her. Every inch.
Her right leg extended, a split-second stretch, and her blocker came down low and caught it.
The puck ricocheted off her pad and skipped harmlessly into the corner.
No red light.
No celebration.
Just stunned silence, and then eruption.
The moment Lia made the save, Ryujin did not move. The bench around her erupted, Winter shouting hoarsely, Riley pounding the boards, Yeji clapping twice, sharp and deliberate, but Ryujin stood completely still, her gloves motionless around the top of the boards.
Lia stood tall in the crease, her chest heaving, stick still pointed toward the spot where the puck had died. She did not celebrate wildly. She just nodded once.
Not today.
Ryujin exhaled sharply. Lia had given her the chance.
Now it was hers to take.
And with it came the weight she had carried for days.
The last time they played Canada, Ryujin had been the one with the chance to win it.
Not once, but twice.
They lost that game. It haunted her. She had replayed it so many times she could see every detail in her sleep: the angle, the arc of her stick, the look in Yeji’s eyes after. Not disappointment. Just silence. That was somehow worse.
And now, here it was again.
Same team. Same pressure. Same woman skating toward center ice.
But this time, her body was wrecked. Her thigh ached with every stride. Her shoulder burned from the last hit in regulation. Every step she took felt carved out of what little energy she had left.
And still, she stepped over the boards.
Ryujin reached the center ice. The puck sat waiting, just like it always did. She rolled her shoulders once, wincing as fire lit up the right side of her body, then steadied her breath.
She tapped the puck. The ref blew the whistle.
She skated.
Not fast. Not fancy. Controlled .
She veered slightly left, curling the puck along the edge of her blade. The Canadian goalie squared up, crouched low, gloves wide. Ryujin’s eyes never left her. Not once.
Ryujin feinted once, sharp right, baiting the glove.
Then pulled the puck back left with a flick of her wrists and cut in hard.
The goalie lunged.
Ryujin delayed. One perfect second.
And it hurt .
Her thigh screamed as her edge dug into the ice, locking her into place. Her shoulder burned, muscles tightening from the sudden hold in motion. Every instinct in her body begged her to shoot now, to end it, to move and release before the pain overtook precision. But she did not.
She waited .
Ryujin was known to be chaotic.
Even Yeji, especially Yeji, had built entire defensive schemes around containing her. Around anticipating the woman who refused to follow a pattern.
But in the biggest moment of her career, fifth round, tied shootout, gold on the line, Ryujin did not unleash chaos.
For once, Ryujin was not the storm.
She was the eye of it.
Her hands stayed steady, her breath shallow, and in that moment of stillness, despite the weight of her injuries pressing like fire into every nerve, she saw the opening.
The goalie had committed. The angle had opened.
And then she chipped it in.
Screw the pain.
Gold was theirs.
Chapter Text
The world had gone quiet.
Ryujin snapped forward with a flick of her wrists and a bolt of pain ripping through her shoulder and thigh, dragging the puck back across the goalie’s reach.
The puck sailed just inside the opposite post, so fast it disappeared.
It hit the net with that beautiful, decisive sound that could only mean one thing.
Goal.
No horn yet. No reaction.
And for one breathless second, the arena was frozen in stunned silence.
The red light behind the net finally flared to life.
Ryujin skated through her follow-through. Her stick dropped from her hands. Her eyes locked on the puck nestled against the mesh.
Then came the sound.
And the world exploded .
A tidal wave of noise crashed through the stands. An eruption of screams, thunderous cheers, gasps, sobs, flags being whipped into the air. The Team USA bench exploded. Gloves, sticks, and helmets soared over the boards like confetti. Players leapt the barrier in a single rush, racing toward the ice, colliding into one another in frenzied disbelief.
For a surreal heartbeat, Ryujin could not hear the crowd, or the announcers losing their minds overhead. She barely registered the eruption of sound as thousands of voices rose in a wave of disbelief and euphoria.
The rink disappeared around her.
The weight of the moment bore down like gravity.
Her arms did not fly up. She did not pump her fists. She simply turned sharply, jaw clenched, and began gliding back toward center ice, breath caught somewhere between relief and fire. Her eyes were wide but dazed.
As if her body had moved faster than her brain could comprehend.
As if her heart was still catching up.
She stopped at the center logo. Alone. Chest heaving. Her mouthguard clenched between her teeth. Hands trembling.
Ryujin looked up, eyes sweeping across the arena, the gold confetti just beginning to rain down from above. She took it in. Not as a star, not as the one who scored, but as a girl from Minnesota who used to watch these games on an old TV, who had posters of players who never quite made it, who played on frozen ponds and told herself that one day, she would be the difference.
And now she was.
Ryujin stood still. She could barely breathe. Not from exhaustion, not from the weight of the crowd’s adoration, not the flood of cameras zeroing in, not even from the crushing feeling of her ribs, but from the sheer, overwhelming reality that she had done it.
They had done it.
And then, she saw her.
Yeji .
The moment the goal went in, Yeji had launched herself over the bench, one hand over her torso. She had sprinted across the ice with no regard for the bruises ringing in her ribs, for the tears in her gear, or the stabbing ache that had plagued her all tournament.
She did not care about the crowd, about protocol, about the officials or the chaos erupting behind her.
She only saw Ryujin.
She dropped her stick somewhere behind her, her gloves coming off one after the other mid-stride. Her helmet was next, thrown clean over her shoulder, tumbling to the ice behind her like it meant nothing.
Ryujin’s heart jumped straight into her throat.
And without thinking, she reached up even as her shoulder throbbed, and yanked her own helmet off.
It clattered to the ice beside her, a metallic echo lost in the thunder of the arena.
Yeji collided into her with enough force to knock both of them slightly off balance, like gravity itself had been undone. Ryujin stumbled back half a step, then caught herself, arms wrapping around Yeji’s waist like it was instinct. Like they had done this before a thousand times, in a thousand dreams they had never dared to speak aloud.
Yeji’s hands tangled in the back of Ryujin’s jersey, holding tight, grounding herself in the feel of her, in the reality of it. Her heart was racing too fast to speak.
Ryujin pulled her in as if she needed to make sure this was real. Her head dropped to Yeji’s shoulder.
“You did it,” Yeji breathed. Her voice cracked.
Ryujin blinked once, slowly. “I don’t — I think I blacked out.”
Yeji let out a shaky laugh, her grip still firm. “You finished it.”
And for the first time, Ryujin smiled .
Not the cocky, reckless grin she wore for the cameras.
This was different. Her whisker dimples fully out but hidden on the crook of Yeji’s neck.
This one was full of something heavier, something brighter.
Relief. Euphoria. Peace.
Then Yeji shifted.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Her hands came up, gentle and sure, fingers brushing Ryujin’s damp hair behind her ears. She pulled back just enough for their breath to mingle in the cold, electric space between them.
Their helmets were long gone. The lights caught in Ryujin’s hair like fire. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes half-lidded with pain and awe and disbelief.
And when Yeji looked at her, really looked , everything else disappeared.
This was not the girl she used to shut down in every game, the opponent she studied for hours on film. This was not her rival across center ice, cocky and fast and reckless.
This was her girlfriend.
Her person. Her heartbeat. Her stupid, brilliant, broken-limbed girl who had just won them gold.
Yeji’s eyes flicked down once to Ryujin’s lips. She did not mean to. It just happened. Just like it always did lately.
And Ryujin saw.
Of course she saw.
A soft, knowing smile crept across her face, tired and crooked, like she was daring Yeji to do it.
But she did not move.
Yeji hesitated. Not because she did not want to.
Her whole body was aching to close the distance, to press her lips to Ryujin’s and forget the world was still watching.
But the world was literally watching.
Cameras circled like sharks. Reporters were already pressing to the glass. Fans screamed from the stands. There were still club seasons ahead. Still playoffs. Still consequences.
So she held back. Just a breath. Just a heartbeat.
And Ryujin, seeing everything, only smiled wider, soft and steady and full of understanding.
She knew.
She leaned forward just enough for their foreheads to press together again for a moment, the gesture tender and grounding.
Yeji let out a shaky exhale, the tension still in her chest. “Stop looking at me like that,” she whispered, voice low and frayed.
Ryujin’s eyes sparkled, even as her shoulders trembled beneath Yeji’s hands.
“I just won gold,” she said, grinning despite the bruises. “I can look at my girlfriend any way I want.”
Yeji blinked. Her throat tightened.
There it was. Out in the open. No noise, no drama. Just a fact.
Ryujin had said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Yeji, who had spent years burying every flicker of feeling behind walls, felt them all come crashing down.
The moment stretched, unspoken things suspended between them.
Then they both looked up.
At the scoreboard.
At the confetti still falling.
At everything they had just won together.
The world around them dissolved into a storm of light and sound. Confetti falling like snow from the rafters, horns blaring, flags waving madly in every direction.
Ryujin’s legs, now trembling, had carried her through sixty minutes of battle, twenty minutes of overtime, and a perfect, heart-stopping final shot.
Her chest was rising and falling in sharp, shallow bursts.
The pressure, the fear, the noise — they had all vanished in that one flick of her wrist. She could still feel the vibration in the shaft of her stick, the millisecond of contact, the frozen tension as the puck sailed top shelf.
Yeji pulled Ryujin back into her arms as their teammates collided into them in every direction:
Winter crashing into Ryujin with a shriek, “You absolute beast!”
Jinni jumping onto Winter’s back.
Jules yelling incoherently, arms outstretched, skates barely stopping before joining the ever-growing pile.
Riley slammed her stick against the ice over and over, eyes red, screaming, “We fucking won!”
Chaeryeong collapsed against Lia, both of them crying openly now.
Seulgi wrapped her arms around Yuna and spun her.
Madison was flat on her back, face buried in the confetti, laughing like a maniac.
The center ice was no longer a rink. It was a storm of bodies, tears, triumph. The huddle collapsed in a mess of gears, sticks, helmets, and gold-laced chaos.
But through it all, even as they fell into the pile, even as the arena shook around them with the force of history being made, Yeji never let go of Ryujin.
Even when the team was screaming, piling on, chanting “ USA! USA! ” in a delirious frenzy, Yeji stayed right there, her arms still around Ryujin’s shoulders, her cheek pressed against Ryujin’s head.
Before they were fully swallowed by the celebration, Yeji tilted her head and pressed the softest kiss to Ryujin’s temple.
Quick. Barely a brush. Almost innocent. A subtle thing. Hidden in the frenzy.
But Ryujin froze. Not from shock, but because it said everything Yeji never got to say out loud on camera.
Her eyes fluttered closed, a tiny hitch in her breath, her fingers tightening around the back of Yeji’s jersey.
Because the kiss was not loud.
It was not for the crowd.
It was just for her .
And then the moment was swallowed by the sea of celebration.
The ceremony unfolded like a dream, thick with emotion. The team stood shoulder to shoulder on the blue line, their arms around each other’s backs, jerseys damp with sweat, confetti sticking to their hair and shoulders.
As the officials moved into place, the crowd quieted only slightly, the noise becoming a steady hum of anticipation, of hearts still racing, of history settling into the bones of everyone in that building.
Before the medals were brought out, before the anthem echoed and the flags rose to the ceiling, the arena paused. Not for silence, but for recognition. The announcer’s voice cut through the hum of celebration, signaling the beginning of the individual honors.
They started with the Players of the Game .
For Canada, it was the relentless winger who had been their engine all tournament long. She stepped forward amidst bittersweet cheers from the Canadian fans, a model of grace in silver, lifting her stick in acknowledgment as she accepted the award.
Then the announcer’s voice returned, cutting cleanly through the noise:
“And now, the Player of the Game for Team USA… Number 97, Ryujin Shin!”
The cheer that followed was explosive—louder, somehow, than it had even been when the puck went in. Her name rose in waves across the crowd, echoed by fans wrapped in flags, teammates banging sticks, broadcasters scrambling for the right words to describe what she had done.
Ryujin blinked, almost startled.
Her body ached in a thousand places. Her thigh was tight and stiff, her ribs still tender, and the brace around her shoulder pulled gently at her jersey every time she moved. The staff had insisted she wear it after the game, just to be safe.
A little uncool, she thought. But she had relented without protest.
When her teammates pushed her forward with grins and slaps to the back, Ryujin let out a sheepish laugh. She raised her left arm in acknowledgment and carefully made her way to center ice.
The award was waiting for her there, all clean curves and polished silver.
She held it close, tucked against her chest like it was an afterthought, and gave a lopsided grin to the cameras. A smile that said, I can’t lift it, but I’ll still take it.
The crowd cheered louder.
Her teammates erupted behind her, shouting her name. Jinni was yelling “That’s our girl!” while Winter made exaggerated bowing gestures like Ryujin was royalty. Chaeryeong was half-laughing, half-tearing up, waving at her like she had just won the lottery.
And Yeji—Yeji stood just off to the side, clapping steadily, gaze soft, unreadable to everyone but Ryujin.
Their eyes met, briefly.
Ryujin smiled again, this time quieter, a little crooked.
She turned back toward the team and struggled to make her way back to the blue line, cradling the award like a prized possession. Her shoulder ached. Her ribs protested. Her thighs begged for a break.
But her heart?
Light as air.
And just as the team began to shift, the announcer’s voice returned, steady and formal through the arena speakers.
“Before the awarding of medals, we take this moment to recognize the tournament’s individual standouts—the players whose performance, grit, and leadership defined this year’s World Championship.”
The players straightened instinctively, eyes lifting to the screens above the rink.
“Next, we honor the Tournament Bests , as selected by the IIHF Directorate.”
The cheers had not even died down from the previous award when the announcer’s voice returned, echoing across the arena with bright clarity, “The Best Goaltender of the Tournament goes to Team USA Number 1, Lia Choi!”
For half a second, Lia stood completely frozen. She was visibly stunned. Her hands flew up like she was not sure what to do with them, jaw slack, mouth forming the word me?
She blinked in shock before turning to Winter and screaming, “NO FREAKING WAY!”
A wall of sound erupted from Team USA: Winter shrieking, Riley yelling something unintelligible, Chaeryeong spinning in place, and Yeji throwing both fists in the air.
In her shock and excitement, she accidentally smacked her poor teammates directly beside her a little too hard straight to the ice. Winter and Riley.
It happened in slow motion.
Riley, caught completely off-guard, yelped “ What the f— ”, as she stumbled backward with zero balance and landed flat on the ice with a full-body thud, limbs flailing out like a crash test dummy.
Winter, no more fortunate, squeaked something between indignation and betrayal as she spun sideways from the impact, losing her footing entirely. Her skate slipped. Her leg buckled. Then she landed in a full sprawl.
The entire team lost it.
Lia barely noticed, beaming with pride as she hoisted the trophy with both hands, laughing through her apology.
Ryujin shouted from the blue line, “Best Goaltender and one-man demolition crew!”
Riley was still flat on the ice, muttering, “Can’t believe I got assaulted during a gold medal ceremony.”
Winter rolled over towards Riley. “Let’s file a joint complaint.”
Lia, laughing halfway back to the blue line, shouted, “OH MY GOD—sorry!! I didn’t mean to!!”
Riley slowly trying to get up, hands over her chest like she had been struck by lightning. “Was that really necessary?” she groaned. “My ancestors felt that.”
“You shoved me like I was a fucking door,” Winter grumbled from the ice.
Riley and Winter finally got to their feet, mock-glowering, arms crossed like they had just survived a natural disaster
But they were smiling. Everyone was.
The photo from that night would live forever: Lia, clutching her trophy with a sheepish smile while behind her, Winter and Riley were still half-recovering, their fall immortalized on the jumbotron replay.
Their laughter drowned as the next award was announced, “And the Best Defenseman of the Tournament: Number 98, Yeji Hwang of Team USA!“
This time, the applause was thunderous. Even the Canadians nodded in appreciation.
The team came with a swell of whistles, chants, and the unmistakable chorus of “CAP-TAIN YE-JI! CAP-TAIN YE-JI!” , their voices cracking from the strain of screaming all night.
Yeji did not move at first.
For a second, she just stood there, expression unreadable beneath the stadium lights. Her eyes were still glassy, her jaw tense. But then Ryujin nudged her gently from behind, murmuring, “Go on, it’s yours,” and that finally made her legs move.
She skated out slowly, like her ribs still ached but with the calm grace of someone born for this. Her expression was composed, nearly unreadable, but her teammates knew better. Ryujin watched her from the line, eyes tracing every step, holding back the grin pulling at her lips.
As she accepted the award, there was no over-the-top celebration. No theatrics. Just a slight nod, a soft curve at the corner of her lips, and a single upward glance that sought out her team.
“Lastly, the Best Forward of the Tournament. Number 97, Ryujin Shin of Team USA!”
A full sweep.
Best Goaltender. Best Defenseman. Best Forward.
All Team USA.
The stadium roared, a full-body sound that shook the boards and rippled through the crowd like thunder.
But Ryujin could not move.
She blinked slowly, like she had not heard the words properly. Her ribs were burning, her thigh felt stiff and swollen beneath her padding, and the brace around her shoulder had stiffened with the cold.
Every breath took more effort than she let on, and her legs, still trembling from the shootout and everything that came before it, refused to carry her forward.
“Ryu.” A hand on her elbow. Yeji .
Still holding her own Best Defenseman trophy in one arm, Yeji reached out with the other and gently touched Ryujin’s good arm.
“It’s your turn” she said, low, soft, but firm. When Ryujin did not budge right away, Yeji shifted her trophy into both hands then she bent slightly, her broken ribs barely held by the tape wrapped around her torso. She set the trophy down gently on the ice beside her skates, and returned to Ryujin’s side.
Yeji did not ask again.
She looked up at Ryujin with calm certainty, then extended her hand.
No words. Just a simple offer.
Her palm was steady. Her gaze, unflinching.
Ryujin blinked again, lips parting slightly. Not from hesitation, but emotion. Then slowly, she lifted her left hand and took Yeji’s.
Yeji did not tug. She simply skated slowly, and Ryujin followed, allowing herself to be carefully pulled. Not hard. Not in a way that rushed her.
The arena watched in awe as the two glided side by side toward the award table, past screaming teammates and flashing cameras, past falling confetti and history already being written behind them.
From the blue line, Lia watched the entire exchange, clutching her award with both hands. Her eyes widened like she was about to start tearing up again.
Right next to her still stood Riley and Winter, still dusted in faint bits of confetti and scraped ice, and pridefully pretending their earlier fall did not happen.
Lia did not even realize she had started moving, leaning forward, gasping slightly at the sight of Yeji and Ryujin walking hand-in-hand toward the award table, her skates inching out on reflex.
She threw her arm out dramatically, half stepping forward as she whispered, “Oh my go—”
And in doing so, nearly shoved Riley and Winter again .
“HEY—!” Winter yelped, jerking backward with a hand to her chest. “LIA!!”
Riley stumbled two steps to the side, catching herself on Chaeyoung’s shoulder. “You and your big ass goalie gear, I swear!”
Lia froze. “SORRY—! Reflex! Reflex!” she squeaked, dragging herself back to the bench like she was returning from a war crime.
Yuna snorted from behind, muttering, “We gotta get her a seatbelt.”
When they reached center ice, Ryujin let go of Yeji’s hand and accepted the award with her free arm.
But when she turned back to Yeji, holding the trophy to her chest like something sacred, the look in her eyes was more than enough.
Yeji only nodded, soft and certain.
They returned to the team in silence but the gesture was not missed. Jinni nudged Casey hard in the ribs, mouthing did you see that?
Chaeryeong clutched Lia’s arm from behind, grinning wide.
Back at the blue line, Winter muttered under her breath, “We almost missed it because she tried to body us again .”
Riley exhaled. “Lia’s dangerous in high-emotion situations.”
But all three of them were grinning, watching as Yeji and Ryujin made their slow way back, shoulder to shoulder.
They barely got a few strides past the logo before the teasing began.
“Awww,” Yuna sang dramatically, drawing out the syllables until they echoed off the boards. “Look at them, helping each other like they didn’t spend the last five years chirping each other in post-game interviews.”
Madison threw both arms in the air. “Someone cue the wedding bells! Or at least the rivals-to-lovers playlist!”
“Shut up,” Ryujin mumbled under her breath, cheeks dusted pink but not from the cold.
Riley leaned on her stick like it was a mic stand. “I would like to formally thank Yeji for dragging Ryujin’s broken body forward before she started rooting into the ice like a tree stump.”
Yeji did not dignify that with a response. She kept skating with her usual unbothered focus, her posture as calm and unreadable as always. Only her eyes twitched slightly upward. Maybe in amusement. Maybe in warning.
Winter, clearly sensing no real threat, pressed further. “Yeji really said ‘grab my hand, this is our moment.’ ”
“Truly a Disney sports film in real time,” Karina added from the blue line, grinning wide.
“Can I be the dramatic best friend in the movie version?” Lia asked brightly, her cheeks still flushed from her earlier goalie award—and two near-murder of her two teammates.
Ryujin tried to look unbothered too, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward.
Yeji, unamused but completely used to this by now, just rolled her eyes. “You’re all children,” she muttered, voice flat as she skated backward.
“Children soon-to-be with gold medals,” Casey shot back proudly.
“And drama radar,” Karina added. “Don’t act like you didn’t do that hand-hold on purpose.”
“You think I planned Ryujin’s injured leg and broken shoulder?” Yeji said dryly, not missing a beat.
Ryujin let out a short laugh beside her. “Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past you.”
The group howled.
“I’m not above shoving an injured Best Forward,” she said.
By the time they reached the blue line again, the chirping had quieted just enough for the team to huddle closer.
Yeji skated one last circle around the group before slipping back into place beside Ryujin. She didn’t say anything, but when Winter leaned in behind her and whispered, “So when’s the kiss for the cameras?—”
Yeji just rolled her eyes again.
And smiled. Subtly. The kind only Ryujin noticed.
The kind only Ryujin knew what it meant.
The world could wait.
For now, let it be known that Team USA had swept the tournament’s awards.
And behind all the trophies and gold, they had also won something else entirely:
Moments they would laugh about for the rest of their lives.
Then came the next slide on the jumbotron.
2025 IIHF MEDIA ALL-STAR TEAM
The announcer listed them one by one as each name lit the screen in white and gold:
Goaltender
: Lia Choi (USA)
Defensemen
: Yeji Hwang (USA), Mila Weiss (Germany)
Forwards
: Marie Delacour (CAN), Ryujin Shin (USA), Anika Berglund (SWE)
The crowd gave one long, rolling applause. All six players stood together near center ice, arms linked briefly for the cameras. The picture would be plastered across every sports headline within the hour.
And then the lights dipped again, just before the medals were brought out.
“And now… the Most Valuable Player of the 2025 Women’s World Championship…”
A long pause, as if the whole arena did not already know.
“Team USA Number 98… Yeji Hwang .”
This time, she froze.
There was a beat of silence in her own head. Her breath caught. She blinked once, twice. It felt like someone else’s name had been spoken. Not hers. Not hers.
The applause that followed was deafening. Her teammates erupted behind her. Someone yelled her name, probably Casey or Riley, and someone else thumped her back as she hesitated.
MVP .
It was not supposed to be her.
She was the anchor, the one who made sure others shined. Ryujin was the spark. Lia was the wall. Jules, the clutch scorer. Winter, the blade of fire. Yeji had always been the one who held the net steady while others soared.
But now— MVP ?
She could hear the announcer still listing her stats—minutes logged, goals, assists, plus-minus, blocked shots. But none of it mattered in that moment.
All Yeji could think about was she was the backbone, the anchor, the one who shut things down before they could become a highlight. Her work was not flashy. It did not light up stat sheets or show up in montages.
It was positioning. Patience. Persistence. Winning puck battles in the corner. Blocking shots when no one was watching. Breaking up plays before they could even form.
Her impact was measured in silence. Moments where a goal did not happen. And those moments were rarely noticed.
Until now.
Yeji’s legs started moving before her mind caught up. She skated forward, slower than usual, her gaze locked on the center of the rink where the trophy waited. Her heart thudded, steady but deep.
She accepted the trophy from the official with both hands, nodding once. It was heavier than it looked, and colder too. Her hands tightened around the base, anchoring her.
She turned back again, and this time, her eyes locked with Ryujin’s.
Ryujin stood with her arms folded, grinning. That stupid, proud, absolutely uncontainable grin. No chirps this time. No smirk. Just pride.
Yeji’s throat burned.
When she returned to the team, they engulfed her immediately, Winter throwing an arm around her, Lia pressing her forehead against Yeji’s shoulder, Riley yelling something about “ double crown Yeji! ” while Jinni tried to grab one of the trophies like it was a prop for a photo op.
And through it all, Yeji let herself feel it.
Not because of the hardware in her hands. But because for once, the spotlight did not feel like it was burning her alive.
For once, she let herself be seen.
For the first time in a long time, being seen did not feel like pressure.
MVP.
Best Defenseman.
Captain.
Gold Medalist.
Under her breath, only loud enough for Ryujin to hear, she muttered, “I’ve never felt more out of place.”
Ryujin did not flinch. She reached out and nudged Yeji’s arm gently.
“You don’t look out of place,” she whispered. “You look exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
And somehow, that was enough to let Yeji breathe.
The MVP still did not feel like a title she wore easily. But with Ryujin beside her, and her team around her, she could let herself believe, even just for tonight, that she had earned every bit of it.
She let it settle. Let it mean something.
She thought back to every early morning skate she had done alone. Every practice where her only goal was to stop the impossible. Every night she had watched game film until her eyes burned, memorizing opponent tendencies down to the millimeter. Every time she had been overlooked for flashier players. Every quiet shift where she did everything right.
Until the award no longer felt foreign.
It felt earned .
As Team USA remained gathered along the blue line, their individual trophies still glinting in their hands, the announcer’s voice returned to the center of the rink, signaling the final moments of the ceremony.
“We now present the silver and bronze medals for the 2025 IIHF Women’s World Championship.”
A quiet fell over the crowd—not out of disrespect, but reverence. These were teams who had clawed their way through the bracket, endured heartbreak, exhaustion, and grit to get to the final stages. Though they had not taken gold, their journey had been just as worthy of recognition.
The German players, clad in black and yellow, stepped forward from their bench with tired smiles and light applause echoing around them. Though their semifinal loss to USA had been brutal, they had bounced back in the bronze medal match, in a 3–2 thriller that left even neutral fans breathless.
As each player bowed their head for their medals, a ripple of cheers rose from the German crowd behind the boards. A few players raised their sticks in silent salute. Their goaltender, still flushed from a heroic 40-save performance in that final match, held her medal high in the air with a grin that was all defiance and pride.
Back on the USA line, Ryujin gave a single nod of respect. Yeji tapped her glove quietly against her thigh, watching the German captain’s solemn but proud expression.
The air shifted when Canada skated up next.
Even in defeat, Canada stepped onto the ice with heads high, their red and white jerseys crisp against the white rink.
It was a haunting kind of pride.
They had dominated every game in the tournament, undefeated until the gold medal match. But their only loss had come at the very end, at the highest peak, and that sting was evident in their eyes.
Still, as the medals were placed over their necks, the crowd gave them their due. Loud applause erupted—respectful, even admiring. Some fans rose in standing ovation, especially those who had watched the Canada-USA rivalry unfold for years. No one could deny the weight of their presence in this tournament.
The Canadian captain, stoic but proud, lifted her medal and offered a slight, respectful nod toward the USA players across the ice. Ryujin caught the look. So did Yeji.
It was not bitterness. It was the unspoken language between champions.
Seulgu leaned into Jeongyeon’s shoulder, whispering, “I thought for sure Canada would sweep this tournament again.”
“They almost did,” Jeongyeon replied, her voice lower. “But not this time.”
Not this time.
Gold was no longer theirs. It belonged to someone else now.
When the announcer finally said it,
“The 2025 Women’s World Champions… Team USA!”, the roar surged again, tidal and deafening.
Yeji barely heard it. She was standing next to Ryujin, their shoulders pressed tight. Her hand was clenched at her side, but Ryujin’s hand slid over hers without looking, fingers intertwining instinctively. Neither said anything. They just stood like that, side by side, grounded in each other while the rest of the world moved in flashes of light and sound.
One by one, they stepped forward to receive their medals. Winter was shaking when they placed the gold around her neck. Jinni held hers in both hands, staring down at it like it might vanish. Chaeryeong was crying openly by the time her medal touched her collarbone.
When Ryujin’s name was called, the crowd erupted again, her game-winning goal already becoming legend.
She was pushed forward slowly by her teammates, then she dropped a little so the official could hang the medal around her neck. It felt heavier than she expected. Colder. Real. She bowed her head, breathing deeply, fighting the lump in her throat.
When she rose again, she found Yeji watching her from the line, face unreadable but eyes full of something so complex it nearly undid her. Respect. Affection. Awe. Something older than rivalry, older than tension.
Something like love .
Ryujin took her place again, and Yeji was the last to be called.
“Number 98. Team captain. Yeji Hwang.”
The building swelled in sound as she walked forward. Her stride was steady, precise, but her shoulders trembled under the weight of everything she carried. Captain not just in name, but in spirit. In grit. In how she had led them through injuries and doubts and the pressure of an entire nation watching. She bowed low for the medal, and when she stood, the gold glinted against the red of her jersey.
Team USA’s gold medal in Montréal marked their first championship title in over a decade, breaking a dry spell that had haunted every roster before them.
The last time gold had hung around American necks, most of these players were barely teenagers, watching from small hometown rinks, wide-eyed, dreaming. Since then, there had been heartbreak. Overtime losses. Shootout collapses. Silver after silver. The gold was always just out of reach.
Always a contender, but never the champion.
But not this time.
Not with this team.
Not with Yeji blocking a game-ending goal with her body in the final seconds of overtime.
Not with Lia standing tall in her crease during the shootout, glove hand like lightning.
Not with Ryujin, bruised and burning, cutting through pain and pressure to deliver the final, gold-winning goal.
The weight of history was palpable the moment the puck crossed the line and the red light behind the net ignited.
It did not just mean a win. It meant redemption.
It meant an entire generation of players could finally exhale.
When the last medal was given, the announcer returned one final time, “Please rise for the national anthem of the 2025 World Champions.”
The anthem began.
And in the middle of it all, Team USA stood arm in arm at center ice. Shoulder to shoulder, hips bumped loosely together.
As they gathered at center ice beneath the rising flag, with medals pressed to their chests and sweat still cooling on their skin, the realization settled in:
They were the team that did it.
The storm-chasers.
The team that rewrote the narrative.
The drought-breakers.
The team that would be remembered.
The ones who had endured and bled and refused to let go of hope.
The music swelled around them—full, proud, sacred.
Ryujin looked down at the medal hanging over her chest, then glanced at Yeji again. Their hands brushed once more. No words passed between them, but they both closed their eyes at the same time, breathing in the anthem, the weight of the moment, the history they had rewritten.
Behind them, Riley had her arms around Jules and Casey, swaying with them gently. Lia stood near the end of the line, her eyes on the flag, her jaw clenched to keep from sobbing again. Seulgi leaned into Karina’s side, her face red, her fingers gripping Karina’s hand.
Everyone was pressed together in a single line, shoulder to shoulder, one team.
A family.
They believed in each other. And now they had gold to prove it.
Yeji turned toward Ryujin then, and this time she spoke, soft and sure. “We’ll never be just rivals again.”
And Ryujin, smiling through the burn in her chest and the gold around her neck, answered, “We never were.”
They stayed like that—just the two of them, surrounded by their teammates, their country, and the weight of a future forever changed.
Chapter Text
The adrenaline had barely begun to fade when the trainers descended on the ice, their eyes already scanning for the walking wounded. Team USA’s celebration had barely finished. Their medals were still warm around their necks, flags still clutched in fists, Ryujin’s helmet still dangling from her fingers, when a soft but firm call came from the bench.
“Yeji. Ryujin. Medical. Now.”
Neither of them moved at first. Yeji stood at center ice, flanked by her teammates, the captain’s smile brittle around the edges. She had refused to sit after the final whistle. Refused to admit how badly her ribs screamed every time she took a breath.
Ryujin, just a few feet away, was leaning into Jules during a photo, her right shoulder slightly dropped, as if she had forgotten it hurt until someone reminded her.
“Guys. You can’t put this off,” Lia said, skating up to them, her voice gently serious.
“I’m fine,” Yeji muttered, even as her voice caught mid-word. The weight of the medal pressed heavily against her broken ribs, and her breathing had grown shallow, cautious. She could feel her body catching up with the pain.
Ryujin, beside her, did not respond immediately. Her thigh was stiffening rapidly and her shoulder burned with every movement, but she had been smiling too long to stop now. Until she tried to raise her arm to wave at the crowd and her expression twisted just slightly.
That was when Coach Donovan appeared, flanked by the team physician and two trainers. His tone brokered no argument.
“Medical. Both of you. That’s an order.”
Yeji opened her mouth to argue, to stall, to delay just a few more minutes but Ryujin touched her wrist. Lightly. Carefully.
“Come on, Captain,” she said quietly, her grin faded to something more raw. “Let’s get yelled at together.”
The walk to the tunnel was slow. Fans still cheered their names, but the applause began to fade behind them as they disappeared from view, swallowed by the concrete of the arena’s inner corridors.
The further they got from the ice, the more the pain surfaced. Yeji staggered slightly near the hallway corner, catching herself against the wall, and Ryujin was quick to steady her with her good arm.
The moment they stepped into the medical room, the bright lights and scent of antiseptic made it all real. Trainers and medical staff worked quickly, speaking in calm, practiced tones.
Yeji was eased onto a padded bench, breathing shallowly. A wince broke through her stubborn silence as the doctor pressed gently along her ribcage.
“You were already bruised before the block,” the medic said grimly, wrapping an arm around Yeji to help her lean back for assessment. “But the impact of that shot — that’s what did it. Broke at least three ribs, possibly four.”
Yeji was quiet, the pain catching in her chest every time she tried to speak.
“I had to,” she finally said, voice rough. “The net was open. If that shot got through…”
“You saved the game,” the medic said gently. “But now you need to let us help you.”
The medic let out a quiet breath, continuing the assessment. Her fingers moved with practiced care over the swelling near Yeji’s lower ribs. She barely flinched, but the tension in her shoulders was betraying her.
“She played through this ?” one of the assistant trainers whispered to another.
“She played thirty-four minutes,” the team physician replied. “She captained a championship game with broken ribs.”
The initial wrap had been good enough to keep her upright, but now came the full exam, the palpation made her suck in a tight breath when the trainer pressed just below her sternum.
“There’s visible bruising across the sixth through eighth ribs. Swelling and instability over the left lateral margin. You’ve got at least three fractures, possibly more. We’ll send you for imaging back at the facility.”
Yeji closed her eyes briefly. “How long?”
“At least six weeks, no contact,” the medic replied. “And no skating until the brace can support full torso movement. That was a high-speed shot, Yeji. And you didn’t just block it — you absorbed it.”
They secured a torso brace across her ribs, each tug of the straps making her flinch, but she never complained. She only nodded. Accepted it.
She had done what she had to. Now, she would deal with the consequences.
Across the room, Ryujin groaned as the trainer lifted her arm just a little too high.
“Sorry,” the trainer said immediately. “Your shoulder’s worse than you let on.”
“No kidding,” Ryujin muttered, eyes squeezed shut. “I think I left my rotator cuff on the ice in the second period.”
A low chuckle came from Yeji’s table. She did not turn, but Ryujin caught the sound, and it made the ache in her chest feel a little less sharp.
Her shoulder was stiffening badly and her right thigh was an angry shade of purple beneath the padding. Her breathing was uneven, her body still buzzing from the aftershocks of adrenaline and pain, but she kept laughing through the examination, brushing it off with her usual charm.
“You’re lucky,” the medic muttered, gently rotating her arm. “Partial dislocation, nothing torn. Deep contusions in the thigh. It’ll swell like hell in a few hours. Stay off it.”
Ryujin winced as they applied the cold packs. “What about Yeji?”
“They’re still finishing up with her,” came the answer. “You’re done here. Go slow. And Ryujin — no heroics. One wrong twist and your shoulder’s out for a month.”
With her sling finally secured, and her thigh heavily wrapped, Ryujin limped out of the room and into the hallway, where a small cluster of teammates had gathered.
Winter was the first to reach her, gently elbowing her side — the good one .
“You look like a war survivor,” Winter joked, eyes wide but relieved.
“Feel like one,” Ryujin grinned, then spotted Lia and Jules further down the corridor, chatting with Coach Donovan. She made her way over slowly, joined by Jinni and Riley, all of them still in various states of exhaustion and celebration.
The hallway was crowded but buzzing, the air charged with joy, concern, and the disbelief that they were now gold medalists.
Yeji walked out of the medic’s room slowly, her arm braced across her fractured ribs, each breath shallow and sharp. Her jersey was slung over her shoulder, the medal still hanging loose around her neck. The pain was manageable only because her mind had not caught up yet. It was all adrenaline and echo.
They reached the side entrance of the arena where a few of their teammates were already waiting. Their celebrations had been loud earlier, full of disbelief and raw joy, but seeing Yeji and Ryujin now, both bandaged, moving stiffly, gold medals swaying against bruised bodies, pulled the volume back down.
Winter was the first to speak. “Did they tell you how long recovery is?”
Ryujin shrugged with her uninjured shoulder. “Couple weeks. No weight-bearing on the leg. No shooting. No lifting.” She glanced at Yeji. “You?”
“Fractured ribs,” Yeji said. “About three of them. Minimum six weeks recovery. Could be eight.”
Everyone went quiet again.
Then Jinni muttered under her breath, “You literally blocked the puck with your ribs to save the game.”
“It was the right angle,” Yeji replied simply, as though that was all there was to say, as though it was the easiest thing in the world.
They walked out together, the team moving in a protective cluster, guiding them toward the players’ bus waiting near the service entrance. Someone had already packed their gear bags.
Coach Donovan was outside, speaking with staff, but paused to glance their way as they approached. He did not say anything, just gave a short nod, his eyes lingering on their medals.
The bus ride back to the hotel was a quiet kind of chaos; the kind born not from noise but from the slow, creeping weight of exhaustion settling over a team that had just survived overtime, injury, and glory.
Gold medals glinted faintly in the dark, swinging gently against chests as the movement of the vehicle swayed them side to side. Some had tucked them away into jacket pockets, but Yeji’s still hung openly around her neck, resting over her jacket, the ribbon damp from sweat and tears that had long since dried.
She sat in the back row of the bus, her brace pressed against her ribs, her breathing slow and shallow. The pain was beginning to settle in now that the adrenaline had faded, the ache radiating with every exhale.
But she did not complain.
She sat still, back straight, her gaze fixed out the window, watching the blur of distant headlights and empty sidewalks pass them by.
The city that had just watched them win gold was already sleeping.
Beside her, Ryujin had gone quiet.
Yeji turned her head slightly and found her curled in her seat, sling resting snug around her shoulder, thigh wrapped under her sweatpants, her good hand resting just barely over her lap. She had one headphone in, but the screen of her phone had gone dark, slipping down against her chest.
Her head was slowly drifting sideways. Closer and closer to Yeji, and Yeji did not move to stop it.
She waited .
And a moment later, Ryujin’s head came to rest softly on her right shoulder with a faint sigh.
Yeji let out a breath she had not realized she was holding.
It hurt, a little, but not enough to matter.
Not when Ryujin was warm and finally still, her breath brushing lightly against the curve of Yeji’s neck, her body unconsciously leaning closer, the weight of her exhaustion making her small and quiet in a way Yeji rarely saw.
She did not move.
Did not shift.
Did not even breathe too hard.
She just let Ryujin stay there.
Outside, the city lights flickered past in streaks of gold and red. Inside, the soft sound of bus tires against asphalt and the occasional cough from a teammate were the only things that filled the dark.
The bus slowed unexpectedly, the brakes hissing softly beneath them as it rolled to a gentle stop.
Ryujin stirred with a faint twitch, but did not wake. Her head remained against Yeji’s shoulder, her injured arm still tucked in its sling, the other curled near her chest. The glow of passing buildings had painted soft shadows across her face throughout the ride, but now, the bus was still, and the streetlight outside flooded them in sudden, sharp brightness.
The light cut through the darkness like a harsh spotlight casting long shadows down the center aisle. It poured through the windows, pooling over Yeji’s lap, over Ryujin’s face, washing everything in pale white and amber.
Ryujin flinched.
Just the smallest movement. Her brows pulled in, her eyelids twitching, her lips pressing together as the brightness startled her half-awake. Her breathing hitched, her body tensing against the sudden intrusion.
Yeji moved before she thought.
She raised her hand, slow and steady, and hovered it just above Ryujin’s face, not touching her, not blocking the light completely, but casting a soft, protective shadow over her eyes.
Her palm hovered there like a quiet shield, bracing gently against the brightness so Ryujin would not have to.
The light filtered between Yeji’s knuckles, fragmenting the glow, softening it. Beneath her hand, Ryujin shifted once, her shoulder easing, her breath steadying. Her face smoothed again, the tension in her brow fading like a wave pulling back into the sea.
She relaxed.
And Yeji kept her hand there, unmoving, holding the light at bay until the bus groaned forward again, lurching softly into motion.
As the bus pulled gently away from the streetlight and the shadows reclaimed the aisle, Yeji slowly lowered her hand back to her lap.
Ryujin stirred slightly, the shift in light and motion tugging her closer to the edge of waking. Her lips parted, a small breath catching in her throat. Her brow furrowed like she was halfway between a dream and memory, the muscles in her jaw twitching as if about to speak.
Yeji tilted her head down and shifted, just enough to glance at her.
“ Hey baby ,” she whispered, barely audible above the low hum of the engine. Her voice was gentle, steady; softer than the flicker of headlights, steadier than the ache beneath her ribs. “Go back to sleep.”
Ryujin’s eyelids moved, but did not open. The tension in her shoulders loosened again, and her head sank deeper against Yeji’s collarbone.
Then, Yeji leaned forward, barely dipping her head, and pressed a kiss to the top of Ryujin’s hair.
It was featherlight. Thoughtful.
The kind of kiss given when words were of no use, when the only way to say I’m here, I’ve got you was with the silence between two heartbeats.
Ryujin shifted faintly in response, the tip of her nose brushing against Yeji’s shoulder.
But she did not wake.
Yeji briefly looked down once again, and saw the way Ryujin’s fingers had curled just slightly against the fabric of Yeji’s jacket, like she always did, holding onto her even in sleep.
Yeji rested her head lightly against Ryujin’s, just enough to feel the warmth of her closeness.
And for the first time all day, no cameras, no noise, no weight of expectation pressing against her spine, Yeji let her eyes close.
The pain was still there. The soreness would linger for weeks.
But in that moment, with Ryujin asleep against her shoulder, the gold medal resting over her ribs, and the soft hum of the road stretching out ahead of them, everything felt quiet.
Full .
And for just a little while longer, Yeji allowed herself to rest too.
The bus rolled to a stop with a long, low hiss outside the hotel.
Its headlights swept across the front drive, illuminating the quiet facade in pale gold. The lobby windows were softly lit, reflecting just enough of the night to remind them how late, or early , it truly was.
It was past midnight.
One by one, teammates began to rise slowly and stiffly. Some groaning as sore muscles protested, others moving in silence, cradling gear bags and exhaustion in equal measure. Staff stepped down first, already coordinating keys, lifts, security. Some players murmured quietly to each other, careful not to break the heavy hush that had settled like a blanket over them all.
In the very back row, Yeji remained seated.
Ryujin was still curled against her, fast asleep, her breathing slow and steady. Her sling was slightly askew now, the movement of the bus having jostled it out of place, and a few strands of her hair had fallen into her face. But her body was warm against Yeji’s side, trusting and vulnerable in the way only the truly tired could be.
Yeji blinked slowly, then leaned down and whispered against her temple. “We’re here.”
Ryujin stirred.
She inhaled deep, her brow twitching as consciousness crept back in. Her lashes fluttered open slowly, confusion flickering across her face before the world came back into focus: the lights, the stillness, the faint ache in her shoulder.
Yeji gently reached over, brushing the strands of hair from her cheek. “Hotel,” she said, soft. “Let’s get you inside.”
The lobby of their hotel buzzed with a second wind of energy. Not the wild kind that came after a win, but the quiet, delirious kind that blooms in the middle of the night when the adrenaline wears off just enough to remember they were starving.
The plan had unraveled, just beneath the dim glow of polished brass fixtures and muted crystal chandeliers.
Most of Team USA was still scattered across the plush couches and lounge chairs, gear bags parked around them like barriers, gold medals swinging lazily from necks as if no one had the energy to take them off.
Their post-game adrenaline had given way to an unholy, unified craving for fries, milkshakes, and something greasy enough to make the nutritionist cry.
Winter was the first to break the silence, stretching with a wince and a groan.
“Okay. Hear me out,” she said, voice hoarse from hours of yelling, “we won gold. I’m hungry. Let’s do a team sleepover. Room service. Everything.”
Riley immediately lit up. “Yes. God , yes. I’d kill someone for fries.”
“I thought you were asleep five minutes ago,” Jinni said, smirking.
“I was,” Riley admitted, dragging her hoodie over her head. “But I smelled chicken nuggets in a dream and now I have purpose again.”
Lia leaned against the wall, already thumbing through her phone. “I think the room service closed at midnight.”
“I know a diner that’s open,” Yeji said, her voice soft but clear. “In case room service is closed.”
The lobby barely reacted at first. Most of the girls were still debating wing flavors like it was a game of survival.
But Ryujin heard it. She heard exactly what Yeji said. And she froze.
Because she knew why Yeji knew that.
The one she had picked for their first not-quite-a-date.
Ryujin flushed instantly. Her ears burned. Her heart did this thing , this little hop in her chest that made no sense for how exhausted she was.
She glanced around quickly, but thankfully, none of the others had caught on.
No one noticed.
Except for Yeji, who looked at Ryujin out of the corner of her eye and smirked.
A tiny smirk.
Subtle. Teasing.
Intentional .
Then Jeongyeon returned from the front desk, holding her phone like it carried bad news.
“Room service is closed,” she declared flatly.
The groans were instant and dramatic. Every single player flopping back into their seats as if struck down by betrayal. The celebration was over. This was the real tragedy.
“The diner it is.” Yuna said.
“They don’t deliver,” Yeji added, matter-of-fact. “Pick-up only.”
Groans again. Then stillness.
A beat.
“I’ll go,” Riley said finally, half-lifting her hand. “Seriously. I need air.”
Winter sat up beside her. “Fine. Me too. But someone’s carrying the milkshakes.”
Riley grinned. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Wait.” Jinni narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that place so well?”
Yeji was already turning away, brushing nonchalantly at her sleeve. “We’ve been there before.”
Ryujin choked on her own breath.
Lia’s eyebrows arched. “We?”
“Focus on the food,” Yeji said smoothly. “I want curly fries. No ketchup. And strawberry milkshake, extra whipped cream.”
Winter grabbed the hotel keycard from Jeongyeon’s hand and saluted. “Orders open for five more minutes. You forget to text us, you starve. It ends at the diner.”
As the two made their way toward the revolving door, the rest of the team sank deeper into the couches and plush carpets. Some began texting in their orders. Gold medals clinked softly as limbs shifted, tired and warm and victorious.
“We’re ordering everything,” Chaeryeong said, already making her way to the elevators. “Burgers, pasta, fries, wings, desserts—like, the works.”
Karina added, “Someone call the front desk and ask for more pillows. And like… fifteen extra blankets.”
“I’ll bring my speaker,” Jules said, then eyed the injured. “But low volume. For the wounded.”
Yeji gave her a tired look but said nothing. Ryujin grinned.
When the elevators opened on their floor, the team poured out in a slow-moving cluster, every step dragging with post-game soreness but buoyed now by the low, persistent excitement of a night not quite over.
Coach Donovan had already wished them goodnight in the lobby with a look that said get rest, but also—enjoy this .
The plan was clear, unspoken but understood: everyone would drop their gear and jersey bundles off in their own rooms, change into sleep clothes, and then regroup at the designated sleepover zone: two adjoining suites right in the center of the floor.
Winter and Karina’s room had the couches and an open floor space that made it perfect for chaotic lounging. Lia and Chaeryeong’s suite had a mini kitchenette and two full beds pushed together for maximum blanket nesting. It was already decided: both doors would be propped open, and players would come and go freely like it was a rotating party where the guest list required bruises, medals, and team-issued hoodies.
“Fifteen minutes,” Chaeryeong called out as the group paused at the hallway’s midpoint, her voice scratchy from too much yelling but still commanding. “Drop your bags, change, brush your teeth if you’re not disgusting, and then meet in the sleepover rooms. I think we ordered everything.”
“And if you take longer than fifteen,” Lia added, completely serious, “you’re last pick for food. I will ration your fries.”
“You wouldn’t,” Jinni gasped.
“I absolutely would,” Lia said.
Groans and protests rippled through the group as everyone peeled off to their respective rooms, doors swinging open and shut down the hallway. Laughter echoed faintly as jerseys were tossed over chairs and someone tripped over a duffel bag.
There was a renewed energy now, not the sharp, electrified high of victory, but the low hum of comfort, of we did it .
Yeji and Ryujin reached their own room near the end of the hall, walking slower than the rest.
Yeji stood with her back to the wall, arms folded carefully over her ribs. Her Team USA jacket hung loosely from her shoulders, collar slightly askew.
She looked both impossibly tired and impossibly grounded, like the weight of the entire tournament had finally settled somewhere behind her collarbones.
Ryujin stood across from her. Her body ached in every direction: shoulder bound tight, ribs bruised, thigh screaming every time she shifted weight.
And yet none of it registered fully.
Not with Yeji standing across from her. Not when everything else, the awards, the press, the shootout, the goal, had led them to this quiet stretch of hallway, alone.
Yeji exhaled first. The kind of sigh that had been waiting all night to leave her chest.
“I really wanted to kiss you on that center ice tonight,” she said.
Ryujin’s head tilted slightly. There was no teasing in her expression, only that familiar softness. Brighter than the gold against her chest, quieter than the roar of the arena.
“Trust me,” she said, voice low, “I know.”
Yeji’s brow furrowed, a crease forming between her eyes. “What do you mean, you know ?”
Ryujin tried to keep her grin contained, but it tugged at the corner of her mouth anyway. “You’ve got this look. You always do. When you want to be ki—”
But she never finished the sentence.
Yeji stepped forward and kissed her.
No hesitation. No pause to ask or think. Just Yeji’s hand gently bracing Ryujin’s waist to keep her steady, her lips finding hers with precision and control and maybe a little leftover adrenaline.
It was not rushed, but it was not soft either.
It was honest. Bold .
Like everything Yeji had wanted to say was better translated this way.
Ryujin blinked when they broke apart, breath catching in her throat like it had no idea how to behave.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Yeji murmured, deadpan but playful, her thumb still resting lightly against Ryujin’s hip. “Was I not giving you the look?”
Ryujin let her head fall back, grinning despite the throb of her ribs.
“ Fuck ,” she said, eyes wide with something like awe. “A gold medal and the tournament MVP shutting me up by kissing me?”
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “Humbled?”
“ Turned on ,” Ryujin replied, with no shame at all.
Yeji bit the inside of her cheek, fighting back a laugh.
Ryujin reached up with her good hand, fingers grazing the edge of Yeji’s jacket, and slowly guided them the few steps back until Yeji’s spine met the door to their hotel room.
The motion was careful with Ryujin’s hand settling on Yeji’s hip to steady her, conscious of her ribs and the way her breath still caught with every deep inhale.
Yeji’s back hit the door with a muted thud . Her eyes did not waver.
She watched Ryujin.
Watched her like she always had; calm, unflinching, but burning underneath it all.
Even in the faint hallway light, Ryujin looked wrecked in the best way: bandaged shoulder, tousled hair clinging faintly to the side of her face, flushed lips.
Beautiful. Familiar. Hers .
Ryujin’s lips hovered just a breath away now, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Open the door.”
And this time, it was Ryujin who kissed her.
Yeji gave a soft laugh, breath shaky, her hand fumbling for the keycard in Ryujin’s back pocket. “This would be easier if you weren’t kissing me.”
“You kissed me first,” Ryujin shot back, grinning against her lips. “I’m just… respecting momentum.”
“ Ryu ,” Yeji mumbled against her mouth, biting back a smile, “I need to breathe if you want me to open the door.”
Ryujin blinked like she just remembered where they were. “Right. Okay. Yes. Keys. Door.”
Yeji finally retrieved the card, swiped it, and the lock gave a satisfying click just as Ryujin brushed another kiss to her jaw.
Yeji exhaled slowly, then pushed the door open just enough for them to stumble inside, Ryujin’s lips inching back to Yeji’s.
The darkness of the room welcomed them, quiet and cool.
The door slammed shut behind them, barely caught by Ryujin’s heel. Jackets half-off. Gold medals clinking together. Yeji’s brace shifted slightly with the momentum of Ryujin’s mouth back on hers.
Yeji moved with quiet intention, careful not to hurt Ryujin, but decisive all the same, guiding her back until she was the one pressing Ryujin gently against the door. One hand beside Ryujin’s head pressed against the doorframe for balance while her other curled loosely into Ryujin’s shirt, grounding herself there.
Ryujin’s breath hitched as her back met the wood, but she did not resist. Her good hand came up to Yeji’s jaw instinctively, thumb brushing beneath her cheekbone, eyes wide and stunned like she had not expected this particular shift in gravity.
Yeji’s ribs ached, but it was manageable.
Worth it.
The room was dark around them, dim outlines of beds and luggage barely visible beyond the threshold, but all Ryujin could focus on was the feeling of Yeji’s steady hand, careful against her side, and the rhythm of lips meeting lips again, and again, and again .
“Ryujin—” Yeji gasped, pulling back just enough to press a hand to Ryujin’s good shoulder and catch her breath. “Wait—wait—”
“What?” Ryujin asked, dazed, lips still barely brushing hers.
Yeji’s eyes fluttered open. “We have to go. To the other room—”
“—They could wait.”
“They’re hungry.”
“So am I.”
Ryujin’s good hand slipped around Yeji’s waist, fingertips grazing the edge of the brace beneath her jacket. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat as Yeji kissed her again, deeper now, and tilted her chin just slightly like it was instinct.
Yeji smiled against her mouth, then broke the kiss just barely, only enough to speak again.
“Ryu…” she whispered, her voice low and rough.
Ryujin hummed, eyes still closed. “Hm?”
Yeji kissed her again, slower this time, then pulled back just enough to breathe.
“We really have to meet the others.”
Ryujin let out a small groan, forehead tipping forward to rest against Yeji’s. “No, we don’t. Let’s stay here. Cancel the fries. Tell them I retired.”
Yeji chuckled under her breath, the sound melting against Ryujin’s skin. “We said we’re gonna be there.”
“I promised nothing,” Ryujin muttered, pressing a kiss just below Yeji’s jaw. “I was coerced. You kissed me and then expected me to function like a normal person.”
“You won gold,” Yeji teased, brushing her thumb across Ryujin’s cheek. “Surely you can walk down a hallway without making out with me in the dark.”
“I never said I wanted to walk down a hallway,” Ryujin said, kissing her again, softer now but still hungry. “I want to kiss you. And maybe sleep. Preferably in that order.”
Yeji kissed her back once, firm and final , then exhaled against her lips. “We can do both. After the team stops thinking we ghosted them.”
Ryujin opened her eyes at last, blinking in the low light. “They would definitely think we ghosted them.”
When they finally pulled apart, Ryujin just looked at her, dazed and breathless.
Yeji eased away, adjusting the collar of her jacket and brushing her thumb across Ryujin’s cheek.
Yeji was the first to move away fully, turning toward the dresser with a soft exhale.
In the quiet, Ryujin stood still for a few seconds, watching her, eyes soft, arms loose at her sides like she had only just remembered they had somewhere else to be.
The silence was not awkward. It was full. Comfortable.
Ryujin finally pushed herself off the door with a breathy groan, her bruised thigh stiff beneath her, shoulder tight. “Ugh. I forgot my entire body hurts.”
Yeji turned just enough to glance over her shoulder, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You weren’t complaining earlier when I kissed you.”
Ryujin grinned, limping toward the nightstand. “Temporary amnesia. You’re medically dangerous .”
Yeji shook her head fondly, fixing her jacket with one hand while checking her phone with the other. “Winter texted. They’re in Lia and Chaeryeong’s room. Fries have arrived.”
“Perfect,” Ryujin mumbled, reaching for her water bottle and taking a long sip. She looked down at her wrinkled shirt, then at Yeji. “Should we change? Or should we wear our shame like a badge of honor?”
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “You mean our victory?”
“I meant the part where we almost bailed on the sleepover because we couldn’t stop kissing,” Ryujin said with no remorse whatsoever.
Yeji just rolled her eyes and stepped into the bathroom. They took quick showers. Yeji first, wincing as she peeled off her brace, Ryujin next, careful around her shoulder and thigh.
Ryujin finally changed into sweats and a worn tee.
Yeji sighed through a smile. “Put on a hoodie. You look like you got hit by a bus.”
“I was hit. By several Canadians,” Ryujin shot back. But she hobbled toward her duffel anyway, rifling through it for something oversized and clean.
Eventually she tugged on a worn Cyclones hoodie—gray, a little faded from travel and laundry cycles. She groaned as she put it over herself and moved to grab their room key and slid it into her hoodie pocket.
Yeji reached for her phone, double-checked the time, then adjusted her brace once more with a quiet wince.
“You okay?” Ryujin asked, gaze flicking to her side.
“Yeah,” Yeji said, voice low but even. “Just sore.”
They both lingered by the door for a moment, hands brushing as Ryujin reached for the handle.
Then Yeji looked at her. “Ready?” she asked.
Ryujin tilted her head, pretending to think. “To be teased by our entire team for being obvious and late?”
Yeji just chuckled in response.
They had just taken two steps into the hallway, the soft click of their door behind them still echoing, when Ryujin stumbled hard over something at her feet.
“ Fuck —!” she yelped, instinctively grabbing Yeji’s arm to steady herself. Her injured thigh flared in protest, and she half-hopped, half-limped back into balance, clutching her side as she winced.
Yeji turned fast, startled.
Ryujin looked down, blinking at the oversized duffel bag now wedged awkwardly against her foot like it had been lying in wait.
She followed the outline with her eyes, then another shape beside it.
The color. The tags. The numbers printed on them.
“…Are those—?”
Yeji’s mouth parted in disbelief. “Our gear bags.”
They both stared at the two large, scuffed Team USA duffels sitting right outside their room, exactly where they had dropped them in the frenzy of adrenaline and kissing earlier.
Forgotten. Unmoved. Completely exposed in the hallway like a timestamp of their chaos.
Ryujin pointed at them with her good hand. “I almost died tripping over our own stuff.”
Yeji blinked. Then closed her eyes and let her head fall lightly against the wall behind her. “Right. Because we were too busy—”
“Making out,” Ryujin finished helpfully. “We were too busy making out .”
There was a pause.
She heaved it up with a dramatic grunt, dragging it toward the door. “I swear, if anyone passed by and saw this, I’m never hearing the end of it.”
Yeji limped forward carefully, grabbing the strap of her own bag with one hand, the other pressed protectively over her ribs. “Somebody probably thought we were making out on top of the bags.”
“I mean, we almost were,” Ryujin muttered. “Honestly, I don’t even remember dropping it. I think I blacked out the moment you kissed me.”
Yeji gave her a flat look but her lips twitched. “You had one kiss and forgot about basic logistics.”
Ryujin grinned, reaching to push open the door again with her shoulder. “I forgot the world.”
Yeji rolled her eyes but smiled. “Next time, I’m tripping you on purpose.”
“Hot,” Ryujin said without missing a beat, hauling the bags and letting them drop with a satisfying thud.
Yeji followed, quietly closing the door again. “Now we’re ready.”
Ryujin turned to her with mock seriousness. “You sure you don’t want to kiss me again before we go?”
Yeji gave her a look. “If I do, we’re never leaving this room.”
“… So no?”
Yeji picked up her phone and moved toward the door. “Food, Ryu.”
Ryujin sighed dramatically, dragging herself behind her. “Ugh, fine. Food. But after that, I am cashing in all my girlfriend privileges.”
“You’re already insufferable,” Yeji muttered, but Ryujin heard the smile.
And with gear finally secured and no more obstacles underfoot, they grabbed their room keys and headed back into the hallway.
As they neared the open doorway to Lia and Chaeryeong’s suite, it felt warmer now, like the entire night had exhaled with them. Comfort replaced tension.
The game was over.
The battle had been won. And what lingered now was rest.
Ryujin slowed just before stepping inside.
Yeji, a step ahead, paused and turned, raising an eyebrow at her.
Ryujin hesitated for a second, then reached out and gently tugged at the sleeve of Yeji’s hoodie, just enough to catch her attention more fully.
“Hey,” she said softly, her voice quiet beneath the sounds from the room. “Can I ask you something before we go in?”
Yeji turned to face her. Her features were unreadable at first, still calm, still reserved, the way she always looked before anything important. “What is it?”
Ryujin glanced at the doorway, then back at Yeji. Her voice dropped lower.
“Is it okay if I… tell them?” she asked, careful with the words. “About us, I mean. The tournament’s over now. It’s not—”
She trailed off, uncertain how to phrase it. How to ask permission for something that felt too big for a hallway but too personal to bring up in a room full of teasing friends.
Yeji looked at her for a moment. Really looked. Her eyes softened.
There was no hesitation in her voice when she said, “Yeah.”
Ryujin blinked.
Yeji nodded once, stepping in just a little closer. “It’s okay. The tournament’s done. Everything we needed to focus on is behind us. I don’t mind if they know.”
She paused, then added more quietly, “They’re our team. They’d figure it out eventually anyway.”
Ryujin let out a breath—something caught between relief and a small, stunned laugh. “You sure? I don’t want to do it if you’re not ready.”
Yeji gave a small, lopsided smile. “I’m ready if you are.”
The simple certainty of her voice made something settle in Ryujin’s chest. All the nerves, all the late-night whispers and glances and the weight of keeping things quiet—it eased. Not disappeared, not completely. But lightened.
Yeji tilted her head slightly. “You gonna survive the teasing?”
Ryujin made a face. “Absolutely not.”
Yeji laughed once, low and real. “Good. Then we’ll suffer together.”
They stood there a moment longer, the warm hum of the sleepover calling from the other side of the doorway.
Then Ryujin reached for the handle.
And they stepped in.
Chapter Text
The second Ryujin and Yeji stepped into the adjoined room, a wall of warmth and noise hit them like a soft slap of familiarity.
“Look who decided to show up!” Riley called from the floor where she was cross-legged in front of a stack of greasy takeout boxes.
“You’re late,” Jeongyeon chimed in from the couch, one leg slung over the other, a milkshake in hand. “And suspiciously flushed.”
“I told you they’d walk in looking guilty,” Chaeryeong muttered to Lia, who smirked but said nothing— yet .
Yuna, curled up with a blanket on one of the beds, tilted her head toward the door. “Did you two get lost in the elevator?”
Ryujin blinked at the sudden barrage, standing frozen by the doorway with a tired grin. “We—uh.”
“Forgot our gear bags,” Yeji said quickly, calm as ever as she stepped around Ryujin and moved deeper into the room. She was in her hoodie and sweats now, hair still damp from her earlier shower, her brace tucked beneath the loose fabric. “We left them in the hallway.”
Riley narrowed her eyes. “For, like, thirty minutes?”
Ryujin scratched the back of her neck. “They were… heavy. Also, I tripped. Almost died.”
“Over your own bag?” Lia asked from the corner, arching a brow.
Yeji gave a half-shrug. “It was a very emotional night.”
That earned a round of muffled laughter and someone tossing a pillow in Ryujin’s general direction.
Winter gestured toward the empty space between her and Chaeryeong. “Well, come on then. Sit. We saved you the spot where you two can continue being weird in close proximity.”
Ryujin slid into the spot with an exaggerated groan, careful of her shoulder and thigh. Yeji lowered herself down beside her with more control, although even that made her ribs twitch. The room had an easy chaos to it—blankets piled on every surface, open food containers perfuming the air with fried oil and seasoning, the TV playing some old romcom none of them were really watching.
The team sleepover had spiraled into the kind of chaos that only came after a gold medal and too much junk food. Blankets were everywhere, snacks half-crushed into the carpet. Winter was in the middle of a dramatic reenactment of her breakaway that did not lead to a goal — but absolutely should have .
Yeji had stepped out a few minutes earlier to grab pain relievers from her and Ryujin’s shared hotel room. Her ribs had started to flare again, sharp and persistent beneath the brace. She had waved everyone off when she stood, saying, “I’ll be back. Don’t let Ryujin eat all my curly fries.”
The door shut with a soft click, and for a moment, the room quieted just enough for Ryujin to hear the muffled hum of the hallway beyond.
Yeji had only stepped out for a moment but her absence tugged something loose in Ryujin’s chest anyway. The way she moved was so casually composed, like the whole night had not just unraveled every rule they had set for themselves.
She thought, fleetingly, about following her.
Not because Yeji needed help, though she still winced slightly with every movement, still held herself gingerly as if she was memorizing where the pain was.
But because Ryujin missed her the moment she was gone.
Even for something as ordinary as grabbing pain meds from their shared room.
Even for just a few minutes.
Now, Ryujin was sitting on the floor with a pillow behind her bad shoulder, one leg stretched out, cradling an ice pack on her thigh. Her head rested against the foot of the bed as she thought back to why they were late earlier.
That stupid fond smile crept up before she could stop it.
They were late to the sleepover. Everyone knew it.
But no one knew why.
Not the real reason, at least.
Now, sitting alone for just a moment, Ryujin could still feel the press of Yeji’s lips, the warmth of her hands at her sides. She tilted her head back against the bed, letting her eyes close briefly as the memory played again and again behind her eyelids.
The sound of Yeji’s voice, soft, low, slightly breathless, had lingered with her even now.
She exhaled, smiling helplessly.
The way Yeji looked tonight was totally not helping. Her damp hair swept back, her oversized hoodie falling just off one shoulder, with chest brace and bruises and all.
It was not fair. It never had been.
The room had settled into that familiar, post-midnight haze. Lights dimmed low, takeout bags half-crumpled on the floor, a few stray fries abandoned on napkins.
Everyone had found their spot: Winter draped over one end of the couch, Riley and Yuna squished together on the carpet, Chaeryeong curled up with a blanket she had clearly stolen from another room.
The movie had been playing quietly in the background, half-forgotten beneath the hum of conversation and the low crackle of takeout wrappers. Everyone was full, comfortably sprawled across the room. The room was dim except for the bluish glow of the television and the flicker of someone’s phone screen.
“Wait, pause it,” Winter said, sitting up suddenly from her blanket cocoon. “No offense to this rom-com, but I need to show you all something way more iconic.”
She grabbed the remote, paused the movie mid-line, and pulled out her phone. A moment later, the TV blinked to black and then mirrored her screen: photo gallery, video folder, camera roll, and then—
“There,” she grinned, selecting the video. “Tell me this isn’t the most badass thing Yeji’s ever done.”
The room stilled as the clip began to play.
It was grainy, clearly filmed from the stands, but the moment was unmistakable: overtime, final seconds. Canada attempting to make a goal. One last desperate shot straight toward the net, and Yeji, with absolutely no hesitation, diving forward to take the puck full-force to the chest.
It knocked her off her feet. The buzzer blared seconds later.
“ Oh my god ,” Riley said, sitting upright.
“She literally threw herself in front of the puck,” Yuna breathed. “and broke her ribs.”
“She was already bruised from earlier hits,” Jeongyeon added, arms crossed. “That fall probably shattered the rest.”
The replay zoomed in a little as Yeji rolled onto her side, staggering upright without looking at the bench, without even checking herself. She had just turned her head toward the crease to make sure the puck had not gone in.
Winter pressed pause on the frame: Yeji on her knees, hair a mess, jaw clenched, eyes locked forward like nothing else mattered.
Everyone in the room went quiet.
And Ryujin?
She could barely breathe.
That frozen image of Yeji mid-recovery, mouth parted, chest rising and falling with effort, gold medal still a dream away, burned into her vision.
She remembered the sound of the puck hitting Yeji’s chest. The way she stayed down just long enough to make Ryujin’s heart drop. The way she got back up anyway. Kept skating. Finished the game like nothing was broken.
Ryujin’s throat tightened. She was still sore from her own hits, her shoulder taped, her ribs tender, her thigh bruised, but none of it compared to that moment. To what Yeji had done for the team. What she had risked.
Her voice came out before she could stop it.
Soft. Unfiltered. Meant for no one but herself.
“ Holy shit ,” she whispered, exhaling. “I can’t believe that’s my girlfriend.”
A heavy pause followed Ryujin’s accidental confession, the room still dim and hushed with the television frozen on Yeji’s heroic block.
For a few seconds, no one moved. Just the low hum of the AC and the sound of someone crinkling a paper bag in the corner.
“WHAT?” Winter’s voice shot up like a fire alarm.
Jinni straightened from where she had been slouched across the bed, eyebrows flying up. “Run that back?”
Jeongyeon narrowed her eyes, leaning forward like a hawk. “Did you just say girlfriend?”
“I—” Ryujin sat up straighter, suddenly very aware of how everyone was now staring at her. “…yes?”
Then Yuna squinted. “No offense, but there’s no way you’ve been dating Yeji without telling anyone.”
“Yeah,” Riley chimed in, arms crossed. “You can’t keep a secret to save your life. You flinch when people say her name.”
Seulgi said through a mouthful of fries, grinning. “Don’t play with us like that, Ryujin. We know you’ve been pining for weeks.”
“You’ve had ‘I like Yeji’ written all over your face since training camp,” Winter added, “If she was your girlfriend, we’d all have heard about it by now.”
Jinni leaned forward from her place on the carpet, suspicion written across her face. “You literally blushed so hard when she passed you a water bottle yesterday.”
Madison, still clutching her blanket, muttered, “When we went on a Montréal day tour, you started smiling at your phone. I knew you were texting someone hot.”
“I was ,” Ryujin mumbled.
“You’re terrible at this,” Jeongyeon deadpanned from the corner. “If you two were together, we’d know. You’re loud .”
Lia, perched quietly on the armrest beside Chaeryeong, finally raised a brow and said, “I mean. She did say girlfriend now.”
“Which could’ve been a fantasy confession,” Riley offered dramatically, waving her hand. “Post-tournament delusion. It’s been a long day.”
“I’ve been shipping you guys since I was a rookie,” Yujin muttered. “But even I didn’t think it was real.”
Ryujin opened her mouth, flustered. “It is real! We just—we didn’t want to say anything during the tournament. For focus. And—”
“Okay, okay.” Yuna was already giggling, her legs tangled in the blankets. “Let’s just pretend for a second that you’re not trolling—”
“—I’m really not,” Ryujin muttered, arms folded as she leaned stiffly against the pillows at the foot of the bed, her sling slightly crooked, her expression a mix of exasperation and smug defiance.
Lia, sitting quietly by the window, did not say a word. Chaeryeong was also suspiciously silent, hiding her grin in a water bottle.
Neither of them jumped in to confirm anything, and Ryujin shot them both a betrayed look.
Winter was halfway off the couch, feet dangling, hair a mess from lying upside down for the past twenty minutes. She grinned like she had just discovered a secret no one else had. “Ryujin. We’ve all been rooting for you two for the past month.
“But,” Winter continued, holding up a finger, “there’s no way you guys are actually together.”
“Why?” Ryujin demanded, baffled.
Jules flopped over from the other bed and said, “Because if you two had gotten together, you would’ve said something.”
“Within five minutes,” Riley agreed.
“More like thirty seconds,” Jinni chimed in.
“You are physically incapable of keeping your mouth shut when it comes to Yeji,” Winter declared. “You get this stupid look on your face every time she ties her skates. It’s painful.”
Ryujin’s jaw dropped. “I do not.”
“You do,” half the room said in unison.
“You were mic’d up once,” Riley said, pointing at her accusingly. “You said, and I quote, ‘She’s so cold. It’s kinda hot.’ ”
Ryujin covered her face with her good hand. “I didn’t think they used that footage!”
“They did,” Jules said from her corner, sipping from her water bottle with the calm of someone who had been silently enjoying the unraveling. “And it aired during a national broadcast.”
Ryujin finally burst out, half-laughing, half-dying inside. “So maybe I wasn’t subtle. But I wasn’t lying.”
Another pause.
Winter folded her arms, looking unconvinced. “Then prove it.”
Ryujin blinked. “What?”
“Prove it,” Yuna echoed.
“She looks at you the same way she looks at Lia,” Riley shrugged.
“Excuse me?” Lia coughed, almost choking on her drink.
Then the door opened.
Yeji stepped inside, her pain meds in one hand and a water bottle tucked beneath her arm. Her eyes skimmed over the scene, the TV still paused on her block, everyone sitting stunned, and Ryujin was trying to stand up with a look of panic written all over her face.
She registered it instantly.
The silence.
The flushed cheeks.
The ridiculous expression Ryujin had whenever she was spiraling.
She looked around, pausing as she met Ryujin’s eyes, then glanced between the faces watching her like hawks.
“…What?” Yeji asked slowly.
No one answered.
They just turned to Ryujin in unison, smirking like demons waiting for divine judgment.
Yeji’s gaze narrowed slightly. “What happened?”
Ryujin made her way to Yeji, “I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I was just watching the replay, and you were you and I was thinking about how you looked and what you did and how it felt when you went down, and how I didn’t breathe until you got back up—and then I said it without meaning to and everyone heard, and I tried to backpedal, but it was already—”
“Ryujin,” Yeji said quietly, eyes soft.
But Ryujin did not hear her. She kept going.
“—and then Yuna was asking if I was serious, and Winter said there’s no way because I’m terrible at keeping secrets, which is fair, I guess , but I swear I wasn’t going to say anything yet, I was going to wait until maybe after the sleepover, or maybe let you say it first because it’s your call too—”
“Ryujin.”
“—but it just kind of exploded and now everyone’s looking at me like I made it up and I didn’t, obviously I didn’t, but I kept trying to explain and I kept making it worse and I know I talk a lot when I’m nervous but—”
Yeji stepped forward.
She did not speak this time. She did not ask.
She just reached up, placed her hand gently along Ryujin’s cheek, and kissed her.
Just like that.
Right there.
No warning. No build-up. Just a quiet, deliberate press of lips, assured and unbothered by the dozen teammates behind them watching with their mouths hanging open.
When she pulled back, Ryujin was completely frozen, pupils blown wide, lips still parted.
The barest twitch of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she pulled away. Ryujin still looked like she was actively praying for a sinkhole to open beneath her.
“Honestly,” Yeji said, deadpan, “I’m surprised you held it in this long.”
The room exploded.
“WHAT—”
“THAT—”
“YEJI?!”
“You guys were serious?!”
Ryujin exhaled, “What just happened?”
“You were spiraling. I figured I’d help.”
Ryujin let out a choked, sheepish laugh. “You really didn’t have to—”
“You looked like you were about to combust.”
“I was trying to protect your privacy—”
Yeji gave her a look. “You just called me your girlfriend in front of twenty people.”
Ryujin’s face crumpled in pure indignation. “And they called me delusional!”
Yeji let out a soft laugh, the kind that tugged at her shoulders and made her ribs sting. She winced a little and instinctively adjusted her stance, but she was still smiling.
“To be fair,” she said, deadpan, “you are bad at lying and keeping your mouth shut.”
“Okay, true,” Ryujin admitted, eyes narrowing. “But I was doing great until your ribs broke and you turned into everyone’s hero. That was hot. I got overwhelmed.”
“Did you just blame my injury for your lack of control?”
“Yes,” Ryujin said immediately. “And I’d do it again.”
Yeji shook her head slowly, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing again.
Yeji calmly walked past all of them, popped the cap on her water bottle, and said as she sat down on the floor, “You all owe Ryujin an apology.”
Winter clutched a pillow like a lifeline. “I feel so betrayed.”
Ryujin did not even blink. “I feel so vindicated.”
Lia, already holding out a fry toward Yeji like an offering, smiled. “Nicely done, captain.”
Ryujin almost shouted, “I’m the tournament MVP’s girlfriend!”
Riley did not even look up. “ Oh God .”
“I think they already got it, Ryujin.” Yeji said, clearly amused.
“I know,” Ryujin smirked. “Still true though.”
Chaeryeong tossed a pillow at them. “You both make me sick.”
“Same,” Lia said, snacking calmly. “Utterly disgusting. But I’m thrilled for you.”
Winter had collapsed face-first on the couch. “I shipped it but I wasn’t ready.”
Yuna pointed accusingly. “You mean to tell me I’ve been roasting you for weeks about this and you were actually together the whole time?”
Yeji finally glanced up from her water bottle. “No,” she said. “We got together after the prelim loss.”
Winter, still sprawled dramatically on the couch, suddenly went still. Her head popped up slowly, eyes narrowing with exaggerated suspicion.
She turned toward Chaeryeong, who had returned to her spot on the carpet, calmly scrolling on her phone like nothing in the last five minutes had even happened.
“Wait,” Winter said, voice dangerously calm. “You weren’t surprised.”
Chaeryeong did not even glance up. “Wasn’t I?”
“No. You weren’t. You—” Winter pointed accusingly. “You had a whole ten-dollar bet on this. You knew!”
Finally, Chaeryeong looked up with the faintest, most unbothered smirk. “I had evidence.”
Winter sat up like she had been personally betrayed by the entire federal court. “YOU KNEW? Since when?!”
Chaeryeong shrugged. “After the prelim round. Back in their room.”
“I trusted you,” Winter said, clutching her chest.
“No you didn’t,” Chaeryeong replied flatly. “You tried to bet against me.”
Across the room, another realization hit.
Yuna’s head slowly turned toward Lia, who had been methodically picking fries from the center takeout pile without so much as blinking at the commotion. Her expression was serene. Way too serene.
Karina clocked it at the same time. She narrowed her eyes. “Lia.”
Lia blinked, raising an innocent brow. “Hm?”
“You knew too,” Karina accused, her voice rising in disbelief. “You knew, didn’t you?”
Lia popped a fry into her mouth. “What gave it away?”
Yuna clutched her head with both hands. “Lia! We have been screaming in our room for the past week about whether they were dating or not—you said nothing?!”
“I was busy,” Lia said, chewing. “Also, I thought it was obvious.”
“No it was not!”
“Oh my god,” Jules said, her voice cutting clean across the room, “you guys have to see this.”
Ryujin looked up lazily from where she was leaning against Yeji’s side, her head just brushing her shoulder. “What, another cursed team photo?”
“Nope. Better.” Jules mirrored her phone to the TV for the group to see. “Someone just posted the full rink feed from the final shootout. Look.”
Chaeryeong and Lia sat up immediately. Riley and Yuna shuffled closer like raccoons sensing drama. Jeongyeon leaned over the back of the desk chair, craning her neck.
Jules hit play. The video was raw footage, no commentary, no cuts. Just ice, lights, and the echo of crowd noise.
It showed Ryujin scoring the game-winning goal with that ridiculous move she somehow pulled off even with a bruised thigh. The roar of the crowd was muted but unmistakable. The team rushed the ice. Chaos.
And then, there it was.
The exact moment Ryujin turned, found Yeji in the blur as she ran straight into her arms. They nearly knocked each other out from the force of the hug. Ryujin’s arms wrapped tight around Yeji’s waist; Yeji’s hands pulled her in just as fiercely, one up by the back of her neck.
It was not a short embrace. It lasted a beat too long. Long enough for anyone watching to wonder if something more was about to happen.
The room went silent.
Then Winter broke it with a slow, pointed, “I actually thought you were gonna kiss her there.”
Ryujin choked on her soda.
Ryujin, already flushed and hiding behind a throw pillow, groaned into the fabric. “Why are we talking about this—”
Yeji, calm and deadpan as ever, plucked a sip from Ryujin’s soda and said evenly, “Maybe I wanted to.”
The room froze.
Again.
It was like someone had hit mute on the chaos. Eyes snapped to her. Fry paused mid-air. Winter’s jaw dropped slightly. Riley actually gasped.
Ryujin’s head popped up from behind the pillow, wide-eyed. “ Yeji— ”
Yeji just lifted her brows, nonchalant, and chewed her lip to suppress a smile.
“Maybe I like suspense,” Yeji replied smoothly, setting her drink down and leaning back against the bed like she had not just detonated a bomb in the middle of the room.
The team erupted again, more shouting, more teasing, more laughter echoing off the walls. Fries flew, onion rings were claimed, and the scene on the TV continued unwatched.
But none of it mattered, because the real entertainment was right there. Two bruised champions and a team trying not to fall apart every time the truth slipped out of their captain’s mouth like it had always belonged there.
The energy never fully dipped after the reveal.
How could it?
A gold medal, a hidden relationship unveiled, and the entire team spiraling into mock betrayal and fries-fueled dramatics.
It was the kind of night that would end up retold in every group chat, in every post-tournament reunion, for years to come.
But eventually, the chaos thinned. The floor was littered with empty takeout bags, crumpled napkins, and a now-forgotten packet of fries under Winter’s leg that she refused to move for out of principle.
Someone had dimmed the lights. Jeongyeon had migrated to the armchair in the corner, quietly nodding off with her hoodie pulled over her face. Chaeyoung and Madison had folded themselves into a beanbag in the far corner, long since curled up like cats after too much sugar.
The rom-com they had started before all hell broke loose had finally resumed playing on the TV. This time uninterrupted, though no one was really watching it for the plot anymore.
A pile of half-eaten takeout sat on the coffee table. Riley had collapsed sideways on the floor, clutching a pillow to her chest like it owed her money. Winter was lying with one leg propped up on the couch, slowly kicking Karina’s knee every five seconds just to be annoying. Karina responded by hitting her arm.
In the middle of it all, Yeji and Ryujin had managed to retreat to one end of the room. A shared blanket had somehow materialized, probably courtesy of Chaeryeong, who tossed it at them earlier with a smirk and muttered, “ Do what you want, just don’t make us watch .”
Ryujin sat with her back against the side of the bed, Yeji tucked into her side, careful not to press against her still-braced ribs.
Ryujin’s fingers lazily traced over the hem of Yeji’s sleeve. “You realize they’re going to bring this up every day, right?”
Yeji tilted her head, resting her chin on Ryujin’s good shoulder. “Let them.”
“You kissed me in the middle of a full-blown delirium.”
“You were spiraling.”
“I like to spiral.”
Yeji hummed. “I noticed.”
Yeji leaned in, pressing her lips briefly to the corner of Ryujin’s mouth, barely a whisper against her skin.
Ryujin looked like someone had just handed her a second gold medal. She turned her head, kissed Yeji back. Shorter this time, just a brush of warmth and victory.
Lia, across the room, did not even look up. “Ten bucks says they’re asleep by the end of the movie.”
“They’re already half-asleep,” Chaeryeong mumbled from the couch. “Look at them. They’re disgusting.”
Winter held up a blanket like a curtain. “Give them privacy!”
“Winter, this is our room.”
“Exactly!”
Karina tossed a pillow at her.
By the time the end credits rolled, names scrolling up a faded skyline and soft music playing, the room had fully settled.
A soft mess of limbs and blankets, aching bodies and full bellies, and something warm in the air that tasted like home.
Yeji exhaled and closed her eyes, Ryujin’s arm still slung gently over her waist.
And somewhere between the last verse and the flickering end credits, someone whispered, “Best sleepover ever.”
No one said it, but everyone felt it.
It was more than a gold medal kind of night.
It was the kind you remembered by heart.
Chapter Text
The tournament was over, but the spotlight had not faded yet.
The press conference was held in one of the hotel’s meeting halls. A long table was draped in navy and white, Team USA’s crest front and center.
Ryujin walked in with a slight limp, shoulder bandaged beneath a crisp pullover. She gave a half-wave to the cameras before settling into her seat, leaning back carefully.
Yeji followed moments later, posture straighter than it should have been with cracked ribs hidden beneath her jacket. Her expression was unreadable but composed. She placed her water bottle in front of her and nodded politely at the reporters gathering.
Coach Donovan opened with gratitude and praise, thanking the organizers, lauding the staff, and emphasizing the resilience of this particular roster.
Then came the questions.
The first reporter stood, barely hiding her excitement.
“Yeji, congratulations. First, how are the ribs?”
Yeji gave a practiced half-smile. “They’re fractured. Four, to be exact. I got confirmation a while ago.”
A few gasps stirred, pens scratching.
Coach Donovan leaned forward. “Before anyone panics, she’s been evaluated thoroughly. She’s cleared for recovery and won’t need surgery.”
“Was it from the block in overtime?”
Yeji nodded once. “I already had bruising from earlier games. Blocking that final shot just… finished the job.”
Across the table, Ryujin muttered under her breath, “Finished it dramatically .”
The moderator gestured for the next question.
“Ryujin… game-winning shootout goal. Can you walk us through that moment?”
Ryujin leaned closer to the mic, then smiled wryly. “Mostly that I couldn’t feel my thigh. Or my ribs. Or my shoulder. So I figured… why not just black out and score?”
Laughter rippled through the room. Coach Donovan chuckled, but Ryujin added more seriously, “I’d missed against Canada before. It stayed with me. So I knew what this meant.”
A follow-up hand shot up immediately.
“How badly were you injured, exactly?”
Ryujin blinked. “You want the list?”
That earned more laughs, but she held up a hand.
“Partial dislocation on my left shoulder. Bruised ribs. Thigh — I think the medical term is ‘completely wrecked .’” She glanced toward Yeji. “Still not as bad as hers, though.”
Yeji did not smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
“Riley — as a rookie, what was it like playing alongside veterans like these two?”
Riley lit up. “It was insane. I mean, I grew up watching Yeji’s zone clears and Ryujin’s breakaways on YouTube. To be on the same team… and then to win? Unreal.”
Ryujin raised her eyebrow, “You make it sound like we’re old.”
Yeji gave Riley a small nod. “She played like a vet the entire tournament.”
Coach Donovan chuckled. “She earned her place. Watch out for her next season.”
Then came the caps.
One by one, staff members made their way down the line, distributing freshly embroidered Team USA caps to the players and coaching staff seated at the front. Crisp black with bold white stitching, the hats had that stiff newness that had not yet molded to anyone’s head.
Most of the team accepted theirs with tired grins and playful eye rolls, immediately placing them on their heads as cameras started flashing in anticipation.
Ryujin took hers with a quick nod, fingers running once over the brim before setting it neatly atop her head, a little off-center.
She did not adjust it further. She was too busy glancing sideways because Yeji, seated beside her, took hers, flipped it around, and wore it backwards like it was instinct. Effortless. Like she was made for it.
The press conference was already fifteen minutes in, and Ryujin had not answered a question in at least five.
Her body ached everywhere, but she barely noticed it now.
Ryujin sat between Coach Donovan and Yeji, blinking slowly as she tried to keep up with whatever the last reporter just asked. Something about line chemistry. Or maybe about her shootout goal. She really could not remember. Her ears were still ringing from the crowd’s roar last night.
Or maybe they were ringing now because of the way Yeji was sitting beside her with her cap on backwards, a tiny smirk tugging at her mouth every time someone asked about defensive tactics or leadership.
She had pulled hers low over the back of her head, loose strands of her dark hair spilling out the front, a few pieces stuck behind her ears.
Her expression was sharp and focused as ever, especially when answering questions about defensive systems or managing the bench during penalties.
But to Ryujin, she looked like a problem.
Because Ryujin could not stop staring.
She had zoned out somewhere between the fourth and fifth question. Not on purpose.
Her body was there physically , nodding along when Riley cracked a joke, sipping her water slowly when Coach Donovan deflected a stat-related question.
But her mind was caught on the tilt of Yeji’s jaw when she smirked. On the way her fingers tapped rhythmically against the edge of the mic whenever someone mentioned her block in overtime.
She was dangerously close to slipping now.
Because Yeji was talking. About discipline. About leadership. About breaking a rib for the country.
And all Ryujin could think was “God, what the hell is this feeling?”
Her shoulder throbbed, her thigh burned every time she shifted, but it was nothing compared to what bloomed in her chest now. Too big, too warm, too close to everything she could not say.
It curled behind her sternum like sunlight trapped beneath skin.
Every time Yeji’s voice dipped, Ryujin felt it ripple down her spine.
Every glance Yeji cast toward her sent that strange, weightless flutter through her stomach.
Every moment she caught herself just watching, the way Yeji adjusted her cap, the way she exhaled carefully before speaking, the way she smiled even when it hurt, was a moment Ryujin forgot how to breathe properly.
She curled her fingers tighter around the mic. She did not say a word. She only sat there, pulse pounding, wondering if anyone else could hear it.
Then, she realized someone had spoken to her only when Coach Donovan nudged her foot gently beneath the table. Ryujin blinked.
“Sorry—what was the question?” she asked, lips twitching sheepishly.
There was a ripple of polite laughter from the room.
Yeji glanced sideways at her. Not stern, not smug, just… curious.
The corner of her mouth twitched, the barest hint of a grin. She tilted her head a fraction, almost like she knew exactly what Ryujin had been thinking.
“I mean—uh,” she blinked again, straightened a little in her chair. “Yeah. She clears the zone like no one else I’ve ever played with.” She nodded toward Yeji, who arched a brow. “There’s… a rhythm to her game. You feel safe when she’s on the ice. You know you can make the move because she’s already anticipating your lane.”
Ryujin bit her lip.
Because she was absolutely screwed.
But also lucky beyond reason.
The next question moved on, something directed at the breakout rookie on their left, but Ryujin had already fallen quiet again, fingers drumming lightly against her knee.
Because it hit her right then.
Ryujin exhaled slowly.
She was in love.
Hopelessly, stupidly, irrevocably in love with her rival-turned-teammate-turned-girlfriend.
Not just the infatuation kind.
Not the “ rival I kissed in a hallway ” kind.
Not even the “ I’ve watched you play for ten years and I still don’t know how you’re real ” kind.
This was the kind that pressed into her lungs when Yeji shifted in her seat and winced ever so slightly.
The kind that echoed behind every careful word Yeji offered to the press, voice calm despite the healing brace under her jacket.
The kind that made Ryujin’s hands itch to reach for hers here, now, in front of the media, teammates, and an entire nation. Consequences be damned.
She bit her cheek. Her fingers kept tapping.
Because Yeji was sitting beside her with her stupid cap and her ribs probably still aching like hell, chin high, talking about sacrifice, about trust, about the split-second choice to throw her body in front of a puck that could have stolen the championship.
She was steady. Brilliant. Every inch the captain the world thought she was, while Ryujin was over here losing her mind.
Yeji turned slightly, catching Ryujin’s stare, and mouthed, What?
Ryujin blinked.
Nothing, she mouthed back.
Yeji just nudged Ryujin’s knee under the table and murmured under her breath, “ Focus”
“Ryujin,” another voice called. “Rumors say you’ve been attached to a certain teammate this tournament. Can we get a comment?”
A ripple of tension rolled through the table. Ryujin blinked. Then slowly, she tilted her mic toward her. “Define attached .”
The room laughed.
“Off-ice closeness. Maybe some extra chemistry?”
Ryujin smirked. “Well, I did spend most mornings bothering our captain.”
Yeji did not blink. “She calls it bothering . I call it routine warmup disruption.”
There was a beat of silence, and then another round of laughter, fuller this time. A few flashes from the front row. Even Coach Donovan cracked a smile beside Ryujin.
Ryujin tilted her head just slightly, eyes catching Yeji’s out of the corner of her vision. “That’s fair,” she said. “But you let me.”
Jules leaned into her mic, whispering, “They’re insufferable.”
Coach Donovan cleared his throat. “Next question.”
“Yeji, what does this gold mean to you as a captain?”
Yeji’s posture shifted slightly. She folded her hands in front of her, her voice steadier now. “It’s not just about the win,” Yeji said. “It’s about the team we became getting there.”
She paused for a moment. Not to search for words, but to weigh them.
“We came from different cities, different systems, different clubs. We wore different jerseys. We brought different habits, different tempos, even different languages to the rink. And for the first few days, maybe even the first few games, that showed.”
Yeji’s eyes flicked briefly to the press row, then back down the center of the room. Her tone did not soften, but something deeper entered it.
“But we chose to trust each other. Not because we had to. Because we wanted to. We built something out of that trust, something real. And this gold? It’s not a trophy for talent. It’s a symbol of every decision we made to hold each other up, to play for each other, even when it hurt.”
There was a stillness in the room after that. Not silence, cameras clicked, pens scratched, but no one rushed to ask the next question. It hung in the air a little longer. Because the way Yeji said it, it felt less like a press quote and more like a final period. A promise kept.
But when a reporter asked, lightly, “Any truth to the rumors about a Team USA couple hiding in plain sight this tournament?” the room stirred.
Ryujin looked up sharply, trying not to smile.
Yeji, to her credit, did not flinch. “That sounds like a wild story,” she replied coolly.
Ryujin leaned into the mic, half-lidded grin in place. “Depends which couple you’re talking about.”
Coach Donovan chuckled. “That’s enough. No roster gossip today.”
Laughter rose, a few cameras flashed.
The questions kept coming. About their win, about international play, about what it meant for Team USA to reclaim the gold after years of falling short.
Ryujin nodded when she was supposed to, answered when she was called on, even smiled when Winter nervously cracked a joke and the room chuckled in response.
But none of it really settled.
Not when the press table felt colder by the second.
Not when Yeji was still right there. Quiet, composed, legs crossed neatly, that cap was still somehow the most unfairly attractive thing Ryujin had ever seen on a person.
And yet already beginning to feel far away.
She leaned back in her chair a little, hands loose in her lap.
Because all she could think was she was not going to see this face tomorrow.
Not like this.
Not sleepy at breakfast in hotel light, hair half-damp from a rushed shower.
Not smirking during drills when she beat her to the corner puck.
Not rolling her eyes when Ryujin bragged about her own shot like a five-year-old with a gold star.
Not flushed and stubborn and biting back a smile across the locker room after a chirp that landed too well.
Not inches away.
She would go back to Boston. Ryujin would return to New York.
And this… this rare, impossible month where their rivalry had twisted into something bigger and gentler and terrifyingly real, would be behind them.
Ryujin glanced to her left again.
Yeji was adjusting the mic for one last question, something about preparation for their club season. She answered calmly, measured, with that captain’s voice everyone trusted. But as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and leaned forward just slightly, Ryujin’s breath caught in her chest.
God . She was going to miss that face.
Miss staring at it during bus rides and warmups and stretches on the floor.
Miss pretending she was not staring at all.
Miss memorizing every shift in expression like it was game film and she was trying to unlock something no one else saw.
She was going to miss her.
So much it already hurt, and they had not even left the room yet.
And all she could do was sit still, pretending her hand was not shaking.
Pretending it was not her whole world speaking beside her.
The press conference wound down slowly. Coaches stood. Reporters shuffled their equipment. There was polite applause.
Ryujin stayed seated a second longer than she should have, her eyes still on Yeji.
Then Yeji turned. She met her gaze.
And for the first time that morning, she smiled at her, no press, no crowd, just her .
A small smile. A quiet one.
But Ryujin felt it like a jolt to the chest.
Yeji had no idea what that smile had just done to her.
Or maybe she did.
God , Ryujin thought, standing with the rest of the team.
She was so, so screwed.
As they stood from their seats, Ryujin reached first, steadying Yeji by her elbow before she could reach for the table to push herself up.
The press had faded, left at the podium with empty coffee cups and half-answered questions. The elevator ride back to their floor had been silent, save for the hum of air vents.
There were no flashing cameras in the hallway now, no stage lights or microphones. Just muted carpet, closed doors, and the soft creak of hinges as they stepped back into the stillness of their room.
Back in their shared hotel room, the quiet was a welcome relief. Most of the team were finishing their last-minute packing.
Yeji and Ryujin moved slowly, each motion deliberate and laced with the soreness of bruised ribs and tender joints.
The gold medals they had barely taken off the night before now rested carefully on the bed, tucked beside folded jerseys and farewell notes from staff.
Ryujin sat on the edge of her suitcase, knee bent to ease the strain on her thigh, rolling up socks and stuffing them into corners. Her shoulder ached every time she moved too quickly, so she took her time.
She was half-distracted anyway, watching Yeji from the corner of her eye as she zipped up a smaller duffel bag filled with recovery gear and pain meds.
Yeji crossed to the dresser, opened one of the drawers, and paused.
She blinked.
Then turned slowly, holding up a dark gray hoodie with teal accents. The New York Cyclones logo stitched proudly across the chest. She placed it into her own suitcase without asking.
Ryujin blinked. “Hey—”
“No,” she said flatly. “It’s mine now.”
Ryujin’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Excuse me?”
Yeji did not even look up. “You heard me.”
Yeji was halfway through stuffing it in her suitcase when Ryujin’s voice rose behind her, deceptively casual.
“Then I’m keeping your Sentinels hoodie.”
Yeji turned, brows lifting. “Are you now?”
Ryujin stood near the foot of the bed, one hand resting on her hip, the other holding up the unmistakable navy blue and gold hoodie. The Boston Sentinels logo was bold across the chest, the fabric soft from wear.
“I’m serious,” Ryujin said, folding it over her arm with a triumphant look. “You get my Cyclones hoodie, I get this. Fair trade.”
Yeji gave a single, deliberate blink. “You hate the Sentinels.”
Ryujin shrugged. “I like you. It balances out.”
Yeji rolled her eyes but there was no heat behind it. “You said— on record —that you would rather ‘soak in defeat than wear Boston colors .’”
Ryujin grinned. “I was young. Misguided. Now I’m older, wiser, and in possession of my girlfriend’s hoodie, which, if I may add, smells suspiciously like the shampoo I made fun of you for packing.”
Yeji let out a slow exhale, but her lips curved faintly. “Fine. Keep it.”
“Really?” Ryujin blinked in mock surprise. “No fight?”
“I mean, you already did,” Yeji replied. “It’s in your laundry pile.”
“Touché.” Ryujin tried not to grin. “Then I guess we’re even.”
Yeji crossed the room in a few quiet steps and plucked the hoodie from her arms just long enough to lean in close and say, voice low, “Only because it looks better on you when you wear nothing else.”
Ryujin nearly fell to her knees.
Yeji was already walking away. “Let’s go. We’re going to miss check-out.”
Ryujin scrambled after her, muttering, “That was evil.”
“Older. Wiser,” Yeji tossed back, deadpan. “And also in possession of your dignity.”
“I want that back too.”
“Not a chance.”
They went back to packing again. The hum of the hallway gave way to soft fabric rustles as Yeji eased down to begin folding what little remained unpacked.
The room, once cluttered with the chaos of camp and competition, was beginning to look like a hotel room again.
No more traces of gold medals or whispered confessions left behind.
Ryujin was now sitting quietly on the hotel bed, her bag finally zipped shut after what felt like a lifetime of slow, aching effort. Her thigh was starting to throb again. She pressed her palm to her thigh gently, trying to ease the ache, then leaned back with a soft groan.
Yeji was across the room, double-checking the side pouch of her duffel, her movements quiet, focused.
And as Ryujin watched her, the difference hit her like a puck to the chest.
The last time they packed like this, almost exactly a month ago, Ryujin had been seething.
On the flight to Plymouth, her brain could not stop replaying that brutal 4–0 shutout at Madison Square Garden. She had sat there staring out the window while her fingers clenched her headphones too tightly, too frustrated at herself for missing her chances, too consumed with how Yeji had controlled that game.
But destiny, as it turned out, had other plans.
Because they were assigned plane seats together. Numbers 97 and 98, side by side like the hockey gods themselves were in on the joke.
She remembered the silence between them on the plane, the burn of frustration behind her ribs. She had spent that entire trip trying to avoid looking at Yeji.
Now she was watching Yeji zip up her bag with one hand while bracing the other over her ribs, wondering if there was a train, or a ride, or even a goddamn cargo plane that could get her to Boston without shaking her injuries too badly.
She was wondering if she could hide in the overhead bin of Yeji’s flight or sneak into her suitcase and survive TSA just to stay one more night beside her.
Ryujin was holding herself back from blurting, Can I come home with you?
The shift was staggering.
They had only been together almost two weeks, but Ryujin felt it in every part of her.
The way her body no longer knew how to sleep without Yeji next to her.
The way every silence between them had become comforting, not heavy.
The way her injuries only hurt half as much when Yeji’s hand was resting on her wrist.
The way she had once obsessed over defeating Yeji… and now only wanted to sit next to her on the couch eating diner pancakes in the middle of the night.
The tournament had given her a gold medal, a best forward award, bruises she would carry for weeks.
But more than that, it had quietly rewritten everything she thought she knew about Yeji.
And now it was over.
Ryujin inhaled deeply and tried to blink the burn from her eyes.
Then, almost absently, she muttered to herself, “I’m going to be so annoying about this, aren’t I?”
Yeji looked up. “What?”
Ryujin smiled, soft and slightly crooked. “Nothing. Just… thinking about how to get to Boston with one good leg, a bad shoulder, and a hundred excuses.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “You trying to visit me or join physical therapy?”
“Both,” Ryujin said without hesitation. “Preferably at the same time.”
And Yeji, despite the stiffness in her ribs, laughed.
Yeji had just zipped the last pocket of her duffel when she felt arms slip carefully around her waist from behind.
Ryujin rested her chin lightly on Yeji’s shoulder, mindful of the bruises, the healing ribs. Her hold was gentle but grounding, like she needed the contact to keep from unraveling.
Yeji’s breath caught just a little at the closeness, though she did not move away. Her hands rested on top of Ryujin’s, instinctively.
They stood like that in silence for a few seconds, the air between them heavier than it had been all trip.
The gold medals were packed. The uniforms folded. The gear stowed away. In just over an hour, they would both be on separate flights.
“I’m gonna miss this,” Ryujin murmured, voice quiet and rough against Yeji’s hoodie. “Waking up next to you.”
Yeji let her head tilt slightly back, eyes falling shut at the confession. Her grip on Ryujin’s hands tightened just a little.
“It’s only been two weeks,” she said softly, not teasing, just acknowledging the weight of the time they had shared.
“I know,” Ryujin whispered. “But it feels like more.”
Yeji swallowed, throat tight. “It does.”
Yeji turned around slowly in Ryujin’s arms, careful not to shift too suddenly. Her hands slid up Ryujin’s arms, settling at her elbows. Their eyes met, full of the kind of quiet ache that came with knowing this was about to end, even if temporarily.
“I’ll miss it too,” Yeji said.
Ryujin leaned forward and kissed her softly. No urgency, no rush. Just something that said I’m not ready to let go yet.
Ryujin tightened her grip just a little as she pulled away. “I’m not used to not having you around.”
Yeji rested her chin lightly on Ryujin’s shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I’d rather not.”
Yeji hummed. “You want me to smuggle you into my luggage?”
Ryujin pulled back enough to meet her eyes. “Only if you give me an oxygen tank.”
Their suitcases were lined up neatly by the hotel room door, medals packed, jerseys folded, and every sign of the tournament sealed away in zippered fabric and fading adrenaline.
Morning pressed in through the window, pale and brisk, and their room. It was once filled with energy and teasing chaos.
Now, it felt too still.
The silence was comfortable, but there was a heaviness threaded into it, something unspoken and lingering just beneath their final movements.
“I just got a text from the staff,” Yeji said, standing straighter. “You’re on the first shuttle to the airport. I’ll be on the second one.”
Ryujin looked up, blinking. “Seriously?”
Yeji nodded, her voice even. “They split it by destination hubs.”
Ryujin exhaled and slumped back onto her heels. “That sucks.”
“Yeah,” Yeji said softly, offering her a small smile. “I was hoping we’d get one more ride together.”
“New plan,” Ryujin said. “You cancel your shuttle. I hide in your suitcase. I sneak onto your flight. I live under your bed in Boston.”
Yeji laughed quietly, but there was an ache behind her smile. “You’d hate Boston by the third day.”
Ryujin grinned. “Maybe. But I’d love waking up next to you.”
Yeji paused. Then she stepped in closer, resting her hands lightly on Ryujin’s waist. “It’s only a few weeks.”
“I know,” Ryujin murmured, ducking her head until their foreheads touched. “I know we’ve only been sharing a bed for like… a week,” she said, voice low, almost shy. “But now that I’m used to it… used to sleeping beside you… I don’t wanna know what it feels like to have the bed empty again.”
Yeji stilled.
For a second, neither of them said anything. The air between them hung soft and heavy, like the quiet realization of something neither of them had said out loud until now.
“I don’t either,” Yeji said.
Yeji glanced down at her own hands, then reached for Ryujin’s and laced their fingers together. “So let’s not leave it empty for long.”
Ryujin swallowed. “You planning to fly to New York every night?”
Yeji cracked a small smile. “No. But I’ll call. Every night. You’ll hate me by week two.”
“I already hate that you’re not coming with me,” Ryujin whispered.
Yeji’s breath caught, but she did not move away. “We’ll figure it out.”
“We better,” Ryujin said. “Because I’m not going back to being just the rival forward who chirps you at faceoffs.”
Yeji smirked. “You think I liked that less?”
Ryujin leaned back, eyes narrowing in mock offense. “You enjoyed watching me lose my mind trying to hit the net with you crashing every breakout?”
“I slept like a baby those nights.”
Ryujin groaned, burying her face in Yeji’s shoulder. “This is straight up bullying.”
Yeji lifted her hand and gently smoothed Ryujin’s hair. “Go easy on the staff in your shuttle, superstar. I’ll see you in playoffs.”
Ryujin straightened, eyes searching hers for a second longer before finally nodding. “Yeah. Playoffs.”
Outside, a distant knock echoed from the hallway. Someone calling for the shuttle teams to get ready.
Yeji looked toward the door.
But Ryujin was still looking at her. She did not move right away.
Because she knew every second they delayed meant one more second of pretending this little hotel room was still theirs.
But eventually, she stepped back.
They moved together without needing to speak, falling into that rhythm that had built itself quietly over the past month, passing water bottles, checking for passports, glancing at the beds to make sure nothing was left behind.
The hallway outside was hushed, early morning light spilling in from the end windows. Downstairs, the soft whirr of luggage wheels and quiet chatter grew louder with each step.
They stepped into the lobby to find most of their teammates already clustered near the front desk or lounging against their bags, jackets slung over shoulders, eyes heavy with post-tournament fatigue.
The lobby buzzed with quiet movement; hugs, claps on the back, whispered goodbyes as staff filtered in and out with checklists.
Yeji scanned the room, then turned to Ryujin, who had caught up beside her.
For a moment, they just stood there, exhaustion behind their eyes.
The heaviness of goodbye was beginning to bloom in their lungs.
The sidewalk in front of the hotel was crowded with movement. Players dragging wheeled duffels, staff yelling over checklists, a few leftover reporters still hovering at a distance.
The sun had climbed higher now, casting long, sharp-edged shadows across the pavement.
Ryujin’s bus was idling by the curb, the driver leaning against the side with a coffee cup and a practiced disinterest.
Players and some of the staff were already climbing aboard, one by one, tired voices calling dibs on window seats, arms raised in lazy waves to the other players they passed.
Yeji stood beside Ryujin’s bag outside the shuttle, her arms folded gently over her chest. She had not needed to walk her here. Not really.
But she did.
“You’re good on meds?” she asked quietly, eyes flicking to the bandage just visible at the edge of Ryujin’s sleeve.
Ryujin gave a thumbs-up, wincing as she adjusted the strap of her bag. “Should keep me loopy for at least an hour.”
Yeji nodded. Her hand drifted up, brushing a strand of Ryujin’s hair away from her cheek with surprising gentleness.
“Get rest,” Yeji murmured. “Text me if—”
“—Come here,” Ryujin said under her breath, voice low and sharp with urgency.
Yeji barely had time to react before Ryujin took her wrist and gently pulled her forward toward the shuttle, up the steps, just past the threshold of the doorway.
“What—Ryujin, what are you—”
But the words were swallowed whole the moment Ryujin turned, dropped her bag to the floor, and kissed her.
Right there, in the narrow aisle just inside the shuttle, beneath fluorescent lights and the stunned gasps of their teammates, Ryujin kissed Yeji goodbye like she had been waiting all her life to.
It was soft, slow, the kind of kiss that lingered just a little longer than needed. Ryujin’s hand settled against Yeji’s waist, careful of the brace, the other cradling her cheek with surprising steadiness despite the pain blooming across her shoulder.
Yeji froze only for half a heartbeat before her fingers found the fabric of Ryujin’s hoodie and clenched. Not to pull away.
To pull closer .
Her ribs screamed, but she kissed her back anyway, leaning into it like her body had no say in the matter.
When they finally pulled apart, Ryujin let out a breathless laugh.
“Now that’s how you send off your girlfriend,” she whispered, just loud enough for Yeji to hear.
Yeji stared at her, slightly wide-eyed, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
She exhaled through her nose, lips still barely touching Ryujin’s. “You know, if you didn’t kiss me before leaving, I was going to think you were mad at me.”
Ryujin pulled back half a breath, her eyes searching hers. “Mad at you? Yeji, I nearly put myself in your suitcase.”
Yeji let out a soft laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
Behind them, Winter was halfway out of her seat, jaw dropped. Riley had slapped a hand over her mouth in surprise.
Chaeryeong was mid- “holy sh—”
“Well,” Coach Donovan said dryly, “that explains the chemistry.”
Yeji’s expression sharpened into a familiar smirk. “You dramatic little menace.”
Ryujin grinned. “You like me for it.”
Yeji stepped back, still breathless, fingers lingering at the edge of Ryujin’s hoodie.
“I do,” she whispered. “Now get on your damn bus before I pull you into mine instead.”
Ryujin, still smiling, scooped up her bag and turned into the aisle, teammates parting in stunned silence and stifled laughter.
They did not even care who saw. The driver had turned his back. Most of their teammates were busy in the rear of the bus.
But even if they were not, even if the whole world was watching , Yeji would have kissed her back just the same.
Because this was not just a kiss goodbye.
It was a promise. A vow.
That no matter where they flew, no matter what jersey they pulled over their heads next, Boston navy blue or New York gray, this moment would remain.
Ryujin reached for Yeji’s hand one last time, squeezed it gently, and whispered, “See you soon, captain.”
Yeji nodded, voice low. “You better.”
As the shuttle doors closed behind her, Ryujin peeked out the window, Yeji still standing at the curb, lips curved, eyes unmistakably soft.
The ride to the airport was a blur.
Ryujin sank into her seat near the back of the shuttle, heart still thudding from the kiss.
The other players were buzzing around her. Winter kept nudging Riley and whispering loudly about what just happened, Madison was laughing so hard she nearly dropped her phone, and someone near the front, probably Chaeryeong, was fake gagging in a dramatic protest.
But Ryujin hardly heard any of it.
Her eyes were fixed on the window, watching Yeji shrink smaller and smaller in the distance until she finally disappeared behind a wave of shuttle exhaust and slush from the Montréal curb.
It hit her all at once how empty her chest felt now. How raw her shoulder was beneath the brace. How the ache in her ribs had nothing on the ache of leaving her behind.
And yet... she still smiled.
Because the kiss had been worth it.
Because Yeji kissed her back.
Because when Ryujin looked into her eyes before the door closed, she had seen something unspoken there.
Winter plopped down beside her a moment later, eyes still wide. “Okay, but like… can we rewind and play that kiss in slow motion? Because what the hell was that?”
Ryujin did not answer right away. She just leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes for a beat, letting the warmth of it all sink in again.
Then, with the faintest smirk, she muttered, “That was me saying goodbye to my girlfriend .”
Winter squinted at her, leaning closer. “You really like her.”
Ryujin’s smile faded into something gentler. Something softer.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I really do.”
The shuttle fell into a lighter rhythm after that. Jokes being tossed back and forth, a half-hearted attempt to start a playlist, Jules fake-interviewing Madison about her “ favorite off-ice moment of the tournament .”
But Ryujin stayed leaned against the window, watching the city slide by, fingers absently brushing the edge of her phone.
She decided to send Yeji a message.
[Ryujin]
text me when you land
or i’ll fly to boston and check the terminal myself
The city passed in flickers: gray sidewalks, winter-bare trees, pedestrians with their coats drawn tight. Her shoulder ached. Her ribs tugged with every bump in the road. But none of it mattered as much as that look Yeji had given her just before she turned away.
The shuttle was already halfway to the airport when Ryujin’s phone buzzed softly in her lap. She had been staring out the window, forehead leaned against the cool glass, earbuds in but no music playing.
[Yeji]
And if I don’t?
Just to make you fly to Boston
Then what?
Ryujin’s lips parted in the beginnings of a grin, her thumb hesitating above the screen.
This woman .
She tilted her head back against the seat, thinking for a beat. Then she typed,
[Ryujin]
then i’ll show up at your gate with flowers, a neck pillow,
and a sign that says “she forgot to text me”
And just for good measure, she added:
[Ryujin]
and i’ll wear your Sentinels hoodie so everyone knows who to blame when i get tackled by TSA
She hit send, then let her head fall back with a quiet laugh. Across the aisle, Winter raised an eyebrow at her, silently asking what now?
Ryujin did not even answer.
She was too busy waiting for her girlfriend to reply.
[Yeji]
You wouldn’t.
Ryujin scoffed aloud, drawing a glance from Jules across the aisle. She ignored it, thumbs flying across the screen as a grin slowly pulled at the edge of her mouth.
[Ryujin]
try me baby
A moment passed. No dots. No typing bubble. Just the quiet murmur of the shuttle engine and the winter sun climbing higher outside her window. Ryujin rested her head against the glass again, hoodie pulled low over her eyes now.
Her phone buzzed once more.
[Yeji]
Fine.
But if you show up at my gate in my hoodie, I’ll take you home with me.
That was it.
Ryujin’s breath caught. Her fingers stilled.
She reread it. Twice. Maybe three times. The ache in her shoulder felt a little easier to carry. The bruise on her thigh a little funnier.
The distance between this shuttle and Boston? A little less terrifying.
[Ryujin]
that’s not a threat at all, captain
you think i won’t limp across terminals just to find the right gate?
The shuttle rolled to a slow stop outside the terminal, its doors hissing open with a gust of cold air and the low shuffle of players gathering their things. Ryujin did not move at first.
She could still feel the echo of Yeji’s last message humming under her skin.
Around her, the team was disembarking in waves. Ryujin’s mind was still somewhere on the curb of the hotel, where they had kissed like it was the first time, and maybe the last in a while.
She slung her duffel over one shoulder, winced, and stepped off the shuttle.
Inside the terminal, a team liaison waved her toward the first class counter. Cameras were being kept away by security. A few fans were lingering beyond the ropes, holding up hand-painted signs with glittering red, white, and blue letters. One had Ryujin’s number. Another had Yeji’s name written enthusiastically.
She passed them all.
As she reached the front of the check-in queue, her phone buzzed again.
[Yeji]
Boarding yet?
Ryujin smirked.
[Ryujin]
not yet.
waiting for some overly attractive defenseman to text me.
[Yeji]
Oh?
Should I be worried about this mystery defenseman?
She better not be taller than me.
[Ryujin]
oh she’s definitely tall
she blocks shots with her ribs
she kind of completely ruined my life
in a hot, devastating, gold-medal-winning way
and has this stupidly perfect backwards cap that ruined my entire focus today
[Yeji]
She sounds like a problem.
What kind of person chooses to wear a cap backwards to a press conference?
[Ryujin]
the kind that makes me want to kiss her in the middle of it.
[Yeji]
That’s bold.
[Ryujin]
she had the mic in one hand and my heart in the other.
i didn’t stand a chance.
[Yeji]
Did you even hear a word I said up there?
[Ryujin]
every third one.
the rest got lost somewhere between your jawline and your stupid cap.
[Yeji]
Unbelievable.
[Ryujin]
you’re gonna miss me, aren’t you
[Yeji]
I already do.
[Ryujin]
…
i am going to burst into flames in this airport terminal, captain.
Ryujin stared at that message a little longer than she meant to. The crowd noise dulled. The overhead announcements blurred into background static.
Chaeryeong, seated beside her with headphones around her neck and a half-eaten bread in hand, looked up at the sudden stillness.
“You good?” she asked, mid-chew.
Ryujin turned slowly, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted like she had forgotten how to speak. Then, out of nowhere, she reached over and half-heartedly slapped Chaeryeong’s arm.
Chaeryeong recoiled. “ Ow —what the hell?”
“I’m overwhelmed!” Ryujin hissed, burying her face in her hands. “I’m feeling too much! She’s—Yeji’s— God , I think I’m going to combust!”
Chaeryeong blinked. “Okay… what the actual fuck happened?”
Ryujin took the bread without looking up. “I’m going to Boston.”
“Not on that leg, you’re not.”
“Then I’ll roll to Boston.”
Chaeryeong snorted. “Romantic and stupid.”
“I contain multitudes,” Ryujin said dramatically, then flopped back into her seat, phone buzzing softly as another message from Yeji lit up the screen.
Ryujin sat up just enough to grab her phone again, heart thudding in anticipation as she thumbed over to Yeji’s name. Another message.
[Yeji]
Boarding now.
You better not cry.
She let out a strangled laugh, somewhere between affection and complete emotional derailment.
[Ryujin]
me? cry?
never.
i am stoic. composed. emotionally airtight.
absolutely unaffected by the departure of my incredibly attractive, perfect-jawed, MVP-winning girlfriend.
[Yeji]
So…
You are crying.
[Ryujin]
i’m blinking really fast to hydrate my eyes.
there’s a difference.
[Yeji]
So dramatic.
[Ryujin]
true.
accidentally smacked chaeryeong out of feelings just now.
Across from her, Chaeryeong raised an eyebrow but did not protest. She had learned by now that Ryujin, being openly affectionate, was a whole different species. Louder, violent, and armed with drama in every syllable.
[Yeji]
Tell her I’ll send her a signed puck for her pain.
Chaeryeong leaned over curiously and caught a glimpse of the screen. “Tell her I want a signed jersey.”
Ryujin shot her a look. “Back off. You can have my bruises. Her jerseys are mine.”
“Unbelievable. One gold medal and a girlfriend later, and you’re still the most dramatic person in this airport.” Chaeryeong laughed and leaned back. “Tell her to make it two pucks then. I suffered twice .”
They sat in silence for a beat, the terminal humming softly around them. Ryujin picked up her phone again, thumbs already ready to type.
[Ryujin]
land safe, okay?
i’ll text you when i get home.
Ryujin stayed seated long after the message was sent, fingers still curled loosely around her phone, her injured leg stretched out as far as the crowded gate would allow.
She really wanted to go to Boston.
It was absurd. It was humiliating.
A few months ago, she would have rather limped barefoot across Manhattan than willingly set foot in enemy territory.
Boston was cold. Boston was loud. Boston was Yeji’s.
It had always felt like the city existed just to hand her another loss, just to remind her she was a step behind the girl with the icy stare and the perfect defensive reads.
She had always hated going to Boston.
She hated the airport, always gray and too cold.
She hated the drive to the arena, how the roads coiled in ways that made her queasy.
She hated the way the Sentinels fans yelled louder than most, how the Cyclones locker room always felt a little too cramped, a little too temporary.
And she hated the rink itself. How familiar it was, how many losses it held, and how, no matter how fast she skated or how hard she played, Yeji always seemed two strides ahead of her on that ice.
Boston was where she lost.
Boston was where Yeji won.
Yeji had been her rival. Her wall to climb. Her test to beat. Now she was… everything else.
Yeji was going back to Boston.
And Ryujin was not .
All of a sudden, Boston was no longer a place she hated.
Boston was just where Yeji would be.
She leaned back into the seat, a tired exhale escaping her lips.
She could not believe it.
She, Shin Ryujin, the chaos of the Cyclones, the loudmouth winger, the highlight reel superstar, could not wait to fully heal just so she could fly to Boston.
And all because Hwang Yeji was there.
Chapter Text
Across the Montréal-Trudeau International Airport, past customs lines and shuttle corridors, Yeji was making her way through her own terminal. The signage was different, but the gray walls and cold tile floors were the same.
The glass walls filtered the morning light into a dull haze, casting faint shadows over silver benches and quiet travelers clutching coffee.
It was March 1st.
The cold in Montréal had not eased much since the tournament began, but the snow had grown soft, slushy; more like spring teasing its return than true winter.
Their gate to Boston was already posted. But Yeji did not go there.
Not yet.
She had taken the long route, stopping at a coffee kiosk she did not really need, pausing in front of a display of Montréal hockey memorabilia like she was actually interested.
In truth, she had just needed a few more minutes to compose herself.
To not immediately sit down and feel the void Ryujin left behind.
So Yeji lingered near the edge of the terminal, away from the crowd, tucked beside a vending machine she had no intention of using. Her duffel sat quietly by her foot, and her coat hung heavy over her arm. The brace under her hoodie ached with each breath, but it was not the injury that made her pause.
It was the kiss.
It was the way Ryujin had looked at her in the shuttle before leaving.
Eyes bright and unsure, like she was memorizing Yeji in real time, like she did not trust words to carry what she felt.
So she had not used words at all.
Just that sudden, fierce pull. That kiss full of everything they had let simmer beneath the surface all tournament. Then she had let go.
And Yeji had stepped out of the shuttle like she was leaving something behind she was not ready to part with.
Now the silence of the airport felt louder than any roar of a crowd. The air around her was calm and still.
Travelers passed in waves. Parents wrangling strollers, businesspeople in long coats, tourists speaking in quiet French.
Then finally— finally —she bent down, grabbed the handle of her duffel, and began walking.
The message came just as Yeji rounded the corner toward her gate, the crowd thinning as she passed the last coffee kiosk and tucked herself along the windows to avoid being seen.
Her phone buzzed once softly, like Ryujin knew not to make it louder than it needed to be.
[Ryujin]
you’re gonna miss me, aren’t you
Yeji slowed to a stop, fingers curling instinctively around the phone like it was something fragile. She stood there, the chill of the window glass at her side, her reflection barely visible on its surface.
The airport around her blurred into motion. People boarding, laughing, calling home but she felt still.
The question was not teasing. It was not smug. It did not wear any of the usual Ryujin armor. No bravado, no grin hidden between the lines. Just the raw edge of honesty.
And that was what undid her.
She stared at the message longer than she needed to, like she could somehow slow time if she held onto it hard enough.
Yeji hovered her thumb over the keyboard, then typed slowly.
[Yeji]
I already do.
She stared at the words for a moment. Then sent it.
There was no immediate reply. She did not expect one. Ryujin would be somewhere on the other side of the airport by now, maybe slouched in a seat with her bad shoulder pressed against the wall, probably making a mess of her smoothie while pretending she was thriving.
Yeji tucked the phone back into her pocket and took another deep breath that stretched painfully against her brace. Then she walked again.
Every step toward her gate felt heavier than the last. Not because of the weight she carried in her body, but because of the one Ryujin had left behind in her chest.
Yeji sat by the window of her gate, terminal 73B, eyes fixed on the slow, mechanical glide of the jet bridge as it connected to the arriving plane outside.
The announcement board flashed her flight number:
BOS 2319 – Boarding in 22 minutes.
Around her, the terminal hummed with idle morning chatter, the scrape of rolling luggage, the occasional echo of a boarding call from another gate.
But she barely registered any of it. Her mind was far too full.
Yeji curled her fingers around the paper cup of coffee, lukewarm now, and stared at her own reflection in the window’s glare.
The gold medal lay buried in her carry-on. She had not taken it out since they left the hotel. Not in the shuttle. Not at customs. Not even when the agent recognized her and congratulated her with a knowing smile.
It was not that she was not proud. She was . But it felt too big to hold alone right now.
Karina was sprawled in the seat across from her, half-asleep with a scarf draped over her eyes, legs stretched out like she owned the row. Yuna, hood up and pillow tucked under one arm, sat diagonally across them, headphones in but only one earbud actually playing. She was watching.
Yeji kept still, careful, even when Lia bumped against her side while trying to wedge her carry-on under the seat between them.
“Sorry,” Lia muttered, then glanced up, a flash of guilt on her face. “Crap, did that hurt?”
Yeji gave a small shake of her head. “Just a little.”
“Gate’s still quiet,” Karina said, exhaling hard. “Didn’t expect the airport to feel this depressing after winning gold.”
Lia leaned back, arms folded tightly across her chest. “Yeah, well, we’re all limping home like retirees. Between Yeji’s ribs and Ryujin’s… everything, we might need to start a team hospital wing.”
At Ryujin’s name, Yeji’s gaze dropped to her phone, resting quietly in her lap. It buzzed just as she looked down.
[Ryujin]
…
i am going to burst into flames in this airport terminal, captain.
Yeji’s lips pressed together as a small, inevitable smile rose. She did not answer right away.
Across from her, Karina glanced with a suspicious squint. “Was that Ryujin?”
“Obviously it’s her,” Lia cut in from beside Yeji, already smirking. “She doesn't get that face when anyone else texts.”
Yeji did not respond right away.
Her fingers lingered on the edge of the keyboard, screen still open.
She could feel her teammates watching her, could hear the amused silence hanging between their breaths.
Finally, Karina shifted, pulled down her hood, and gave Yeji a pointed look. “Alright. How did that happen?”
Yeji blinked. “What?”
“You and Ryujin,” Lia clarified, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re dating. Or something like it. We just want to know how suddenly the chirping got way too flirty to be just a rivalry.”
“We’ve been chirping like that for years ,” Yeji replied coolly, though her fingers tightened around her phone.
Yuna hummed, eyes wide and teasing. “Last season you would’ve cross-checked her into a wall if she chirped your stride.”
Karina nodded, “A month ago, you two were still fake-fighting in camp scrimmages and now you’re halfway to calling each other by pet names. So what gives?”
Lia grinned. “You were both giving ‘I hate you but maybe I’d die for you’ energy since, like, 2019—but this is new.”
Yeji looked down again and let out a soft breath. She turned her phone over and set it on her lap. “It might’ve started during training camp. Quietly. Not all at once. Just… little things.”
Lia tilted her head. “Like?”
Yeji’s lips twitched upward, almost shy. “The early skates.”
Lia’s eyes narrowed. “How early?”
“Six a.m.”
Karina blinked. “ Wait . What skates?”
“The ones we didn’t tell anyone about,” Yeji said, glancing between them now. “Ryujin asked for my help after we weren’t connecting the first few days.”
Lia squinted. “Ryujin…”
Yuna leaned in. “ Asked for help?”
Yeji nodded once. “Yeah. She came to our dorm room late one night while you guys were out getting snacks and asked me if I could help her with the drill.”
“And you said yes?” Lia asked, though her voice was already softening, like she knew.
“Of course I said yes,” Yeji replied simply. “She asked if I’d walk her through it the next morning. I thought she was joking at first. Ryujin? Showing up before dawn?” she chuckled, “But when she showed up on the rink, I knew she was serious.”
“I thought it was a one-time thing. But the next morning, she was there again. Same time. Same look.”
Karina tilted her head. “So it started as extra reps?”
Yeji nodded. “That’s what she called it. But after the first week, we weren’t just running drills anymore. We started passing the puck around, talking. Or not talking. Sometimes we didn’t even run systems. We just skated laps.”
Karina sat up straighter. “You mean to tell me, while the rest of us were fighting for five more minutes of sleep, you two were having secret sunrise bonding sessions?”
“It wasn’t secret on purpose,” Yeji said. “It just… felt like something we didn’t need to share yet. It was our space.”
Yuna let out a long, low whistle. “That explains why you were both already in sync before line assignments even dropped.”
Lia smiled slowly. “That’s actually kind of beautiful.”
Karina let out a groan. “That’s so annoyingly romantic. I thought you two were glaring at each other in drills out of spite. Turns out it was unresolved sexual tension and private skating sessions.”
Yeji rolled her eyes, but she did not deny it. She did not need to.
“It wasn’t romantic at first,” Yeji said, her voice low, almost careful. She kept her eyes on the floor for a moment, then looked up, not at anyone in particular, but somewhere past the memory she was walking back through. “She just wanted to be better. And she trusted me with that.”
Lia, Yuna, and Karina stayed quiet now, watching her with something softer than curiosity.
“I didn’t realize how much that meant,” Yeji continued, “until I started waking up early… not just to help her. Not just for the drills. But because I wanted to see her.”
Lia leaned back, exhaling slowly, something like understanding flickering in her eyes. “So that’s when it started to change.”
Yeji nodded. “Yeah. Not in one moment. Not in anything big. Just… little shifts. How she started remembering which side I liked to receive passes on. How she started matching my pace during laps. How she’d wait outside the locker room after drills.”
Karina gave a small, amused huff. “So basically, you fell for her during morning ice time while the rest of us were still drooling on our pillows.”
Lia snorted first, covering her mouth with her hand like it might help stifle the laugh that slipped out anyway. Yuna let out a muffled chuckle from behind her travel pillow, shaking her head like she could not believe what she was hearing. Even Yeji, despite the flush creeping into her cheeks, gave in, her laughter soft, quiet, but real.
“Final boarding call for Flight 2319 to Boston, departing from Gate 73B. All remaining passengers should proceed to the gate at this time.”
The group quieted all at once.
Karina stood, slinging her carry-on over one shoulder with a stretch and a sigh. “Alright, let’s go.”
The boarding announcement rang out overhead. They stood slowly, gathering their things, slipping their bag over her shoulders like armor.
As they joined the short line of passengers filtering onto the plane, Yeji took one last look at the terminal behind her.
No sign of Ryujin, but she still felt her there. Still heard the echo of her laugh, the weight of her last glance.
But just as Yeji stepped into the final stretch of the jet bridge, her phone buzzed in her pocket twice, close together. She slowed, letting the passengers ahead of her continue onto the plane while she moved to the side, away from the stream of movement. Her ribs protested the shift, but she barely noticed.
She pulled out her phone.
[Ryujin]
land safe, okay?
i’ll text you when i get home.
Yeji stared at the message, her thumb frozen above the screen. Her heart gave that quiet, traitorous lurch it always did when Ryujin’s tenderness cut through all her noise. No jokes this time. No emojis. Just care, stripped bare.
The crowd thinned behind her. Her teammates were already boarding. Still, she stood there, the hum of the plane’s engines somewhere ahead, the chill of the jet bridge pressing into her back.
She read the words again.
The message was simple, but it said more than Ryujin ever did out loud. It carried the weight of the shuttle kiss. The silence between them at the hotel door. The way Ryujin had held her just a little tighter, just a little longer, knowing this goodbye would stretch across cities.
She slid the phone back into her coat pocket, exhaled, and started walking again.
Inside the plane, they moved wordlessly to their seats. Karina took the window, Yuna curled up beside her. Lia settled behind Yeji, earbuds already in. Yeji took the aisle seat near the front, adjusting her brace slowly as she lowered herself down. The seat beside her stayed empty, for now.
Another notification buzzed on her phone, low and familiar.
[Ryujin]
wish we were on the same flight
this feels weird
It did.
More than weird.
The team had been their entire world for weeks. Every meal, every practice, every night spent side by side or a door away.
Now, there was just an echo of that closeness in the static-filled air. And soon, there would be cities and miles and silence again.
[Yeji]
It’s okay to say you miss me, superstar.
[Ryujin]
i miss you
like one misses air after a long shift on the ice
[Yeji]
Poetic.
I’m still here.
Just… not next to you this time.
[Ryujin]
you should’ve stayed in the shuttle a little longer
Yeji exhaled softly, thumb brushing over the edge of her phone. She could still feel it. How warm the shuttle had been in contrast to the cold morning, how Ryujin’s hand had found her wrist, how the kiss had come without hesitation, full of everything they had both held back until the very last moment.
It had not been desperate. It was sure .
Her reply came easily, as natural as breath.
[Yeji]
If I had, I don’t think I would’ve left at all.
[Ryujin]
would that be such a bad thing
Yeji froze. She stared at the screen, Ryujin’s message glowing softly. The words were simple, just a question. Half-teasing, half-serious, but they lingered in the quiet.
She knew what Ryujin meant.
If she had stayed.
If she had sat back down in that shuttle, leaned into the warmth of Ryujin’s jacket and said screw the flight, screw the distance , just for a little longer.
If she had let herself choose the moment instead of the schedule.
If she had stayed.
Would that have been so bad?
No.
Not at all.
She stared at the words a moment longer, then hit send just as the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, muffled and clipped about final instructions before takeoff. Yeji did not look up.
[Yeji]
Maybe not.
Maybe I wanted you to ask me to stay.
[Ryujin]
maybe i would have
Yeji sat motionless in her seat, the soft shuffle of passengers settling in around her barely registering.
Her coat was still zipped, her phone balanced loosely in her palm. The lights overhead dimmed as the flight attendants moved down the aisle with practiced calm, checking seatbelts, reminding everyone to switch devices to airplane mode.
She had not yet.
The message still glowed on her screen.
[Yeji]
Good to know.
Call me when you land.
[Ryujin]
i’ll call you before i even unbuckle my seatbelt.
[Yeji]
You better.
Get home safely, mon cœur.
She lingered for a beat longer, thumb hovering over the screen.
Then, without hesitation, she slid down the control panel and tapped Airplane Mode .
Yeji stared at it for a moment before slipping the phone into the pocket of her coat, her fingers brushing the soft lining inside, somehow faintly smelling like Ryujin’s shampoo.
She leaned back slowly, gaze tilting toward the window.
Outside, the Montréal runway stretched endlessly into pale winter light, but Yeji’s mind had already left the airport.
She had not expected this month to change her.
Not in the way it did.
She thought she knew what to expect: a tournament, a goal, a job to finish.
She had braced herself for ice and bruises, for locker room meetings and film reviews, for the pressure of captaining a team built to win.
She had even expected Ryujin to be there, flashy and fast and just as frustrating as ever.
The same girl who had spent years taunting her across the rink, dancing through defensive lines like she was born to slip past Yeji’s carefully constructed walls.
But somehow, between shared drills and hallway silences, between early morning skates and stolen glances across the room, Ryujin had stopped being her rival.
And started becoming hers.
Her teammate.
Her distraction.
Her gravity.
Her girlfriend .
Yeji exhaled slowly, almost like the truth still took up too much space in her lungs.
She missed her already.
It was ridiculous. They had parted only hours ago.
But the ache was already there.
In the empty seat beside her.
In the way she kept glancing at her phone, rereading their last conversation even though it had ended with something simple.
But nothing about Ryujin had ever felt normal.
She had kissed her behind a press room. She had winced and laughed through bruised ribs and taped shoulders just to sing along to whatever terrible song the locker room blasted after a win.
She had pulled Yeji close when she was afraid, then let Yeji go when it mattered.
She had made her laugh when she felt the most pressure, made her fall asleep with one hand curled against her spine, made her realize what it meant to feel wanted without needing to prove anything first.
Yeji looked out the window again. The plane was turning now, lining up for takeoff. Her reflection shimmered faintly against the glass.
Yeji closed her eyes and rested her fingers over the edge of her tray table.
They had only been together for almost two weeks.
But somehow, it already felt like something she could not imagine undoing.
Not now. Not after gold. Not after everything they had said without saying it.
She would see her again.
Soon.
But that did not stop the ache from settling deeper.
The plane was quiet now, pressurized silence broken only by the faint rumble beneath their feet and the low static of the captain’s voice overhead.
Yeji did not really hear the announcement. Her eyes stayed on the clouds outside, soft and colorless as they drifted past. The kind of sky that made her feel suspended.
Boston was only a short flight. Barely over an hour. Long enough for thoughts to settle, but not far enough to outrun the weight she carried in her chest.
As the wheels touched down in Boston with a low, steady thud, Yeji barely stirred.
The landing had been smooth, but she felt every shift of weight in her ribs, every vibration echoing up her spine.
She kept her eyes closed through most of it, breathing slowly and controlled, focused on the ache in her chest that had nothing to do with fractured bones.
Only when the overhead chime signaled the end of the flight did she finally blink open her eyes and reach into her hoodie pocket for her phone.
The moment she turned off airplane mode, the notifications arrived all at once, quiet haptics, and a faint buzz against her palm.
Eighteen new messages.
All from Ryujin.
Yeji’s pulse skipped.
She opened them slowly, thumb dragging gently across the screen.
[Ryujin]
oh god
i almost knocked winter out of her seat
you said it again
mon cœur
you have no idea what that does to me
i can’t even pretend to be normal right now
chaeryeong’s looking at me like i’ve lost it
she’s not wrong.
Yeji paused halfway down the moving steps, hand tightening around the rail. A soft smile pulled at her lips, involuntary, impossible to hold back.
She kept reading.
[Ryujin]
you’re not even here and you still manage to turn me into a mess
how do you do that
how do you say it like it’s nothing when it feels like everything?
She could practically hear Ryujin’s voice. Breathless, half-laughing, completely undone. The thought of her, squirming in her seat somewhere above New York airspace, trying to hide that stupid grin in front of Chaeryeong and Winter.
It made Yeji’s chest tighten with something warm and wanting.
She stepped off the escalator slowly, phone still in hand, her legs moving on instinct while her mind stayed wrapped around every line.
Each message felt like it had been written between heartbeats. Like Ryujin had meant every single word.
[Ryujin]
i miss you
i miss you so much it’s ridiculous
and now you’ve gone and said that again
how am i supposed to sit still on this plane
Yeji swallowed hard, blinking slowly as the words sank in. They were raw, unfiltered in a way Ryujin rarely allowed herself to be in front of others.
It was as if the altitude had stripped away her usual armor, and now everything she was feeling had poured straight into her fingers.
Yeji felt every word like it had been spoken directly into her skin.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, despite the tight pull in her chest.
She could picture her now: Ryujin fidgeting in her seat, leg bouncing, probably clutching the armrest with one hand and her phone with the other, trying not to grin like an idiot in front of her teammates.
[Ryujin]
i’m counting down the minutes, captain.
say it again when i call.
please.
Yeji stopped walking.
Just for a moment. Just to breathe.
She stared down at her screen and felt the weight of it all. How far they had come, how close they had grown, how deeply she had let Ryujin in without even realizing it was happening.
She had called her mon cœur because it had felt true. Natural. Effortless.
But now, reading these messages, seeing how those words hit Ryujin across the distance, Yeji felt it heavier and deeper.
Yeji waited by the carousel, her bag still somewhere between the cargo hold and the cold linoleum floor.
She stood back from the crowd, one arm cradling her sore ribs, the other holding her phone low in front of her. The hum of the airport buzzed around her. Carts rolling, wheels clicking, announcements echoing but she heard none of it.
The flight had taken its toll, though she had masked it well in front of the others. Silent winces hidden behind her scarf, shallow breaths she tried to smooth out so no one would notice.
But Lia noticed. She always did.
“You need to sit?” Lia asked softly, stepping closer, her own carry-on balanced against her leg.
Yeji shook her head once. “I’m fine.” Her voice was even, but not sharp. She was not brushing her off, just grounding herself in the stillness.
Karina was a few feet away, phone in one hand, her other tucked in her coat pocket as she kept an eye on the carousel. “They said the bags are coming out in groups,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone. “Which means we’ll be here forever.”
“They always do this,” Yuna groaned, slumped over the handle of her suitcase like she might collapse right there. “Why is it that no matter how short the flight is, baggage claim is still the seventh circle of hell?”
Karina glanced over at her, amused. “Because airline logistics are a myth.”
Yeji let the rhythm of their banter wash over her like background music, a comfort she hadn’t realized she missed until now.
The three of them had been steady companions during the tournament: on the ice, in hotel hallways, on long bus rides.
And now, here they were again, home in Boston, but still tethered by the same bruises, the same memories, the same gold medal weight in their bags.
She glanced down at her phone, absently unlocking the screen. No new messages, but the last one still sat there, glowing at her.
Yeji’s thumb hovered over the screen, just briefly, before locking it again.
Yuna straightened suddenly. “Is that Karina’s?”
“Mine’s the black one,” Karina said, stepping forward as the first wave of suitcases emerged. “The one that doesn’t look like every other black one.”
Lia nudged Yeji gently. “Tell us if you see yours. Or if you need help.”
Yeji gave a quiet nod. “Okay.”
The carousel began to spin in earnest now, and the group inched forward. Around them, other travelers were reuniting with their things. Soft cheers, relieved sighs, the sound of zippers and clasps.
But Yeji stayed still, gaze sharp, posture just a little straighter than before.
She would find her bag. She would go home.
A familiar duffel finally rolled into view. A scuffed navy blue with a fading patch stitched near the zipper. Lia stepped forward first, spotting it before Yeji could, and tugged it off the belt with practiced ease.
“This one’s yours, right?” she asked, already setting it down gently beside Yeji.
Yeji nodded, grateful but quiet. “Thanks.”
Karina was still searching for hers, eyes narrowed in quiet judgment at a suitcase that looked nearly identical to hers but had someone else’s neon tag. Yuna stood beside her, arms folded, swaying on her heels like patience was something she had long since abandoned.
“I swear mine’s always last,” Yuna muttered. “They do it on purpose.”
“Targeted,” Karina agreed. “Completely personal.”
Lia stifled a small laugh and turned back toward Yeji, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait in the car? I can roll your bag out.”
Yeji shook her head. “I need the movement,” she said quietly. “Feels better to keep walking.”
That was a half-truth. What she did not say was that stillness made her think too much. About the pain. About how quiet her phone had been for the last few minutes.
The carousel spat out Karina’s suitcase next, to Yuna’s exasperation. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, watching Karina wheel hers away triumphantly.
Then, finally, Yuna’s bright pink luggage with the obnoxious sticker that said NOT YOURS, SWEETIE thumped onto the belt. She seized it like it was a prize she had been chasing for years.
“Finally,” Yuna groaned. “We survived.”
They began moving toward the exit together, the wheels of their suitcases humming behind them.
There was a rhythm to their steps: Lia a half-step ahead, Karina beside Yuna, Yeji a little behind. No one said much now. The jokes had quieted, replaced by that low, unspoken fatigue that always followed tournaments. A strange mix of relief and restlessness.
The sliding doors of the arrivals terminal opened with a low hiss, and a gust of cold Boston air swept in, curling beneath Yeji’s coat collar as she stepped outside.
She winced slightly at the temperature shift and at the pull across her ribs, but said nothing. Beside her, Yuna let out a dramatic groan as she dragged her suitcases behind her, eyes squinting against the wind.
“There it is,” Karina said, nodding toward the curb.
A dark SUV idled at the designated pickup zone, hazard lights blinking against the low-hanging fog. The driver, a young guy in a black cap and company jacket, stepped out and quickly opened the trunk.
Lia was the first to reach him, handing over her duffel and suitcases with a small thank-you. Karina followed with quiet efficiency, her coat pulled snugly around her as she climbed into the backseat. Yuna, meanwhile, half-shoved her bright pink suitcase into the trunk before flopping dramatically into the far-right seat, sighing like she had just returned from war.
Yeji was last to approach, her steps deliberate and steady. Her left arm braced lightly over her ribs as she handed off her luggage. The driver hesitated, sensing something off.
“I can take it—”
“I’ve got it,” Yeji said calmly, giving him a faint, grateful nod before ducking into the SUV.
The warmth inside was immediate, fogging the windows slightly as the doors shut behind them.
The city lights blurred softly in the glass. Yuna was already pulling out her phone, thumbs flying across the screen, probably texting someone about food. Karina leaned back into the seat with a quiet exhale. Lia glanced over at Yeji. Yeji pressed her head back against the seat, closing her eyes for a moment.
“Anyone else feel like we’ve been gone for more than a month?” Yuna mumbled, shifting.
“We basically have,” Karina murmured. “My fridge is going to be tragic.”
Lia gave a soft laugh, then looked toward Yeji again. “You’re sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah.” Yeji opened her eyes. “Just tired.”
It was not a lie. It was just not the whole truth.
Outside the windows, Boston moved by in quiet fragments. Streetlights blinking overhead, early evening fog drifting low across the sidewalks. The SUV turned onto a quieter road, nearing their neighborhood now. Familiar streets. Familiar corners.
But everything still felt… off.
A half-step out of sync.
And Yeji knew exactly why. She resisted the urge to check her phone again.
Just a little longer, she told herself.
Just a little longer, and maybe Ryujin would reach out.
Because if she did not, if this silence lingered, it would ache worse than any cracked rib.
The SUV slowed as it pulled up in front of Yeji’s apartment building, headlights casting long shadows across the brick steps and wrought-iron railings.
The driver shifted the gear into park and popped the trunk. Boston air seeped into the warmth of the vehicle as the doors opened one by one, and the quiet rustle of tired bodies filled the space, heels scuffing the mat, bags lifted slowly, heavier with exhaustion than weight.
Yuna yawned loudly, tugging her suitcases out of the back. “I’m going to sleep for fifteen hours,” she announced to no one in particular, already trudging toward her own door down the street.
Karina slid her bags out with a little more grace. “Let us know if you need anything, Yeji. I can drop off food later.”
Lia remained at Yeji’s side as she stepped out last, careful with every movement. Her duffels and suitcases were already resting on the sidewalk, delivered by the driver with a brief nod.
The man returned to the front seat without a word, giving them space.
“You sure you don’t want help getting inside?” Lia asked quietly, her voice low but steady, eyes flicking down to Yeji’s side where her arm still hovered protectively.
“I’m okay,” Yeji said. “Really. Just sore.”
Lia did not look convinced, but she nodded. “Alright. Call if you need anything.”
Yeji gave a small smile, grateful but distracted. “I will.”
Karina gave her a knowing glance from the corner. “Don’t wait up for a text.”
Yeji did not answer. Just pulled her coat a little tighter and reached for the duffel.
The others peeled off slowly, each heading toward their own building, and within moments, Yeji was left alone on the steps.
The city was hushed, wrapped in fog and low light. Somewhere down the street, a car passed with a muted hum, but otherwise, it was still.
She climbed the steps one by one, each motion deliberate. Her ribs flared with a low, pulsing ache that she had grown accustomed to. Not painful enough to stop her, just enough to remind her she was still healing.
Inside, her apartment greeted her with silence. The soft creak of the door, the click of the lock, the faint scent of detergent from a blanket she had folded neatly on the couch before leaving for the tournament.
It should have felt like home.
But it did not.
Not quite.
Yeji left her bags by the door and kicked off her shoes with a soft sigh, then moved to the living room and sat down carefully, one arm wrapped protectively around her side.
Her phone was still in her coat pocket. She had not checked it since they left the airport.
Yeji rested her head against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling, letting the silence stretch.
They had parted hours ago. Ryujin should have landed by now. She always texted something. Some dumb joke or dramatic emoji or sarcastic observation about airport food.
But now? Nothing.
Yeji closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, letting the quiet fill her lungs where laughter used to be.
She was not angry. Just… hollow.
Still waiting.
Still listening
Yeji had just started to drift off on the couch, her apartment dim and quiet around her, when her phone vibrated across the coffee table.
She did not hesitate.
The name glowing on the screen pulled her upright faster than her ribs wanted:
Incoming call: SRJ ♡
She winced as she reached for the device, but the ache was already fading under the weight of something warmer.
She answered immediately.
“Hey baby,” Yeji breathed, too full of relief, her voice warm and heavy with sleep when she spoke
There was a pause, the faint sound of a buckle snapping back, followed by the gentle rustle of Ryujin shifting in her seat.
“I haven’t even stood up and you’re already trying to ruin me,” Ryujin replied, her voice half-laugh, half-grunt. “I swear I pulled something just smiling.”
There was the rustle of movement on the other end: someone unbuckling, a faint click of metal, footsteps inching forward.
Yeji gave a slow, quiet laugh, low and worn out. “I was half-asleep,” she murmured, curling deeper into the couch, blanket bunched at her waist, hand still resting just above her ribs. “So you did call before unbuckling.”
“Told you I would,” Ryujin replied. “I had to fight Winter for my phone. She’s threatening to launch it into the terminal.”
Faintly in the background, Winter’s voice came through, dry and dramatic, “ If she drops it on me again, I’m filing a report. ”
Then Chaeryeong said, “ You’re the one who made her move so you could get your bag, dumbass .”
Yeji smiled, her voice gentler now. “Sounds like a peaceful return.”
In the background, barely audible, came the low murmur of Winter complaining. Something about someone elbowing her, and then Riley laughing. Chaeryeong’s sharper tone cut through faintly, scolding them for still arguing while people were trying to deplane.
“I feel like I’m stuck in a sitcom,” Ryujin muttered.
“Sounds about right,” Yeji replied, curling slightly into the armrest. “How’s the shoulder?”
Ryujin groaned. “Feels like it wants to detach and roll down the aisle. I tried to grab my coat earlier from the overhead and almost lost a year of my life.”
Yeji let out a soft huff. “And you didn’t wait for assistance because…?”
“Because I am a proud, stubborn shell of a person,” Ryujin said flatly. “Also, I wanted my coat. The cabin was freezing.”
“You could’ve just asked.”
“I did . Right after being called ‘Captain’s Dumbass’ for trying it myself.”
Yeji chuckled. “Winter?”
“Yeah. Then I let her hold the ice pack while she called me more names.”
“That counts, I guess.”
Ryujin chuckled, the sound soft and close. “And you? Did you survive the ride back?”
“Barely,” Yeji said honestly. “I don’t think I’ve taken a full breath since we left Montréal.”
Ryujin shifted slightly, the motion audible through the line. “Are you already in your apartment?”
Yeji nodded, then realized Ryujin could not see her. “Yeah. The driver took us straight home. I didn’t even unpack.”
“You eat?”
“Not yet.”
There was a pause.
“You should.”
“I will,” Yeji said softly. “Eventually.”
Another voice rose faintly from Ryujin’s side, Chaeryeong again, clearly threatening to leave her if she did not get moving.
“You should go,” Yeji said, though she didn’t want to end the call yet. “They sound seconds away from mutiny.”
“They can try,” Ryujin muttered. “They won’t make it ten feet before Winter circles back to yell at me again.”
Yeji gave a soft laugh.
“Anyway,” Ryujin continued, “point is—I called. So you can stop pacing.”
Yeji lifted her brows, even though Ryujin could not see her. “You think I was pacing?”
“I think you were thinking about pacing, which counts.”
Yeji did not argue. Instead, she shifted the phone slightly closer to her ear and let the quiet fill the room again.
“I’m glad you called,” she said, softer now. “Even if you’re still trapped in a flying tin can.”
“I needed to hear you,” Ryujin said, then cleared her throat. “And confirm you haven’t forgotten about me already.”
Yeji’s smile turned a little more tender. “I said hey baby the second I picked up. What do you think?”
“That you’re trying to kill me slowly,” Ryujin muttered.
The PA system echoed faintly in the background. Someone reminded passengers to check for personal belongings.
“You should go,” Yeji murmured. “Before Winter tackles you.”
“I’ll text once I survive baggage claim.”
Yeji hummed in reply, voice barely audible now. “Hurry. So I can fall asleep knowing you’re home.”
“I’ll call again once I step foot in my apartment.” Ryujin said.
“I’ll wait, mon cœur. ”
It landed gently but hit hard, like the last step before a fall.
And all Ryujin could do was exhale sharply through the receiver.
“ …Fuck .”
Yeji only smiled faintly on the other end, a tired little thing that Ryujin could almost hear.
Then the line went quiet.
Even after the line clicked off and the faint echo of Ryujin’s voice disappeared into the hush of her apartment, she stayed as she was, curled into the corner of her couch, blanket draped across her legs, her ribs aching in dull, familiar waves.
Her phone was still warm from the call. She did not place it back on the table. Instead, she shifted slightly, wincing as her body adjusted, and let the phone settle against her cheek, nestled between the pillow and the corner of her jaw.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
She was not fully asleep.
But not fully awake either.
Suspended somewhere in between, her breathing light and shallow, careful around her ribs.
Each inhale was soft. Each exhale slower. Her thoughts drifted but never too far, not away from Ryujin, not from the memory of her voice low over the phone.
She did not expect to sleep long. She would feel it the second her phone buzzed. A message. A call. Ryujin’s name lighting up her screen again.
And when it came, because it would , she would be ready. Still half-asleep, maybe, but ready.
And now, the phone buzzed again.
She opened her eyes slowly, reaching without hesitation. The screen lit up with Ryujin’s name.
[Ryujin]
you can’t just say things like that and then hang up
do you want me to lose my mind
because it’s working
[Yeji]
Get to your feet, superstar.
After sending the message, Yeji stayed still for a long moment, eyes fixed on the soft blue light of her screen as it faded to black.
The glow lingered in the shadows of her living room, casting just enough light to outline the curve of the blanket at her waist, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.
She turned onto her side with care, pulling the blanket tighter with her free hand. The cold edge of the device pressed against her skin as she tucked it back to her cheek.
It was not logical. She could have left it on the table. Set an alert. Let herself rest properly.
But this was not about logic.
It was about staying close in the only way she could. About feeling like Ryujin was still here, still speaking, still laughing quietly against her ear in that low, familiar voice.
Yeji closed her eyes, the weight of the phone steady against her cheek, heartbeat easing with the silence.
If Ryujin texted again, she would know right away.
If Ryujin called, she would answer before the second ring.
So she lay there, half-asleep and aching, and let her body rest.
Chapter Text
The first few days back in New York felt like walking through a city Ryujin knew by heart but now with a limp.
Familiar streets, unfamiliar rhythm.
The city was still cold when she landed.
Not like Montréal cold, not tournament-night cold.
Just… February-ending-into-March New York cold.
Gray skies, wet sidewalks, and wind that bit at her cheeks as she climbed into the car waiting outside the airport.
She had texted Yeji before she even got into the elevator at her building. Then again after she stepped into her apartment.
The door clicked shut behind her with a heavy finality, the kind that echoed in the quiet. Ryujin exhaled slowly, her breath fogging in the faint chill that lingered in her apartment.
Her hoodie underneath her coat clung damply to her back from the weight of the sling. The soft ache in her thigh pulsed in protest as she shifted her weight.
She was home .
She stood there for a moment, letting the familiarity of her space wrap around her like a slow, uneven exhale.
The living room was dim, untouched since she had left. Blankets still tossed over the couch. A glass on the kitchen counter she had forgotten to wash.
The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the entire apartment.
Without taking off her coat, Ryujin reached for her phone and hit Yeji’s name before she could even think twice.
The line rang once.
Then, Yeji picked up, but for a few seconds, there was nothing. Just the faint sound of static and the soft rustle of fabric, like someone moving slowly under covers.
“Ryujin?” Yeji’s voice came through, still laced with sleep, but instantly alert. Low, warm, familiar in a way that made Ryujin’s chest ache.
“Were you expecting someone else?” Ryujin asked, setting her keys down on the counter with a dull clatter, her voice dipped in teasing but undeniably soft around the edges.
Yeji answered unhurried but certain. “I was expecting my girlfriend to call.”
That stopped Ryujin for half a second. Her hand stilled on the strap of her bag, heart stuttering like it always did when Yeji said things like that.
Like it was the simplest truth in the world.
Maybe because it was.
Ryujin’s grin tugged in before she could stop it. “Guess she’s right on time then.”
“Rarely.” Yeji let out a breath, a soft thing that might have been a smile.
Ryujin’s chest loosened instantly at the sound.
She finally dropped her duffel bag just past the threshold and toed off her sneakers with the stiffness of someone who had spent too many hours in transit, shoulders braced, body aching.
She hesitated, then spoke in a quieter tone than usual, as if afraid the volume alone might hurt. “Did I wake you?”
There was a small pause. A breath.
“No,” she murmured, and Ryujin could hear the subtle scrape of her pillow as she shifted. “I wasn’t really asleep.”
“You sound like you were.”
Yeji hummed faintly. “Maybe I was close. But I was waiting until you got home safely.”
“I’m home,” Ryujin said softly. “safely.”
Yeji let out a quiet sigh, one that almost sounded like relief. “Just walked in?”
“Barely made it past the door,” Ryujin answered, shrugging off her coat with one hand and sitting on the edge of her couch. “My thigh hates me. My shoulder hates me more. And I think my keys stabbed me on the flight.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then Yeji’s voice came through, dry but warm, laced with something gentler beneath the teasing.
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I like you?” she said.
Ryujin let out a laugh that turned into a half-groan, half-sigh. She tipped her head back against the couch, the smile already tugging at her lips before she even replied.
“Marginally,” she said, eyes fluttering shut. “Might even distract me from the keys. Or the fact that I am currently held together by KT tape, caffeine, and the sound of your voice.”
Yeji hummed low on the other end. “That’s unfortunate. I was hoping the ‘ I like you ’ part would carry a bit more weight.”
“Oh, it does,” Ryujin said quickly, softer now. “You have no idea.”
They fell into silence again.
Outside, the hum of the city continued.
Inside, Ryujin pressed a hand to the spot just below her ribs, as if she could calm the way her heart was pulling toward a city not her own.
“Seriously,” she said, quieter now. “Hearing you say that… it helps.”
Yeji’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then I’ll say it again.”
Ryujin blinked up at her ceiling.
“I like you, Shin Ryujin,” Yeji said. “Even when you’re grumpy. Even when you’re limping. Even when you’re falling apart.”
“Even when I’m just held together by white tapes?” Ryujin teased softly.
Yeji chuckled. “Especially then.”
“If I limp across state lines,” she muttered, voice dry but fond, “it’s gonna be your fault.”
“Oh?” she said, clearly smiling. “Is that so?”
“I’m seriously considering dragging myself to Boston with a dislocated shoulder, a busted leg, and three bags of snacks.” Ryujin replied, closing her eyes.
“Three?” Yeji echoed, amused.
“I’m injured, not unreasonable.”
Yeji hummed, and for a second, Ryujin could almost imagine her, tucked under her blankets, phone pressed to her cheek, hair a mess from sleep and healing and too many restless nights.
“You don’t have to limp across state lines,” Yeji said gently. “Just get better. Then run .”
Ryujin smiled.
“Then keep waiting,” she whispered. “Because I’m coming.”
On the other end, Yeji laughed. Still careful, still catching in her throat with the hint of fractured ribs.
The moment Ryujin heard the rasp in Yeji’s voice, every trace of tiredness in her body vanished.
“Are you okay?” she said immediately, sharper than she meant to.
“I’m fine,” Yeji wheezed through the speaker. “Just… don’t make me laugh. Everything hurts.”
Ryujin’s posture straightened instinctively, guilt prickling at her. She swallowed, eyes flickering toward the ceiling like the distance between them could be bridged with sheer will.
“Okay,” she whispered quickly, voice softer. “No jokes. Dead serious from now on. Completely humorless.”
There was a beat of silence.
“I give you five minutes,” Yeji murmured, the faintest trace of a smile in her tone.
“I give me three.”
“Maybe two.” Yeji said quietly, her voice soft with fatigue but still laced with something steady beneath it. “Go shower and get ready for bed.”
Ryujin let out a breath, leaned back further into the couch, and grinned despite herself. “What if you just came with me in the shower instead?”
There was a pause, then a strangled sound from Yeji’s end, a breathless wheeze that quickly gave way to pained laughter.
“Ryujin.” she gasped, “what the fu—”
Ryujin winced and laughed too, guilty but unable to help it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
“Not even a minute, Ryujin,” Yeji said between hiccuped breaths, groaning softly. “Dead serious, my fucking ass.”
“I panicked!” Ryujin protested, still grinning. “Humor is my coping mechanism!”
“Your coping mechanism is going to get me hospitalized,” Yeji mumbled, still laughing weakly.
Ryujin tapped the screen, switching the call to video. The camera blinked on. Her face appeared, hair slightly damp from the ice pack earlier, hoodie falling loose around her collarbone.
Yeji’s face appeared a second later, the front camera capturing her dimly lit room and her tangled hair as she sat up against her headboard. Her expression was flat, unimpressed but her lips twitched at the corners, and Ryujin caught it.
“Well?” Ryujin said.
“You’re lucky I like your face,” Yeji murmured.
Ryujin’s grin deepened. “I know.”
Yeji shifted, setting her phone up against the pillow so it framed her more clearly. “And you’re lucky I’m too tired to argue.”
Ryujin raised a brow. Still smirking, she met Yeji’s gaze through the screen.
“So,” she drawled, dragging the word out as her fingers lazily traced the seam of her hoodie, “you’re really coming with me in the shower?”
Yeji blinked. Slowly. Then blinked again.
“Ryujin.”
“What?” Ryujin blinked back, all mock innocence. “You said you were too tired to argue.”
Yeji groaned, dragging the blanket higher to cover half her face, though it did little to hide the soft laugh escaping her. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still on the call,” Ryujin pointed out, smug and warm.
“I’m on the call to make sure you actually shower and don’t pass out without changing again.”
“That happened once,” Ryujin said, completely unbothered.
“That happened three times,” Yeji corrected. “Just go shower, superstar.”
“Fine, fine.” Ryujin said, but she made no move to end the call.
Neither did Yeji.
Ryujin left the frame for a minute or two, the video feed still active but pointed vaguely toward the ceiling, capturing only a slice of her living room ceiling fan whirring lazily in the dim light.
A few minutes passed, quiet except for the muffled sounds of Ryujin moving around: drawer handles clicking open, the soft rustle of a towel hitting tile, a hiss of complaint when her shoulder twisted the wrong way.
Then, finally, the rush of water as the shower turned on.
Yeji let out a quiet breath, allowing her eyes to flutter shut for a moment. She did not move her phone from where it was nestled against her pillow, screen tilted just right.
The call had not dropped. Ryujin had not hung up.
Neither of them had said goodbye.
It was stupid, maybe.
Sentimental.
But Yeji found comfort in the hum of shared silence, even one separated by miles.
Then the frame shifted, and Ryujin stepped back into view. Her hoodie was now gone, leaving her with only a dark undershirt. Her hair was slightly tousled, fingers raking through it absently as she adjusted her towel and change of clothes tucked under one arm.
She looked tired, sore, but somehow still completely herself. Her lips quirked into a soft, crooked grin when she saw Yeji had not moved.
“I’m back,” Ryujin announced casually, setting her things down just off screen. Her voice was light, easy, like she had not just walked into the frame looking exactly like someone Yeji would never be able to stop looking at.
Yeji said nothing for a few seconds, mouth parting slightly before she leaned her head against her fist, half-covering her mouth like it might hide the way her lips twitched upward.
“You could’ve warned me,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.
Ryujin paused, glancing down at herself, then back up with a crooked smile. “What? I’m not even halfway indecent.”
Yeji’s lips parted, a protest clearly forming but Ryujin got there first.
“Captain,” she said flatly, raising both brows. “You’ve literally seen me naked .”
Yeji blinked. Then let out a long breath and dropped her forehead against her hand with a quiet groan. “That’s not the point.”
Ryujin’s grin deepened. “What is the point, then? I’m in more clothes now than I was then.”
Yeji’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “That was different,” she muttered.
“Was it?” Ryujin tilted her head, playful, voice lilting as she leaned into the camera slightly. “Because I’m getting the same look right now.”
“You’re already insufferable and we’re not even in the same city,” Yeji said, though her voice lacked any real heat. If anything, it sounded faintly dazed.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Ryujin replied as she scooped up her towel. Then she paused in front of the camera again, looking at Yeji like she wanted to say something else.
Yeji beat her to it. “Go. Shower. Now. Ryujin.”
Ryujin laughed, the sound rough from exhaustion but still genuine. “Yes, ma’am.”
They both paused.
Then Ryujin’s voice dropped slightly, quieter. “Good night, Ji.”
Yeji’s smile softened. “Good night, Ryujin.”
And then, finally, Ryujin leaned forward and tapped the screen. The call ended.
The silence that followed was a little heavier, a little emptier, but warm.
Yeji closed her eyes.
And Ryujin finally disappeared down the hall.
The next day, the sunlight spilled into Ryujin’s apartment like it had been waiting for her return.
On the first morning back in New York, she stood in her living room barefoot, coffee in hand, shoulder still tender beneath the oversized Sentinels hoodie.
The ache in her body had not faded. At least not completely.
It probably would not for a while but there was a stillness in this moment that dulled it. A calm she had not realized she had missed.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along one side of the apartment, offering an uninterrupted view of the East River, wide and glimmering beneath the morning sun.
Beyond it, the Williamsburg Bridge cut across the skyline like something alive, all steel and symmetry and silent motion. Even now, with the city barely awake, cars traced its span in measured lines, small and slow in the distance.
Ryujin leaned against the window frame, the glass cool against her side. It grounded her in a way that the couch and the bed and the plane never could.
She had lived here for over a year, but today, after weeks on the road, after a gold medal, after everything , it felt new again.
It felt like returning.
The Cyclones had always called this part of the city home; Brooklyn heart, Manhattan edge.
Her building sat high above the hum of traffic and the distant rhythm of ferries, a perch that made the world feel quieter, softer.
From here, everything looked slower. Manageable. She took another sip of coffee, eyes following the curve of the bridge, thinking about how far everything had shifted since the tournament began.
Yeji would have liked this view. Not that she would say it out loud. She would just stand by the window, arms crossed, pretending to be unimpressed while sneaking glances at the skyline in the reflection.
Ryujin smiled at the thought, then rolled her eyes at herself.
She reached for her phone from the kitchen counter, thumb hovering for a beat before she typed.
[Ryujin]
light’s good today
you’d like it
east river’s practically glowing
Then, after a pause, she added:
[Ryujin]
also, i’m at 5/10 pain.
but coffee’s doing the heavy lifting this morning.
The message sent with a soft ping.
Outside, the bridge held steady. The river sparkled. And somewhere, far enough that the air no longer carried her voice but close enough that her presence still lingered.
Ryujin had barely finished brushing her coffee when the buzzer rang.
She stared at it for a second, still half-asleep, then blinked at the time.
8:42 a.m.
Her hair was damp, her shoulder wrapped tightly beneath Yeji’s Sentinels hoodie, and she was still debating if walking down her hallway was worth the pain.
The buzzer rang again, longer this time.
“I’m coming, I’m coming—” she grumbled, limping over and pressing the intercom button with far more force than necessary. “Who is it?”
“Your captain and your babysitter,” came Chaeryeong’s unmistakably smug voice.
Ryujin’s head shot up.
Her heart lurched first, instinct misfiring in the worst possible way.
The word captain cracked through the quiet of her apartment like a matchstrike. She scrambled with a startled burst of energy, nearly tripping over thin air in the process. One slipper flew off. Her shoulder barked in protest.
None of it mattered.
She tugged open the door with a rushed, “Cap—?”
Only to be met by Chaeryeong’s unimpressed face, brow already arched like she knew exactly what just happened.
Ryujin froze, her heart still sprinting in her chest, one hand braced on the doorknob.
The silence stretched for a beat too long before Chaeryeong spoke again, lips twitching.
“Did you just forget I am your captain too?”
“I—no—I mean, I didn’t forget, I just…” Ryujin fumbled. “I thought—someone else. Different captain. You know. Slip of the brain.”
Chaeryeong arched an eyebrow. “You thought your girlfriend flew in from Boston without telling you?”
“…Maybe.”
Behind her, Winter snorted from the hallway, clearly enjoying herself. “She practically sprinted,” she said to Chaeryeong. “Did not even check the peephole.”
Chaeryeong walked right in, brushing past her with a raised brow. “I literally announced myself.”
“You said captain and babysitter , not Cyclones captain and official pain in my ass. Be specific next time,” Ryujin muttered as she closed the door, trying to salvage whatever dignity she had left.
Winter grinned and followed with two coffees balanced in her hands. “You should’ve seen your face. You looked like a puppy who heard the treat bag rustle.”
Chaeryeong had barely stepped two feet into the apartment before she stopped mid-stride, narrowed her eyes, and slowly tilted her head toward Ryujin.
“…Is that a Sentinels hoodie?”
Winter, already placing the coffees down on the kitchen counter, froze mid-motion and immediately whipped her head around, eyes going wide with interest.
Ryujin, who had been halfway to flopping dramatically onto the couch, paused in her descent like she had just been caught holding contraband.
She looked down at herself, at the unmistakable navy blue and gold lettering stretched across her chest, then looked back up with the slow, blank expression of someone who knew they were already guilty.
“It’s…comfortable?” Ryujin offered weakly.
“Comfortable?” Chaeryeong echoed, crossing her arms as she marched closer like a disappointed teacher catching a student cheating with the answer sheet taped to their thigh. “You’re walking around in enemy colors. In your own apartment. In New York .”
Winter leaned against the counter, clearly enjoying it. “I mean, if I were dating a certain pretty captain, I’d probably wear her clothes too.”
“I am not having this conversation,” Ryujin muttered, tugging at the hoodie’s collar like she could disappear inside it.
But Chaeryeong was relentless. “Does Coach know one of our star forwards is repping the opposition during recovery week?”
Ryujin raised her hand in surrender. “ Technically , we are not playing right now. Technically , Yeji and I are not teammates nor opponents. And technically —” she exhaled, flopping back onto the couch in defeat, “—I was cold.”
Winter snorted. “That’s your excuse?”
“That, and it smells like her,” Ryujin added under her breath, more to herself than to them but it was too late. Winter’s grin widened. Chaeryeong blinked.
“Oh my god,” Winter whispered. “You’re down bad .”
“I hate both of you,” Ryujin groaned, dragging a throw pillow over her face.
“No, you don’t,” Chaeryeong called over her shoulder. “Now go brush your hair and put on something that doesn’t scream ‘I live in this hoodie now.’ You’ve got a PT appointment.”
“I thought this was a social visit!”
“It was. And then we saw your face and realized intervention was necessary.”
Ryujin groaned, dragging a hand down her cheek. “I limp once—”
“You limped dramatically,” Winter interjected. “Also, Chaeryeong got a text from the team PT asking if you were still alive, so technically this is wellness-related.”
Chaeryeong opened the fridge and immediately closed it again with a grimace. “This fridge is a crime scene.”
“Go get ready!” Winter said.
“I am ready,” Ryujin mumbled. “In spirit.”
“Put pants on,”
“I have pants on.”
“Put real pants on.”
Ryujin sighed, padded back into her room, and emerged two minutes later in black sweats and a zip-up Cyclones jacket, her brace more obvious now beneath the fabric.
Winter looked her up and down. “You look like you tried.”
Ryujin deadpanned, “This is literally me trying.”
“You could just ask us to come with you,” Winter said as they walked out into the hallway. “We could drive you.”
“Yeah,” Ryujin muttered. “But then you’d know I actually wanted company.”
Chaeryeong snorted. “God forbid.”
They got into the SUV, Winter climbing into the passenger seat while Chaeryeong slid into the driver’s seat like she had been driving this team since they were twelve.
Ryujin leaned into the seat with a groan as she pulled the belt over her injured shoulder.
“You okay?” Winter asked gently from the back.
“Fuck no.”
“You are… delicate ,” Chaeryeong said, without looking away from the road.
“Delicate like a stick of dynamite,” Winter offered helpfully.
“Delicate like a lawsuit waiting to happen,” Chaeryeong corrected.
Ryujin groaned again and slumped further. “Why do I hang out with you two?”
Winter leaned forward, “Because you love us.”
Ryujin rolled her eyes. “Sure.”
“I’m not letting you fold yourself like that before the check-up,” Winter warned, tossing a glance back. “You’re not a lawn chair, Ryujin.”
“I’m literally just sitting,” Ryujin muttered, hoodie sleeves bundled in her fists. “Also, this is your fault for making me sit in the back.”
“You’re the one who’s injured.”
“I could’ve sat in the front!”
“And you would’ve flinched every time she hits the brakes.”
Ryujin ignored them both. She turned her face toward the window, phone already in hand. The soreness in her thigh pulsed with the rhythm of the road.
She opened their thread. Still pinned at the top. Still with that last message. Ryujin sent a quick message.
[Ryujin]
your girlfriend is under attack
Winter must have seen her typing in the mirror because she turned slightly. “Texting your captain?”
“She’s not my captain anymore,” Ryujin replied, eyes still on her phone.
“Then why were you wearing her hoodie?” Chaeryeong tossed over her shoulder.
“Because I look good in it.”
Winter grinned. “Yeah, that’s not what we said.”
Ryujin rolled her eyes and sent the message anyway.
A reply came in before they even hit the bridge.
[Yeji]
What did you do.
[Ryujin]
absolutely nothing except wear a very comfortable navy blue hoodie with great embroidery and a faint scent of vanilla
[Yeji]
…my hoodie?
[Ryujin]
enemy hoodie apparently
i got ambushed this morning
chaeryeong and winter walked in like they caught me mid-crime
[Yeji]
Boston is literally your rival, superstar.
[Ryujin]
and yet here i am
betraying my entire state
for one (1) dangerously attractive sentinels captain
There was a pause after she sent it.
Ryujin stared at the message, half-smirking, half-bracing herself.
In the front seats, Chaeryeong and Winter were still arguing over the GPS rerouting, unaware of the chaos Ryujin was flirting with in Yeji’s inbox.
Her phone buzzed.
[Yeji]
At least you admit it’s a betrayal.
But I'll allow it.
For… purely selfish reasons, of course.
Ryujin bit back a grin and leaned her head against the window, the soft thrum of city traffic rising around them. Her fingers hovered again.
[Ryujin]
thought you were supposed to be the noble one
captain, remember?
[Yeji]
I’m off-duty.
And my girlfriend’s wearing my hoodie.
I’m allowed to be a little selfish.
That made Ryujin exhale a quiet laugh, shoulders relaxing, pain momentarily dulling beneath the glow of her screen. She typed again, heart light in the middle of the city’s noise.
[Ryujin]
i’d betray any state again for that.
also
you smell really good
like way too good
stop that
[Yeji]
Stop what?
Showering?
[Ryujin]
yes.
no.
i don’t know.
whatever you’re doing. stop doing it so well.
it’s distracting.
i wore a hoodie because it smells like you
i’m emotionally compromised
[Yeji]
Take care of it then.
[Ryujin]
i do
i even folded it
before putting it back in my closet
[Yeji]
That’s the most effort I've ever seen you put into anything.
[Ryujin]
besides trying to impress you on the ice every day?
[Yeji]
Yes.
Besides that.
[Ryujin]
so
you’re not mad i’m wearing enemy colors?
[Yeji]
You’re not wearing enemy colors
You’re wearing your girlfriend’s colors.
[Ryujin]
that sounds dangerously like approval, captain.
[Yeji]
Just don’t let your team catch you sleeping in it.
I don’t want to be responsible for the Cyclones imploding.
[Ryujin]
too late
winter already asked if i was converting
chaeryeong nearly filed a transfer request on my behalf
[Yeji]
Tell her Boston’s full.
I already got the best forward anyway.
Ryujin stared at the last message a beat longer than she needed to. She adjusted the hood that still rested around her neck, tugging it a little higher like it could hide the heat rising in her cheeks.
Her breath caught somewhere between a scoff and a smile, like the words had knocked the air out of her before she could decide how to react.
A warmth bloomed somewhere behind Ryujin’s ribs, slow and traitorous, stretching out like it had been waiting all morning for permission. She bit back a grin, but it crept in anyway, tugging at the corner of her mouth until she had to duck her head and pretend to scroll just to hide the expression.
Winter turned to look at Ryujin again, this time not even subtle. “She flirting again?”
Ryujin did not even look at her. “Shut up.”
Winter grinned and leaned her head against the window.
Up front, Chaeryeong snorted. “Tell Boston they can keep their fancy coffee shops and moody libraries. You’re ours come April.”
Ryujin finally looked away from the text, her voice dry. “You just want me healthy enough to skate again.”
“You think we drove you this far out of love?” Chaeryeong shot back, amused. “You’re our best chance at the Cup. That’s it.”
Winter chimed in softly, “…Also because you cry if we don’t feed you.”
Ryujin gave them a flat look.
But beneath the teasing and the jabs, something settled in Ryujin’s chest like weight and warmth at once. Because Yeji had said it like a fact. Like something that did not need to be argued.
She typed out a response, erased it, then started again, trying not to smile too much as the car turned toward the Cyclones’ facility.
[Ryujin]
…i think that just healed 80% of my injuries
[Yeji]
Happy to help.
From 215 miles away.
[Ryujin]
that’s oddly specific
might limp across those miles just to hear you say it in person
[Yeji]
…
Stop texting me cute things while I’m trying to ice my ribs.
[Ryujin]
no <3
[Yeji]
asshole
[Ryujin]
:p
text you later
we’re here
She tucked the phone against her thigh and looked out the window just as they turned onto the long, winding road that led to the Cyclones facility. The skyline dipped away behind them, and the looming familiarity of home base came into view. Her shoulder ached. Her leg pulsed. She would be icing every part of her body in an hour.
They pulled into the Cyclones facility ten minutes early. Ryujin did not rush out. Her hand hovered over the door handle before Chaeryeong spoke again, tone just slightly lower than before.
“You don’t have to push anything today,” she said. “Just get checked. Let them tell you what’s next. Okay?”
Ryujin glanced over, startled by how gentle her captain sounded.
“Okay,” she said, quietly.
And then she stepped out.
The Cyclones facility smelled like cold air, sharp disinfectant, and the faint, familiar sting of menthol from the recovery wing.
Ryujin moved through the corridor, the brace beneath her hoodie slightly tightening every time she shifted her shoulder.
She walked with a limp because her thigh still refused to bend the way it should.
Winter and Chaeryeong flanked her like a pair of bodyguards. They said nothing, but Ryujin could feel their eyes flicker to her gait, her wince as she leaned on her left leg, the slight hitch in her breath whenever she adjusted her shoulder strap.
Winter held the door open to the trainers’ suite with her back, humming lightly to fill the silence.
Jo was already inside, clipboard under one arm, gloves on, mouth drawn in that neutral look she always wore when trying not to show concern too early.
“Welcome back, hotshot,” Jo said, her tone dry but not unkind.
Ryujin gave a two-finger salute with her good hand. “Miss me?”
“No,” Jo replied, waving her toward the treatment bench. “Okay maybe a little.”
Winter and Chaeryeong took a seat on the cushioned bench along the far wall. Ryujin rolled her eyes and climbed onto the table with practiced awkwardness. The room was bright but quiet, the kind of sterile calm she used to hate but now found comforting.
Jo pulled up her sleeve gently, checking the external rotation of the shoulder first. “How’s the pain?”
“Still a seven in the mornings,” Ryujin muttered. “Drops to five by lunch. Two if I sit still and don’t exist.”
“And your thigh?”
“Hates it when I climb stairs..”
“Everyone hates climbing the stairs,” Jo said as she marked it down. She pressed into the tissue gently with the heel of her palm, watching Ryujin’s face for any reaction. “You’re not special.”
Ryujin chuckled before she flinched. “I think it’s still tender,” she hissed.
“No shit,” Jo murmured, checking the range of motion again. “Your ribs are bruised, not cracked. But they’re still irritated from the flight. Keep them iced. And keep that wrap tight, especially overnight.”
Ryujin nodded. “And skating?”
Jo shook her head. “Not this week. We’ll try light resistance band work on Thursday. You can bike during the first few days, light and slow. Stick handling next week, assuming you behave.”
Ryujin slumped back against the bench and groaned. “You wound me.”
“You wound yourself, Shin.”
Winter smiled from the corner. “She says that to you, too?”
“Every time,” Chaeryeong replied.
Jo gave one last check of Ryujin’s mobility, then stood back and tossed the gloves into the bin. “You’re healing. Slowly. But correctly. Which is more than I expected, honestly.”
Ryujin raised a brow. “Gee, thanks, I guess.”
“No sarcasm. You’re doing the work,” Jo said plainly. “Now do not mess it up by pretending you’re fine in front of the coaches.”
“She won’t,” Chaeryeong answered for her, rising from the bench. “Because she knows I’ll knock her back into the treatment room myself.”
“I’m terrified,” Ryujin deadpanned.
“Good,” Jo said. “Keep it that way.”
She handed Ryujin a new resistance band and a sheet with the adjusted routine before turning back to the medical notes on her tablet.
Winter helped Ryujin off the table with a careful tug.
Ryujin sighed like it was the worst deal in the world. But she followed them anyway, already tugging her hoodie back over her head, the sheet tucked under one arm and her balance just a little bit steadier than before.
On Ryujin’s third day back in New York, the city outside her apartment was its usual mix of noise and motion: cars humming across the Williamsburg Bridge, the faint clatter of bikes against pavement, and the low, constant pulse of life by the East River.
Officially, full team practices had not resumed. Players were still within the post-international tournament recovery window, but the club’s calendar was already packed.
Medical assessments, strength re-evaluations, individual conditioning plans, and team briefings were spread out over the next few days.
Ryujin had her check-ins front-loaded, given the nature of her injuries. Her trainers were cautious, but the franchise was hopeful. They needed her ready soon, but not recklessly soon.
By noon, she had finished the rest of her PT homework: stretches, shoulder mobility drills, and notes from the facility.
Chaeryeong had checked in through a few texts, nothing too commanding yet.
Winter had sent a blurry selfie with the caption: “ hydrate or suffer, ” and a poorly cropped image of Ryujin mid-yawn from their call the night before.
Ryujin responded with a middle finger emoji and a heart.
Still, the minutes crawled slower than they had yesterday.
Somewhere beneath the silence, the season was still waiting. Ryujin knew it would come roaring back soon. She could already feel the gears turning in her bones.
And she would be ready.
Even if it meant taking it one small step, one stubborn win, one quiet day at a time.
Chapter Text
Boston was still draped in the slow thaw of early March, ice melting off the curbs and windows sweating under a pale sun.
Somewhere in the city, Yeji’s teammates were probably enjoying their own kind of rest. Lia had texted something about baking bread and messing it up spectacularly, Karina was still off the grid since flying in from Montréal, and Yuna had posted a blurry story of her cat knocking over her PT bands.
But Yeji stayed in.
She stayed wrapped in stillness, wrapped in her own apartment, wrapped in a sweatshirt that still faintly smelled like eucalyptus balm and the detergent she always used when packing for away games.
Yeji’s apartment became both her sanctuary and her cage while recovering.
Her apartment was exactly the kind of place that made you stand a little straighter the second you stepped in. It was clean, spacious, and luxurious.
It felt lived in. Purposeful.
And surely Hwang Yeji’s.
The living room felt warmer, softened by forest green accents, cushions on the deep cream couch, a thick knit blanket draped over the armrest, and a small olive tree in a concrete planter near the balcony door.
A low coffee table sat in front of the couch, usually carrying a book or two on sports psychology, a black ceramic bowl filled with mints, and the occasional unopened envelope from the Sentinels PR team.
A large TV screen was mounted flush against the wall, below which a single shelf held framed photos. None were too flashy, but all meaningful. One was of her and Lia back in their high school championship days. Another showed her, Karina, Yuna, and Lia in Sentinels jersey during the previous season’s playoff run, arms raised, grins wild.
Her bedroom was behind a frosted sliding door, just as restrained. The bed was low, platform-style, with crisp white sheets and a dark green duvet. A small framed print of Seoul’s skyline hung above the headboard, and a matching photo of Minnesota rested on the adjacent wall, both chosen intentionally.
Her nightstand held only the essentials: a sleek lamp, a silent digital clock, her AirPods, and a worn paperback she had yet to finish.
A single gold medal now hung on the inside of the bedroom door, quietly gleaming.
Every part of the apartment bore her fingerprint: from the aromatherapy diffuser that filled the hallway with soft cedar and bergamot, to the curated collection of black-and-white hockey photos framed above the desk tucked into the corner office nook.
Even the workout gear, resistance bands, a foam roller, and her backup sticks, were tucked away neatly in the coat closet, labeled and folded like they had been placed there by a museum curator.
It was a home built for quiet mornings and late-night returns.
Now that she was back, her first real priority was recovery .
There were no more planes to catch, no national team briefings, no tournament locker rooms humming with adrenaline and banter.
Only the hush of her own space and the hum of the heating system.
There was no easing back into the routine. Boston was a city that expected answers. It expected order. And the Sentinels were already a few weeks away from the final stretch of playoff preparation.
By the morning after their return, an email had been sent to the entire team from Head Coach Evans, firm and direct in tone:
Playoff prep on ice begins March 8. Mandatory systems review on the 6th. All players cleared for contact expected at full capacity. Injured players report daily to PT and medical for reassessment and conditioning. No media obligations this week. Recovery first. Focus sharp.
Yeji had read it three times.
The first Monday began with a Sentinels medical check-in and reassessment.
One of the assistant coaches texted her the facility’s updated protocol schedule at 7:00 a.m. sharp.
She arrived at Warrior Ice Arena wearing loose athletic pants and a zipped-up hoodie to cover the medical wrap around her torso.
The training staff greeted her with warm smiles, but their eyes were clinical.
The team physician had scanned her ribs, confirming what they already knew: four hairline fractures from the final game.
“No contact. No cardio strain. You can start assisted stretches and some upper body movement by Friday,” she said. “No stick handling until I see real healing. Six weeks is still the target.”
They would reassess in a week for core mobility and healing markers.
Physical therapists rotated her through breathing exercises, rib compression evaluations, and a preliminary pool session.
Her prognosis: a minimum of ten more days before any contact drills. At least two weeks before game clearance.
Nothing required surgery, but she had strict orders. No contact, no lifts, no ice work for now.
No upper-body resistance allowed. No skates yet.
The strength and conditioning coach kept her on modified assignments, and her calendar filled with quiet one-on-one appointments instead of team drills.
Coach Evans met her just outside the medical wing.
“Just your presence steadies the room,” he said after they talked through her status. “But you know we won’t rush this.”
“I know,” Yeji said simply. “I want to be smart about it.”
The next day, the updated schedule arrived in her inbox, neatly color-coded and full of red flags for her. “ Light rehab, ” “ PT evaluation ,” “ no lifting ”.
She felt more annoyance than relief.
Yeji nodded, jaw tight. She was never one to argue about medical timelines, but sitting still had never suited her either.
Each morning started to blur the same way:
Yeji would wake early, pain blooming sharply across her ribs whenever she shifted too fast.
She would reach slowly for her phone on the nightstand, checking updates from the Sentinels medical staff and watching the messages pile up in the team group chat with check-ins, memes, and Lia threatening to bench everyone who plans to skip their virtual meetings.
Yeji spent her days alternating between appointments with physical therapy, solo film review, and short strategy sessions with Karina and Monroe. Yuna visited her apartment in the evenings, sometimes with Lia, often with takeout, never with questions about how she really felt.
And Yeji did not offer anything.
The day their team got back on the ice, Yeji watched from the bench.
The rink at Warrior Ice Arena echoed with the familiar sounds of blades carving into fresh ice, pucks clattering against the boards, and the shrill bursts of the coaching whistle cutting through the cold.
The Boston Sentinels were back. At least, the ones who could skate.
Their first official on-ice practice with limited contact drills, short scrimmage cycles, and position-specific exercises after the IIHF tournament closed. The energy was sharp, the pace slightly uneven from rust, but there was laughter between shifts and tension humming beneath every rep.
Yeji sat on the bench, bundled in a team hoodie and her warm-up pants. She wore a light brace over her ribs, hidden under layers, but the pressure was always there, reminding her with every breath, every twist of her torso, that she was not cleared to join.
Not yet. Not even close.
Her skates were in her duffel bag. She had brought them out of habit. But they stayed there, untouched.
From her spot behind the bench glass, Coach Evans swept a glance across the ice, occasionally flicking his gaze back to her.
They both knew the math. Yeji’s recovery timeline gave her maybe two and a half weeks before the first round of playoffs.
Best case, she would be cleared for light skating by the following week.
Worst case, she would miss the opener.
Lia stood in the net, talking with the goalie coach between reps. Yuna jogged to the bench during a whistle, handing Yeji a Gatorade without needing to be asked. Karina flashed a grin from across the blue line during drills, skating backward while chirping the rookie defenders.
There was ease among the group. A familiarity forged from years of building something together. But still, the absence of their captain on the ice was hard to miss.
Yeji stayed focused, her notepad balanced on her lap. She tracked transitions, breakout speeds, zone entries. Wrote comments. Adjustments. A shift plan. But her jaw ached from clenching. Her fingers curled too tight around her pen whenever someone flubbed a pass or missed a coverage she normally would have handled.
Her phone buzzed once beside her thigh. A text banner lit up the screen.
[Ryujin]
you get to yell at people today or nah?
Yeji did not answer immediately. She watched their forward slice across the neutral zone and then the center slam on her brakes after overskating a pass. The whistle blew again. The assistant coach shouted something.
She finally thumbed a reply.
[Yeji]
Benched captain privilege.
I get to give death stares.
Then slipped her phone back into her coat and leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes scanning the ice like she was already there. Like she was already skating.
Because even if her body had not caught up yet, her mind had never left.
The rest of practice played out with a quiet rhythm, each drill a reminder of what Yeji could not yet do and what the team would need to cover in her absence.
She tracked every shift, her pen moving steadily as she charted transitions, noting chemistry between line pairings and speed mismatches across defensive coverage.
Every once in a while, she caught Lia’s eyes across the ice and gave her a small nod, a silent check-in that was part instinct, part leadership.
When the horn finally sounded to end the session, several players coasted over toward the bench, sweat-matted hair and flushed faces greeting her with a mixture of teasing and reverence. Karina leaned against the boards with both arms crossed, breath still heavy.
“You look like a coach,” she said, flicking her head toward the notebook on Yeji’s lap. “Scary.”
Yeji offered a smile. “Good.”
Yuna plopped down beside her, immediately stretching her legs out in front of her. “How’d we do, boss?”
Yeji did not look up from the notes. “You forgot the left-side pinch twice in the second sequence. You’re lucky someone bailed you out.”
“Hah. Busted.”
Lia walked by at that moment, towel draped over her shoulders. “What else is new?” she deadpanned, and Yuna groaned dramatically.
As players started filing off the ice, the coaching staff approached, offering her a few words on structure, recovery plans, and the upcoming fitness assessments.
A few days later, the Sentinels’ conference room was unusually full for an end-of-the-week strategy meeting, even during the playoff buildup.
A whiteboard was already half-filled with notes from the assistant coach, a breakdown of defensive shifts and projected bracket scenarios. Every player had a thermos or protein shake in hand. Sneakers tapped against the tiled floor. Chairs squeaked.
And yet, there was a hum in the air that was unmistakably sharper than usual. An undercurrent of tension wrapped in curiosity, anticipation, and maybe something personal for some of them. Because the topic, barely even a line item on the agenda at first, had now drawn the entire room into silence.
“Let’s be real,” said Coach Evans, arms folded as he stood in front of the screen. “There’s a strong chance we see New York in the Eastern Conference finals.”
A ripple passed through the room. Someone let out a low whistle.
The Cyclones.
It had always been a possibility. The top two teams in the East. The rivalry was as old as the current league configuration — bitter, proud, and loaded with headlines.
One of their forwards leaned back, arms crossed. “So, another showdown with the Cyclones.”
“And possibly with their top line fully healthy,” Coach Evans added. “We have to prepare for their tempo, especially if Ryujin is back to full speed.”
The mention of the name earned a flicker of reaction, not from everyone, but from enough.
Karina seated two chairs down from Yeji, glanced at her, but said nothing. She, along with Lia and Yuna, kept their expressions neutral.
Team USA had kept their captain and Ryujin’s relationship quiet, out of respect and privacy. And here, on their respective club teams, the illusion of rivalry still held.
Most of the Sentinels, including the coaching staff, were still in the dark.
Yeji remained still, her eyes locked on the whiteboard. She did not speak, but her fingers tightened briefly around her pen.
Lia, seated near the front, exhaled sharply through her nose. “Assuming both sides go through their brackets clean,” she said, "That's another best-of-seven series against the second fastest line in the league.”
“Fastest line when Ryujin’s healthy,” Yuna added under her breath. “And last I heard, she’s close to it.”
Yeji, sitting on the far end of the table with her notes folded neatly in front of her, did not say anything. Her posture was straight, almost stiff, shoulders square even in a plain team hoodie. Her hair was still damp from morning physio, tied loosely behind her.
Coach Evans held up a hand, reining the energy back in. “If we want that matchup, we need to earn it. We finish clean, we train harder, and we stay healthy. We’re not planning for New York. We're planning for whoever’s next. But let’s not pretend that the match isn’t looming. Especially if the bracket plays out the way we project.”
He looked at Yeji.
She met his gaze steadily.
“Captain?”
Yeji nodded. “We’ve played them before. We’ll play them again if it comes to it. When it does, we’ll be ready.”
There was no shake in her voice. No hesitation.
Just the cool, collected steel that had anchored the Sentinels all season long. The kind of steadiness that made it easy for the others to rise with her.
Still, when the meeting wrapped, and the players stood to stretch, Yuna leaned over to Yeji with a teasing smirk.
Yeji could feel it in the way the players whispered on their way out, in the way someone muttered “ rivalry rematch ” as they reached the hallway.
She could feel it in the subtle glance Lia gave her as they passed each other at the exit.
Not teasing, not mocking.
Just knowing .
No one else here knew about the quiet mornings. About the texts. About the six in the morning skates.
No one knew about Plymouth.
Most of all, no one knew about Room 1726.
The league still saw war between them.
And now, so did the Sentinels.
As Yeji stepped out of the conference room, she did not flinch when she heard one of the rookies behind her whisper, “Can you imagine the chirping if Yeji shuts her down again?”
She just exhaled, calm and composed. Let them talk. Let them expect a war.
She would play the part.
The defenseman, the captain, the rival.
But when the time came, when the puck dropped, she would know better. She would know what it meant to skate against Ryujin now.
And what it would cost her to win.
Again .
When she returned to her apartment a few hours later, her phone buzzed.
[Ryujin]
how’s recovery doing?
or are we rivals again already?
Yeji smiled faintly, then tapped out her reply with a practiced ease.
[Yeji]
Still breathing. No dramatic turn of events.
Rivals? Why?
You scared of me, superstar?
[Ryujin]
only mildly
you’re boston’s entire defense and half their personality.
the league’s gonna be boring if they sideline you longer.
Yeji leaned back into her couch, pulling a hoodie over her head slowly, mind already drifting toward the schedule next week, the playoff prep ahead, and the quiet, steady ache she would have to carry through all of it.
Her phone buzzed again.
[Ryujin]
i wouldn’t mind if you got a week off to visit new york though
Yeji rolled her eyes and replied.
[Yeji]
Stay focused, Cyclone. Boston’s watching.
She kept her phone near. She responded to every message from Ryujin. She smiled at the texts she would never admit to rereading.
But her mind stayed anchored in Boston, where her ribs still ached, where her team waited, where the pressure sat quietly in the corners of every room.
The playoffs were coming.
Ready or not.
She was curled into the corner of her oversized cream couch, one arm wrapped around a throw pillow, the other holding her phone loosely as the television played some muted hockey replay in the background, one she had already seen twice.
She had not moved from that corner in hours. Ryujin had not texted in a while. She probably fell asleep or was deep in recovery, but the absence left Yeji reaching for something familiar.
It was the kind of quiet that felt too loud.
The kind that gave Yeji too much room to think.
Still, lying there, she found herself doing something she rarely allowed herself to do.
She replayed moments. Not games, not shifts, but little things.
The way Ryujin used to roll her eyes every time Yeji corrected her posture during drills, only to adjust immediately when she thought no one was watching.
The way she hummed songs when she tied her laces.
The sound of her laughter in the hallway outside the locker room after that second scrimmage, when Yeji had slipped on a water bottle and tried to act like it did not happen.
The smirk Ryujin wore when they got paired for a shootout drill and they had been practicing in the early morning.
The way Ryujin, always chaotic, always loud , had gone oddly quiet that day they left Montréal, just to whisper, “I’m going to miss this.”
She pulled her phone closer.
And like muscle memory, her thumb scrolled.
Past their recent banter. Past the blurry pictures when Ryujin was half-covered in heating pads. Past the texts from earlier that afternoon. Past Ryujin teasing her for acting like a coach during recovery drills.
She scrolled into older territory.
Before the kisses and late-night calls. Before Sentinels and Cyclones hoodies were borrowed like second skin.
Back to when they were rivals.
Back to when their entire dynamic fit in short bursts of passive aggression, chirps disguised as check-ins, and mock disdain barely hiding fascination.
There was one months ago where Ryujin gloated about a win, unprompted.
[Ryujin]
we just won btw
in case you were wondering
Those messages had been buried under months of new ones, beneath voice notes, blurry selfies, midnight check-ins, injury updates, and confessions whispered like secrets between goodnight texts.
But Yeji had scrolled right into it anyway, the timestamp a brutal reminder of just how much had changed.
[Yeji]
?
I wasn’t.
But okay?
[Ryujin]
yes you were
[Yeji]
Did you need me to congratulate you?
[Ryujin]
NO!
you’re the worst
Back then, everything between them had edges. Barbs wrapped in flirtation. Jabs that always landed just a little too close. They could never admit it aloud, not then. But the attention, the scrutiny, it was easier to call it rivalry.
Easier than what it actually was.
She kept scrolling.
[Ryujin]
just saw your goal
it was alright
Yeji had smirked at that time. She smirked now, too.
[Yeji]
Hmm
I just bodied two people to score that game-winning goal.
[Ryujin]
eh
i’ve seen better
[Yeji]
Cool.
Thanks for watching me, by the way.
[Ryujin]
I DIDNT
someone posted a clip
[Yeji]
Ryujin.
I literally just got off the ice.
[Ryujin]
THAT DOESNT PROVE ANYTHING CAP
Yeji exhaled, her lips twitching. She remembered the game. Remembered the bruise that goal left on her shoulder and how Ryujin texted minutes after the buzzer. She could still hear Ryujin’s voice even through the caps lock. Even back then, it was always louder than necessary, always pressing up against her composure in ways Yeji pretended not to notice.
Her thumb hovered.
Yeji let herself smile this time. Not the polite post-game one. Not the calm, captain-smile for the cameras. But something a little wistful, a little amazed.
Because it used to be this .
It used to be that girl on the other side of the rivalry. Sharp-tongued, fast-skating, too charismatic for her own good.
It used to be texts like this and long glares across center ice.
It was from the same girl, the same Ryujin , who had texted her yesterday to say:
[Ryujin]
i’d betray any state again for that.
also
you smell really good
like way too good
stop that
Yeji closed her eyes.
Somewhere between I didn’t watch and I like how you smell, the rivalry had turned into something else. She was not sure how the hell did they get there, but it was real.
And now, even when her ribs ached, she missed Ryujin more than she cared to admit.
She had been so careful at first. Drawing lines, staying measured, holding back.
But somewhere along the way, the rivalry had stopped feeling like a wall and started feeling like a tether, something that pulled her toward Ryujin, always, even in silence.
Yeji exhaled slowly. The pain in her ribs pulsed, but there was something comforting about it too, something alive. Something real.
Back then, it had always been a game.
Until it was not.
Now her phone screen was filled with memories of a different kind: of pet names and post-training encouragements, of sleepy check-ins, of Ryujin calling her “ captain ” like it meant something sweeter now.
Somewhere between rivalry and real feelings, something shifted. They never really declared it. It just became true.
They were no longer rivals.
Not in the way they used to be.
But it still thrilled her in the same way. Still made her reach for her phone again, already smiling.
She tapped her screen and started typing beneath the weeks-old timestamp.
[Yeji]
Just admit you watched it live, Ryujin.
A few seconds passed.
Then a little longer.
The typing bubble appeared.
Then vanished.
Then came back.
[Ryujin]
i didn’t
shut up
you’re so full of yourself
[Yeji]
Admit it baby.
;)
[Ryujin]
…fine
maybe i did
a little
She could practically hear the sulky edge in her voice. Could see the faint flush rising on Ryujin’s cheeks if they were on a call. That signature mix of bravado and denial that used to drive Yeji up the wall when they were rivals, and now, somehow, made her chest flutter.
Her fingers hovered, weighing between another tease or letting it rest.
In the end, she went with what felt most like them.
[Yeji]
“A little” means you watched the whole thing start to finish.
Just say you’re a fan.
The response came fast.
[Ryujin]
you wish
[Yeji]
You literally wore a Sentinels hoodie a few days ago.
In your apartment.
In front of your teammates.
[Ryujin]
do NOT finish that thought
[Yeji]
You wore it voluntarily.
Navy and gold suit you.
Almost like you were meant to be a fan.
[Ryujin]
no fucking way
i’d rather get checked into the boards by jeongyeon
[Yeji]
Jeongyeon?
Why not me?
[Ryujin]
because if it’s you
i’m not getting back up
Yeji blinked at the screen.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, the breath catching slightly in her chest. She could almost hear the smirk in Ryujin’s voice, and the truth beneath it, soft and serious, tucked behind the playful jab.
She leaned back into the couch cushion, heart knocking a little too fast.
[Yeji]
Was that supposed to be smooth?
Because it is.
Unfortunately.
[Ryujin]
unfortunately?
i thought you liked me now
[Yeji]
I do
Which is why it’s annoying that you’re still good at this
[Ryujin]
baby
i’ve been good at this since 10th grade
you were just too busy defending the blue line to notice
Yeji covered her face with one hand, groaning into it.
[Yeji]
i hated you
[Ryujin]
i know
hottest year of my life
Yeji rolled her eyes, but the smile she wore did not go away. Not even a little.
There it was .
A hundred exchanges like that. Some sharp, some teasing, some downright insufferable. And all of it layered beneath the thing she had not named for so long. Their rhythm.
There was something comforting in how naturally they had slipped back into this rhythm. Even with everything that had shifted.
She decided to not respond and just scrolled further back again. She found another from back in October.
[Ryujin]
you play like you’re trying to erase me
[Yeji]
Maybe because I was
[Ryujin]
how’s that working out for you? ;)
Yeji smiled, tight-lipped, quiet.
Not well .
Because here she was. Still scrolling. Still tracing the curve of that shift in her mind.
Yeji shifted under the throw blanket, wincing slightly as the edge of the ice pack pressed against her ribs. The couch had been her resting spot for the past few hours, its wide cushions and soft linen upholstery familiar by now, but the ache in her back and side was beginning to throb in protest.
With a quiet sigh, she nudged the pack aside, picked up her phone, and slowly pushed herself upright. Her legs moved first, one step at a time across the polished hardwood, the dim light from her floor lamp guiding her toward the bedroom.
By the time she lowered herself onto the bed, breath steadying again, her phone buzzed with a new message.
[Ryujin]
why were you reading our old messages
don’t tell me you miss getting chirped by your favorite rival
Yeji blinked at the screen, then eased onto her side, propping her elbow into the soft down pillow. Her bedroom was quieter than the living room. Softer.
The blackout curtains were only half drawn, letting in enough city glow to trace the shape of her desk, her shelf of trophies, and the untouched Boston Sentinels duffel bag she had yet to unpack fully. She let her thumb hover over the keyboard for a second before replying.
[Yeji]
You never stopped chirping, Ryujin.
But I do miss how confidently wrong you always were.
And there’s a certain charm in being told “you’re the worst” by someone who now wears my hoodie in her apartment
[Ryujin]
i stand by that statement
you were the worst
undeniably amazing tho
quite unfair tbh
[Yeji]
You really had to add “tbh” like that made it less embarrassing for you.
[Ryujin]
let me have my pride
i lost all leverage the day i watched a full sentinels game voluntarily
[Yeji]
Can’t lie
Some of them were funny
In a dumb, overconfident, chaotic kind of way
[Ryujin]
are you saying you liked it when i trash-talked you?
[Yeji]
I’m saying
You made it interesting
I didn’t check my phone after games for anyone else
Another pause. Long enough for Yeji to tug the blanket around her shoulder, long enough to notice the way her pillow still faintly smelled like cedar detergent.
The conversation between her and Ryujin had taken a familiar turn: part teasing, part confessional, something that settled somewhere between rivalry and softness.
[Ryujin]
hot
so you admit i was ELITE at banter
that i now realize were a bit flirty
like suspiciously flirty now that i’m rereading them
i think i was trying to flirt without knowing i was flirting
[Yeji]
You were something, that’s for sure.
[Ryujin]
you loved it
i could’ve said anything and you’d still chirp back
you never ignored me once
that’s devotion, captain
[Yeji]
That’s because ignoring you would’ve made you louder.
I chose peace.
[Ryujin]
in my defense
you are very pretty
always in my way
and very much in my head
maybe i wanted your attention
Yeji blinked slowly, reading the words twice, then once more. There was something effortless in the way Ryujin texted, as if nothing ever made her hesitate. As if flirting and vulnerability were the same muscle for her. Yeji’s stomach fluttered. Traitor.
She paused.
The kind that made Yeji press her phone to her chest for a beat, heart thudding just a little too fast, a little too warm.
The kind that reminded her that this was all real. The texts, the shift, the girl she used to despise in post-game interviews now sending her sleepy late-night compliments.
[Yeji]
So you’re saying your chirps were actually you trying to flirt?
[Ryujin]
not trying.
succeeding.
you’re literally my girlfriend now.
:D
[Yeji]
Right.
I hate how effective it was
[Ryujin]
so you liked it
[Yeji]
Fine
Yes
[Ryujin]
stop scrolling then
you’re gonna start liking me again
[Yeji]
Who says I ever stopped?
A long pause.
The typing bubble flickered to life. Disappeared. Flickered again.
[Ryujin]
ok
now i’m definitely not sleeping
Yeji let out a quiet laugh into the silence of her bedroom, head falling gently back against the headboard. She whispered, almost to herself, “
Me neither.
”
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.
Chapter Text
Yeji was standing in front of her kitchen counter, a glass of lemon water in one hand and her other arm carefully resting against her rib brace, when her phone buzzed against the marble.
The notification blinked up in bold: TEAM USA, followed by a brief subject line: “ Team USA Gold Medal Celebration Banquet”
Her brows lifted slightly. She set her glass down and opened the email with her thumb, the device tilting gently under the soft light that filtered through the tall, east-facing windows of her apartment.
A slow smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. It was the first formal thing since the tournament ended.
The first that made everything feel… real , in a celebratory way.
Not the weight of the games, not the press conferences or the medical check-ins, not the quiet ache of healing but something earned. Something shared.
She exhaled slowly through her nose, her thumb pausing over the RSVP button for a second longer than necessary.
The silence of her apartment wrapped around her again.
Yeji did not RSVP right away.
She stood there, phone still in her hand, the formal email open in front of her and the invitation glowing like a promise. Her thumb hovered over the RSVP button, unmoving. The silence in her apartment stretched, punctuated only by the soft hum of the air purifier across the room and the distant city sounds through thick-glass windows.
The banquet was scheduled for March 23rd, in Colorado Springs. Eleven days away.
And she still had not been cleared for travel.
Her gaze drifted to the edge of the kitchen island where her physical therapy schedule was laid out. It was neatly printed, color-coded, annotated by her PT in sharp red ink.
She was improving. Faster than expected, even. But she had not been told that she hit the mobility benchmark yet. She had not passed the stairs test. She was still supposed to avoid pressure to her right side, still icing nightly. Still waking up in small pulses of ache.
And this was not just a banquet downtown or a quiet gathering across the river. It meant flights. Airport transfers. Long hours probably in heels. It meant sitting up straight through formalities, possibly standing for extended time during team introductions. Speeches. Photos. Smiling.
Wearing her medal.
She let out a slow breath and tapped her phone shut.
Yeji crossed the room in measured steps, careful not to twist her torso too fast. Her newly framed photo from Montréal sat quietly on the console table across the room. She could almost hear the echo of her teammates’ laughter if she closed her eyes.
That moment felt like a lifetime ago.
And yet, the thought of Ryujin at that banquet, dressed up and grinning the way she always did when the camera caught her off guard, sent a flutter through Yeji’s chest.
Ryujin would go. Ryujin was going. She had already texted.
[Ryujin]
we’re seeing each other in eleven days?
i already miss you
can i sit next to you
Yeji smiled despite herself but did not answer right away.
She opened her group chat with Karina, Lia, and Yuna instead, quickly skimming through their messages about flights and outfit plans.
Then she tapped into her private message thread with her PT. The message sat unsent for a beat, then she typed,
[Yeji]
Hey, any chance we’ll have my mobility eval results before the weekend?
Just need to know if I can start preparing for a trip.
She hit send.
No RSVP yet. Not until she knew. Not until she was cleared.
But in the meantime, she opened Ryujin’s message again and typed, slowly.
[Yeji]
I haven’t RSVP’d.
Not sure yet if I can fly.
But if I can, then yes.
You’re sitting next to me.
The next morning, Yeji arrived at the Sentinels’ facility a little earlier than usual.
The halls were quiet, still wrapped in the slow hush of sunrise, with only the occasional shuffle of staff or the soft buzz of a vacuum somewhere down the corridor. She carried a travel coffee mug and wore one of her lightest winter coats, buttoned only halfway up.
The cold no longer bit at her ribs the way it did a week ago, but she still moved like someone negotiating every step with subtle caution.
She greeted the front staff with a polite nod and made her way to the medical wing.
It was not her usual appointment slot, but the training staff had told her to stop by if she had travel-related concerns.
So she did.
More than she was willing to admit out loud.
The exam room was warm, bright. Her PT, Jordan, met her with a clipboard and a raised brow, already halfway through a protein bar.
“Yeji,” he greeted. “No lift session today, right?”
“Just a quick question,” she said, voice light but steady. “I wanted to know if I’m cleared to travel. Short trip, not far. Just…” she cleared her throat slightly, “New York.”
Jordan leaned against the counter, chewing slowly, and nodded like he was not surprised.
“I thought you might ask,” he said, glancing down at the clipboard. “You’ve hit all your controlled mobility goals, and your range has improved a lot. But impact thresholds still aren’t fully tested. The stairs drill is scheduled Monday.”
Yeji nodded, expression neutral. “So not yet.”
“Nope. Not until next week at the earliest,” he confirmed. “Flight turbulence, lifting bags, navigating a city like New York. It’s all added pressure. You could do it, sure, but the risk isn’t worth it yet. One jostle or wrong pivot and we’re back to square one.”
She looked down at her gloved hands, fingers twitching slightly. “Right.”
“But,” Jordan added, his tone softening, “you are cleared for that Colorado Springs event. Team USA banquet, right?”
She looked up.
“Yeah,” she said. “I got the invite yesterday.”
He smiled. “You’ll be fine for that. It’s not full contact with the dance floor, is it?”
“Hopefully not,” she muttered with the ghost of a smile.
“Then we’re good,” he said. “I’ll write up a clearance for the flight and send it to the Team USA staff. Still, you’re not to carry your own luggage. No stairs if you can help it. And limit the heels.”
Yeji nodded slowly, quietly digesting the news. Cleared for one thing. Not for another.
Not for the visit she really wanted.
She thanked him, grabbed her file from the desk, and walked back into the hall.
By the time she stepped outside, the wind had picked up and the Boston sky had settled into its usual pale gray. She paused before pulling her phone out of her coat pocket, opening her messages app.
She found Ryujin’s name immediately. Top of her recents. Always was.
[Yeji]
Guess who’s officially cleared for Colorado?
The reply came almost instantly, as if Ryujin had been holding her phone in anticipation.
[Ryujin]
you?
please say it’s you
tell me you’re not joking
Yeji huffed a quiet laugh, glancing up at the cloudy sky as she leaned against her car door.
[Yeji]
Yeah, it’s me.
Fully cleared for the banquet. No more debate. No more what-ifs.
[Ryujin]
colorado springs is ten days away!!!!!
and i’m not gonna survive it if you look at me the whole time
[Yeji]
I wasn’t planning on looking at you.
I was planning on flirting with you.
Without getting caught.
[Ryujin]
you’re gonna ruin me
but okay
so
you wanna be my date?
or will i see you across the room and pretend not to know you because you’ll be too hot and the media will riot.
Yeji’s chest swelled, ribs forgotten for a moment beneath the warmth that bloomed there. She slid into the driver’s seat, a smile still plastered on her face.
She knew Ryujin was probably sprawled across her bed in New York, limbs a mess of exhaustion and adrenaline, heart still racing from skating again having light contact from the day before.
She also knew this was not just teasing. Not really. Not with the weight Ryujin gave her words, like every playful nudge was also a confession tucked behind punctuation.
[Yeji]
That goes without saying, mon cœur.
[Ryujin]
oh god
[Yeji]
But if you smile at me too long, I’m kicking your shin under the table.
[Ryujin]
that’s fair
can i at least stare when you walk in?
[Yeji]
Only if you look annoyed while doing it.
Pretend you’re mad I got MVP and not you.
[Ryujin]
bold of you to assume i’m not actually mad
[Yeji]
Bold of you to assume I’ll ever let you live that down.
[Ryujin]
whatever
the media’s gonna speculate not even a minute in
that i’m in a secret relationship with my rival
[Yeji]
You ARE in a secret relationship with your rival.
So they wouldn’t be wrong.
[Ryujin]
so i can’t look at you like you hung the moon?
[Yeji]
Not unless you’re pretending you want to fight me
Which you’re surprisingly good at
[Ryujin]
yeah well
if we get caught it’s gonna be because i looked at you too long
:D
[Yeji]
Then don’t look.
Pretend I’m your enemy again.
[Ryujin]
see that’s the problem
you’re hot when you’re my enemy
and somehow hotter now that you’re… not
[Yeji]
Tragic.
Truly.
[Ryujin]
kinda unfair
how am i supposed to act normal
[Yeji]
You’re not
You’re supposed to act like a rival who can’t stand me
[Ryujin]
oh
i’ve had years of practice
[Yeji]
Right.
[Ryujin]
so
hate you on camera.
want you in secret.
[Yeji]
Hmm
If we both slip away early, I’ll let you kiss me in the dark.
[Ryujin]
i’ll find you.
no matter what you’re wearing.
no matter how packed the room is.
[Yeji]
You always do.
In ten days.
And now, she was cleared to be there.
Yeji’s rest of the day had been unusually quiet.
It was, objectively, the perfect window to visit Ryujin in New York.
There were no PT appointments booked. No lifting sessions or morning skates. The coaching staff had waved her off for the rest of the day with a light nod and a reminder.
They had explicitly instructed her to rest up, save her strength for next week’s reintegration skates.
And, despite the rare stretch of unclaimed hours, Yeji was still grounded.
Not by choice. But by protocol.
She had not told Ryujin the whole truth yet.
She had been planning to visit. She had already looked up train times and saved a screenshot of a boutique near Ryujin’s apartment. Just last night, she had stared at her suitcase longer than she should have, wondering if it was too soon. Wondering if it would be enough just to show up with dinner and stay the night.
But now she was told she could not.
It was disappointing, even if she understood. She did not want to push her body before it was ready.
Still, the plan had been there. Quiet and careful and hopeful. She had been planning to go. Just for the weekend. Maybe leave after today’s team meeting, show up at Ryujin’s door like she was not the most predictable person on Earth.
She had even packed a separate bag hidden at the back of her closet, just in case .
She stared at the screen now, phone cradled in her hand.
[Yeji]
Hey
I was planning to come to New York this weekend.
To surprise you.
I had a whole thing in mind.
She hesitated a second longer, then added,
[Yeji]
But I was not cleared for travel.
Only got cleared for Colorado.
[Ryujin]
wait
you were gonna surprise me??
actually come all the way to new york??
why are you trying to ruin me emotionally early in the morning
Yeji had been thinking about it for days.
Maybe take the train.
Maybe ask Lia to cover for her.
Maybe just show up in New York and knock on the door like she had done it a hundred times before. The thought alone had curled warmth into her chest.
The way Ryujin’s face would have shifted from confusion to something softer… something undone. She had wanted to see that. Just once.
But now it was off the table.
[Yeji]
I had a plan.
Would’ve knocked on your door and said something cool.
Probably something stupid actually.
Depends on how much sleep I got.
[Ryujin]
i would’ve dropped dead on the spot either way
you can’t do that to me captain
Yeji smiled, slowly, heart aching in a way that was more fond than sad.
When she got home, she had a light breakfast of toast, scrambled eggs, and a plain protein shake.
She had spent the rest of her morning in the comfort of her apartment, curtains drawn open to the soft Boston light, the city spread quietly beyond her windows.
She iced her ribs on the couch, half-watching a muted documentary while her phone buzzed intermittently on the armrest beside her.
Ryujin had been quiet since the early morning, likely caught up in Cyclones meetings or rehab work. Yeji had not reached out either, not because she did not want to, but because there was something oddly comforting about the silence.
Like they were still tethered, even without constant chatter. Like the rhythm they had found over the last two weeks did not require maintenance, it simply existed.
Most of the day passed in a quiet haze. She skimmed through film on her tablet and reviewed shift rotations.
By 4 PM, she changed into clean black sweats, a white shirt layered under a team sweater. Comfortable, no fuss. She pulled her hair into a neat tie and grabbed her water bottle before slipping on her sneakers.
There was no rush.
The meeting was the only thing on her calendar.
She walked out of her apartment, locked the door, and let the crisp Boston air fill her lungs as she made her way again toward the Sentinels facility.
The air inside the car was still warm from the short walk across the parking lot. Yeji shut the door with a soft thunk and allowed the silence to settle. Her fingers remained wrapped around her key fob for a second longer than necessary before she finally dropped it into the center console tray.
It had been an eventful meeting. The team meeting ran over, adjustments took more time than expected, and the media liaison had pulled her aside after for an updated portrait session for a playoff feature.
She exhaled through her nose and leaned back against the seat. The moment her head touched the rest, she let her eyes flutter shut, not to sleep, just to rest.
Just to take a breath.
There was a buzzing sound from her passenger seat. Her phone screen lit up, casting a glow across the interior.
[Ryujin]
u done?
tell me you’re done
i’ve been holding back from sending u 13 memes since 4pm
Yeji’s lips quirked slightly.
She did not reply right away. Instead, she tilted her head to the side, watching the soft drizzle trail down her windshield. The dashboard clock read 5:42 PM. The sky was already almost a dark slate above the city. Streetlamps flickered to life one by one across the lot.
Her chest hurt, but not just from the ribs.
She missed her. Missed Ryujin in the stupidest, most inconvenient ways, when she was walking past the snack aisle in the team kitchen, when she caught herself humming the tune Ryujin always played before games, when she caught sight of her own hoodie in a mirror and remembered Ryujin had one that once been slung over her frame like a victory flag.
Her fingers finally moved.
[Yeji]
Just got to my car.
Haven’t even started the engine.
You may now commence meme-dumping.
The reply was nearly instant.
[Ryujin]
thank fuck
it’s time for u to suffer
i found the worst ones on purpose
Yeji laughed softly, the sound catching in her throat. Then a new message popped up.
[Ryujin]
also
miss u
just in case that wasn’t obvious
Yeji stared at the message.
Her fingers hovered for a beat.
[Yeji]
It’s always obvious, baby.
Yeji had just finished fastening her seatbelt, her fingers still lingering on her phone screen, rereading Ryujin’s last message, when she suddenly paused.
Then it hit her.
She swore softly under her breath.
She was nearly out of the protein drink she had been tolerating since her appetite dipped from the painkillers. And she had no more eggs. Or ginger tea. Or the almond milk she had started using in her oatmeal. Or even coffee.
The entire recovery pantry was dwindling and she had no excuse now.
[Yeji]
Heading home in a bit.
But I need to make a quick stop first.
Grocery run.
I forgot I ran out of coffee.
With a tired sigh and a flick of her hazard lights, Yeji peeled away from the Sentinels’ facility parking lot and veered toward the nearest grocery store, already calculating the fastest route in her head. Her ribs ached faintly with every turn, but she barely registered it this time.
There was a strange sense of peace that settled in, driving alone through the heart of Boston. Not quite the frenzy of game day, not the solitude of rehab.
Just her, behind the wheel, humming faintly to her playlist playing, her thoughts drifting between shelves of groceries and the thought of Ryujin, smirking, always dramatic, and now even more excitable with the banquet only ten days away.
Yeji shook her head, smiling despite herself.
She still had time. Groceries first. Then home. Then maybe, she would draft the RSVP email her PR team was waiting on, now that there was no longer a reason to hesitate.
By the time Yeji pulled into the grocery store lot, the sun had been gone. She parked neatly near the entrance, stretched her arms carefully, and checked her phone.
[Ryujin]
an absolute tragedy.
how will the sentinels’ mighty captain survive without caffeine.
Yeji rolled her eyes and headed toward the entrance, a little bounce in her step despite the lingering soreness.
The automatic doors parted with a soft whoosh as Yeji stepped into the grocery store, the cool blast of air conditioning brushing against her skin.
She shifted the sleeves of her sweater back into place and grabbed a red basket from the stack.
It was a familiar neighborhood store, small enough to be quiet this time of day, but fully stocked, tucked just a few blocks from her apartment in Boston.
She adjusted her hood, not because she expected to be recognized, but because it gave her a little sense of privacy, a cocoon of anonymity she appreciated more and more lately.
Her body still ached in pulses, but she was going to be restless at home. And she had run out of her favorite yogurt.
Yeji fished her phone out of her hoodie pocket and shot off a quick message before she reached the first aisle.
[Yeji]
Made it to the store.
Try not to miss me too much while I pick out almond milk.
She paused, then added another, just to push her luck.
[Yeji]
You want anything?
Just in case you’d come visit. :)
The reply came almost instantly, as if Ryujin had been waiting for the update.
[Ryujin]
OH!
the cinnamon toast crunch one.
you know the one.
Yeji smiled faintly to herself, steering the cart toward the refrigerated section.
[Yeji]
Okay.
Anything else, future guest?
[Ryujin]
your hoodie
your bed
your attention
Yeji sighed quietly, amused, and scrolled back to check the list on her notes app. The ache in her ribs tugged lightly when she reached for the almond milk on the top shelf, but she managed without flinching. A moment later, her phone buzzed again.
[Ryujin]
btw
how’s my favorite injured captain
[Yeji]
Buying kale
This is what my life has come to
[Ryujin]
sad
want me to light a candle for your youth?
[Yeji]
You’re barely a year younger than me.
[Ryujin]
but wiser
clearly
The overhead lights were too bright, casting sterile reflections on the gleaming linoleum floor as Yeji steered her half-filled cart down the dairy aisle.
A quiet instrumental version of something vaguely familiar drifted from the speakers overhead, too soft to pay real attention to. She pulled her hood halfway up again to soften the cold air that always hung heavy near the freezers.
She had meant to be quick. Just almond milk, coffee, and something to get her through the week until she could cook properly again. But walking through aisles slowly had become a strange form of comfort. One of the few errands she could do standing up, her recovery routine more passive than active.
She reached for her favorite brand of yogurt when her phone buzzed softly.
[Ryujin]
ji
[Yeji]
Hmm?
[Ryujin]
captain
Yeji paused mid-reach. Her eyes narrowed. She typed back quickly.
[Yeji]
Yeah baby?
Then came the last message.
Short, simple, completely disarming.
[Ryujin]
turn around
She blinked. Her eyes immediately darted up from the screen, twisting over her shoulder with instinctive urgency. She scanned the space behind her.
The store was quiet for a weekday afternoon.
A man checking tomatoes. A couple near the self-checkout. A middle-aged man choosing bananas. A college kid in headphones grabbing a bottled coffee.
No Cyclone jersey. No teal and gray.
Definitely no Ryujin.
Yeji narrowed her eyes.
[Yeji]
What the actual fuck, Shin Ryujin.
Her thumb barely lifted before the reply came through.
[Ryujin]
haha did you look
got you :D
Yeji groaned audibly, earning a brief glance from an old woman comparing prices on yogurt.
She exhaled slowly, thumb hovering over her keyboard, ready to retaliate with a biting but affectionate message when a voice interrupted.
Smooth. Close. Unmistakable .
"Got you again, Captain."
The voice came from directly behind her.
Yeji spun on her heel, nearly dropping her phone.
And there she was.
Shin Ryujin .
Chapter Text
For a second, just one second, Yeji’s mind went completely blank.
"Got you again, Captain."
There was no mistaking that voice.
The teasing lilt.
The way her nickname wrapped around the last syllable like a grin she could hear.
Ryujin’s voice.
Everything else around her faded.
The low buzz of fluorescent lights, the distant squeak of someone wheeling a cart across polished tile, the quiet hum of the store’s radio.
All of it pulled away like background noise behind glass.
Her pulse kicked once, high in her throat. The hand holding her phone dropped slightly, like her body had suddenly forgotten how to be annoyed. Something in her chest lurched stupidly, traitorously , in recognition before logic could even catch up.
Because there was no way.
That voice was supposed to be in another state.
That voice belonged to someone who texted like a menace, flirted like a dare, and had absolutely no business being in a Boston grocery store on a quiet Friday evening.
At least, not unless she had somehow stepped out of Yeji’s memory and right into reality.
But that voice was not imagined. It was not a hallucination.
It was real, warm, and right behind her.
Yeji’s jaw clenched. Slowly, carefully, she curled her fingers around her phone again, spine straightening as she exhaled through her nose.
Yeji turned, almost afraid the punch of adrenaline in her chest had conjured a ghost instead of her girlfriend.
But there she was.
Standing beneath the washed-out overhead lights like she belonged there, like she had not just shattered the rules of time and distance by appearing out of nowhere.
Her hair tousled from the wind, a dark hoodie pulled over her frame. A stupid grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, the kind Yeji had only seen recently on FaceTime, and her eyes were already locked on Yeji, soft and lit up in a way that left no room for pretense.
Shin Ryujin.
In Boston.
In her grocery store.
Yeji did not move at first.
She could not move at all.
Yeji’s breath caught in her throat, and for a fraction of a second, her body simply reacted before her mind could finish catching up.
She did not remember pushing her cart slightly to the side.
She did not even remember taking a small step and closing the distance.
All she remembered was the way her chest surged.
The way her hands found Ryujin’s shoulders, then her cheeks, as she pulled her in with a breathless, stunned laugh.
Ryujin made a surprised sound against her mouth, stumbling back a step.
She recovered fast, smiling even as their noses bumped. She kissed her back, arms wrapping loosely around Yeji’s waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It was the kind of kiss that blurred out the tiled floor, the shelf of cereal boxes, and the curious stares of the Friday night crowd.
It was not a rushed, public-friendly peck. Not something tame or unsure.
It was something that surged up from the way Yeji’s ribs ached with every breath she took without Ryujin near.
Something that tasted like every single day she spent missing her.
Yeji pulled back just enough to breathe. Her hands still cradled Ryujin’s face, thumbs brushing the curve of her cheeks as she stared, utterly disbelieving, utterly certain, all at once.
“You’re here,” she said softly, the words catching in the air between them, touched with something that was almost wonder.
“Yeah.” Ryujin’s smile curved slowly. “I realized I couldn’t wait ten more days to see you.”
Yeji did not answer at first.
She knew if she opened her mouth, something soft would spill out.
Her throat tightened.
The words were right there. Heavy, urgent, utterly terrifying .
Something too much for the middle of a supermarket with cracked linoleum tiles and a squeaky-wheeled cart to hear.
Instead, she leaned forward again and wrapped her arms around Ryujin’s shoulders, tucking herself into her naturally as if her body had always known how to.
It sent a dull pulse of pain through her side. She did not pull away though. She did not want to.
Not when Ryujin was here.
Not when her arms felt like warmth and gravity and comfort all at once.
She buried her face into the crook of Ryujin’s neck, exhaling the breath she had apparently been holding for days. Her heartbeat finally started to settle.
Yeji had caught the scent the second she inhaled.
It was warm, clean, slightly musky, and softened by the hint of the detergent Ryujin probably used on her hoodie. But underneath all of it, it was hers.
The scent filled the small space between them.
Polo 67 .
The same cologne Ryujin packed for the tournament. The one Yeji had secretly liked too much.
Yeji had spent nights memorizing that scent, buried in her hoodie or caught in Ryujin’s pulse point when they fell asleep tangled up in hotel sheets.
She remembered the hotel hallway outside their rooms, how it lingered when Ryujin walked ahead of her.
She remembered it on laundry days, clinging to her Team USA hoodies.
She remembered it strongest on that late night they went out to eat at a random local diner.
She remembered thinking she would never be able to separate the smell from the way Ryujin looked that night: tired, flushed, a little giddy with victory, and too many syrup packets, eyes soft in a way Yeji rarely got to see up close.
Now, here in a grocery store aisle that smelled like detergent and plastic packaging, Ryujin still somehow smelled the same.
Yeji tightened her hold around her, anchoring herself in it.
She felt Ryujin breathe out too, hands settling gently at the small of her back. Neither of them said anything for a moment. There was no need.
In the chaos of a Boston grocery aisle, under pale lights and between aisles of cereal and coffee beans, Yeji stood still with her girlfriend in her arms.
Not just the girl she used to rival.
Not the annoying winger from New York.
But her girlfriend.
And for the first time in weeks, Yeji felt like she could finally breathe.
Ryujin’s arms adjusted carefully. Then, close to Yeji’s ear, her voice came low and almost nervous.
“Can I stay?” she asked, just loud enough for only Yeji to hear. “For the weekend, I mean.”
Yeji’s breath caught.
Ryujin did not pull back, just kept talking, quiet and sincere. “I know I didn’t warn you. I should’ve asked before booking anything. But I missed you, Ji.”
Yeji’s heart thudded against her ribs, almost louder than the ache that pulsed just beneath them. She pressed her cheek briefly against Ryujin’s shoulder before pulling back just enough to look at her.
Her eyes were soft, but her voice had that steady certainty to it again. “You’re asking while hugging me, like I’d ever say no.”
Ryujin’s lips tugged into a sheepish grin. “I figured it was a good strategy. Disarm you with affection.”
Yeji exhaled through a laugh, her thumb brushing instinctively along the line of Ryujin’s jaw. “You’re ridiculous.”
“So… is that a yes?”
Yeji did not hesitate. “Yes.”
And just like that, Ryujin leaned in again, her smile pressed into the side of Yeji’s neck, arms tightening slightly, careful not to strain their ribs. She whispered, “I didn’t bring a return ticket for today anyway.”
Yeji pulled back slightly, enough to catch a clearer look at Ryujin’s face, then let her eyes drop further, down to her hoodie, jeans, sneakers…
That was it.
No duffel bag. No backpack. No overnight bag slung over her shoulder.
Her brow lifted, slow and suspicious. “ Wait. You’re staying the weekend?”
Ryujin blinked, still half-smiling. “Yeah.”
Yeji looked her over again, deliberately this time, before asking flatly, “With what clothes?”
Ryujin paused.
Then blinked again.
Yeji’s hands stayed lightly on Ryujin’s arms, but the teasing in her tone sharpened. “Did you just travel to a different state with no plan and zero luggage?”
Ryujin grinned sheepishly, her hands lifting slightly in surrender. “Okay, no… I left my stuff at Lia’s.”
Yeji narrowed her eyes. “Lia was in on it?”
“Technically, yes.”
Yeji stepped back just enough to fold her arms but not enough to hide the flicker of a smile tugging at her lips. “Did she help you plan this?”
“She didn’t help help,” Ryujin said, dragging the word out. “I just asked about your schedule. That’s not planning, that’s… data gathering.”
Yeji scoffed. “You mean spying.”
“Strategic recon,” Ryujin corrected with a smug tilt of her chin. “Besides, you should be proud. I was very stealthy.”
“You stalked me via Lia,” Yeji deadpanned.
“I surprised you romantically via Lia,” Ryujin countered.
Yeji stared at her for a beat longer, then turned to resume walking down the aisle, her cart leading the way again. “Okay fine.”
Ryujin walked beside Yeji, just close enough for their arms to brush every so often as they moved through the aisles. She was quieter than usual, her energy low but charged in that way she always got when she was planning something.
Yeji kept glancing over, catching the way Ryujin’s eyes flicked to the items in her cart, calculating, mentally tallying something.
They passed the bread aisle when Ryujin suddenly veered slightly to the side. She reached for one of the handheld baskets stacked neatly beside a low shelf and slipped her arm through the loop with casual purpose.
Yeji raised a brow. “What’s that for?”
Ryujin only gave a shrug, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “I’m cooking tonight.”
Yeji slowed, her own cart rolling a few inches ahead before she stopped it with her foot. “You’re what?”
“I’m cooking dinner.” Ryujin was already scanning the shelves. “I came all this way. I figured I might as well do something for you.”
Yeji’s gaze flicked to her, sharp but fond. “You mean aside from giving me a heart attack in the yogurt aisle?”
“That was a bonus,” Ryujin replied, eyes twinkling. “This is the thank you for letting me stay.”
Yeji nudged her gently with the cart. “You already thanked me by showing up.”
Ryujin tilted her head, unbothered. “Still not enough.”
The casual confidence in her voice made Yeji’s stomach flip. She looked ahead instead, trying not to let it show, pretending to study the line of pre-packed salad kits instead of the girl who just said things like that without blinking.
Yeji tried not to smile, but it slipped through anyway.
She did not ask what Ryujin planned to do with the basket. She did not have to. Ryujin’s quiet confidence was enough.
Whatever it was, it was for her.
They turned the corner into the produce section, the scent of fresh herbs and citrus rising faintly in the air. Ryujin was scanning the rows of greens with a focused kind of calm, fingers briefly grazing over bunches of basil and parsley before settling on a sprig of thyme.
She tossed it lightly into her basket and glanced sideways at Yeji, who was still steering the cart with a small amused smile on her face.
“Ji,” Ryujin said casually, reaching for a lemon next. “You allergic to anything?”
Yeji blinked. “What?”
“Food,” Ryujin clarified, eyes on the lemons as she turned one over in her hand. “Like… shellfish, dairy, red peppers, ego bruises…”
Yeji let out a small huff of laughter. “You’ve eaten beside me a dozen times.”
“Yeah,” Ryujin said, finally selecting the lemon and dropping it into her basket. “But we were enemies for half of those meals and fake-friends for the rest. I wasn’t about to ask if you were allergic to garlic in the middle of chirping you over power-play stats.”
Yeji raised a brow. “I’m not allergic to anything.”
“Good,” Ryujin said, flashing her a quick grin. “Because the only thing I brought to Boston is my charm and a dinner plan that includes butter. Lots of it.”
Yeji bit the inside of her cheek to hide the way her smile was growing.
They moved side by side down the brightly lit grocery aisle, like it was just another ordinary evening and not their first time weaving through a grocery store together in the same zip code, much less the same city, the quiet squeak of Yeji’s cart wheels underscoring their conversation.
Ryujin strolled casually beside her, one hand hooked loosely onto the edge of the cart, the other still clutching her basket of dinner ingredients. Her grin had not faded since the moment Yeji kissed her.
They had lingered a little longer than planned, pausing at random shelves as Ryujin debated sauces and Yeji vetoed half her snack suggestions with a raised brow and a quiet “ no .”
Still, there was a comfort to it. Simple, unhurried, and domestic in a way.
At last, they rounded the last corner toward the checkout lanes, their pace slowing as if reluctant to leave this quiet little pocket of normal. Ryujin dropped her final item into the cart with a low whistle. “Alright, chef’s got what she needs.”
Yeji gave her a sidelong glance, amused. “You better be as good in the kitchen as you are at annoying me.”
“No promises,” Ryujin muttered, grinning.
They made their way to the self-checkout lane, scanning and bagging with a casual ease, quiet jokes traded under their breath while plastic rustled and the register beeped.
The moment the final bag slid into the cart, Ryujin took the handles from Yeji with a quiet “I got it,” and together, they walked toward the exit. The sliding doors opened with a soft mechanical sigh as they stepped into the cool air and the open lot beyond.
They strolled through the lot without rush, cart clacking against the pavement, their shoulders brushing now and then. There was no need for words at that moment; just the sound of early night settling over Boston, a soft breeze, a shifting skyline, and the comfortable weight of knowing they were spending the weekend together.
Yeji flicked a glance sideways as they approached the next row. Her voice came out casual, but laced with suspicion. “How did you even know which grocery store I went to?”
Ryujin barely looked over. “I have my ways.”
Yeji stopped briefly in her stride. “Ryujin.”
Ryujin grinned.
Yeji narrowed her eyes. “Tell me you did not stalk me.”
“I didn’t!” Ryujin laughed, maneuvering the cart as she stepped around a parked car. “I texted Lia. Asked for your schedule. She said you didn’t have anything this morning, just a meeting in the afternoon.”
“That still doesn’t explain this location.”
“I just guessed.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.
“Lia said you’d probably go to the one nearest your apartment,” Ryujin continued, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Yeji’s chuckle came out low and dry. “Funny, I almost drove to the one near the river instead.”
Ryujin blinked, feigning horror. “You almost ruined my big dramatic moment?”
“I really did,” Yeji said, biting back a grin. “Would’ve served you right.”
Ryujin pouted. “Unbelievable. I travel to a different state, conspire with Lia, risk my life by jumping you in the dairy aisle and you almost go to the wrong store?”
Yeji shrugged, eyes dancing as she turned toward the row of parked cars.
They moved together, seamlessly, toward the far end of the lot. Just two figures in street clothes, the kind of quiet domesticity that felt impossibly new and comfortable all at once.
As they neared the row of parked vehicles, Ryujin glanced around absently until Yeji casually veered toward a sleek dark green SUV at the end of the row, near the other entrance.
“Wait,” she said slowly, coming to a full stop. “This… this is your car?”
Yeji did not even flinch. She just pointed her fob toward the vehicle and the Aston Martin DBX gave a clean blink of its headlights, a low mechanical click sounding as it unlocked.
She moved toward the trunk like it was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Yes.” Yeji’s reply was clipped, like she thought that should have been obvious.
Ryujin stared at the vehicle like it had personally offended her. “You drive a DBX?”
“I do,” Yeji said as she opened the trunk, calm and unbothered as she began lifting bags inside. Yeji had barely reached for the first bag when Ryujin’s hand gently overlapped hers.
“This is an Aston Martin,” Ryujin continued as she took the weight from Yeji’s grasp and stepped toward the trunk with quiet purpose. “As in, James Bond. ”
Yeji gave her a sidelong glance, leaning slightly against the rear of the car, her gaze fixed on Ryujin’s back. “Yes. It has a great suspension system.”
Ryujin lifted each bag with ease, organizing them in the trunk like she had done it a hundred times before. “You could’ve said literally any other car and I’d have believed you. Audi, sure . A fancy BMW? Fine . But this ?”
“I value performance,” Yeji replied simply, sliding the cart aside. “And space. The back seats recline.”
“Are you seriously out here grocery shopping in a car that costs more than most hockey contracts?”
“I didn’t plan on stopping by the groceries earlier,” Yeji arched a brow. “and I wasn’t about to take the R8 to a grocery run.”
“No no no, back up . You have an R8?”
“Maybe.” Yeji looked at her, smiled faintly, and shut the trunk with quiet finality. “You’ll have to stick around long enough to find out.”
“Why are you so cool?” Ryujin put a hand dramatically over her heart and leaned against the car like she needed physical support. “This is unfair. I am trying to impress you. You’re out here driving Bond’s retirement car and casually implying you own two luxury vehicles.”
Yeji shrugged and walked to the driver’s side like the conversation was done.
“I took the train here,” Ryujin called after her, still scandalized. “And then a cab. You’re…. this is so unfair.”
“Ryujin.” Yeji tilted her head. “You are one of the highest-paid athletes in the league.”
“That’s true but—.”
“Okay. Fine.” Yeji leaned against the car door with a faint smile. “I grew up around things like this. My parents like flash. My brother likes attention. I just like the quiet kind of expensive.”
“Yeah, you wear it well,” Ryujin muttered, “You’re like a Dior ad I want to make out with.”
Yeji opened the car door and paused. “That line only worked because you’re cute.”
Ryujin scoffed. “Imagine how powerful I’d be if I drove a DBX.”
“You’d still be the same menace in high-tops.”
“True.” Ryujin said, rounding the vehicle .
Yeji watched her with faint amusement as Ryujin reached for the passenger door. Before getting in, Ryujin looked across the roof of the car at her and added, “Just so we’re clear, if you ever do have an R8, I’m driving it.”
“No chance.”
“Captain,” Ryujin said sweetly. “Please?”
Yeji laughed softly as she slid into her seat. “Buckle up, Shin Ryujin.”
“Physically or emotionally?”
Yeji laughed softly under her breath, fingers already on the ignition. “Get in before I start the car and drive off with your groceries.”
The sky had deepened into a dusky indigo by the time they pulled out of the lot, headlights flickering on automatically as the city adjusted to early night.
Boston had taken on that quiet kind of glow. Traffic thinned, sidewalks starting to empty, and the skyline painted with a muted brilliance that only came after sunset. Streetlamps blinked awake one by one as they drove, casting soft amber pools along the pavement.
Inside Yeji’s car, the air was warm, and her playlist had settled into its softer edge.
A soft swell of synths opened the next song, familiar from the first few notes.
The beat was slow and dreamy. Gentle. Intimate in the way only songs like that could be.
Yeji was not doing anything showy. She was just driving, one hand on the wheel, the other relaxed near the gearshift, face soft in the glow of the dashboard.
Except Yeji was singing again.
Not loudly. Not even consciously, maybe.
But as Die For You by The Weeknd filled the car, Yeji started to sing just under her breath, her voice slipping quietly into harmony. Not mirroring the lyrics, not overpowering, just… there .
It was the kind of harmony that added dimension, the kind that made the song feel fuller, richer. The kind you only noticed once you had heard it and then could never un-hear again.
Ryujin forgot how to breathe for a second.
It hit her hard, how still everything suddenly felt. How the air shifted. How surreal it was to be sitting here, in Yeji’s car.
And she felt it all at once.
The slow pull of awe.
The weightlessness of a held breath.
The quiet disbelief that she was sitting next to this version of Yeji, the one who harmonized to The Weeknd like it was instinct.
The one whose voice curved around the lyrics like it belonged there.
The one who had once stared her down on the ice with fire in her eyes and now sat beside her, soft and unguarded, unknowingly stealing her breath.
Ryujin’s gaze stayed locked on Yeji’s profile. The sharp line of her jaw, the relaxed way she leaned into the steering wheel, her mouth forming notes with gentle precision. She watched her sing the words with such quiet confidence that it almost did not feel real.
The car dipped slightly as they coasted onto an overpass. Yeji kept singing. Her voice barely above a murmur now, like it was meant for no one else but herself. Or maybe… for Ryujin .
Ryujin swallowed. Her throat was suddenly dry.
She wondered if Yeji had chosen this playlist on purpose.
If she knew how this song would feel. How her voice would sound saying those words. How Ryujin’s chest would clench quietly in response.
She did not ask.
She just sat there, watching the road ahead blur softly through the windshield, and listened.
Letting the music do whatever it was doing to her.
Letting Yeji’s voice settle in her ribcage like it had always belonged there.
As the last note of the chorus faded into the hum of the next track, Ryujin shifted slightly in her seat, still caught in the lingering spell of Yeji’s voice. The city slid past, but all Ryujin could hear was the warmth in that harmony, the quiet steadiness of the woman beside her.
She turned her head slightly, eyes still fixed on the windshield, voice low with a trace of teasing disbelief.
“Did you pick this playlist on purpose?” she asked, her tone light but edged with something sincere.
Yeji’s lips curved, barely.
“Why?” she said, eyes never leaving the road. “Because I sang along?”
“Because you sounded like that,” Ryujin muttered, almost to herself, still not quite over it.
Yeji hummed softly, amused, tapping her fingers once on the wheel to the beat of the next song. Then, casually, she offered, “It’s my driving playlist. I like how the bass feels when I’m driving.”
Ryujin blinked.
Yeji continued, still calm. “It’s a habit. These kinds of songs… they sit low. You feel them in your chest when the volume’s right. I like that.”
Of course she did.
Of course Yeji would have a practical, grounded reason for curating a playlist that sounded like it could melt someone’s spine.
She was so composed about it, too. So unaware, or pretending to be , of how her voice had practically sent Ryujin into another dimension moments ago.
Ryujin let out a soft scoff, lips twitching.
“Right,” she said, leaning her head against the window.
She saw Yeji glance sideways with the faintest smirk.
Yeji turned a corner onto a quieter residential street, the buzz of city traffic fading into the distance as her car rolled smoothly over the pavement.
She parked smoothly, engine cutting off with a soft click. The dash lights faded as she powered down the vehicle, and for a moment, the only sound between them was the soft tick of the cooling engine and the quiet outro of the song still playing through the speakers.
Ryujin unbuckled first, glancing at the familiar condo tower.
Yeji shot her a sideways glance, amused. “Did you tell Lia I was driving you?”
“No,” Ryujin admitted. “I just said I was coming to get my bag.”
“I’m coming with you.”
That earned a grin from Ryujin as they both stepped out. The night air greeted them, crisp and quiet, the sidewalk lit by a row of warm amber lamps. They walked in easy step toward the building’s front entrance. The automatic glass door slid open with a soft chime, and they entered the lobby.
When they reached Lia’s floor, Ryujin led the way down the corridor. She did not knock. She did not need to.
The door opened a second before she reached for it.
Lia blinked at the sight of Ryujin.
Then at Yeji standing just behind her.
“Oh,” Lia said flatly, a brow lifting. “She found you.”
She stood in the doorway, hair up in a messy bun, hoodie sleeves pushed past her elbows. “I assume this means the mission was a success?”
Yeji lifted a brow. “You were in on it.”
“She made me swear not to text you,” Lia said, pointing at Ryujin with mock betrayal. “I hated it.”
Ryujin smiled, sheepish. “You handled it beautifully.”
Inside the apartment, Ryujin headed straight for the corner of the living room, where her overnight bag sat waiting, slung casually next to her spare hoodie. She had dropped them off early that afternoon on her way to pull off the surprise.
“I didn’t pack much,” Ryujin said as she crouched down to zip it up. “Just enough for the weekend.”
“I told her you might swing by the grocery nearest your place,” Lia added as she walked back into her kitchen, pulling something from the fridge. “You’re predictable.”
“I almost didn’t,” Yeji admitted, “I nearly drove to the Whole Foods near the river.”
Lia looked over her shoulder, deadpan. “Then I would’ve had to listen to her sulk all weekend.”
Ryujin stood, duffel now over her shoulder. “I would’ve regrouped.”
“You would’ve spiraled,” Lia called.
Yeji laughed softly as Ryujin walked back to her, a little more aware of the warmth in the small space between them. “You left this here just to traumatize late afternoon shoppers?”
Ryujin lifted a shoulder. “I had priorities.”
Lia handed her a bottle of water. “Like getting tackled in the dairy section.”
Ryujin accepted it with a grin. “It was worth it.”
Yeji shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
They thanked Lia quickly, the kind of quiet exchange that did not need drawn-out goodbyes. And then they were back in the hallway, the door shutting behind them with a soft click.
Halfway down the corridor, Ryujin shifted her bag higher on her shoulder and bumped Yeji lightly with her elbow. “You’re really not mad I dragged Lia into this?”
Yeji gave her a look. “I’m mostly mad she didn’t warn me.”
The drive to Yeji’s apartment building was short and quiet.
They pulled into the underground parking next. The soft hum of the engine tapered off, leaving only the residual echo of the stereo fading out as Yeji shifted the gear into park.
From Ryujin’s seat, the building looked sleek and modern, glass and steel, but not ostentatious. It rose quietly above the street, nestled in one of the more discreet corners of Back Bay. The kind of place you would only notice if you knew where to look, which, of course, was very Yeji.
Ryujin glanced around as the headlights dimmed, taking in the spotless layout of the well-lit and secure private lot. The parking slot Yeji had chosen was near the elevator. Practical.
Easy to slip in and out, unnoticed.
She unbuckled her seatbelt slowly, her eyes drawn to Yeji as she stepped out of the driver’s side, the faint glow of the parking lights dancing along the sharp line of her jacket. There was a quiet confidence in the way Yeji moved, keys twirling once between her fingers as if this were just another ordinary Friday evening.
But to Ryujin, it was anything but ordinary.
This was her first time here. Her first time stepping into the personal space Yeji had built apart from everything and everyone. Not a rink, not a hotel, not a locker room hallway.
Yeji’s home. Her private world.
Yeji walked around the front of the car toward her, not speaking yet, only offering a small smile. Warm, amused, soft in the corners. She reached for the trunk without a word, but Ryujin beat her to it, motioning her aside before hauling out the heavy plastic bags herself.
Yeji gave her a look but did not argue further. Instead, she straightened, eyes flickering to the duffel bag Ryujin had slung over her good shoulder. “Give me that, then. You’re going to drop something.”
Ryujin blinked. “You want to carry my stuff?”
Yeji shrugged, stepping closer to take the strap off her shoulder before Ryujin could protest. “You already took the heavy bags. And that’s not stuff , it’s a duffel with probably three hoodies and zero socks.”
“Rude,” Ryujin muttered, but there was no real bite behind it.
They walked side by side toward the elevator, Yeji clutching Ryujin’s overnight bag like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Neither of them said anything about it, but there was something steady in the rhythm of their steps. An ease that settled between them like muscle memory, like home .
The weight of the moment settled over Ryujin slowly. She could feel it in the hum of the building, in the sound of their footsteps echoing against polished floors, in the gentle lift of Yeji’s shoulder brushing hers as they waited in silence for the doors to open.
When they stepped inside the elevator, Ryujin finally let out a breath she had not realized she was holding. Her eyes flicked to Yeji’s reflection in the brushed steel walls, stoic but warm, collected but content.
She swallowed once, and her fingers twitched slightly against the grocery bag handles.
Yeji noticed. She tilted her head.
Ryujin gave her a small grin.
The elevator hummed as it climbed, the numbers ticking up in a slow, measured rhythm. Ryujin stayed quiet beside Yeji, but her thoughts were anything but still.
The grocery bags were steady in her hands, but her heart was not. It beat faster with every passing floor, part nerves, part anticipation.
She had seen Yeji in nearly every possible arena: locker rooms, buses, airports, on the bench, in the tunnels before national anthem ceremonies, bruised and brilliant on the ice.
But this…this was new. A private space. Not just a visit, but an invitation into Yeji’s life in the way most people never got.
When the elevator chimed softly and the doors opened, Yeji stepped out first and led them down a quiet hall lined with matte black apartment doors and soft recessed lighting. Her unit was near the end, no surprise. Quiet. Secluded.
Ryujin wondered, absently, if that had been intentional too.
Yeji unlocked the door, and the hinges gave a quiet click as she pushed it open.
The moment Ryujin stepped inside, she paused.
The apartment was spacious, wide open plan with clean modern lines, but not cold.
Not at all.
Soft amber lighting filled the space with warmth, and floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline like a moving canvas.
The interior was elegant but not performative. She noted the cream tones and warm woods, plush textures in greens and rusts.
The couch had the subtle indent of where someone always curled up.
It was lived-in. Intentional. Grounded.
Home .
“Wow,” Ryujin said, under her breath, finally stepping all the way in. “This is… nicer than mine. And I have a penthouse.”
Yeji chuckled as she locked the door behind them, shrugging off her jacket.
Ryujin set the grocery bags on the counter and glanced around again, eyes wide with quiet awe. “This place actually feels like someone lives here. It smells like… cedar and laundry.”
Yeji gave her a look, amused. “That’s oddly specific.”
“Yeah, because it’s you,” Ryujin muttered. “Of course you’d make even your apartment smell disciplined.”
That earned her a snort as Yeji padded into the kitchen, flipping on the under-cabinet lights. “You hungry?”
“I’m cooking, remember?” Ryujin grinned, already reaching for the bags again.
Yeji leaned on the kitchen island, watching as Ryujin unpacked ingredients with surprising familiarity. She moved like she belonged there. Like this was not the first time her hands had ever touched the handle of Yeji’s fridge.
But Yeji knew better. This was the first time. The very first.
And yet, there was no hesitation.
Yeji folded her arms on the marble surface, resting her chin on top, watching her. Something in her chest felt oddly full, quietly, dangerously close to overflowing.
Ryujin shrugged her jacket off.
It was a small movement, fluid and unthinking, like she had done it a hundred times in her own space. But this was not her space. It was Yeji’s kitchen. Yeji’s apartment. And yet Ryujin peeled the sleeves down with the comfort of someone who belonged.
The jacket landed with a soft rustle on the stool beside her, revealing the black thin-strapped shirt Ryujin wore underneath, a pale, clean wrap still snug around her left shoulder
“Okay,” Ryujin said, putting on one of Yeji’s aprons. “Let me show you what world-class athletes actually eat on recovery weekends.”
She tied up her hair in a messy bun, brows furrowed in concentration as she double-checked a cheese.
“Still good,” Ryujin muttered, smelling it. “Barely. You really don’t cook, huh?”
“I eat out or meal prep,” Yeji said. “Also, I didn’t know I was hosting anyone this weekend.”
Ryujin grinned, not looking up.
Maybe it was the quiet, maybe it was the low light, or the way Ryujin looked so at home, bare-armed, relaxed, here.
But something about the sight made Yeji’s throat tighten.
The soft clatter of utensils and the gentle hiss of simmering cream filled the open kitchen, the atmosphere thick with something tender, unspoken, yet entirely known.
Yeji had turned on her living room speakers, just low enough not to drown out their laughter or the quiet rhythm of conversation. The first notes of a mellow R&B track slipped into the air, settling into the space like steam rising from the pot Ryujin was stirring.
Yeji, now seated on one of the kitchen island stools, glanced over her shoulder toward the speaker and then back to Ryujin.
Ryujin paused, tasting the sauce from a wooden spoon, her expression thoughtful as she adjusted the heat.
“Oh,” Ryujin flicked her eyes over to Yeji, one brow rising. “Play your driving playlist again. I wanna know what else makes the cut.”
Yeji tilted her head, letting her smile curl. “You’re that curious?”
“I just spent three hours on a train and a cab to see you,” Ryujin pointed out. “I’m curious about everything.”
That made Yeji pause, not because she doubted it, but because of how easily Ryujin said it.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world to be curious about her.
Like Ryujin wanted to memorize the spaces between her sentences, the hidden meanings in her playlists, the reason behind every song she hummed behind the wheel.
Yeji stood and crossed the room, tapping her phone to switch over the playlist. The shuffle started immediately, this time with a mellow, beat-heavy track that Ryujin instantly recognized but had never connected with Yeji before.
Ryujin paused, her hand still holding the spoon midair. “You… drive to this?”
“I told you,” Yeji replied, slipping back into her stool. “I like the way the bass feels.”
The music pulsed low beneath the kitchen’s golden light, and Ryujin shook her head with a soft smile, half in disbelief.
Ryujin met her gaze across the kitchen island, her hand slowly lowering the spoon into the pot again. The air shifted, the silence between them no longer empty but thick with something warm, expectant. She let out a quiet laugh under her breath.
Yeji watched the way Ryujin moved to the music now, like she had begun syncing her rhythm to the beat, like maybe, she was learning it by heart.
The bass settled deeper in the floor, in the walls, in the space between them.
And Yeji, for once, did not try to look away.
Without saying a word, Ryujin wiped her hands on a towel, set it neatly by the sink, and turned away from the stove.
Yeji watched as she crossed the kitchen, feet quiet against the hardwood floors. She went to the couch, where her bag was half-unzipped and leaning lazily against one of Yeji’s forest green throw pillows.
The soft overhead lighting caught the faint sheen on her bare shoulders and the wrap on her left as she knelt beside the bag and rifled through it.
Yeji tilted her head slightly, arms now folded loosely over her chest, watching with faint curiosity.
Ryujin did not explain.
She just pulled out a slim, matte black glasses case, popped it open, and slipped the frames on in one practiced motion.
It was so smooth, so casual, as if she had done this hundreds of times, which Yeji figured she probably had.
But for Yeji, it was the first time.
And it stole the air right out of her lungs.
There was something jarring, ridiculously attractive , about seeing Ryujin like this: still wearing an apron over her thin strap black top, a soft wrap over one shoulder, now with clean, dark-framed glasses perched low on her nose as she stood and adjusted them briefly with her finger.
Yeji blinked, trying not to stare. But Ryujin noticed anyway. Her lips curved faintly into a knowing smirk as she returned to the kitchen, expression unreadable except for the glint in her eye that said she was very aware of the shift in the air.
The glasses fogged faintly with every burst of steam from the saucepan, and every time Ryujin leaned forward to double-check her recipe on her phone, she would push them back up with a knuckle, absentminded, unaware of just how soft the entire picture looked.
Yeji swallowed and tilted her head, pretending to look at the food. “Glasses?”
Ryujin glanced up quickly, the spoon pausing mid-stir. “Yeah. For reading,” she said, tapping the phone balanced against a mug. “The font’s weird. Or maybe my eyes are just tired.”
Yeji hummed, feigning neutrality. “You’ve never worn them before.”
“I usually don’t,” Ryujin admitted with a shrug, lips quirking. “But I remembered I had them when I was packing, so…”
Yeji’s mouth opened like she was about to reply, but she closed it again, slowly.
Instead, she leaned in a little, arms crossed loosely, eyes narrowed just slightly. “They look good.”
Ryujin blinked. “What?”
Yeji kept her voice casual. “The glasses. They suit you.”
Ryujin made a face, half smug, half bashful. “You mean I look smart.”
Yeji laughed under her breath. “I mean you look like someone I’d kiss in the middle of a library.”
“ Oh my god .”
“I’m serious.”
Ryujin turned back to the pan, ears flushed pink, a grin forming despite herself. “Stop distracting me. I’m trying not to burn your dinner.”
“You’re doing great, chef.” Yeji leaned back, still watching, still smiling. Her chest felt a little warmer than it had minutes ago.
First time seeing Ryujin in glasses, and it was in her kitchen. Cooking, reading, fitting into her world like she had always belonged.
Ryujin let out a soft laugh, her spoon clinking against the side of the pan as she gave it one last stir. “I actually forgot to pack these for the tournament,” she said.
Yeji blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yup.” Ryujin turned slightly, her eyes scanning over the recipe again before adjusting the glasses with the bridge of her finger. “They were on my nightstand, but I was rushing around the night before our flight. I didn’t realize until I got to Plymouth. Spent half the tournament squinting at film reviews and pretending I wasn’t going blind.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow, her tone amused. “That explains the frown you had every time Coach showed clips on the projector.”
Ryujin grinned, unapologetic. “Exactly. I was just trying to read names on the shift chart. It wasn’t strategy, I was guessing.”
Yeji let out a short laugh, shaking her head.
The low hum of music floated through the air from the apartment speakers. It was rhythmic, pulsing, all bass and moody melodies.
And then came the unmistakable drop: Taylor Swift’s imgonnagetyouback .
Ryujin paused mid-stir, blinking slowly as the lyrics spilled through the room.
Whether I’m gonna curse you out or
Take you back to my house
She snorted.
Loudly.
“God,” she muttered, unable to stop the grin curling at her lips. She glanced toward the living room where Yeji had disappeared moments ago to grab something from her bedroom.
The line played again in her head, and Ryujin’s laughter bubbled up, soft but clear.
Because Yeji had cursed her out. Texted her What the actual fuck, Shin Ryujin in the middle of a grocery aisle with enough venom to kill a lesser woman.
And then, without even missing a beat, launched herself into Ryujin’s arms and kissed her like she was trying to start a riot in the dairy section, enough to traumatize the yogurt lady.
And now, they were here. In Yeji’s apartment. With Ryujin making dinner like they had been doing this forever.
She shook her head fondly, biting the inside of her cheek as she reached for the salt.
Behind her, footsteps padded across the wooden floors, then stopped. Ryujin did not turn yet. She just stirred, letting the lyrics continue in the background.
But when she heard Yeji’s familiar voice cut through the moment, calm and amused, she knew she had been caught smiling.
“You okay over there?”
Ryujin smirked. “Let’s just say your playlist has excellent narrative timing.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ryujin shot her a look over her shoulder, that half-lidded glint back in full force. “You cursed me out and took me back to your house. Taylor would be proud.”
Yeji groaned, rolling her eyes as she walked over and swatted Ryujin gently on the hip with the edge of her sweatshirt. “Shut up and keep stirring.”
Ryujin grinned as she resumed cooking. “Yes, Captain.”
The scent of garlic butter had already begun to fill the open space, warm and rich, when Ryujin reached for the tray beside the stovetop. She turned slightly, sliding the foil aside to check on the salmon she had been preparing alongside the pasta. The soft sizzle of the filet meeting the pan was a gentle counterpoint to the rhythm of her movements, precise, focused, calm in a way Yeji rarely saw outside the rink.
Yeji leaned her elbows against the marble kitchen island, chin resting on her palm as she watched from her seat.
From the speakers in the living room, Bazzi’s Beautiful began to play. Ryujin barely noticed until Yeji’s voice, quiet and low, slipped into the room.
Started when we were younger
Swear to god that I loved her
Ryujin slowed her stirring slightly, instinctively glancing over her shoulder.
Yeji was leaning against the counter across from her, one hand wrapped around a glass of water, the other tapping on her iPad. Her eyes were somewhere distant, soft but flickering with something unreadable. She had been humming without thinking, her voice falling naturally into the song’s melody.
But as soon as the words left her mouth, as soon as that line fell into the air, Yeji stopped.
Her lips parted like she might sing the next verse, but it never came.
The room felt still, thick with something too fragile to name.
Ryujin watched her carefully, the wooden spoon forgotten in her hand now hovering over the pan. She did not speak, did not dare, not yet.
Yeji blinked down at the floor, then slowly up toward Ryujin, and there it was again, that tiny stutter in her breath, the same one she had when she held Ryujin’s face too long or pressed a kiss just behind her ear.
Yeji was not sure what startled her more. How easily the line had come out, or how true it had felt in that moment.
Her throat tightened. She pushed herself upright, brushing invisible lint off her shirt like it might ground her again. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Didn’t mean to… sing that loud.”
Ryujin turned back to the stove slowly, a soft, crooked smile creeping onto her face as she stirred again. “You sounded good,” she said, voice low and warm. “Too good. Kinda unfair, actually.”
Yeji chuckled faintly, grateful for the way Ryujin never pushed. “It’s the acoustics,” she deflected, taking another sip of water. “You know how rich people’s kitchens are.”
Ryujin let out a soft laugh. “So this is a confession that you’re rich?”
“Please,” Yeji said, tone back to something almost playful, “I’m not the one living in a penthouse with three luxury cars in the parking lot.”
That made Ryujin laugh, full and easy. The tension cracked just slightly, enough to breathe.
But Yeji still felt that line sitting somewhere in her chest, unspoken but echoing.
After a beat of silence, her voice returned, barely above a whisper now.
It was faint, the way she sang it, almost like the words might slip if she pushed too hard. Her tone was hushed but clear, the kind of singing done in safe spaces, in quiet kitchens where no one was watching but the person who mattered most.
Ryujin paused again, wooden spoon in one hand, the other resting on her hip as she watched Yeji with something that looked dangerously close to awe.
The kitchen lights reflected in Yeji’s hair, catching in strands near her cheekbones, and Ryujin’s chest ached, just a little.
Yeji’s voice dipped into the final stretch of the song as she crossed the kitchen slowly to refill her glass, her back briefly brushing Ryujin’s arm as she passed.
It was not accidental.
And Ryujin, heart thudding, did not move.
Ryujin did not say anything at first.
Yeji had just turned back toward the island, sipping slowly from her glass when she felt the shift.
Ryujin turned the fire off, letting the salmon rest in the buttery glaze, the tips of the asparagus just beginning to char at the edges.
Then, a quiet, deliberate footsteps crossed the kitchen floor.
Yeji barely had time to turn around before she felt Ryujin’s hands on the edge of the counter, her body settling into the space between Yeji’s knees, close enough for the air to shift, close enough to trap her there without ever making her feel caged.
The stool beneath Yeji was tall, grounding her with just enough height that when Ryujin moved in, it brought them face to face, breath to breath.
It was silent between them, but not empty.
Ryujin’s presence filled every inch. She was still wearing her glasses, pushed up lightly on the bridge of her nose, and her eyes held a look Yeji was not used to seeing.
This was quieter. Braver. Tender in a way that did not ask for permission because it already knew it was allowed.
Yeji’s fingers lowered slightly as she took in the sight of Ryujin in front of her, eyes searching hers with a gaze so anchored, it made Yeji forget how to look anywhere else.
“You turned off the stove,” Yeji murmured, her voice softer now, resting somewhere between curiosity and something that felt more like vulnerability.
Ryujin nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “It can wait.”
Yeji felt her breath catch, just a little. Her knees gently brushed Ryujin’s sides as Ryujin leaned forward, hands now resting on the counter beside her hips, caging her in just enough for Yeji’s entire world to narrow into this moment.
Ryujin reached up and gently took off her glasses, the motion unhurried, almost deliberate. The soft clack of the frame against the kitchen island was the only sound for a beat along with the faint echo of the playlist looping into the next song.
“You can’t keep looking at me like that,” Yeji said, the words nearly slipping out of her before she could filter them.
Ryujin tilted her head, lips twitching. “Like what?”
“Like I’m the answer to a question you’ve been asking your whole life.”
Ryujin leaned in just a little more, her nose almost brushing Yeji’s, her smile impossibly soft now. “I don’t have to look. I already know you are.”
The pause between them was taut, electric.
And for a moment, Yeji thought she might say it.
Thought she might let it slip out right there between verses and garlic-scented air.
Ryujin’s fingers brushed lightly along Yeji’s thighs, finding the space just above her knees, and she slowly slid her hands up, steady, unyielding. There was reverence in the way she touched her, not rushed, not playful this time.
When her palms reached Yeji’s waist, she tugged, coaxing her forward until there was no distance left between them.
Yeji did not resist. She let herself be drawn in, knees bracketing Ryujin’s hips now, breath catching softly at the closeness.
Her hands found their way to Ryujin’s shoulders, fingertips brushing over the edge of the athletic wrap still hugging Ryujin’s shoulder, the one she had insisted was healing fine, even though Yeji could still see the subtle stiffness in how she moved.
She leaned in slowly, deliberately, her gaze flicking down to Yeji’s lips, then back to her eyes.
The kiss that followed was unhurried.
Like Ryujin had been waiting to do exactly that since the second she stepped into Yeji’s apartment.
But the moment it deepened, when Ryujin tilted her head just slightly and pressed in with more certainty, Yeji melted into it. Her hands fisted softly into the back of Ryujin’s shirt, knees bracketing her sides, like gravity had finally given up pretending.
Ryujin pulled back, but still a breath away, steady and still, and Yeji did not move.
Because she did not need to.
“ I love you .”
Chapter Text
Ryujin had not meant to say I love you that night.
She really had not. At least not yet .
Not when they were still learning how to exist in the quiet between adrenaline and physical therapy.
Not when they had just begun to discover what it meant to be together outside of jerseys, spotlight, and rivalry.
But then there was Yeji, mouth open in stunned disbelief in the grocery aisle, brows furrowed like she was ready to strangle her through iMessage.
Yeji, who spun around and kissed her like the world had been waiting for it. Who hugged her tightly despite sore ribs, whispering “ You’re here ,” like Ryujin had done something impossible.
And later, Yeji humming in the car, fingers tapping the wheel in time with the bass.
Yeji with one hand on the wheel, the other on the stick.
Yeji soft-singing in the kitchen, quietly pretending she was not watching Ryujin move around her kitchen.
Yeji letting her cook.
Yeji letting her stay .
There was something about that night, from the first moment to the last. The ease of it.
The way their bodies knew how to fall into the same rhythm.
The way Yeji let herself be pulled closer by the waist without thinking, like it was a muscle memory she had waited years to activate.
And then she said something about the way Ryujin looked at her. And Ryujin leaned in because of course she did.
Because how could she not?
And when she kissed her and pulled back and Yeji looked at her like that , the words just slipped.
“I love you.”
It was not planned. It was not strategic. It was not even scary when it left her mouth.
It was just true .
Every inch of her knew it, from the burning tip of her ears to the bruised weight of her shoulder.
Yeji did not laugh. She did not freeze.
Yeji sat on the stool like she belonged there, gaze locked on Ryujin’s with a look that was unreadable to anyone else, but not to her.
The space between them was taut with the kind of tension that did not beg to be broken, it demanded to be felt.
Ryujin leaned in just enough that her breath kissed Yeji’s jaw, her voice dropping low as her steady and unwavering eyes searched hers.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered.
Not out of fear. Not to retreat. There was no falter in her tone, no apology hiding behind the words. She was not hedging.
She was offering. She had said what she needed to say, and that was enough.
Her hands did not pull away.
Her eyes did not drop.
“You don’t have to say it back just becau—”
“I love you, too.”
Yeji had whispered it back, fast and certain.
And maybe Ryujin would never stop replaying the moment it happened. Not because she regretted it.
But because somehow, Yeji made it feel like saying it tonight was not a mistake.
Like it was inevitable.
Ryujin had played the moment she was going to say those words in her head too many times already.
After a win, maybe, or curled up on Yeji’s couch during a thunderstorm. A quiet night when the timing felt cinematic and the lights were low. She had imagined reaching for Yeji’s hand, brushing her thumb over her knuckles, and saying it with a smile that did not tremble.
But not like this .
Not in the kitchen, with her glasses still folded on the counter, with her shoulder still wrapped, their dinner still cooking behind them, and Yeji sitting on a stool in an old oversized shirt like she belonged to Ryujin’s past, present, and future all at once.
And yet.
There she was.
Close, still breathless from the kiss. Her hands settled lightly at Ryujin’s hips, her eyes wide and soft and unguarded.
Ryujin could barely think. The world had narrowed. The music had faded. Her throat felt tight in the most ridiculous, unexplainable way.
The breath Ryujin had been holding left her in a shaky laugh, the kind that cracked somewhere in the middle. She grinned through it anyway, blinking fast, trying to play it off like her pulse was not thundering in her ears.
Ryujin did not speak at first.
She just stared at Yeji, stunned, heart tight in her chest, breath lodged somewhere between disbelief and everything she had ever wanted to hear.
The words hung in the air between them like something sacred, still warm on Yeji’s lips.
And then Ryujin kissed her just to taste the words in her mouth.
It was not tentative nor teasing.
Just full, open, almost breathless, like something inside her had finally cracked and rushed forward all at once. Her hand cupped Yeji’s cheek, the other steady on her waist, anchoring them both in the moment.
Yeji met her halfway, her body softening instantly into the kiss.
But Ryujin did not stop there.
Her mouth broke away from Yeji’s lips and found its way down the curve of her jaw, trailing heat along her skin. Then to the hollow of her neck.
She kissed slower now, pressing into each spot with soft, unhurried intention, a little deeper with each breath, like she could memorize Yeji this way.
Yeji let out a breathless chuckle, her head tipping back slightly, eyes fluttering shut.
“If you keep kissing me like this,” she murmured, her voice laced with laughter and warning, “I won’t be able to eat the dinner you cooked.”
Ryujin did not pause. She kissed just beneath Yeji’s ear this time, then lower, her lips brushing just above the collarbone as her hands slid to the small of Yeji’s back.
She felt every breath Yeji took, the tension in her spine, the way her body tipped forward just slightly, instinctively.
And when Yeji spoke again, quieter this time, her voice nearly lost in the room, Ryujin felt the vibration against her lips before she registered her name.
“Ryujin,” Yeji breathed, a warning not meant to stop anything.
“I know,” Ryujin whispered, voice low and unrepentant.
And still, she did not stop.
Yeji laughed again, quietly wrecked. Her fingers were fisting tighter into Ryujin’s top now.
She was not pushing her away. She was not moving at all.
Because neither of them were hungry for dinner anymore.
Not when Ryujin kissed her like she meant it.
Like love had finally gotten loud enough to drown out everything else.
Yeji’s laughter faded into a breathy sigh, her head tilting slightly to give Ryujin more space.
She was not pulling away, just… yielding.
Her fingers loosened their grip on the shirt, sliding up to curl around the back of Ryujin’s neck instead, holding her close, grounding her.
Ryujin felt it, the way Yeji’s body subtly arched toward her, the tremble in her ribs when she exhaled too deep, the soft press of her thigh against Ryujin’s hip as she shifted on the stool.
Her lips moved slower now, trailing deliberately across the curve of Yeji’s neck, brushing against the soft skin just beneath her jawline. Her breath was warm and even, her hands firm and steady at Yeji’s waist.
“I mean it,” Yeji said again, this time quieter, more ragged, though there was no heat behind the warning. “You’re gonna ruin your perfect dinner.”
“Worth it,” Ryujin murmured into her skin.
That made Yeji let out another soft laugh.
One of those helpless ones, the kind that caught in her throat because she did not quite know what else to do with herself. Her hand slipped under Ryujin’s shirt now, palm splayed against the curve of her back, fingertips brushing lightly over bare skin.
Ryujin shivered, her mouth dragging lower, leaving the faintest suggestion of teeth as she kissed just beneath Yeji’s collarbone. She could feel Yeji breathing harder now. Steady but unsteady all at once, like she was trying to stay composed and failing beautifully.
“Ryujin,” Yeji said again, voice barely a whisper now.
Ryujin finally lifted her head, just enough to meet her eyes. Her gaze was half-lidded, lips slightly parted, cheek flushed in a way that made Yeji’s chest ache.
“You said you loved me,” Ryujin whispered, eyes locked on hers.
“I did.” Yeji nodded. “I do .”
“Then let me have this,” Ryujin said softly. “Just a little longer.”
Yeji’s breath caught. Her fingers curled tighter around Ryujin’s waist, and she nodded.
Silent, sure, eyes burning with something deeper than want.
Ryujin leaned in again.
And this time, when she kissed her, it was not playful nor teasing or even particularly gentle. It was a little messy, a little desperate, and absolutely certain.
The fettuccine on the stove could wait.
So could everything else.
Yeji barely registered the cooling warmth from the stove anymore. The scent of Alfredo and roasted salmon still lingered in the air, but it was distant now, muted by the hum in her veins and the way Ryujin was kissing her like nothing else in the world mattered.
She had meant to be firm. Had meant to tug Ryujin back toward the kitchen with some smart comments about timing, about food going cold, about being patient.
But Ryujin kissed her again with that same fierce tenderness, the kind that knocked the words right out of her mouth, and Yeji forgot every single reason why they were not supposed to be doing this right now.
Her legs tightened around Ryujin’s hips, anchoring her there.
Ryujin’s hands slid up the sides of her shirt again, thumbs brushing just beneath the hem. She kissed Yeji’s neck once more, slower this time, and then rested her forehead against her collarbone, breathing in deep like she needed to memorize this exact second.
After a few seconds of catching their breath, Yeji’s voice was quiet when it came. “That wasn’t the first time I said it to you.” she admitted.
Ryujin glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly. “Said what?”
Yeji held her gaze. “I told you I loved you. Before. Just once. The night after Germany.”
Ryujin stilled, body going quiet the way it always did when her emotions crept in before her words. “I… didn’t hear you.”
“I know,” Yeji said gently. “You were asleep.”
Ryujin’s eyes searched hers, confused, a little breathless. “Why then?”
Yeji lifted a hand, lightly resting it over Ryujin’s side, right where the bruises had bloomed days ago. “Because I knew what you did for me that night.”
Ryujin stayed quiet, but her throat worked like she was trying to swallow something sharp.
Yeji’s voice stayed calm, but something in her eyes flickered. Like memory, like weight.
“You should have taken that shot. Everyone knew it. But you passed it to me instead. You gave me something to carry out of that game besides guilt.”
Ryujin opened her mouth, but Yeji shook her head.
“You knew I would spiral after that penalty. You knew I’d stay up all night tearing myself apart over it. But instead of letting me sit in it, you gave me the game winner. You gave me a way out.”
Ryujin’s voice came small. “You were more important than a highlight reel goal.”
Yeji chuckled.
“You didn’t say any of that. You didn’t need to. You just… did it. And then you couldn’t sleep because you were sore after that game.” Yeji’s hand slid from Ryujin’s side to her face, thumb brushing lightly along her jaw. “So when you finally drifted off, I looked at you and I said it. Because I needed to say it, even if you couldn’t hear it.”
Ryujin’s eyes were glassy now, her chest rising in an uneven rhythm.
“You didn’t have to fix that night for me,” Yeji whispered. “But you did. And I think that’s when I realized I’d already fallen.”
Ryujin leaned forward, forehead resting against Yeji’s shoulder as she exhaled shakily.
“I wish I’d been awake.”
Yeji wrapped her arms around her gently, pressing a kiss into her hair. “You were. Just not in that way yet.”
Ryujin tilted her head, looking up at her. “But I am now.”
Yeji smiled, soft and certain. “Yeah. You are.”
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
No smirks, no tension, no games.
Just two women bruised and healing and in love.
Hopelessly and irrevocably in love, it physically ached.
The kind of love that did not roar, but lingered, steady and unshakable, like the echo of a favorite song long after it stopped playing.
The kind that wove itself into the quietest moments.
The kind of love that snuck past defenses, crept through gaps in armor, until there was nothing left untouched.
It was not new, not sudden.
It had crept in gradually, through years of rivalry, tension, and stubborn orbiting. Through bruises iced and wrapped in silence, through chirps across the ice, and through the way they always looked for each other on the bench no matter which jersey they wore.
Ryujin kissed her again, gently this time, less heat and more gravity, like the kind of kiss you give when you want someone to stay.
And Yeji kissed her back, arms circling around her shoulders despite the ache in her ribs. Her chest pressed flush to Ryujin’s, and they breathed each other in, slow and aching and complete.
Ryujin was already losing herself in the kiss.
One hand steady on Yeji’s waist, the other slipping beneath her shirt, fingers brushing warm skin, mapping the edges of the bruises she knew were still healing. She kissed with purpose, like she was trying to etch the moment into her bloodstream, slow and unrelenting.
Yeji’s hands cradled her jaw at first, then slid into her hair. But slowly, with a quiet breath between them, she began to rise from the stool. Her body pressed flush against Ryujin’s now, standing chest to chest in the golden kitchen light.
Their mouths never fully parted, not until Yeji tilted her head slightly, resting her forehead against Ryujin’s and whispering,
“I love you, Shin Ryujin.”
Everything in Ryujin stilled. Her fingers flexed against Yeji’s sides, and she blinked like she needed to hear it again, just to be sure it was real.
Yeji smiled, soft and sincere. “I do.”
Ryujin leaned in, already chasing her mouth again, but Yeji laughed and gently nudged her back with a hand on her chest.
“But,” Yeji said pointedly, brushing a kiss to the corner of Ryujin’s lips, “go finish what you started.”
Ryujin blinked, dumbfounded. “You’re sending me back to the stove after that ?”
“Yes,” Yeji said, calm as ever, reaching for her glass of water with a little smirk. “Because I’m starving, and it looks like the salmon is nearly done.”
Ryujin looked at her for a long moment, torn between disbelief and pure adoration, then shook her head with a breathless laugh.
“You’re evil.”
Yeji took a sip, eyes twinkling over the rim of her glass. “And you love me anyway.”
Ryujin turned back toward the stove, still grinning, her chest lighter than it had been in days. “Yeah,” she murmured.
“I really, really do.”
Ryujin stared at Yeji for half a second longer, still breathless from the kiss, her chest fluttering with every beat. Then, without another word, she grabbed Yeji’s hand, fingers lacing tightly with hers, and tugged her gently toward the kitchen.
“Wait—what are you doing?” Yeji asked, laughing as she stumbled after her.
“You told me to finish cooking,” Ryujin said, not looking back, the grin in her voice unmistakable. “But you didn’t say I had to do it alone.”
Yeji rolled her eyes, but her heart was already racing again. She followed willingly, her feet gliding across the wood floor until they stopped in front of the stove.
Ryujin flicked the burner back on with a practiced twist of her wrist. The faint clicks of ignition broke the silence, followed by the soft whoosh of flame.
The kitchen light above them cast a warm glow on the pan Ryujin had left there earlier, the unfinished sauce waiting like an old conversation paused mid-sentence.
The pan of fettuccine now sat on low heat, the salmon resting under foil on a plate nearby, and the air was still rich with butter and garlic and rosemary.
Ryujin reached for the spoon again with her free hand, the other still holding Yeji’s.
But before she could stir the sauce, Yeji stepped in close behind her.
She wrapped her arms around Ryujin’s waist from behind, slowly, deliberately, pressing herself flush against her back. Her cheek rested against Ryujin’s shoulder, and her arms tightened. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
“You really couldn’t just finish this ten minutes ago?” Yeji murmured, lips brushing the curve of Ryujin’s neck.
Ryujin stilled when she felt it, that slow kiss, barely-there pressure, just beneath her jawline. She swallowed, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips. “You’re the one sitting back there like you wanted me to confess something,” she replied, voice already lower.
Yeji kissed her again, slower this time, just beside the first spot. “And you’re the one who started kissing down my neck like you didn’t care about the stove.”
Ryujin let out a breath, half laugh, half shiver, and distractedly stirred the pasta once. “That was because you said you loved me.”
Yeji smiled against her skin. “So it’s my fault, then?”
“Completely.”
Another kiss. Softer this time. Right against the tendon of her neck.
Ryujin nearly dropped the spoon.
“Yeji,” her turn to warn, voice catching.
“What?” Yeji said innocently, nose brushing her skin. “I’m just here for moral support.”
Ryujin turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing. “You’re going to make me burn the sauce.”
Yeji kissed her once more, just behind the ear this time, then rested her chin on Ryujin’s unwrapped shoulder.
“Then hurry,” she whispered. “So I can kiss you again when we’re not standing in front of a lit burner.”
Ryujin turned her head slightly, lips turning into a crooked smile as she stirred the pan with one hand, the other resting on the edge of the stove for balance. “You made me go back to cook.”
“I told you to finish what you started ,” Yeji murmured, her thumbs sweeping in slow circles over Ryujin’s ribs through the fabric of her shirt. Her touch was featherlight, but her tone?
Challenging .
“You said it like a threat,” Ryujin said, glancing down at the dish and trying, trying so hard to stay focused. But Yeji’s breath was warm against her skin, and every word pressed straight down her spine like gravity.
Yeji only hummed, “You’re the one who dragged me here.”
Ryujin smirked. “To supervise the sauce, not seduce me in front of it.”
“Next time be more specific,” Yeji whispered.
“Yeah?” Ryujin muttered, tossing a glance over her shoulder as she reached for the tongs. “Next time don’t ask me to go back to the stove while kissing me.”
Yeji’s smile widened. “Next time don’t start something you can’t finish.”
Ryujin barked a quiet laugh, shaking her head as steam rose gently from the pan. “Dinner or you ? Gotta pick one, captain.”
Yeji did not hesitate. Her lips hovered just at the curve of Ryujin’s neck, her breath soft but unwavering. “Take a wild guess,” she whispered, the words sinking deep, deliberate.
Ryujin’s fingers froze for half a second around the wooden spoon. The sauce kept simmering. The air between them thickened with something heavier than steam.
Yeji smirked, slow, crooked, already undone. “Yeah,” she said, barely audible. “That’s what I thought.”
Dinner was almost done.
But Yeji?
Yeji had already ruined her. And she was completely okay with that.
“Baby,” Ryujin warned again, her voice low, half-strained as Yeji’s lips brushed just below her ear for the third time in less than a minute.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the wooden spoon, but she had not stirred the sauce in at least two minutes. Her entire body had gone taut with restraint, focus pulled thin as silk.
Yeji just hummed, nuzzling against the curve of Ryujin’s shoulder with maddening calm. Her arms were still wrapped around her waist, body warm against her back, lips never straying far from the side of her neck.
“What?” Yeji said sweetly, not even trying to look innocent. “What else am I supposed to do here?”
Ryujin’s head dropped for a second, eyes squeezing shut as she gritted out, “Yeah, well—”
“You grabbed my hand,” Yeji continued, her voice like velvet. “Dragged me over here like you couldn’t stand being two feet apart. Not my fault .”
Ryujin turned her head just enough to catch a glimpse of Yeji smirking, eyes sparkling, chin propped on her shoulder like she was completely unbothered. She looked so pleased with herself.
“I brought you here to stop kissing me. So I could concentrate .” Ryujin said dryly.
Yeji tilted her head. “And how’s that working out for you?”
Ryujin groaned softly, glaring at the bubbling Alfredo sauce like it had personally betrayed her.
Yeji just kissed her cheek.
Ryujin exhaled, gave the sauce a reluctant stir, and muttered under her breath, “I swear to god, Yeji, if dinner burns, I’m blaming you.”
“You’re already burning,” Yeji whispered back.
Ryujin gripped the edge of the counter, forcing herself to focus on anything, anything , except the feel of Yeji pressed against her back, breath tickling the curve of her neck, mouth hovering like a promise she had no intention of keeping.
The wooden spoon clattered against the rim of the pan as she stirred, movements noticeably less coordinated than before.
She was unraveling. Slowly. Totally .
Yeji must have known. Of course she did. She had spent years reading Ryujin on the ice, in locker rooms, in press conferences, timing her silences, watching for the twitch of her eyebrow or the shape of her grin.
So this? This little war of affection waged behind a stove with garlic butter in the air?
Yeji was winning it effortlessly.
“You’re going to owe me an apology if I burn this,” Ryujin muttered, squinting at the salmon like she could will herself to care more about its internal temperature than the way Yeji’s hand had just slipped beneath her shirt again.
Yeji kissed the curve of her neck again. “But I like it when you get all flustered and serious. It’s cute.”
“I’m not flustered,” Ryujin said immediately, which would have been more convincing if her voice did not crack halfway through and if she were not gripping the spatula like it might save her from spontaneous combustion.
Yeji smirked. “You literally just stirred the sauce with a spatula.”
Ryujin stared down at the utensil in her hand. “…Shit.”
Yeji broke into quiet laughter behind her, hugging her tighter from the back, burying her face in Ryujin’s shoulder to muffle it.
“You’re impossible,” Ryujin muttered, trying not to smile and failing miserably.
Yeji pressed one last kiss to her neck, gentle, lingering, affectionate, then sighed, content.
The sauce simmered gently on the stove, filling the kitchen with the rich, buttery scent of garlic and herbs. The air was warm, not just from the stove, but from the quiet between them, thick with the kind of tension that hovered when words had already been said but not yet settled.
“ Ça sent très bon ,” Yeji murmured, the French slipping out low and smooth near Ryujin’s ear. “But you? You smell better.”
“You keep doing that,” Ryujin finally muttered, “and we’re going to burn the entire kitchen down.”
Yeji smiled against her shoulder, lips just grazing the skin. “Then turn off the heat.”
Ryujin closed her eyes for a beat, a warm blush spreading from her chest to her ears.
And then she set the utensil down with a firm clack, turned in Yeji’s arms, and kissed her, full, deep, and utterly without restraint.
Because screw dinner.
The pasta could wait.
Again .
Yeji let out a soft gasp as Ryujin turned into her arms and claimed her mouth with a kiss that was no longer playful or distracted. It was anchored. Certain. Like Ryujin had finally given in to the pull that had been building between them since the first stolen touch in the kitchen. Her hands found Yeji’s waist again, sliding under the shirt with practiced ease, palms flat against her back, fingertips grazing skin with reverence.
Yeji responded instantly, her body curling into Ryujin’s like muscle memory. One hand fisted into the hem of Ryujin’s shirt while the other cupped her jaw, tilting her deeper into the kiss.
The stove clicked off behind them, Ryujin must have blindly twisted the knob without breaking rhythm, but neither of them acknowledged it.
The kiss deepened.
Yeji’s back gently met the edge of the kitchen island as Ryujin pressed into her, slow but insistent. Their noses brushed, breaths mingling, the silence between them humming with the low, electric kind of tension that always seemed to follow them wherever they went.
When Ryujin finally pulled away, her lips were flushed, parted, her breath shallow.
Yeji opened her eyes slowly. Her voice came out low, almost disoriented. “I thought you were finishing dinner.”
Ryujin smiled, that lazy, dangerous kind of smile she only wore when she was beyond reasoning. “I was trying .”
Yeji tilted her head. “Trying?”
“Yes. You wouldn’t stop kissing my neck. And you started whispering French in my ear”
Yeji blinked slowly, lips parting just slightly. “So?”
“So,” Ryujin said, leaning in closer, her breath brushing against Yeji’s jaw, “that’s not exactly helpful when I’m supposed to be focused.”
Yeji’s fingers curled lightly into the fabric of Ryujin’s shirt, her voice teasing despite the way her pulse jumped. “You’re blaming me?”
“I’m blaming your accent.”
Yeji tilted her head, gaze unreadable. “You know I do that on purpose.”
Ryujin smirked, lazy and dangerous again. “I know.”
The silence that followed was thick, full of challenge, heat, and the faint sizzle of something about to boil over.
Then Ryujin’s hand slid to the small of Yeji’s back, and she added, soft and pointed, “Now tell me… do you want dinner? Or do you want to keep testing how much restraint I actually have?”
Yeji blinked once. Then smirked. “Well, you kissed me first.”
Ryujin leaned in again, mouth brushing just over Yeji’s jaw. “You were sitting back there and singing softly. What did you expect me to do, not lose my mind?”
Yeji chuckled, hands finding their way back under Ryujin’s shirt, splayed along the curve of her spine. “I expected you to finish the damn fettuccine.”
Ryujin dipped her head and kissed her again, slow and deep and unrushed. Her voice was rough at the edges when she pulled back just slightly.
“It’ll reheat.”
Yeji’s hand slid up to cup the back of her neck. “So will I.”
Ryujin let out a laugh, a warm, disbelieving sound, and rested her forehead against Yeji’s.
“I’m in so much trouble with you.”
Yeji grinned, fingers playing with the ends of Ryujin’s hair. “Yeah. But you love it.”
And Ryujin, still breathless, still tasting Yeji on her lips, could only nod.
God, she really did.
Eventually, after a few more stolen kisses, a few whispered teases, and Yeji’s barely-veiled threats to toss the sauce if Ryujin did not get back to the stove, Ryujin finally relented.
She pressed one last kiss to Yeji’s cheek, pulled away with a grin still lingering at the corners of her lips, and turned back toward the pan with purpose.
This time, she focused.
She stirred the Alfredo gently, letting the cream thicken just a touch more while the fettuccine soaked up the rest of the garlic butter clinging to the sides. The salmon was already resting perfectly pink beneath the foil, its rosemary-crusted skin holding together with just enough crisp.
She plated with surprising precision, even if the edges of her mind still buzzed from the way Yeji had whispered I love you against her neck not ten minutes ago.
Behind her, Yeji moved into quiet motion. She peeled herself away from the counter with a reluctant breath, slipping around Ryujin and heading toward the cabinets. The way she walked softly, made Ryujin nearly over-season the asparagus.
Yeji did not say anything at first. She just pulled two plates from the shelf and set them down at the small dining table near the window. The late evening light spilled through the curtains, casting long shadows across the warm-toned wood.
She grabbed utensils and napkins with quiet efficiency, but her hands lingered a little longer than usual when she brushed against Ryujin at the drawer.
“Forks?” she asked softly.
“Unless you want to disrespect the pasta,” Ryujin said dryly, her tone all mock seriousness as she carefully set down the first plate.
The chicken alfredo fettuccine was plated with deliberate care. Creamy ribbons of pasta coiled beneath slices of seared chicken, golden at the edges. Beside it, a perfectly roasted salmon fillet nestled against a row of crisp asparagus, the tips perfectly charred, glistening from olive oil and lemon.
Yeji glanced at the plates and raised a brow. “You’re cocky when your food looks good.”
“I’m cocky because it looks good.”
“You’re lucky it does.”
Ryujin chuckled under her breath as she set down the second plate. “Cockier because it tastes just as good.”
Yeji shook her head, reaching for her own fork. “Shut up and feed me.”
Ryujin grinned. “Gladly.”
Yeji took her first bite with a deliberate slowness, twirling the fettuccine just right, eyes never leaving Ryujin’s face.
The moment the creamy sauce hit her tongue, her expression shifted. Her shoulders loosening, lips parting in quiet surprise, brows lifting ever so slightly. She chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and leaned back in her chair with a slow, exaggerated nod.
Yeji’s fork clinked gently against the side of her plate as she twirled another bite of fettuccine, eyes narrowing slightly in concentration, not from judgment, but from the sheer audacity of the flavor.
She chewed slowly, brows lifting, lips parting like she might say something. But instead, she just sat back in her chair and let out a soft, appreciative hum.
Ryujin glanced up from her own plate, already grinning. “That noise better mean good things.”
Yeji did not answer right away. She dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin, then gestured delicately with her fork, like she was about to deliver a final review on a Michelin-starred meal.
“C’est une tuerie,” she said, voice smooth, almost smug.
Ryujin paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, her eyes locking on Yeji across the table the moment those syllables spilled out of her lips.
It was not just the words.
It was the way Yeji said them, casual, smooth, like she did not just drop the entire French language into the middle of her kitchen like it was nothing.
Like she had not just completely short-circuited Ryujin’s brain.
Ryujin blinked once. Then twice. “I’m sorry, what?”
Yeji lifted a brow, twirling another bite of fettuccine. “Your dinner. I said it was mindblowing. A masterpiece. I’m complimenting you.”
Ryujin dropped her fork with a soft clatter onto the plate. “Okay. No. You don’t just get to do that.”
Yeji chewed slowly, looking entirely too smug. “Do what?”
“Speak French like you didn’t just set my nervous system on fire.” Ryujin groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “You’re doing this on purpose. You know what your voice sounds like when you speak French.”
Yeji shrugged, completely unbothered. “Maybe I like what your face looks like whenever I say something in French.”
Ryujin narrowed her eyes. “You’ve weaponized language.”
Yeji sipped her water with the kind of grace that should have been illegal. “You’re the one who made dinner dangerously good. I’m just reporting the facts.”
“Yeah, right,” Ryujin muttered, pushing a piece of salmon around her plate. “And I am now physically incapable of focusing on anything else.”
Yeji reached across the table and lightly tapped her fingers against Ryujin’s arm, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Do I need to start a list of trigger phrases?”
Ryujin shot her a look. Maybe a glare or maybe a flushed panic, but the corner of her mouth twitched in betrayal. “You’re going to say something in French during a game one day and I’m going to absolutely lose my mind on the bench.”
Yeji leaned forward, chin in her hand, voice dipping low and playful. “You want me to whisper je t’aime before puck drop?”
Ryujin froze. Full stop. Staring at her like the words had reached straight through her chest and turned her into static.
Yeji smirked, clearly delighted. “Or is that reserved for intermission?”
Ryujin blinked. Once. Then again. “That’s a penalty,” she muttered, faintly dazed. “You’re getting two minutes for emotional misconduct.”
Yeji laughed, finally relenting, and picked up her fork again. “Bon appétit, mon cœur.”
Ryujin dropped her fork with a clatter, groaning into both hands. “I swear to god, Hwang Yeji.”
Yeji took another bite, this time dragging the piece of salmon through the remaining Alfredo. “Okay,” she said, pausing just long enough to be dramatic. “It’s annoyingly good.”
Ryujin grinned, triumphant. “Annoyingly?”
“Yes. Because now I’m going to expect this standard every time.”
“Baby, you said I was lucky you didn’t throw the pan earlier.”
“That was before I tasted it.” Yeji scooped a bit of asparagus onto her fork. “Now you’re on thin ice if you ever serve me instant noodles again.”
Ryujin leaned back in her seat with mock offense. “I slave over one dinner and suddenly the bar’s in the clouds.”
“You started this,” Yeji replied, her voice teasing but warm. “You can’t cook like this and not expect consequences.”
“Consequences,” Ryujin echoed with a soft laugh. “You say that like you’re going to write me up.”
Yeji gave her a deadpan look. “You’re already on probation.”
“For what?”
“Kissing near open flames.”
Ryujin nearly choked on a bite of pasta, coughing through her laughter. “You’re the on— okay, that’s a safety hazard, not a crime.”
“Tell that to the sauce you almost burned.”
They both broke into laughter, the kind that loosened everything, shoulders, nerves, tension that had once hung between them like a fog.
It was domestic in a way neither of them had ever really known. Two plates. A quiet apartment. Jokes between mouthfuls of food. And beneath it all, something sturdy. Something real.
After dinner, Ryujin had taken her time in the shower, letting the hot water loosen the stiffness in her shoulder and ribs, washing away the ache that had settled deep into her body since arriving in Boston. Her muscles protested every movement, but the heat soothed her. Her mind, though, kept drifting, mostly to Yeji, and how quietly domestic the evening had become.
The bathroom door eased open with a soft click, letting out a curl of steam into the dim hallway. Ryujin stepped out, towel slung over her shoulder, damp hair still dripping against the neckline of her sleep shirt.
Her bruises were still faintly visible in the low light: a shadow blooming under her ribcage, a patch along her thigh that tugged slightly when she walked. Her shoulder, freshly rewrapped and still stiff, made her movements slower, but not enough to dull the ease she carried as she padded barefoot back into the living room.
Yeji glanced up from the kitchen where she had just stacked the last of the containers into the fridge. Her eyes tracked Ryujin’s approach without a word, lingering briefly on the damp strands framing her face, on the familiar shirt that clung slightly to her still-warm skin.
The sight made something quiet and slow flicker behind her gaze.
Yeji disappeared to her bedroom without another word, the bathroom door clicking shut behind her. Moments later, Ryujin heard the soft rush of water as the shower turned on.
Ryujin scrolled through the game archive on Yeji’s TV with one hand, the other tucked behind her head as she lounged across the cushions.
By the time Yeji returned, the living room had turned into a scene of lazy recovery.
Ryujin was sprawled on the couch, wincing as she adjusted the ice pack wedged between her shoulder and the couch cushion. Another one rested on her thigh, held in place by her palm and sheer willpower. She had refused the tape, and claimed it “ weakened her spirit .”
Yeji sat cross-legged beside her, an ice pack secured over her ribs with a long elastic bandage. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, the ends damp from her post-dinner shower, and her eyes fixed on the screen with practiced scrutiny.
Ryujin played Cyclones vs. Sentinels, December 2023 from Yeji’s archive, a game so chaotic it had its own subreddit thread.
The footage showed Ryujin barrelling down the wing, trying to get around Yeji, who, even two years ago, had that same calm as she angled her out and leveled her into the boards.
“Dirty hit,” Ryujin muttered, ice crackling under her hand.
“Clean,” Yeji replied without looking at her. “I got stick on puck.”
“You got stick on my face .”
“You spun into it.”
“I had no choice. You read my route like a damn GPS.”
Yeji smiled. “Reroute: Try again.”
“You hit me so hard, my stick flew into the bench.”
“It was your fault,” Yeji said, reaching for the bottle of water on the coffee table. “You turned right into me.”
“I was looking for my winger.”
“And instead your face found the ice.”
Ryujin groaned and shifted her legs, nudging Yeji’s shin with her socked foot. “You lived for shutting me down.”
“Still do,” Yeji said, glancing sideways with a slight smirk.
Ryujin opened her mouth to reply, but the TV caught her attention, a slow-motion replay of her attempting a toe-drag around Yeji, only to be intercepted and knocked flat.
“There. See? That was so unnecessary,” Ryujin pointed accusingly at the screen.
Yeji raised a brow. “You toe-dragged in the neutral zone.”
“I was feeling bold.”
“You were feeling stupid .”
Ryujin reached for a throw pillow, threatened her with it, then winced when her shoulder tensed. “God, why are you so good at this?”
Yeji leaned back carefully, mindful of her ribs, and placed her palm gently on Ryujin’s knee. “Because I studied you. Every shift. Every bad habit. Every fake deke.”
Ryujin blinked. “You studied me?”
Yeji shrugged. “You were my biggest problem on the ice.”
“That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever received.”
“Take it how you want,” Yeji said, picking up the remote and scrolling through more clips. “Let’s watch the February game. The one where you tried to chirp me during a faceoff and got benched for mouthing off at the ref.”
“No!”
Another replay rolled, this one of Yeji blocking one of Ryujin’s one-timers with her stick and sending the puck down the ice with a perfectly placed clearing pass.
“You cheated that shift,” Ryujin said, pointing with her now half-melted ice pack. “You were on the ice for almost two minutes.”
“Conditioning.”
“You were trying to ruin me.”
Yeji turned to her, smile softening. “No, Ryujin. I was trying to contain you.”
Ryujin blinked. “Wow. That’s hot.”
Yeji laughed, then winced again, one arm hugging her ribs. “Okay, no more laughing. I can feel my bones rattling.”
“Your fault for being funny and violent.”
Ryujin stood up mid-replay, stretching her arms with a quiet groan as the footage of their last playoff clash continued to play. Without a word, she padded over to the rack by the door and grabbed Yeji’s Sentinels jacket, the navy one with the bold crest.
Yeji blinked from the couch, staring as Ryujin slipped it on, the sleeves nearly swallowing her hands.
Ryujin caught the look. “What?” she asked, tugging the collar up around her neck. “I’m cold.”
Yeji did not say anything at first, just watched her like she was trying to decide whether to throw a pillow or kiss her.
Ryujin smirked and flopped back down beside her, the jacket rustling softly. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s just strategic layering.”
Yeji muttered, “Strategic theft,” under her breath. But she did not ask for it back.
They settled again, quieter now. Ryujin repositioned her ice pack, then carefully laid her head back down in Yeji’s lap, who, without thinking, ran gentle fingers through her hair again. The game continued in the background, but they were less focused now, more wrapped in warmth and memory.
The screen cut to a replay of an early season game. The infamous goal attempt where Ryujin skated coast-to-coast, slicing through the neutral zone like a blade, only to be stonewalled by Yeji in the final seconds. The commentators were breathless. Fans were screaming.
Ryujin pointed at the screen. “That was so disrespectful. I had momentum. Flow. That move was going viral.”
Yeji lifted her water bottle. “So did my poke-check.”
Ryujin sitting up again, eyes narrowing. “You were so smug about it.”
“I still am.”
Ryujin groaned, grabbing a throw pillow and chucking it lightly at Yeji’s leg. “You are literally my worst nightmare.”
Yeji caught it with one hand and tossed it right back. “Maybe I should tell my teammates I let the Cyclones’ top scorer lay on my couch in our team colors.”
“They’d call you a traitor,” Ryujin replied. “But if we face each other in the finals, I’m not going easy on you.”
Yeji leaned in, eyes cool and steady. “Good. I’d be insulted if you did.”
Their gaze held for a beat too long, even with another one of their historic collisions playing loudly in the background.
“And when I shut you down in game two,” Yeji added, her voice lower now, “I want you to remember this moment.”
Ryujin leaned in too, smirking. “You say when , but I hear if .”
Yeji’s breath caught for just a second before she smirked right back. “You’re playing with fire.”
“And you,” Ryujin murmured, eyes flicking to her lips for the briefest second, “keep letting me.”
Because this was what made it work. Ice packs, bruises, banters that carried more weight than they ever admitted in front of others.
They were rivals still. And if the stars aligned, if they both survived quarters and semis, they would meet again.
Yeji rolled her eyes and paused the video right as Ryujin skated into a three-player collision in the corner. “Let’s ice that ego next.”
“Too powerful,” Ryujin sighed dramatically, shifting to rest her head again in Yeji’s lap. “You’ll have to double-wrap it.”
Yeji brushed her fingers through her hair, slow and deliberate. “I’ll try.”
They let the footage keep playing, the commentary rising in the background, calling out their names, their matchups, their never-ending pursuit of each other.
It was strange, watching it now. What once felt like war now played more like a love story, dressed in shoulder pads and speed.
“Think they knew?” Ryujin asked.
Yeji snorted. “The fans? They had theories since high school.”
“No,” Ryujin said softly. “Those two idiots.” she added, nodding toward the screen where the two of them circled each other at center ice.
Yeji exhaled when she understood what Ryujin meant. “Yeah,” she said. “I think they always did.”
The game clock ticked on, but the living room remained still.
And even in a replay, they could still feel the rhythm of it: the rivalry, the chase, and every moment in between that had pointed to this .
Chapter Text
They had been circling around it all evening.
The quiet, electric pull that started in the kitchen when Yeji’s hands found Ryujin’s waist as she cooked, when her lips brushed the base of Yeji’s neck like a secret too fragile to speak aloud, when Yeji had whispered I love you too without hesitation, grounding Ryujin in a truth she had not dared to ask for.
That pull never left.
It followed them as they plated dinner, as Yeji teased her in French with lips brushing her ear, as Ryujin smirked but stayed quiet because her heart was too full, too loud.
It lingered in the living room, while they sprawled across Yeji’s couch and rewatched old games that once made them rivals. They argued playfully, tossed insults like muscle memory, but every glance held something gentler now.
The game had long ended.
The footage faded into highlights and interviews, but neither of them had moved to switch it off. The glow of the television still washed over the room, casting shadows across the furniture and softening the edges of everything.
Ryujin was still lounging on the couch, her good arm slung across the backrest, her other hand absently nursing a fresh ice pack on her thigh. Yeji sat near her, legs tucked beneath herself, shoulders relaxed though her gaze had not left Ryujin for several long minutes.
The banter had slowly dissolved into silence, the kind that settled heavy, expectant, filled with unspoken weight.
She had barely reacted when Ryujin had started commentating on her own missed shot from two seasons ago with a playful groan, or when she smacked Yeji’s arm after Yeji smugly pointed out a defensive misstep.
Ryujin had scoffed then, eyes narrowed, her head tilted slightly as she countered, “ You’re just mad I slipped past you and scored.”
“In that game?” Yeji raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t.”
A beat passed.
Ryujin turned her head slowly, letting the silence drag before murmuring, “You sure about that, Captain?”
The smirk that followed was pure trouble.
The kind of smirk Yeji usually saw across the ice, right before Ryujin slipped past a defender or stole a puck no one thought she had any right to reach. She wore it differently now, the glow of the TV casting soft shadows across her cheekbones.
Ryujin started to lean in. Each inch a question.
Yeji’s breath hitched before she could stop it. She tried to ignore the way it curled low in her stomach, coiling tighter with every second. Her fingers slightly gripped the couch cushion, fighting the urge to reach for her.
Ryujin did not move fast. She leaned in gradually, like she was giving Yeji every chance to pull away but knowing she would not.
With each inch, her breath grew warmer against Yeji’s skin. First along her cheek, then near the corner of her mouth.
Yeji’s gaze stayed locked on hers, but she could feel it now: the faint brush of air every time Ryujin exhaled, uneven and deliberate, ghosting over her lips.
The closeness made Yeji’s pulse thrum in her ears, and for a moment she was not sure if the warmth on her face came from the TV’s glow or from Ryujin herself. She told herself she was still in control, that she could hold out but the truth was, every slow breath Ryujin let out against her made it harder to stay still.
“That smug look isn’t going to save you,” Yeji said, quieter now. The edge of playfulness was still there, but softer. It was more like tension beneath the tease.
Ryujin’s breath lingered for a moment longer, before she pulled back. Not far, but enough to reclaim the space between them. The smirk on her lips did not fade; if anything, it deepened, curling with quiet satisfaction like she knew exactly what she was doing.
She held Yeji’s gaze for one more beat, eyes glinting in the dim light, before turning her head away and settling back into the couch. Her attention shifted to the television with exaggerated ease, as if nothing had just happened, as if she had not just tilted the air in the room toward something heavier.
Yeji looked at her for a moment. She was still wearing that damn Sentinels jacket, oversized and half-zipped over her sleep top, the sleeves pushed up over her forearms. The collar was crooked, revealing the line of her neck and just a hint of shoulder where the wrap still pressed against healing skin.
There was something so intimate about it. Like Ryujin had always belonged in her apartment, sprawled across her couch with this kind of ease.
Ryujin glanced sideways and saw that Yeji was still watching her, not the screen. Not with amusement, not with her usual wry patience, but with something warmer.
Ryujin tilted her head. “What?”
Yeji’s lips curved, slow and unreadable. “You know what.”
“I don’t,” Ryujin said, though the faint smile tugging at her own mouth gave her away.
Yeji leaned in a fraction, her voice dropping into something quieter, almost teasing. “You do.”
Ryujin swallowed, her smirk deepening. “Maybe.”
Yeji’s breath caught, but she did not pull back. Instead, her voice dropped to a murmur. “Then stop making me wait.”
Ryujin leaned in a fraction, close enough that her knee brushed Yeji’s. “I thought patience is your thing, captain?”
Yeji’s lips twitched. “Not when I already know what I want.”
She let the words linger, watching the way Ryujin’s smirk faltered just enough to betray the shift in her breathing. Her gaze stayed fixed as she took in every line of her face, the way the faint glow from the TV traced over Ryujin’s cheekbones, catching in the dark strands of her hair.
She didn’t look away. Not when Ryujin’s elbow was still draped lazily over the backrest, her posture loose but her eyes sharp, daring Yeji to move first.
So Yeji did.
When there was barely an inch left, Yeji paused. She could feel Ryujin’s breath again, warm against her skin, carrying that same tension they had been trading all night.
“I’m waiting.” Yeji murmured.
“You’re infuriating,” Ryujin shot back, her voice low and edged with heat.
Yeji’s mouth curved. “Then kiss me already, Ryujin.”
Ryujin did not bother replying. She closed the gap, pressing her lips to hers in a kiss that carried all the tension they had been circling all night.
The kiss landed warm and unhurried, but with a pressure that spoke of everything unsaid. Yeji felt the faint hitch of Ryujin’s breath as their mouths met, the way her hand slid from her knee to her hip, tugging her imperceptibly closer.
Yeji responded, her palm finding the side of Ryujin’s neck, thumb brushing the sharp line of her jaw. She tilted her head just enough to deepen the angle, and the kiss shifted.
Slower in rhythm but heavier in intent.
Ryujin tasted faintly of whatever wine they had had with dinner, her lips soft but coaxing, insistent without rushing. When Yeji’s fingers flexed against her skin, Ryujin’s answering hum vibrated between them, low and unmistakably pleased.
By the time they parted, the air between them felt warmer, thinner somehow. Ryujin lingered close, lips brushing Yeji’s once more as if to test if she could get away with stealing another.
Yeji’s mouth quirked. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Ryujin did not bother with a reply. She just rolled her eyes, the motion small and almost fond, before leaning in to catch Yeji’s mouth again.
Yeji’s control had always been her strength, on the ice, in interviews, even in the locker room. But here, with Ryujin kissing her like she had been waiting through hours of tension, control slipped further with every breath.
Yeji finally exhaled against her lips, her guard slipping with a sound that sent heat flooding through Ryujin’s skin.
Ryujin’s hands had moved. One sliding from Yeji’s jaw to the curve of her waist, the other finding the small of her back.
Her hands, steady and warm, began to guide her with deliberate pressure, urging her closer without disrupting the slow, consuming rhythm of their mouths.
Yeji followed the pull instinctively, the movement so smooth it felt like a continuation of the kiss itself. One knee slipped over Ryujin’s thigh, until she was straddling her, careful of her own ribs, of Ryujin’s bruises.
The shift pressed them closer together, heat meeting heat, and Yeji let out a soft, unguarded grunt against Ryujin’s mouth at the change in pressure.
Now, they were face-to-face. No more angles. No more distance.
Yeji’s knees settled on either side of Ryujin’s thighs, hovering her with ease, like she had done this in her mind a hundred times.
Their bodies fit together naturally, like a puzzle long kept apart.
Ryujin’s hands came to rest at Yeji’s hips, pulling her closer instinctively. Her head tilted just a little more, her nose brushing Yeji’s cheek as she deepened the kiss with a low, barely audible sound that sent a tremor through Yeji’s chest.
Yeji’s arms slid gently around Ryujin’s neck, her weight sinking down as their eyes met in that familiar, quiet challenge they had never quite grown out of.
Not even now.
Yeji’s knee brushed against Ryujin’s thigh when she shifted, right over the fading yellow bruise. She felt the tiniest flinch beneath her.
She immediately pulled back, eyes narrowing. “Fuck, sorry.” she said, voice soft but firm.
Ryujin blinked up at her, lips parted from their last kiss, eyes still glassy with heat. But then she smiled. Lazy, warm, unfazed.
“It’s fine,” she murmured, her hands still steady at Yeji’s waist. “Don’t worry about it.”
Yeji did not look convinced. Her gaze dropped, tracking her hand as it hovered just above the spot in question. “Are you sure? I can check—”
Before she could finish, Ryujin leaned in.
Her lips caught Yeji’s mid-sentence, soft but unrelenting, kissing her before the worry could take root. It was the kind of kiss that made Yeji forget whatever she was about to say.
The kind that silenced thought.
When they broke apart, Ryujin’s lips lingered close, brushing against the corner of Yeji’s mouth as she murmured, “It only hurts when you stop kissing me to ask.”
Yeji exhaled a quiet laugh, half-flustered, half-defeated. “You’re such a brat.”
And then Yeji leaned forward and kissed her again, deeper this time.
Ryujin’s thumbs brushed gentle circles into Yeji’s sides as if to memorize the shape of her in this moment.
Like she wanted to feel every breath shared between them. Like she wanted Yeji to know that this was not a joke, not a rivalry, not a dare.
Just love.
Pure, aching, too-much-for-one-body kind of love.
Then, her palm found Yeji’s jaw, fingers trailing softly along her cheek as if re-mapping something she already knew by heart.
Her lips were soft but sure, and when Yeji pressed in harder, she responded instantly, her hands tightening at Yeji’s hips to pull her closer.
The pull made Yeji sink further onto her lap, the pressure sparking a low sound in her throat that Ryujin swallowed greedily.
She shifted her thigh under her again, this time more deliberately. It was slow enough to make it clear she was doing it on purpose and just enough to draw a quiet inhale from Yeji.
Her smirk deepened at the sound Yeji had just made. It was barely there, but enough to set something alight in her chest.
Yeji pulled back only slightly, eyes hooded, voice low. “Are you finally finishing what you started earlier?”
Ryujin’s breath hitched, but not from the faint ache in her leg. She flashed a lopsided, dangerous, barely tethered smile.
“Do you want me to?”
Yeji did not answer.
At least not with words.
She rose gently from Ryujin’s lap, offering her hand before she stood.
It was not a command. It was not even a request.
It was an invitation .
And Ryujin, with her pulse pounding in her ears, did not even think about saying no.
The way her fingers gripped Yeji’s was firm. Her shoulder still ached, but the fire beneath her skin burned hotter than any pain.
She helped Yeji up slowly, careful of her ribs. And Yeji helped her right back, hands steady at Ryujin’s waist to avoid jostling the shoulder she knew was still sore.
They moved in tandem, like muscle memory.
Ryujin turned first, but Yeji caught her wrist, stopped her, and kissed her again right there in the middle of the space where the light from the kitchen met the darkness near the bedroom.
The kiss started steady, but each pass of her mouth over Ryujin’s carried more intent, more heat, until Ryujin found herself giving ground without realizing it.
Every time she tried to pause, to breathe, Yeji followed, closing the gap instantly, deepening the kiss with a precision that left no space for retreat.
Ryujin’s hands found Yeji’s waist, intending to steady her, but the next thing she knew, she was being guided gently backward. Her shoulder skimmed the wall, and then her spine met the solid panel of the bedroom door.
The soft thud as her back met the wood made her inhale sharply against Yeji’s lips.
Yeji did not let go.
If anything, she kissed her harder, her body pressing fully into Ryujin’s until the door rattled faintly behind them.
Ryujin’s head tipped back just far enough to break the kiss, a quick, unsteady breath slipping past her lips.
But Yeji did not give her the chance to speak. Her mouth chased the retreat, brushing the corner of Ryujin’s lips before trailing down the line of her jaw.
“ Yeji… ” Ryujin breathed, the name caught somewhere between a warning and a plea, her fingers curling tight against Yeji’s sides.
Yeji answered only with a low hum, the sound thrumming against Ryujin’s skin. Her lips returned to hers in the next heartbeat, pushing her further into the door until there was nowhere left to go.
Her hand reached behind Ryujin, fumbling for the doorknob without breaking contact. The door barely had time to swing open before Yeji guided Ryujin backward through it.
The moment they were inside, Yeji spun them, her grip on Ryujin’s hip firm as she drove her back into the door. The impact jolted through Ryujin’s body, her head tipping back against the wood.
“ Fuck —” Ryujin gasped, the word ripped out of her before she could stop it. It was the sudden press of Yeji’s body, the unyielding push of her hands, the way heat surged between them as it had been building for hours.
The curse only spurred Yeji on. Her eyes flicked up at Ryujin’s expression, the way her mouth parted, her chest rising faster, her hands instinctively clutching at Yeji’s sides.
Heat curled in Yeji’s stomach at the sight, her own breath catching as she stepped in even closer, pinning her there fully.
“God, you’re…” Yeji did not finish, her words swallowed as she caught Ryujin’s lips again, kissing her harder, like she needed to feel every inch of that reaction again.
There was no space left between them, no room for either to pretend this was not exactly where they wanted to be.
Ryujin’s breath caught, the sound muffled against Yeji’s mouth. Her hands came up instinctively, one curling at the nape of Yeji’s neck, the other gripping her side like she needed the hold to stay upright.
Yeji’s palm braced flat against the door beside Ryujin’s head, caging her in with intent. The faint scent of her soap clung to Ryujin’s clothes, mixing with the warmth of her skin, and Yeji inhaled it between kisses like it was something she could not afford to lose.
If Yeji’s ribs protested, she did not show it. Not when Ryujin was right here, pressed against the door, and not when stopping felt completely out of the question.
Yeji’s mouth broke from hers just long enough to draw in a breath, their foreheads brushing, the faint edge of the rib brace shifting under Ryujin’s hands as Yeji exhaled. Then she tilted her head, letting her lips skim along Ryujin’s jaw in a slow, deliberate line.
Her movements were unhurried. Soft kisses pressed to the hinge of her jaw, the faint scrape of teeth grazing over sensitive skin, until she reached the curve of her neck. She lingered there, her breath warm, lips brushing over the spot in a way that made Ryujin’s shoulders press harder into the door.
Yeji’s lips trailed one last time along the curve of Ryujin’s neck before she began to move back up slowly. Her mouth skimmed over the angle of her jaw, the faintest ghost of contact that made Ryujin’s breath catch.
She stopped just shy of her lips.
So close Ryujin could feel the warmth of her breath, could see the faint parting of her mouth, could almost taste her.
But Yeji did not close the gap.
Instead, her hand at Ryujin’s hip tightened, pulling her in flush until there was no space left between them. Ryujin leaned forward instinctively, chasing the kiss she thought was coming, only to have Yeji’s voice slip in first, low and edged with heat.
“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, the question brushing over Ryujin’s lips like the kiss that still had not come.
Ryujin let out a scoff, “Do you want me to lie?”
Yeji’s eyes narrowed just slightly, her tone dropping lower. “Where’s your answer?”
It was all the opening Ryujin needed. She pushed herself off the door in one smooth motion, her hands finding Yeji’s waist and pulling her in hard enough to catch her off balance. Their mouths met with a force that burned away the space between them, Ryujin kissing her with enough intent to drive her backward step by step.
Yeji moved with her, letting herself be steered, her hands sliding up Ryujin’s sides but never breaking the kiss. The short path to the bed felt drawn out, every step measured by the push and pull of their mouths, the unsteady rhythm of their breathing.
When the back of Yeji’s legs hit the edge of the mattress, Ryujin did not stop. She pressed her lips to hers once more before pausing just enough to look at her, a faint, breathless smirk tugging at her mouth as she kept her right where she wanted her.
“No,” she murmured, her lips brushing Yeji’s, “I don’t want you to fucking stop… just in case it still wasn’t clear.”
Yeji’s breath caught. The certainty in Ryujin’s tone hit her harder than she expected. Her hands tightened at Ryujin’s sides, pulling her in the rest of the way until their foreheads touched.
She closed the last inch between them, her mouth catching Ryujin’s with a heat that left no room for doubt.
Her hands moved, sliding from Ryujin’s waist up over her sides, fingers skimming the curve of her ribs before catching on the thick fabric of her Sentinels jacket.
Ryujin let out a soft breath against her lips, the kind that came more from knowing than surprise, as Yeji’s grip tightened at the collar. The kiss did not slow, but Yeji began working the jacket off her shoulders in deliberate, unhurried pulls.
The material dragged against Ryujin’s arms, catching for a beat at her elbows until she shifted to help, never once breaking the press of her mouth to Yeji’s.
The jacket slid down and hit the floor with a muted thump, pooling at their feet. Without the extra layer, Ryujin felt the heat of Yeji’s hands more acutely. Warm, steady palms returning to her sides, thumbs brushing the hem of her shirt like they had been waiting to get there all along.
Yeji’s fingers found the hem of Ryujin’s shirt, her touch featherlight, more of a question than a demand. Her eyes flicked up, searching, and Ryujin answered with a soft nod, already lifting her arms slowly, mindful of the wrap around her shoulder. Yeji eased the fabric up, careful not to brush too hard against the bruises just beneath the skin, and slid the shirt off with deliberate tenderness.
The room’s chill kissed Ryujin’s skin, but it was quickly soothed by the warmth of Yeji’s palms settling over her ribs.
Ryujin exhaled, steadying.
Then her hands moved in return, slipping beneath Yeji’s top. She flattened her palms along Yeji’s sides, just under the ribs, avoiding the area where the rib brace held tight beneath her clothes. Her fingers curved gently, tracing upward with quiet reverence, pausing each time Yeji winced or caught her breath.
And when the shirt finally came off, joining the soft pile on the floor, Ryujin held her there for a beat longer, forehead resting against Yeji’s, their breathing slow, matched.
Careful. Steady. Still wanting, but never careless.
Their bodies knew restraint.
Their hearts did not.
And in the hush between their pulses, they moved closer.
Yeji barely had time to process before Ryujin’s hands were already on her again, sliding from her waist to where the rib brace sat snug around her torso, now fully visible with her shirt already discarded on the floor.
Her touch softened as she traced the edge of the brace, eyes flicking up to Yeji’s in silent warning before she moved to undo it. The muted rip of Velcro peeling apart cut through the low rush of their breathing.
Yeji’s breath hitched, not from pain, but from the deliberate care in Ryujin’s movements. She removed it slowly, lifting the last strap free and setting the brace aside on the bed without once looking away from her.
With nothing between her hands and Yeji’s skin now, Ryujin’s grip returned to her waist, thumbs brushing over bare flesh in slow, grounding strokes.
She eased Yeji down carefully onto the mattress.
Yeji breathed through her nose and let herself be lowered. Her back met the sheets with a quiet exhale, her eyes never leaving Ryujin’s.
There was something fragile in the way she looked up at her, not uncertain, but completely open. As if Ryujin had already reached every place inside her that words could not.
Ryujin hovered above her, one knee braced against the edge of the bed, her wrapped shoulder slightly stiff but not enough to stop her. Her hair fell forward in loose waves, making her look far softer than Yeji had ever dared to admit she found her.
“You okay?” Ryujin asked softly, her thumb brushing just below the edge of the fading bruise along Yeji’s ribs.
Yeji hummed in answer, her hands coming to rest lightly at Ryujin’s hips, her fingers flexing once in reassurance.
“Keep going.”
So Ryujin did.
She lowered herself with careful control, elbows pressing into the mattress beside Yeji’s shoulders as she dipped her head and pressed a light kiss against the center of Yeji’s sternum. Right above the bruised bone, where she had once taken a hit to block a game-winning shot.
Her fingers traced a slow, careful line along the curve of Yeji’s ribs, skin warm beneath her touch, the faint yellow-violet shadow of the injury still visible in the low light. She did not ask if it hurt, she already knew the answer.
And so she kissed her there.
Her mouth lingering in a quiet, deliberate press, like she could will the ache away with nothing but patience and care.
Just the softest press of her mouth against the injury she wished she could take on herself.
Yeji closed her eyes as Ryujin moved lower, pressing another kiss near her side where the bruise still shadowed her skin.
Then to her waist.
Then the swell of her hip, where a pale mark had begun to fade from a collision Yeji had brushed off during their tournament.
Ryujin did not speak. She did not need to.
She knew every bruise.
She remembered when Yeji had gotten them. She had watched her fall and get back up. Watched her grit through it for the sake of a shift. Watched her lead even while limping off the ice.
And now, she kissed them like sacred ground.
Yeji’s hand slid through Ryujin’s hair, fingers tightening just slightly as her other palm pressed into the sheets. Her breath hitched when Ryujin moved back up, the kisses slower now, warmer, her lips ghosting along Yeji’s jaw.
When Ryujin finally hovered above her again, they were both breathless, not from what had passed between them, but from everything still pressing to be said.
Yeji touched Ryujin’s face lightly, her thumb brushing across her cheek.
And Ryujin whispered, voice rough with something she did not have to name, “I’ve got you.”
Ryujin was slow about it. Painfully, deliberately slow, and Yeji felt every second of it.
The first thing she noticed was the weight of her hands, warm and grounding at her waist. Ryujin’s thumbs brushed over bare skin in an unhurried rhythm, like she was matching the beat of Yeji’s heart on purpose.
Yeji let her eyes fall shut for a moment, focusing on the press of lips against her skin, the way Ryujin seemed to breathe her in before moving lower. Another kiss landed near the faint outline of muscle just above her hip bone, then another, closer to the center. Each one felt heavier, not in force, but in meaning .
When Ryujin reached the center of her abdomen, she did not rush past it. She lingered, lips warm, her breath spilling over Yeji’s skin in a way that made her stomach tense from something far more intimate rather than discomfort.
Yeji could feel how careful she was being, how deliberate, as if this part of her was something sacred.
Yeji had not expected it to feel like this.
Not this kind of ache. Not this kind of surrender.
She had known desire before, the burn of it, the need that curled low in her belly whenever Ryujin looked at her a certain way or leaned in too close after a game.
But this was different.
This was slower.
It settled in her bones, in her breath, in the spaces between each heartbeat.
She had kissed Ryujin a couple of times before tonight.
But tonight, in the hush of her bedroom, with the faint city lights curling through the curtains, and Ryujin’s body braced carefully above her, it felt like something entirely new.
It felt like choosing.
Every time Ryujin touched her, it was with caution that made Yeji’s chest ache. Fingers trailing carefully over bruised skin, lips ghosting along her shoulder, her ribs, her pulse.
Not rushed. Never careless.
As though Ryujin understood the weight of what this meant, of what they had survived, of what they were finally letting themselves have.
And Yeji felt it all.
In the way Ryujin paused to look at her like she was something holy.
In the way she brushed her thumb along Yeji’s cheek as if it were a blessing.
In the way they moved in quiet synchrony, bodies learning each other again without the rush of urgency or fear.
In the way she moved slowly, keeping her weight off Yeji’s injured ribs.
Yeji pulled her in by the waist anyway, needing her close, needing to feel her heart beat against her own.
It was instinctive, yes, but it was more than that.
It was trust.
Devotion .
The slow unraveling of restraint that had taken years to build.
When Yeji’s fingers slid through Ryujin’s hair and she whispered her name, it was not a plea.
It was a promise.
And when Ryujin murmured I love you against her throat, breathless and hoarse, like the words had clawed their way out of her chest, Yeji believed her.
Because she loved her just as much.
It was a kind of love that had waited a long time to be this close, years of skating circles around each other, of traded smirks and unspoken things, all folding into the space between their breaths now.
For Ryujin, it ached in her chest in a way that was both sharp and unbearably sweet, like everything she had ever needed was finally here, right in front of her, within reach.
Every kiss, every brush of Yeji’s hand felt like a tether keeping her grounded. She wanted to hold on forever. She wanted to press her lips to Yeji’s skin and let go of every jagged edge she had carried for years. Every rivalry-fueled barb, every ache of wanting and not saying.
Here, in this closeness, she could finally exhale.
And Yeji…
Yeji had never allowed herself this kind of softness. She had always been composed, collected, the one who steadied others, who absorbed impact and never faltered.
But here she was, murmuring Ryujin’s name between breaths, the syllables low and warm like a secret she did not have to hide anymore. Her eyes fluttered open now and then, not to check the room, not to look for anything beyond them, but simply to memorize how Ryujin looked in this light: eyes dark and intent, lips swollen, hair falling loose across her forehead.
She saw the quiet in her expression, the way her focus never strayed, the tenderness in the way her hands moved as though they were meant to fit there. Eyes full. Hands gentle. Breathless .
Every second carried the weight of all the times they had not touched like this, all the moments they had had to pretend they did not want to.
And now, there was nothing in their way, just the raw, unguarded truth between them, finally allowed to take up all the space it needed.
It struck Yeji then, how foreign this was, being touched like this.
She had been looked at as a captain, a player, a rival, someone untouchable, someone strong enough to carry the weight.
But here, Ryujin was not touching her like she was made of steel.
She was touching her like she was something to be cherished, kissed with care instead of claimed with force.
Ryujin glanced up briefly, and their eyes met.
There was nothing cocky in her gaze now, none of the sharp-edged smirk Yeji was so used to. It was unguarded. And somehow that look felt more dangerous than anything else Ryujin had ever done to her.
Then her head dipped again, and she pressed a slow kiss just beneath Yeji’s ribs, right where the last of the bruise had faded. The touch was light but steady, like she wanted to erase what was left of the ache with her mouth alone.
Yeji’s breath caught, and she knew, with a certainty that left no space for doubt, that this was what being loved by Ryujin felt like.
Because she could feel it.
In the way Ryujin kissed her like she needed to remember this forever.
In the way they held each other, hearts still racing, skin warm, limbs tangled tight, like they were afraid to let go even for a second.
Because in that moment, there was no rivalry.
No headlines.
No rinks or teams or years of what-ifs.
There were only two women, bruised and healing and in love, surrendering to something far deeper than want.
Chapter Text
The morning crept in slowly, the light pale and drowsy as it filtered through the curtains, spilling over the bed in soft strokes of gold. The air was still warm from the night before, heavy with the faint trace of sweat and skin, the kind of quiet heat that lingered long after the last touch.
They lay bare beneath the tangle of sheets, the fabric twisted low around their hips and legs. Yeji was carefully curled on her side, and Ryujin lay pressed close behind her, the even rhythm of her breathing warm against the back of Yeji’s neck. One of Ryujin’s arms was looped around her waist, palm resting just below her ribs, thumb brushing in slow, deliberate arcs that never strayed too near the still-tender bruising along her side.
Every movement was measured. Not tentative, never tentative, but aware.
Ryujin’s hold was warm and firm, but not pressing too hard; her shoulder brushed Yeji’s lightly when she shifted, careful not to aggravate her own healing joint, and keeping her leg hooked loosely between Yeji’s.
Yeji mirrored that mindfulness without thinking, moving with a languid patience so as not to jostle her. Even in the soft fog of half-sleep, they were reading each other’s bodies, adjusting before words were needed.
Ryujin’s forehead rested against the back of Yeji’s neck, her breath warm and steady on her skin. Every so often, she murmured something too quiet to catch, the sound low and intimate, like a secret meant for no one else. Her fingers flexed against Yeji’s stomach, anchoring herself, as if keeping her close was the only thing that felt certain in the slow drift of morning.
Yeji’s eyes stayed closed, but she was awake enough to notice everything: the weight of Ryujin’s thigh against hers, the heat of her skin, the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with sleep.
When Ryujin shifted again, it was with the smallest nudge forward, her skin warming against Yeji’s bare back, lips brushing the slope of her shoulder, careful over the fading bruise there. The contact lingered just long enough to make Yeji still for a heartbeat.
“Captain?” Ryujin’s voice came quiet, hoarse with sleep, like it had been pulled from somewhere deep in her chest.
Yeji’s hand moved without thought, her fingers drawing slow, feather-light lines along the inside of Ryujin’s forearm, feeling the steady thrum beneath.
“Yeah, baby?” she murmured, the words low and certain, carrying the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly who she was speaking to and exactly how much it meant.
Ryujin’s breath stirred faintly against her skin before she leaned in, pressing a slow, sleepy kiss to the back of Yeji’s neck, her lips lingering there just a beat too long.
“Morning,” she murmured against her skin, the word softened by warmth and drowsiness.
Yeji’s eyes slipped shut, her lips curving faintly as she felt the kiss sink in like sunlight. Her thumb brushed over Ryujin’s wrist in a slow, grounding sweep, and Ryujin’s arm tightened carefully around her waist.
Not in possession, but in something quieter, something like keeping hold of the one thing she had no intention of letting go of.
Then Yeji shifted, the motion instinctively cautious without her rib brace on. The sheets slipped against her bare skin as she rolled onto her back, one hand brushing Ryujin’s arm to steady herself. Even in the quiet warmth of morning, the dull ache along her side reminded her to move care delicately.
Ryujin noticed instantly. Her gaze flicked down, the faint crease between her brows betraying her concern. She stayed close.
Yeji exhaled softly, eyes meeting hers. “I’m fine,” she murmured, though her voice was gentler than the reassurance itself.
“Still gotta be careful,” Ryujin said quietly, leaning in to press another unhurried kiss to the side of Yeji’s neck like she could keep her steady with touch alone.
The sheets stayed pooled at their chests, the early light casting muted shadows over the curves and lines between them. Yeji let her hand slide along Ryujin’s forearm, grounding herself there as the moment lingered.
“Breakfast?” she asked after a pause, almost hesitant to break the quiet.
Ryujin’s mouth curled into a slow smirk. “Only if it’s in bed.”
They stayed there for a long time, tangled and bare, careful and unhurried. Every point of contact, every slow breath, every deliberate touch, was its own kind of carefulness.
Neither of them reached for the day. Not yet. They were still wrapped in this moment, in the safety of knowing that even with bruises, even with healing wounds, they could hold each other like this and not let go.
The sheets were still warm when Yeji sat up, stretching just enough to ease the pull in her ribs. She pushed her hair back, glancing toward the clock, already thinking about coffee and eggs.
Behind her, Ryujin shifted, her voice still heavy with sleep. “Where are you going?”
“To make breakfast.”
A low hum rumbled from Ryujin’s throat as she rolled onto her back, one arm tucked behind her head. “Or…” she started, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smile, “…we could stay here.”
Yeji cautiously turned halfway, one brow arched. “You just mean you want me to bring you food here.”
Ryujin’s grin widened, and she tilted her head like she was letting her in on a secret. “Not exactly what I meant.”
Yeji narrowed her eyes, already catching the glint in Ryujin’s. “Enlighten me.”
Ryujin pushed herself up on her elbows, the sheet falling low enough to bare the slope of her shoulder. “I was thinking something a little more… hands-on. Less eggs-and-coffee, more…” she let the pause linger, eyes raking over Yeji slowly, “ …dessert first.”
Yeji let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking her head as she grabbed for the oversized shirt she had abandoned last night. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously hungry,” Ryujin countered, unbothered, watching her with an expression that could have been either playful or dangerous, probably both. “And I’m not talking about food.”
Yeji did not answer, but the tiny shake of her head did not quite hide the way her lips curved.
When Yeji finally swung her legs over the side of the bed, the sheet slipped low against her back, baring more of her skin to the soft morning light. Ryujin’s eyes instinctively followed the movement and then they caught on the faint shadows along Yeji’s ribs and the pale bloom of yellow and green at her side.
The bruises stood out in the quiet of the room, softened only by the sunlight spilling in. Ryujin’s chest tightened, the easy smirk she had worn moments ago fading into something heavier. She sat up slowly, the mattress dipping under her weight as she reached out, fingertips brushing just shy of the mark without touching it.
Yeji was halfway to standing when Ryujin’s voice stopped her.
“Wait.”
Yeji glanced over her shoulder, catching the way Ryujin held the rib brace in her hands, fingers curling in the elastic like she had been waiting for Yeji to notice.
“Let me,” Ryujin said, voice softer than the morning light spilling in through the blinds.
Yeji hesitated, then sat back down, turning toward her. Ryujin shifted closer, one knee braced on the mattress as she wrapped the brace carefully around Yeji’s ribs. Her touch was slow, deliberate, the kind of careful that came from memorizing exactly where the worst bruises lay.
Yeji felt the brush of warm fingers against her skin, the slight tug as Ryujin adjusted the fit before fastening it into place.
“Too tight?” Ryujin asked, glancing up, her tone threaded with quiet concern.
Yeji shook her head. “It’s fine.”
Ryujin lingered, her palms smoothing over the brace as if to double-check, thumbs tracing light, absent circles along Yeji’s sides. “Good.”
When Yeji reached for her shirt again, Ryujin caught her wrist, leaning in to press a kiss just above the brace, right at the center of her sternum. “Now you can go make breakfast,” she murmured, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.
Yeji rolled her eyes but did not bother hiding her smile as she slipped the shirt over her head, its hem barely grazing the tops of her thighs, before heading to the bathroom.
Then, in the kitchen, she started the stove without much thought, the familiar click and low flame a small comfort. The cool metal of the pan met her palm, and she set it down to heat, adding a small pat of butter that melted in a golden swirl.
From the bedroom, there was only silence. The kind that made her almost wonder if Ryujin had fallen back asleep.
She did not mind. She let her rest.
Last night had been… more than either of them had planned, and Yeji’s chest was still heavy with the weight of it. The confessions, the closeness, the feeling of Ryujin’s hands on her body like they belonged there.
She was mid-thought, spatula in hand, when the faint creak of the mattress broke the quiet.
From the bedroom, she heard the faint rustle of sheets and the dull thud of bare feet hitting the floor. A few seconds later, the soft shuffle of bare feet followed, slow and unhurried, like Ryujin had decided there was no reason to rush.
Then, a pause, the bathroom door clicking shut, the faint sound of water running.
She smiled to herself, imagining Ryujin standing at the sink, head still heavy with sleep, brushing her teeth with that lazy, half-lidded look she always had in the morning.
By the time Yeji cracked an egg into the pan, the faucet turned off. Another few moments passed before the bathroom door opened again, and the quiet shuffle of steps crossed the apartment.
Yeji did not need to turn her head to know who it was. The quiet weight of Ryujin’s presence was already filling the kitchen before she reached her.
Ryujin padded softly into the kitchen. The scent of coffee and something sizzling in the pan pulled her, but it was the sight of Yeji standing at the stove in nothing but an oversized shirt that barely skimmed her thighs made her forget entirely about breakfast.
“Wait…” Her voice dropped, curiosity sharpening into something darker. “Hwang Yeji… you’re not wearing anything under this, are you?”
Yeji did not turn, just kept her focus on the pan like she had not heard the shift in Ryujin’s tone. Ryujin took the silence as permission.
Without another word, Ryujin stepped in behind her, sliding both hands under the hem of the shirt, palms meeting the warm, bare skin of Yeji’s waist.
Her fingertips felt nothing but skin.
A low, disbelieving laugh ghosted over Yeji’s ear. “You really aren’t,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing slow circles into her hips. “You’re such a tease.”
“Do you see me denying it?” Yeji replied smoothly.
Ryujin’s smirk turned sharper, and she shifted like she was about to slip her hands under Yeji’s shirt again.
Yeji clearly knew what Ryujin was doing.
Two plates were already waiting on the counter, like she had planned for Ryujin’s interruption and timed everything to the second.
She quickened her movements, sliding the eggs neatly onto the plates, flicking the burner off with a practiced hand, and reaching for the toast in one fluid motion.
She was moving with that captain’s precision, the kind that always seemed a step ahead, as if she knew exactly what Ryujin was planning before she even tried it.
Before Ryujin could even open her mouth, Yeji was plating the food, toast stacked neatly, eggs still steaming, and two mugs of coffee whose rich scent was already filling the kitchen.
Ryujin stood there with a lopsided smirk, watching her work.
Yeji finally glanced at her, just enough for Ryujin to catch the glint in her eye before she slid a plate across the counter.
“Breakfast is ready.”
And just like that, she had beaten Ryujin, leaving her with no chance to distract her like she had last night.
Ryujin huffed out a laugh, realizing she had been cut off before she even had the chance to push further. A kind of defeat she was not sure she minded.
“You finished fast.”
“That’s called experience ,” Yeji replied, sliding a plate toward her. “And a very good read on when you’re about to cause trouble.”
Ryujin accepted the plate, setting it down but not touching the fork yet, her gaze lingering on Yeji instead. “So you’re saying you can predict me now?”
Yeji gave a small shrug, the corner of her mouth curving. “When it comes to your brand of trouble? Yeah, I’d say I’ve got you figured out.”
When the plates were cleared and the last sips of coffee taken, Ryujin stretched with a satisfied sigh, cracking her neck and rolling her shoulder out.
Yeji noticed the stiffness instantly. “Wrap’s still tight?”
Ryujin winced, shrugging. “It’ll hold.”
Yeji rose from her seat, circling behind Ryujin’s stool with quiet, unhurried steps. Ryujin was still leaning forward on the counter, absently tracing the rim of her coffee mug with one finger, head tipped just enough that the morning light caught in her hair.
Without a word, Yeji slid her arms around her from behind, palms pressing flat against the soft cotton of her shirt before settling low on her stomach. She drew her in until Ryujin’s back was flush against her chest, letting her chin rest lightly on Ryujin’s shoulder.
Ryujin stilled at first, her fingers pausing on the mug, then relaxed into the hold with a faint sigh. One of her hands came up to cover Yeji’s forearm, her thumb brushing idly over the skin there.
“You’re warm,” Yeji murmured near her ear, the softness of her voice undercut by something heavier.
“You could’ve just said you wanted to cuddle,” Ryujin replied, smirking faintly.
Yeji gave a quiet hum of amusement. “If I did that, you’d make some smart remark about how I couldn’t keep my hands off you.”
Ryujin tilted her head just enough to catch Yeji’s gaze from the corner of her eye. “That’s because it would be true.”
Yeji did not deny it. Instead, she let her lips linger against her skin for a beat longer before speaking again. “Come back to bed.”
Ryujin set her mug aside, twisting in Yeji’s hold until they were facing each other. Her hands found Yeji’s hips, thumbs brushing the hem of her shirt.
Her thumbs brushed idly at the hem of Yeji’s shirt, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.
Yeji’s fingers slid from Ryujin’s hands to lace loosely with them, tugging her toward the bedroom. Her pace was unhurried, but there was nothing casual about it, the kind of steady pull that made Ryujin follow without question.
Her steps slowed when her gaze caught on a familiar picture. Morning light spilled across the wall, illuminating a cluster of photos, and one in particular stopped her completely.
The picture was from the Minnesota state championship years ago, but the memory was so sharp it almost ached.
Standing in front was younger Yeji in her high school jersey, hair longer and damp, cheeks flushed, grinning wide, one arm raised high to hold the state championship trophy. The other arm was wrapped in a thick white brace, the kind that covered from palm to elbow.
Ryujin stepped closer, tilting her head. “Huh.”
“What?” Yeji asked again, a faint curve to her lips.
“I didn’t realize you had this up.” Ryujin leaned in, eyes scanning the edges until she spotted herself. “Or that I was in it.”
Yeji followed her gaze and smirked when she found the younger Ryujin in the frame. “Guess you’ve always been lurking in the background.”
Ryujin was there in the frame, helmet off, jaw set in that same stubborn line she still wore before big plays. And across from her, in another shot just inches away, was Yeji, gold medal around her neck, hoisting the trophy with that composed, unshakable grin that had infuriated Ryujin even back then.
Ryujin shot her a sidelong glance. “Lurking is a strong word. I was… keeping an eye on the competition.”
Yeji’s smirk deepened. “Is that what you call it?”
Ryujin’s lips curved, her gaze tracing the picture. “You know…” she started slowly, almost like she was debating if she should say it. “I might’ve had a crush on high school Yeji.”
Yeji turned her head, one brow arching. “Might have?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Ryujin smirked, still studying the photo. “You were annoyingly good. The kind of good that made me want to beat you and… maybe also stare at you a little too long.”
Yeji’s mouth curved faintly. “So you were conflicted.”
Ryujin finally looked at her, her smirk tipping into something softer. “Still am. Only difference is now I don’t have to choose.”
Yeji stepped closer, their joined hands brushing between them. “You could’ve just told me then.”
Ryujin’s gaze flicked from the photo to her, a teasing glint in her eyes. “And what? Give my rival the satisfaction of knowing she was distracting me?”
Yeji’s lips curved, leaning in just enough for her voice to drop. “Would’ve saved us a few years.”
Ryujin huffed a laugh. “And miss out on years of making your life difficult? No thanks.”
Yeji let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh, but it carried something else, like she was holding back a thought.
Her gaze lingered on Ryujin for a moment too long before flicking back to the frame. “All those years, and you never said a thing.”
“Please,” Ryujin drawled, giving her hand a playful squeeze. “You would’ve eaten me alive if I admitted that in high school.”
Yeji tilted her head, a hint of mischief breaking through her stoic expression. “Or maybe I would’ve kissed you under the bleachers after the game.”
That shut Ryujin up for a second. Her mouth opened like she had a comeback ready, but nothing came out, just a faint, almost disbelieving laugh.
Yeji squeezed her hand once before tugging her back toward the bedroom, her smirk saying she had filed that confession away for later.
Back in the bedroom, the sheets were still slightly tangled, pillows askew, the faint imprint of where they had slept lingering on the mattress. Yeji climbed in first, curling instinctively to one side, and Ryujin followed without hesitation, wrapping an arm around her middle, tucking her forehead beneath Yeji’s jaw.
Neither of them spoke for a while. The kind of peace that followed was not from exhaustion but from having nothing left to prove.
Eventually, Ryujin murmured into the quiet, “You smell like sleep and toast.”
The sheets were cool against their skin, the morning light pooling at the edges of the bed in soft, golden waves.
Ryujin’s eyes stayed on Yeji’s face, the quiet, steady gaze of someone still not used to having the thing she always wanted, even when it was right in front of her.
Yeji’s eyes fluttered open, still drowsy, lips parted like she was about to speak, but Ryujin leaned in before she could.
The kiss was unhurried. A gentle, lingering thing that started as gratitude and quickly turned into want.
Yeji shifted closer without thinking, her hand sliding along Ryujin’s hip beneath the hem of her hoodie. The ache in her ribs flared with the motion, but she ignored it, too caught up in the warmth of Ryujin’s mouth and the way her fingers curled behind her neck.
Ryujin deepened the kiss just slightly, just enough to steal Yeji’s breath. Her thumb brushed beneath the curve of Yeji’s jaw, holding her there, close and still and safe.
There was no urgency, not this time, just the slow rediscovery of each other’s warmth, punctuated only by the subtle shifts of breath and heartbeat and the way their bodies instinctively found the spaces they had already learned to fit into.
Yeji barely registered the vibration of her phone at first.
It buzzed against the nightstand once, then again.
Reluctantly, she pulled away from the kiss, their foreheads resting together, lips still brushing. “That’s me,” she murmured, voice gravelly and thick with sleep and affection.
Ryujin groaned softly against her skin. “Ignore it.”
Yeji’s phone buzzed a third time.
“I can’t. That’s the PT reminder,” she said with a sigh, finally glancing over at the screen.
She groaned softly, shifting just enough to reach for it, her bare arm slipping free from the warmth of the blanket. Ryujin did not move from where she lay, propped on one elbow, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes.
Yeji’s thumb hovered over the reminder notification, reading through the PT’s message with the kind of focus only mildly dulled by a warm bed and a stubborn girlfriend curled beside her.
Ryujin shifted against the sheets behind her, sliding closer until her nose brushed the hollow between Yeji’s shoulder blades.
Yeji froze, her eyes still on the screen, but the words were starting to blur.
She had read the same text from her PT three times now.
The words made sense, technically, something about coming in for a rib wrap assessment, minor mobility drills, tweaks to her recovery program but every time she tried to absorb it, Ryujin’s lips would find a new place along her back to press into.
“Ryujin,” Yeji managed. Her head tilted unconsciously to the side, betraying her entirely. “I’m trying to read.”
A quiet hum answered her, warm breath trailing up to the hollow beneath her jaw.
She did not flinch. But her fingers twitched against the sheets.
“I’m serious,” she said, lifting her phone slightly higher, like it would shield her from distraction. As if any part of her actually wanted to be shielded from this.
“I can tell,” Ryujin whispered against her skin. “You’ve been stuck on that screen for four minutes.”
“Ten-thirty,” Yeji murmured to herself, rubbing her thumb across her temple. “They want to reassess the rib fracture, tweak the wrap…”
She did not get to finish.
Because Ryujin had leaned in again, lips brushing along the slope of Yeji’s neck.
Her hand splayed against Yeji’s waist, fingers curling lightly around the curve of her hip, grounding her there, tugging her slightly closer.
Yeji inhaled sharply, the reminder on her phone blurring slightly.
“…maybe test motion ranges,” she added under her breath, only half-focused now.
Another kiss. This time lower, just under her jaw.
“Ryujin,” she warned gently, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye.
“What?” came the reply, maddeningly soft. Her lips never stopped. Another kiss, warmer now, near her pulse point. “I’m listening.”
“You’re not,” Yeji breathed. The phone was still in her hand, but her grip was loosening.
“I am. Ribs. Wrap. Motion ranges.” Ryujin kissed her again, and her voice dropped an octave. “Your motion range was fine last night, by the way.”
Yeji laughed exasperatedly, but it caught in her throat the moment Ryujin’s mouth found the space just beneath her ear, tongue grazing lightly before she pressed a kiss there too.
Yeji’s entire body went still, except for the goosebumps rising on her skin.
She tried to read again .
Failed again .
Another kiss. This one a bit lower, deliberate. “You’re still reading,” Ryujin mumbled, voice still scratchy with sleep.
“Yes,” Yeji said flatly, fighting the flutter in her chest. “And you’re still interrupting.”
“I’m helping.” Ryujin’s hand smoothed along Yeji’s side, careful of the brace beneath her shirt. She nosed along the column of Yeji’s neck and kissed a spot, earning a small exhale in return. “You looked too tense.”
“I have a 10:30 appointment.”
“You have fifteen minutes to cancel.”
Yeji laughed under her breath and leaned back into her just a little, the edge of her phone grazing Ryujin’s forearm. “And what, let you be the one to assess my ribs instead?”
Ryujin’s breath was warm against her skin. “I’d be very gentle, captain.”
“You’d be very distracting,” Yeji said, voice already tilting toward fond surrender.
“That’s the idea.” Ryujin pressed another kiss just beneath her jawline and smiled when Yeji sighed again.
Yeji’s voice was drowsy, edged with amusement, as she tilted her head slightly to the side. “You really like my neck, huh?”
Ryujin, half-tucked against her, still kissing lazily just beneath her ear, hummed in mock thought. “ Well, I can’t go down your abs every single time.”
Yeji let out a short laugh, muffled as she buried her face briefly into the pillow. “So considerate of you.”
Ryujin grinned against her skin. “I’m versatile. Devoted. Committed to the craft.”
“Impressive,” Yeji muttered, biting back another laugh.
“I aim to impress.” Ryujin’s lips lingered just a second longer, her voice lower now, playful. “Besides, your neck tells on you more than your abs do.”
Yeji blinked. “Tells on me?”
Ryujin gently grazed the corner of her jaw with her knuckles. “Goes all warm. You tilt your head a little. Your breath catches, like right now.”
Yeji narrowed her eyes, but her cheeks had already gone pink. “You’ve been studying.”
Ryujin smiled, smug and slow. “Told you. Committed to the craft.”
Yeji bit down a smile, a flush rising to her cheeks. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re not stopping me,” Ryujin murmured, her mouth still grazing just enough to make her breath hitch.
“I’m trying to remember what the PT said.”
“Let me guess. ‘Avoid activities that put strain on your ribs ’? You’re already failing.”
“Because of you.”
Ryujin tilted her head back up, meeting Yeji’s eyes now, half-lidded, warm, victorious. “Then you should probably put the phone down.”
Yeji blinked, then did exactly that, letting it fall gently onto the pillow behind her. Ryujin took the invitation without hesitation, curling over her again with a kiss that was slower this time, deeper, unspoken apologies and confessions stitched between every breath.
The reminder would have to wait.
Chapter Text
Yeji had always been good with words. Calm under pressure. The kind of player, the kind of person , who knew what to say, how to say it, when to keep it in, and when to let it land.
But Ryujin made her forget every sentence before it finished forming.
Ryujin had a talent for many things.
Skating through defenders like a knife through fog, turning press conferences into comedic monologues, making a single eyebrow raise feel like a full-blown declaration of war.
But lately, her most lethal skill was one Yeji had absolutely no defense against.
Kissing her.
“Ryujin—” she began, the rest of her sentence nowhere to be found.
“Hmm?” came the reply, lips trailing down the spot just below her jaw.
Yeji shut her eyes briefly. “I was… I needed to tell you something.”
“You’re saying something now,” Ryujin murmured, barely above a whisper. “Is it important?”
Yeji opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Ryujin’s smirk was evident, even without seeing her face. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Yeji turned slightly, meaning to glare, but Ryujin looked at her then. Eyes soft, half-lidded, utterly unbothered, like she had all the time in the world to undo her.
“What was I saying?” Yeji asked, genuinely lost.
Ryujin smiled against her skin. “I don’t know. You talk a lot.”
Yeji’s heart did something unhelpful and traitorous in her chest.
She tried again, clearing her throat, sitting up straighter. “Right. I was going to say we should get moving because—”
Ryujin kissed her again, softer this time, feather-light and maddening.
Yeji’s mouth parted, but no sound came out.
“ Baby ,” she said eventually, her tone defeated.
“Yes, captain?”
“I swear if you do that again, I’ll—”
“Forget what you’re saying?” Ryujin offered, eyebrows raised in faux concern. “You already did.”
And Yeji, undefeated captain, tournament MVP, strategic genius, had no rebuttal for that.
Only silence, a reddening cheek, and the soft sound of Ryujin kissing her again.
Eventually, Yeji’s hand found Ryujin’s cheek, applying just enough pressure to still her. Both of them were breathing heavier than they should have been for this early in the morning, eyes locked in that wordless space where neither seemed quite ready to break the moment.
“I have to go,” Yeji murmured, though it sounded more like a reminder to herself than to Ryujin.
Ryujin searched her face for a beat, then sighed and pressed one last kiss to the corner of her mouth, lingering just long enough to make it feel like a promise.
“Fine,” she said, though there was no mistaking the reluctant pull in her voice. “I’ll drive you,” she added softly, like it was already decided.
Ryujin watched her disappear into the bathroom, the faint scent of her shampoo still lingering in the air. She leaned back against the headboard, listening to the quiet creak of the pipes as the shower started.
It was only a few seconds of peace before Yeji’s voice called out from the other side, muffled slightly by the walls, but still sharp with amusement.
“You just wanted to drive my car.”
Ryujin, sitting on the edge of the bed, smirked to herself. She leaned back on her palms, calling out in return, “And you just admitted you trust me enough to let me.”
There was a pause. Then the faint sound of water running.
“You’re not even denying it,” Yeji muttered, half-laughing under her breath.
Ryujin stood, stretching slowly, the ache in her shoulder flaring briefly before settling again. She padded across the room, gathering their scattered clothes, tossing Yeji’s jacket onto the dresser with a casual flick of her wrist.
“I’m not denying anything,” she said, raising her voice just enough. “I mean, your Aston’s practically begging to be driven. Would be rude to let it sit in the parking lot when it could be on the road with me.”
Yeji snorted from behind the door. “You’re so dramatic.”
The door cracked open just slightly then, Yeji’s head peeking out as she reached out for her towel, damp hair tucked behind one ear, eyes narrowed but lips twitching with barely restrained amusement.
“Drive safe,” she said flatly.
Ryujin winked. “Always. Especially when I’m chauffeuring my very injured, very important girlfriend.”
Yeji blinked once, then disappeared back into the bathroom, voice trailing behind her like a warning, “You better not scratch it.”
Ryujin laughed as she headed to the kitchen. “No scratch,” she called over her shoulder, “Got it.”
Ryujin had slipped into the guest bathroom for a quick rinse of her own. The water had been hot enough to ease the last traces of sleep from her muscles, steam curling against the glass and fogging the mirror. She’d worked through her hair quickly, shaking water from the ends
By the time she padded back into the living room, the faint hiss of water through the pipes told her Yeji was still in her own shower, and she found herself absently scanning the small details of the apartment she had not noticed the night before.
When Yeji finally emerged, her damp hair was brushed back neatly, the faint scent of her shampoo clinging to her skin. She wore a loose shirt under her coat, her movements careful but unhurried, as if she was making a point not to rush.
Now, as Yeji crossed the space toward her, Ryujin moved instinctively to meet her in the middle.
Without asking, she reached for Yeji’s small crossbody bag and slung it over her own shoulder like it had always belonged there. The leather was cool against her sweater, the weight familiar even though it was not hers.
Yeji glanced at her, one brow lifting slightly in silent acknowledgment, but didn’t comment. Instead, they began moving toward the door together with the quiet ease of two people who had already fallen into a rhythm.
Ryujin fell into step just behind Yeji, her free hand brushing along the edge of Yeji’s coat as they passed through the narrow hall toward the elevator.
The ride down was quiet, only the hum of the machinery and the faint creak of cables above them. The floor numbers ticked steadily lower until the dim yellow of B3 glowed on the panel.
The doors parted to reveal the underground garage, concrete walls stretching in every direction, lit by rows of fluorescent tubes that buzzed faintly overhead. The air was cool and dry, carrying the faint scent of engine oil and tire rubber. A few cars dotted the rows, their windshields catching the light in dull glints.
Their footsteps echoed softly against the concrete floor as they walked, the sound accompanied by the distant, rhythmic drip of water somewhere deeper in the garage.
Yeji’s Aston Martin sat tucked into its reserved space, its dark green paint muted under the fluorescent light. The sleek curves of the SUV looked sharper down here, like it belonged in a private collection rather than a parking garage.
Ryujin’s gaze skimmed over it briefly before she glanced at Yeji with a faint smirk. “Still can’t believe you trust me with this thing.”
Yeji only reached for her keys, her mouth tilting in a way that said she was not going to dignify that with a verbal answer.
They did not slow as they neared the Aston. Their shoes clicked softly against the smooth concrete.
Without looking, Yeji slipped the key fob from her coat pocket and, with a flick of her wrist, tossed it toward Ryujin.
Ryujin caught it midair, the weight solid and cool in her hand. She stared at it for a beat, then at Yeji. “You’re seriously just… giving me this?”
“Drive,” Yeji said, already rounding the hood toward the passenger side.
A slow grin spread across Ryujin’s face as she turned the fob over in her palm. “You do realize this is basically letting me babysit your most prized possession, right?”
Ryujin unlocked the car with a soft chirp. She was already opening the passenger door for her. Yeji climbed into the passenger seat slowly, careful not to twist too much with her ribs still tender.
Ryujin waited until Yeji was settled before circling around to the driver’s side.
As soon as Ryujin settled into the driver’s seat, hands brushing over the smooth leather and eyes glancing toward the dash, Yeji’s voice cut in, low and even from the passenger side.
“Don’t make me regret it.”
Ryujin thumbed the start button and listened to the engine purr to life. “Oh, I won’t,” she said, eyes glinting as she adjusted the seat and mirrors.
“Though I’m not making any promises about bringing it back without wanting joint custody.”
Ryujin sat in the driver’s seat, hands on the steering wheel and the bill of a dark baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. A black hoodie was zipped up to her chin, and a pair of sunglasses perched over her nose.
She had gone all-in on the disguise, more so than Yeji had expected, looking more like someone on her way to stake out a bank than to chauffeur her girlfriend to a medical evaluation.
Yeji gave Ryujin an amused look, taking in the completely overdone incognito look.
“Planning to commit a felony or just drive me to my appointment?” Yeji asked, buckling in.
“Both. Multitasking,” Ryujin replied, voice dry but lips twitching under the shadow of the cap. She adjusted her sunglasses like she was hiding from the paparazzi.
“Do you know how fast hockey gossip travels in this city? All it takes is one photo of me with you in public before playoffs and suddenly there’s a hundred think pieces about your ribs, my skating, and whether Team USA was secretly an enemies-to-lovers arc.”
Yeji gave her a sidelong glance, suppressing a smile. “You are my girlfriend. People will figure it out eventually.”
“That’s future Ryujin’s problem,” Ryujin countered, easing the car into traffic. “Present Ryujin is making sure no one recognizes her while she drives Boston Sentinels’ Captain to her check-up.”
Yeji leaned back, letting the warmth of the car and Ryujin’s quiet presence settle over her. The disguise might have been ridiculous, but the intention was unmistakable. Ryujin was here to protect her from the noise, even if it meant looking like a celebrity in hiding.
“I literally kissed you in a grocery store yesterday.”
Ryujin’s grip on the steering wheel tightened just slightly, her jaw working as she tried to suppress a smile. “That was different,” she argued, the defensive edge in her voice almost comically weak.
“How?” Yeji pressed, leaning back in her seat, clearly enjoying this far more than she should.
“For starters, it was the middle of the frozen foods aisle,” Ryujin began, eyes flicking toward her with mock seriousness. “No one expects romance in front of the waffle fries. Plus, we blended in.”
Yeji chuckled, shaking her head. “Right. Because two national team players making out between frozen peas and yogurt is somehow less noticeable than me sitting next to my girlfriend in my car.”
“It’s called tactical misdirection,” Ryujin replied, deadpan. “We distract them with chaos, not obviousness.” She paused for effect, adjusting her cap again. “Besides, you started that kiss. I was an innocent bystander.”
Yeji arched an eyebrow. “You held me there for a good ten seconds.”
“Witness intimidation,” Ryujin said without missing a beat, and the smirk finally cracked through her attempt at composure.
The car fell into a comfortable silence after that, the only sound the hum of the heater and the faint tap of Ryujin’s fingers against the wheel.
The morning sun in Boston was cold but bright, the kind that made the streets look almost too clean, the air almost too sharp.
As they merged onto the main road, Ryujin’s free hand reached over instinctively, fingers brushing against Yeji’s knee through her thick leggings. It was a small, grounding touch, careful, like she was as aware of Yeji’s healing ribs as the doctors were.
“Relax,” Ryujin said quietly, eyes still on the road. “We’ll be there in fifteen. Then you can get poked, prodded, and lectured about recovery timelines.”
Yeji’s mind was somewhere else entirely.
Yeji tried, she really did, to keep her focus on the slow crawl of traffic outside her window, but her eyes betrayed her.
It started with a sideways glance. Just a quick look, meant only to check if Ryujin was still wearing that ridiculous baseball cap so low it nearly touched her nose. But then her gaze lingered.
The hoodie’s hood was pulled halfway up, and the sunglasses covered half her face, yet somehow, none of it managed to dull the effect.
Her jawline still cut sharp beneath the shadow of the brim, her lips curled into that lazy almost-smirk, and even the way her hands rested on the wheel, steady, confident , had an irritating sort of pull.
Yeji felt her lips part before she caught herself, blinking as if she could shake the thought loose.
This was absurd.
No one should be able to look good dressed like they were headed to rob a convenience store.
But Ryujin, apparently, had been built to defy logic.
Her attention flicked back to the road just as Ryujin turned slightly, adjusting her cap with one hand. Even through layers of fabric, the casual fluidity of her movements made Yeji’s stomach twist.
When Ryujin caught her staring, her head tilted just enough for a smirk to deepen under the brim. “You’re looking at me like you just realized I’m the hottest getaway driver you’ve ever had.”
Yeji scoffed, but it came out weaker than intended. “I’m looking at you like I’m appalled you can still look attractive dressed like an undercover mall cop.”
That earned her a low laugh, warm and unhurried. “So you admit it.”
“I admit nothing,” Yeji said, eyes snapping forward again. But the faint heat in her cheeks betrayed her, and judging by the way Ryujin’s smirk lingered, she knew it.
Ryujin let the moment stretch, the quiet between them suddenly feeling charged. She kept her eyes on the road, but there was a subtle shift in her posture. A slight lean back in her seat, like she had all the time in the world to savor this.
“You know,” she began slowly, her tone dripping with deliberate mischief, “for someone claiming to be appalled, you’ve been staring at me for a solid thirty seconds. Maybe longer.”
Yeji huffed, trying to sound dismissive. “I was… assessing the absurdity of your disguise.”
“Mhm.” Ryujin nodded as if she believed her, but the faint curl of her lips said otherwise. “You were absolutely doing a visual… assessment. Can’t blame you, though. I mean—” she lifted a hand off the wheel for a second, gesturing to herself in an exaggerated flourish “—I do make crime look good.”
Yeji bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “You make crime look ridiculous.”
“Bold of you to say that to your getaway driver,” Ryujin countered smoothly. Then, as they pulled up to a red light, she tilted her head toward Yeji, her sunglasses catching the winter light just enough to hide her eyes but not the grin tugging at her mouth. “I could’ve worn something normal, you know. But if this keeps you looking at me like that all morning, maybe I should keep it.”
Yeji opened her mouth, then promptly shut it again, realizing anything she said would only feed Ryujin’s ego.
She turned to stare firmly out the passenger window, willing her face to stay neutral.
But Ryujin’s soft laugh told her it was already too late.
The DBX rolled smoothly through the quiet Boston streets, heater humming and Ryujin’s playlist spilling an unpredictable mix of songs into the car. One moment it was a movie soundtrack ballad, the next it was a 2010s pop anthem, and now, Nonsense was bouncing through the speakers like it owned the space.
Yeji gave her a look, halfway between disbelief and amusement, as she sang along to the chorus anyway. “Is this really your driving playlist?”
Ryujin’s hands stayed loose on the wheel, her hood casting a shadow over her grin. “Well, unlike yours, I’m not trying to seduce anyone.”
Yeji snorted, but her eyes narrowed faintly. “My playlist isn’t—” She stopped herself, realizing exactly where Ryujin wanted to steer the conversation. That glint in Ryujin’s eyes, even half-hidden behind her sunglasses, told her all she needed to know.
Ryujin hummed like she had just won a point, the corners of her mouth curling further as she kept her gaze on the road. “Uh-huh. Sure it’s not.”
Yeji settled back in her seat, determined not to rise to the bait, but the faint heat in her cheeks betrayed her.
The bouncy chorus of Nonsense still spilling through the DBX’s speakers, light and shameless in its flirtation.
Yeji did not just hum along. She sang softly, clear and unhesitating, every playful line rolling off her tongue like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
Ryujin kept her eyes on the road, but her grin deepened with every lyric Yeji delivered, her voice threading through the warmth of the car.
By the time Yeji hit the ad-libbed ending, Ryujin let out a low laugh and shook her head.
“Okay,” she said, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, “maybe it wasn’t your playlist.”
Yeji’s lips quirked, but she did not look away from the road ahead. “Told you.”
Ryujin’s smirk did not fade. “Still sounds like you’re trying to seduce someone.”
Yeji shot her a look, but the faint curve at the corner of her mouth gave her away.
Yeji finally turned her head, meeting her gaze through the shadow of the sunglasses. “That’s not my problem anymore, superstar.”
The corner of Ryujin’s mouth twitched, but she did not answer right away, the car filling instead with the faint echo of the next track queuing up
The streets were still damp from an early morning drizzle, and Yeji was just starting to settle into the quiet rhythm of the drive when Ryujin, without warning, cranked the volume up.
The opening guitar riff burst through the speakers, unmistakable, even if Yeji had not heard it in years.
Yeji turned her head just in time to see Ryujin bobbing her head to the beat as she sang.
It was not just singing. It was a full performance of My Life Would Suck Without You.
By the time the chorus hit, Ryujin’s voice was carrying through the car, unapologetically loud and surprisingly still on-key.
Yeji tried, valiantly, to keep her composure. But it was impossible not to laugh, not with Ryujin committing to the bit so hard, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm and tossing her head like she was on stage.
“You’re insane,” Yeji said between laughs, shaking her head.
“Shhh,” Ryujin cut in, mock-serious, “this is the emotional climax.” She clutched her chest with one hand, belting.
Ryujin’s driving playlist rolled on into more sing-out-loud anthems, half rom-com soundtrack, half pure chaos, and Yeji found herself leaning against the passenger door, quietly grinning despite herself.
Ryujin’s disguise might have been ridiculous, but the way she filled the car with her energy made it impossible to feel weighed down by the day ahead.
Ryujin was still humming the bridge under her breath when they turned into the clinic parking lot, fingers drumming on the steering wheel like she was still on stage. The hoodie hood had slipped halfway down during her full-throttle performance, her sunglasses now crooked from the sheer commitment to dramatic head movements.
Yeji glanced at her, shaking her head slowly. “I thought you were trying to be discreet.”
Ryujin killed the engine but did not look remotely repentant. “I was,” she said, tugging the hood back up over her cap. “No one could know Shin Ryujin was ever in her rival’s training facility.”
Yeji blinked at her, fighting back a laugh. “You’re driving me to a medical appointment, not infiltrating my locker room.”
“Same thing,” Ryujin replied without missing a beat, already reaching for Yeji’s small crossbody bag and holding it out for her. “And if anyone asks, I’m just a really stylish Uber driver.”
That earned her a quiet scoff.
Yeji pulled her seatbelt loose and leaned across the center console before Ryujin could hand over the bag, her fingers freezing midair when Yeji’s lips landed on hers, brief, warm, and enough to make Ryujin’s sunglasses slip a fraction down her nose.
Pulling back, Yeji murmured, “Watch out for the news tomorrow. Sentinels captain kissing her really stylish Uber driver .”
Ryujin’s grin curled slow and smug. “Sounds like a headline worth framing.”
“Thanks for the ride,” Yeji said, her voice even as she unbuckled her seatbelt, hand already reaching for the door handle.
Ryujin’s fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel, the shadow of her hood hiding most of her expression. “Message me as soon as you finish,” she said, tone softer than before, less teasing, more matter-of-fact, like it was non-negotiable.
Yeji gave her a small nod, lips pressing together in acknowledgment before pushing the door open. The cold air rushed in immediately, wrapping around her as she stepped out, but the faint warmth of Ryujin’s words lingered.
Yeji turned away, starting toward the clinic doors. She got about halfway there before she stopped, the sound of her own shoes on the pavement fading into a pause.
A beat later, she pivoted on her heel and walked back.
Ryujin’s brow lifted under her cap as she rolled the window down. “Forget something?”
Yeji did not answer. She leaned in, bracing a hand against the side of the car, and pressed her lips to Ryujin’s, brief, unhurried, warm despite the cold air. When she pulled back, her tone shifted into something softer, more careful.
“Take care of my baby.”
Ryujin smirked, leaning one arm against the door. “I won’t crash your precious DBX, captain.”
Yeji’s eyes narrowed slightly, her voice dipping lower. “I was talking to my car.”
Ryujin’s grin only widened. “I knew you were talking about me.”
Yeji exhaled, shaking her head like she wanted to be annoyed but could not quite pull it off.
“See you later, Ryujin.”
She straightened, giving one last glance before turning away for real this time, leaving Ryujin with a satisfied curve to her mouth as she watched her walk toward the building.
The Boston Sentinels’ medical wing was quieter than usual for a weekend morning. The early hour meant the training staff were still cycling through the first batch of rehab appointments, and the soft hum of fluorescent lights filled the sterile air. Yeji had walked in alone, the echo of her SUV pulling away still in her mind.
Now, Yeji sat on the padded table in one of the private assessment rooms, her top peeled off and folded on her lap, sports bra leaving her ribs exposed for the trainer’s inspection. The area still showed faint yellow-green bruising beneath the surface, a fading map of the gold medal game’s punishment.
Mara, the team’s lead athletic trainer, approached with a clipboard and the kind of measured calm Yeji had grown to trust.
“Alright, Cap,” Mara began, tone light but eyes sharp. “Let’s see what we’re working with today. Any changes in pain since last check-in?”
Yeji drew in a slow breath, testing the stretch of her ribcage. “Still stiff when I twist, and sleeping on my right is… not a good idea. But it feels sharp than last week.”
Mara nodded, gently palpating along the injured area. Yeji kept her gaze fixed on the far wall, jaw tightening only when Mara’s fingers pressed just enough to make the ache pulse.
“That’s good,” Mara said, stepping back to jot notes. “Fracture line’s healing on schedule. You’re still in that window where overexertion could set us back, so no stick battles, no heavy contact. We’ll add light resistance work to keep your core engaged.”
Yeji exhaled, a mixture of relief and frustration. She hated being told no, but she hated the idea of re-injury more.
“I figured,” she replied. “When can I get back into full drills?”
Mara gave her a look. The kind that said, you know the answer, but you want me to say it anyway .
“Let’s see how next week’s scan looks. Six weeks was the original timeline, and I am not rushing you back just because playoffs are around the corner. You’re more valuable at one hundred percent than at eighty and stuck in the press box.”
Mara guided Yeji’s arm gently upward, rotating it until the pull along her ribs became noticeable. “Alright, slow turn to the left. Keep breathing through it.”
Yeji followed, moving in a careful arc until her body warned her to stop. The discomfort was there, but it was muted compared to last week.
“Better,” Mara said, jotting notes. “Your range of motion’s definitely improved.”
Yeji gave a clipped nod, but the words lit a spark in her mind she did not dare let reach her face.
The comment was too close, far too close , to what Ryujin had murmured in her ear just earlier today, skin still flushed and laughter caught in her throat.
Her girlfriend had been smug and entirely too pleased with herself, whispering that clearly Yeji’s range of motion was just fine, judging by how far she had been able to move last night.
The memory was sudden and vivid, carrying the echo of warmth on her skin, the easy weight of Ryujin beside her. Yeji fought the urge to smirk, keeping her eyes locked on the far wall as if she were simply concentrating on the exercise.
“Good to hear,” she said evenly, forcing her voice into the captain's calm. But inside, she felt that quiet thrum of heat and memory, the kind only Ryujin could leave behind.
Mara did not notice the flicker of heat across Yeji’s face.
She was already scribbling on her clipboard. “Given the progress, I’m clearing you for light skates starting next training. No contact, no stick battles, and no overextending. Think half-speed, controlled edges, just to get your feel back on the ice.”
Relief settled over Yeji like a slow exhale. “Understood.”
“Good. You’re still on track for the original timeline. We’ll reassess in a week, and if everything keeps trending like this, we can start layering in higher-intensity drills.”
The trainer stepped out briefly to grab an updated rehab plan from the office.
The fading bruises along her ribs were mottled in yellow and green now, a muted map of impact that even the mirror across the room could not soften.
She leaned back slightly on one hand, shifting her weight to keep pressure off the sore side, her other hand resting loosely across her lap.
From this angle, her abdominal muscles stood out in clean definition, training and discipline etched into skin that still bore the marks of the game.
Alone in the quiet, Yeji reached for her phone. She angled it toward the mirror, framing the shot so her head was cropped out completely. Only the toned lines of her torso, the sharp edges of muscle, and the dark blooms of bruising in contrast to pale winter skin were in the frame.
She sent it to Ryujin with no caption, just the image.
The reply came almost instantly.
[Ryujin]
…well fuck
hello captain.
you call this an injury update?
looks more like you’re auditioning for my lock screen
A few seconds later, another message came.
[Ryujin]
also… if that’s your “resting” form, i’m suddenly a big fan of injury protocol
Yeji arched a brow at the screen, typing back before she could think better of it.
[Yeji]
You’re gonna make those bruises your lock screen?
[Ryujin]
hey.
those bruises gave me a gold medal.
A photo came a moment later. Ryujin’s lockscreen, unmistakably showing the image Yeji had just sent.
Cropped perfectly: her toned arm holding the phone, faint bruises peeking from beneath the band of her black Nike sports bra, defined abs tapering lower.
No face, no context.
Only they knew who it was.
[Ryujin]
besides.
too late.
already done.
my captain, my girlfriend, my lock screen
Yeji stared at the photo for a beat longer than she meant to, the corners of her mouth twitching despite herself.
Before she could answer, the trainer’s footsteps sounded in the hall. Yeji locked her phone, setting it aside, her expression smoothing into a captain's composure.
Though the image on Ryujin’s screen stayed lodged in her thoughts like a spark under her skin.
[Yeji]
Trainer’s coming back.
Goodbye.
Yeji shook her head, setting the phone face-down on the table just as the door opened. Her posture straightened, slipping back into the calm captain’s composure, but Ryujin’s last message stayed with her, half teasing, half something else entirely.
Mara handed over a printed schedule. “For now, follow this. Ice after every session, and if anything feels sharp, you shut it down. Deal?”
“Deal,” Yeji replied, tucking the paper into her bag.
Her phone buzzed on the table. She did not need to check to know who it was. She just knew that if she read Ryujin’s reply now, it would probably something to tease her, and she was not about to let Mara catch her smiling like that in the middle of an injury clearance
The rest of the appointment passed with the usual mix of clinical questions and routine checks, Yeji answering evenly while her mind occasionally drifted toward whatever Ryujin had sent. When the final notes were written and Mara gave her a satisfied nod, she gathered her coat, tugging it on carefully so as not to aggravate her ribs.
Only then did she get her phone from the table, the unread notification glowing against the screen.
[Ryujin]
fine.
but send me the next update too.
purely medical reasons.
:D
Yeji chuckled. She typed slowly, thumbs moving with the precision of someone who knew exactly how to get under her girlfriend’s skin without being obvious to anyone else.
[Yeji]
Hi. Assessment’s done.
Trainer says my range of motion’s better.
[Ryujin]
oh..?
i told you
;)
was it better than last night?
Yeji’s lips curved before she could stop them.
[Yeji]
I’m not answering that.
[Ryujin]
thats a yes
definitely a yes
By the time Yeji stepped outside, the crisp Boston air cut through her coat and chased away the lingering scent of antiseptic from the facility. She adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
The late-morning air outside the Sentinels’ facility was cold enough to bite at her cheeks. Yeji stepped onto the sidewalk with the printout of her updated rehab plan tucked into her coat pocket.
When Yeji unlocked her phone to check the time, the image that lit the screen was one she knew by heart.
Montréal.
The first day they had gotten their national team jersey kits. In the original shot, Ryujin had an arm hooked over her shoulder, tugging her down so they could both fit in their hotel room mirror. Her jersey #97 hanging loose, that smug grin aimed squarely at the camera.
Yeji had been half-amused, half-annoyed, though she had stood still long enough for Ryujin to get her picture.
That had been her lockscreen for weeks ever since losing a challenge.
But somewhere along the way, Yeji had recropped it.
Now, when her phone lit up, there were no faces. Just the crisp C stitched over her own chest, the dark navy trim of the jersey, and part of Ryujin’s sleeve, her #97 just visible near the shoulder seam where their sides met.
To anyone else, it was just a cropped shot of team gear.
To Yeji, it was the exact frame where Ryujin’s arm had been looped over her, pulling her closer into that moment.
A new message slid over the top of the screen.
There it was. Ryujin’s name, sitting at the top with four unread messages.
[Ryujin]
how’s my captain?
want me to grab you something before i come back?
drinks? lunch?
a medal for bravery?
Yeji shook her head, the ghost of a smile tugging at her mouth. Her thumbs hovered before she typed.
[Yeji]
Cleared for light skates.
[Ryujin]
so your range of motion really is… better
should i get something celebratory…
or something restorative
Yeji kept her face neutral as a couple of Sentinels staff walked past her, but her reply carried more weight than the words showed.
[Yeji]
Surprise me.
[Ryujin]
dangerous words, captain.
see you in 20.
Pocketing her phone, Yeji started toward the curb, already picturing Ryujin’s grin when she pulled up, equal parts smug and warm, like she had no intention of letting Yeji carry the rest of the day on her own.
Around twenty minutes later, a familiar dark SUV rolled up to the curb in front of the facility. The passenger window lowered to reveal Ryujin leaning over the console, dark hair tucked under a cap, sunglasses doing little to hide the smirk on her face.
“Your chariot awaits,” she drawled, unlocking the doors.
Yeji climbed in, letting the heater’s warmth cut through the chill. A fruit shake sat in the cup holder, and a small paper bag balanced on top of a plain, dark green notebook.
She reached for the drink first, then picked up the notebook, brows lifting. “What’s this?”
Ryujin started driving, one hand loose on the wheel, the other gesturing toward it. “Picked it up while you were getting poked and rotated like a lab rat. Thought of you.”
“Very romantic,” Yeji deadpanned, turning it over in her hands. The cover was smooth, matte, the kind she favored, simple, durable, meant to be used.
When she flipped it open, a note was scrawled across the first page in Ryujin’s neat handwriting.
Captain Hwang’s Very Serious and Not At All Biased Game Analyses v.2
Beneath it, in smaller letters,
because your old one’s gotta be full of reviews of my plays by now.
At the bottom of the page, there was another short message scribbled in small letters.
for the plays you don’t say out loud.
and everything else you still want to win for.
— rs
“Did you write in this just so you could avoid buying a card?”
“Yes,” Ryujin said, with no shame whatsoever.
Yeji laughed softly, tracing the edge of the note with her finger. “It’s perfect.”
Ryujin glanced at her. “You’re welcome.”
Yeji closed the cover slowly, pressing her lips together to keep the smile from breaking free. “What’s this for?”
“I remember you carrying that old notebook everywhere. Figured it’s either completely full by now or you’re down to writing in the margins.”
“I use it for everyone’s plays,” Yeji said, voice even but laced with just enough emphasis to make it clear she was not giving Ryujin the satisfaction.
“Sure you do,” Ryujin murmured, and her grin widened. “But mine takes up more pages, right?”
Yeji did not answer.
She just slipped the new notebook into her bag, her fruit shake cooling her hands, and let the quiet hum of the engine fill the space between them.
The SUV slipped into late-morning traffic, the heater low but steady, soft music playing from the speakers. Yeji kept her drink close, as the city rolled by in muted winter colors.
Yeji had meant to look out the window. That had been her plan. Watch the familiar rhythm of her city sliding past, the narrow brick buildings, the small storefronts with their awnings still beaded from an earlier drizzle.
But the moment Ryujin turned the corner and the pale midday sun caught the side of her face, the plan fell apart .
It was just past noon, the light high but softened by winter haze, filtering through the SUV’s windshield in cool, muted gold. It traced the curve of Ryujin’s cheekbone, the gentle slope of her nose, catching in the strands of dark hair that had fallen loose against her temple.
Her left hand rested lightly on the wheel, fingers drumming along to the muted thrum of Robbers by The 1975 , slow beats in time with the song.
The city was Ryujin’s backdrop now.
Boston’s streets were stretching out in front of her, stoplights reflecting faintly in her sunglasses, traffic shifting easily around them.
She did not look like a visitor there, not in the way she moved through it. She looked settled, like the driver’s seat belonged to her, like this route to Yeji’s apartment was one she had driven a hundred times.
Yeji’s gaze lingered longer than it should have, tracing the relaxed set of Ryujin’s shoulders, the curve of her grip on the wheel, the subtle focus in her brow as she eased them through the slow midday flow.
It was the kind of quiet that did not demand to be filled. A space where Yeji could just look, take in the shape of her, and let the thought settle that this was Ryujin, in her city, sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, driving her home.
She did not speak, did not even shift in her seat.
The music, the light, and the steady hum of the engine wove the moment into something suspended, something she did not want to break.
And if Ryujin noticed her watching, she did not say a word. She just kept driving, like she was perfectly content to be seen.
The traffic light ahead shifted to red, and the car eased to a stop. Ryujin glanced sideways at Yeji, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, without saying anything, she reached her right hand across the console, palm up in quiet invitation.
Yeji hesitated only long enough to set her shake in the cup holder before sliding her hand into Ryujin’s. Their fingers intertwined naturally, like the space between them had been waiting for it.
It struck her again how small Ryujin’s hand felt enclosed in hers, the delicate lines of her fingers completely wrapped in Yeji’s steady grip.
Ryujin’s thumb brushed over the back of Yeji’s hand, slow and absentminded, the warmth of her skin steady against the winter air creeping in through the windshield.
She kept her eyes on the light ahead as she lifted their joined hands, pressing her lips to Yeji’s knuckles with unhurried care.
“I’m happy for you,” she murmured, her voice low enough that it almost blended into the music. “For your progress. For getting back on the ice.”
Something in the way she said it carried more than the words themselves. Pride, relief, and that quiet thread of protectiveness that Ryujin never seemed to admit out loud unless moments like this demanded it.
Yeji did not pull away. She just let their hands rest between them, the car moving forward again when the light turned green, the city resuming around them while Robbers faded on in the background.
Ryujin cleared her throat and spoke again, chin tilting toward the bag on Yeji’s lap. “So… where are you gonna start? First page, big bold letters. ‘Ryujin’s Brilliance, Volume Two ’?”
Yeji took a sip of her drink. “Or maybe ‘Ryujin’s Reckless Zone Entries: A Cautionary Tale. ’”
“Harsh,” Ryujin said, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “But fine, I can take it. Just make sure you write about the times I made you chase me into the corner and still got the shot off.”
Yeji let out a quiet, amused breath. “You really think I’d waste ink on your lucky shots?”
“They’re not lucky if they happen every game,” Ryujin said, turning onto Yeji’s street with one hand.
Yeji did not reply, but the faint curve of her lips gave her away. Ryujin caught it from the corner of her eye and pressed her advantage.
“You know, I bet that old notebook is like… sixty percent me, twenty percent other people, and twenty percent angry scribbles when I score on you.”
“Sixty percent is generous,” Yeji murmured, though there was no real bite in it.
Ryujin pulled to a smooth stop in Yeji’s usual parking spot, shifting into park. “Alright then, prove me wrong. Bring it out sometime. We’ll compare.”
Yeji opened the door, pausing long enough to meet her gaze. “You’d get jealous.”
Ryujin’s grin was all teeth now. “Only if someone else’s plays got more detail than mine.”
Yeji stepped out, and shut the door with the calm precision of someone who had no intention of giving Ryujin the last word, but Ryujin knew she had already won something.
The new notebook was still in Yeji’s hand as she headed inside.
The familiar click of the lock echoed as Yeji pushed her door open, the faint scent of cedar and laundry greeting them. She set her bag on the entry bench and slipped off her coat, Ryujin following close behind, carrying a white paper bag heavy with the smell of fresh Chinese takeout.
“You didn’t tell me you were getting food,” Yeji said, glancing over her shoulder.
“Consider it a second surprise,” Ryujin replied, setting the bag on the kitchen counter.
Ryujin started unpacking the containers.
Steamed dumplings, fried rice, stir-fried vegetables, sesame chicken.
The warmth and savory scent filled the kitchen, wrapping the space in something that felt almost too comfortable for a casual drop-in.
They settled at Yeji’s dining table, the one pushed against the window that looked out over the view below. Ryujin slid the dumplings toward her. “Eat these first. Fuel for the brave captain with her improved range of motion.”
Yeji narrowed her eyes but accepted a dumpling, biting into it without comment. “You’re going to milk that phrase forever, aren’t you?”
“Only because you’re not denying it,” Ryujin said, mouth curving as she picked at the fried rice. “And because I know you’ll think about it every time the trainer says it now.”
Yeji reached for the sesame chicken, placing two pieces on Ryujin’s plate without looking up. “You’re lucky the food’s good.”
“That’s why I brought it,” Ryujin said lightly, leaning back in her chair. “Smart girlfriend strategy. Annoy you just enough, then distract you with takeout.”
They ate in silence for a while, the only sounds were the clink of chopsticks and the occasional low hum of approval from Ryujin when she found something especially good.
They were halfway through the sesame chicken when Yeji’s phone, sitting face-up on the table, buzzed with a new notification. The screen lit briefly, revealing the sender’s name.
Sentinels PR – Media Coordination
Ryujin, mid-bite of fried rice, tilted her head to read it upside down. “Ooh. The mighty captain getting official summons?”
Yeji wiped her mouth with a napkin before picking up the phone. “Probably just playoff media prep.” She unlocked the screen, scanning the first lines.
Ryujin leaned forward across the table, unashamedly nosy. “Does it say they want you for another solo interview? Or are they finally doing the whole ‘rivalry’ feature and making you talk about me for twenty minutes?”
Yeji shot her a look over the edge of her phone. “You’d love that.”
“I’d frame it,” Ryujin said without missing a beat, popping another dumpling into her mouth. “Front page in my apartment. Right next to my game pucks.”
Yeji scrolled further. The first part of the email looked routine. Playoff media scheduling, a photo shoot, and the league’s short “ captain’s insight ” video segment.
She noted the date. “First one’s in three days.”
Ryujin’s eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “And if they do ask you about me?”
“I’ll be professional,” Yeji replied evenly.
“That’s code for ‘I’m going to bury you with backhanded compliments ,’” Ryujin muttered, grinning.
But halfway down the email, the tone shifted.
We also need to schedule a private sit-down tomorrow to address recent public speculation surrounding your relationship with New York Cyclones’ Ryujin Shin.
The words landed heavy. Yeji’s shoulders went still, her chopsticks pausing mid-air.
Her eyes scanned the rest.
We want to get ahead of potential distractions, ensure consistent messaging, and determine how much, if anything, you’re comfortable confirming.
Ryujin was still talking, something about planting answers in her script, but Yeji barely heard her. She set the phone face-down on the table, the faint hum of the heater suddenly louder in the room.
“Everything okay?” Ryujin asked, catching the shift in her posture.
Yeji forced a small nod. “They… want me to meet with them tomorrow. Something about… making sure playoff coverage stays focused.”
She did not add the rest, not yet.
Not the part where it was not just about her as the captain, but about them .
About their relationship, the one that felt untouchable in rooms like this but suddenly felt exposed under the cold light of team PR.
Yeji picked up her chopsticks again, but the taste of sesame chicken had dulled. The email’s weight sat low in her chest, unmoved by the warmth of the room or the comfort of the meal.
Chapter Text
Sunday settled in with the kind of muted stillness that made the city outside feel far away.
The warmth of Yeji’s apartment was deceptive. It made Ryujin want to forget entirely that she had a return ticket to New York, that her weekend here was only ever meant to be temporary. She had not said it out loud, but she had been dreading this moment since she first stepped into Yeji’s apartment on Friday night.
Her bag was packed neatly last night in a half-hearted attempt at being prepared, but it looked wrong there, like it was already pulling her away.
It was a reminder of the clock running down on her weekend escape.
A reminder neither of them liked.
Yeji had not looked at it much, but Ryujin noticed the way her gaze would drift toward it when she thought Ryujin was not paying attention. It was not resentment, more like an unspoken acknowledgement that the hours were slipping too quickly.
Yeji had been in the kitchen earlier, but her mind was not as clear as her movements. She had found out yesterday afternoon in a brief, carefully worded email from her PR liaison that her management wanted to meet with her today about speculations surrounding her and Ryujin.
She had not brought it up, not yesterday during their lazy Saturday, and not now.
Not when Ryujin was about to leave.
She focused on the moment in front of her.
They were already dressed to go, coats draped over the arm of the couch, bags leaning against the wall by the door. The plan had been simple: finish their coffees, leave with plenty of time to catch Ryujin’s train, but neither of them seemed in a hurry.
Yeji moved through the kitchen with her usual quiet efficiency, measuring out coffee grounds and setting two mugs on the counter, her hoodie draped over her shoulders. The rich, familiar scent of brewing coffee filled the apartment, curling warmly through the quiet.
She did not say much either, but the air between them was heavier than the comfortable silence they had shared all weekend. Her ribs still ached faintly if she reached too far or twisted too suddenly, and Ryujin had been watching her like a hawk. She was pretending not to, but never missing a wince.
Yeji leaned against the counter, glancing toward the couch where Ryujin was sitting with one leg folded underneath her, scrolling idly on her phone without really seeing anything. Yeji’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly.
“Your train’s at noon, right?” she asked, voice low.
“Mm.” Ryujin set her phone aside and rubbed the back of her neck. “Gives me a little over two hours before I need to head out.”
Yeji nodded, but there was a small twitch in her jaw, as if she were resisting the urge to tell her to stay another night.
Instead, while waiting for the last of the brew, she pulled her phone and sent off a quick text. Once sent, she slipped it back into her pocket.
She opened the fridge and reached for the carton of milk she had bought on Friday during their grocery run. It was not the kind she usually stocked.
She almost never bothered with milk in her coffee. It was not a habit for her to keep milk around; she preferred her coffee black, clean and bitter.
But they had been halfway down the dairy aisle when she had spotted it and, without breaking stride, tossed it into her cart.
She had not looked at Ryujin, had not said anything, just kept walking like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But out of the corner of her eye, she had caught the way Ryujin had grinned wide and bright, the kind of grin that was more reaction than thought, like she had just been caught off guard in the best way.
Yeji had rolled her eyes at that time, muttering something about not making a big deal out of it, but she knew exactly why she had grabbed it.
Ryujin liked her coffee about 90% milk, a fact she had observed more than once with ridiculous pride.
Now, as she poured the milk into one mug, the memory lingered. She set her own black coffee aside, swirling the other cup until it turned the pale beige Ryujin always claimed was “ perfect .”
From the couch, Ryujin’s voice floated over once again, still warm with sleep. “Is that mine?”
Yeji did not glance up. “Who else drinks coffee like this?”
She crossed the room, placed the mug in front of Ryujin, and sat beside her. Their knees brushed. Ryujin’s grin lingered as she wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic, taking a sip and letting out a content hum. The quiet between them felt unhurried, filled with the soft clink of the mug on the table and the faint hum of the heater in the background.
Ryujin tilted her head toward her, eyes glinting. “Bet you’re gonna miss me the second I’m on that train.”
Yeji gave her a sideways look. “You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I am,” Ryujin said simply, leaning back into the cushions. “You’ll put on that stoic captain face, but inside? Tragic .”
Yeji took a measured sip of her coffee. “Tragic is the word I’d use if you spill that on my couch.”
“That’s a dodge,” Ryujin countered with a smirk. “Noted.”
Yeji shook her head, but her lips curved just slightly as she glanced at her again.
“Don’t worry,” Ryujin added, softer now, “ it’s only a week until the banquet.”
Yeji turned fully toward her. She arched an eyebrow. “You make it sound like we’re meeting up for coffee, not dressing up to be paraded in front of every media outlet in the country.”
Ryujin smirked over the rim of her coffee. “You’re just scared I’ll outshine you in the photos.”
“I’m not scared,” Yeji said evenly, “I just know you’re capable of making Coach Donovan sigh before the first toast.”
“Okay, but admit it,” Ryujin leaned forward to set her mug down. “You like when I make him sigh. You get that little smile—”
“I do not.” Yeji’s lips pressed together, but the faint twitch at the corner betrayed her.
“You totally do.” Ryujin grinned, leaning back into the cushions.
Yeji rolled her eyes but did not bother denying it any further.
Instead, she shifted to face her a little more. “Are you planning to wear something normal to this banquet, or am I going to have to intercept you at the door?”
“I was thinking leather pants,” Ryujin replied without hesitation, “and maybe a see-through shirt just to watch you sweat.”
“That would make you sweat,” Yeji deadpanned, taking a slow sip of coffee. “I’ll be fine.”
They sipped their coffee in comfortable quiet for a few minutes, the conversation shifting to smaller things. The Cyclones’ Monday skate, Yeji’s return to the ice, a few stray bits of league gossip.
But underneath it was that constant awareness of the clock ticking down.
By late afternoon, they would be back in different cities, in different routines, waiting out the days until they could be in the same room again.
They had spent the weekend in a kind of suspended reality: snuggling in the mornings, quiet afternoons, Yeji working through light rehab exercises while Ryujin offered mock commentary like she was announcing a game.
It had been easy to forget the distance that usually stretched between Boston and New York, between their schedules, between the noise of their rivalry and the quiet they found here.
Now, the reality of Ryujin’s return to New York pressed in. Training resumed Monday for both the Cyclones and the Sentinels. They would go back to their separate team meetings, different locker rooms, opposite sides of the ice.
Ryujin tilted her head back against the couch, closing her eyes for a moment.
“You’re going to make yourself sleepy before your train,” Yeji murmured.
“I’m already sleepy,” Ryujin replied, eyes still shut. “Boston air’s too relaxing. You should bottle it.”
Yeji glanced at her, one brow lifting. “You hate Boston, Ryujin.”
“No,” Ryujin replied immediately. “I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. It’s a fact,” Yeji replied evenly. “Every time you play here, you complain about the ice, the boards, the locker room—”
“That’s game-day psychology,” Ryujin interrupted with a smirk. “If I talk enough trash, I convince myself I’m here to destroy the place.”
Yeji tilted her head, unconvinced. “And yet you still lose sometimes.”
Ryujin pressed a hand to her chest like she had been wounded. “Wow. Brutal. Not even a warm-up before the chirps today?”
Yeji sipped her coffee, unbothered. “I’m just stating the record.”
“Well, the record should also state,” Ryujin said, leaning toward her, “that I like your apartment. Which technically makes me like Boston… in a very, very small, extremely specific way.”
Yeji’s lips curved slightly. “Flattery won’t keep you here.”
“Not even if I say you’re the only thing about Boston worth liking?” Ryujin asked, grinning now.
Yeji smirked. “So the air isn’t relaxing. It’s me.”
Ryujin made a thoughtful hum, finally letting her head roll toward Yeji until her temple rested lightly against her shoulder. “Yeah… guess I should bottle you instead.”
Yeji shook her head, though the faint twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed her.
She glanced down at her, the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes. She set her coffee down on the table, the quiet clink against the coaster breaking the stillness. Then she shifted, leaning toward the armrest so her body angled along the couch, leaving enough space for Ryujin to stretch out beside her.
Ryujin caught on immediately, her grin softening as she slid down to match her, tucking herself into Yeji’s side like it was the most obvious thing to do.
Ryujin glanced at her. “What, is this a trick to make me fall asleep here so I miss my train?”
Yeji huffed out a small laugh. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
Ryujin smirked faintly. “Are you saying you’d be okay with me missing my train?”
“I’m saying,” Yeji began, eyes forward on the muted light filtering through the curtains, “that you falling asleep here wouldn’t exactly ruin my day.”
Ryujin let out a quiet laugh and shifted sideways, resting her head on Yeji’s shoulder. Yeji did not move away, just glanced down at her, then adjusted so Ryujin’s head fit more comfortably.
That was all the invitation Ryujin needed. She let her full weight sink into Yeji’s side, one leg stretching out across the couch while the other tucked between Yeji’s legs.
Yeji shifted again, careful of her ribs, and let her head tilt just enough to rest lightly against Ryujin’s hair.
“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” Ryujin teased, eyes closing again. “Captain Hwang Yeji, reduced to my pillow.”
Yeji gave a small huff of amusement.
Ryujin was half-curled into Yeji’s side now, her head tucked neatly into the crook of Yeji’s neck, eyes still closed as if she could will the clock to stop. The steady hum of the heater and the faint scent from Yeji’s hoodie were working together to make her even sleepier.
“Ryujin,” Yeji said softly, her hand idly resting against Ryujin’s arm.
“Mmm?”
“I have something to tell you.”
Ryujin cracked one eye open, tilting her head just enough to look at her. “What’s it about?”
“The PR meeting,” Yeji said, watching her reaction carefully. “They’re… going to ask about us.”
That got both of Ryujin’s eyes open. “Oh god.”
Yeji frowned slightly. “What?”
“I thought you were breaking up with me,” Ryujin said flatly, her voice pitched halfway between deadpan and genuine relief.
Yeji blinked at her, caught off guard. “Ryujin.”
“What?” Ryujin’s mouth curved into a faint grin. “You said it like it was bad news. My brain went straight to the worst-case scenario.”
“You’re literally snuggling in my neck,” Yeji pointed out, incredulous.
“Exactly,” Ryujin said, closing her eyes again and settling back into place. “Prime breakup position.”
Yeji pulled back just enough to look down at her, still wearing that incredulous half-smile. “Where did you even get that?”
Ryujin tilted her head back so she could meet Yeji’s gaze, feigning complete seriousness. “Every drama I’ve ever seen. Someone says, ‘I have something to tell you,’ and then boom. Breakup, death, long-lost sibling, take your pick.”
Yeji’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “So you heard me, while I was literally holding you like this” —she gave Ryujin a pointed squeeze, their bodies still pressed together— “and your brain went straight to I’m dumping you ?”
“Hey,” Ryujin said, her grin twitching at the corners, “don’t act like it wouldn’t make great TV. The star defenseman of Boston, breaking up with the star forward of New York, right after they’ve been caught in a rivalry romance? Instant ratings.”
Yeji just stared at her for a moment, then sighed, the kind that came from knowing she had lost the battle before she had started it. “That’s absurd.”
“And you like it,” Ryujin countered without missing a beat, leaning back into Yeji’s neck with a content little hum. “Anyway, the PR meeting thing is fine. As long as they don’t try to give us some fake ‘we’re just friends ’ statement, we’ll survive.”
There was a beat of silence before Ryujin tilted her chin slightly, studying Yeji’s expression.
“Captain,” she said softly, “were you seriously worried about telling me?”
Yeji did not answer right away, her eyes shifting toward the coffee table before coming back to Ryujin. “…A little. I didn’t want to ruin the weekend.”
Ryujin’s grin softened into something smaller, warmer. She shifted closer, tucking herself back into Yeji’s side. “You couldn’t ruin it. Not unless you actually were breaking up with me. And even then…” She smirked faintly. “I’d still finish my coffee first.”
Yeji huffed a laugh, but her arm slid more securely around Ryujin’s shoulders, pulling her in just a little tighter. “Idiot.”
“I’m your idiot,” Ryujin murmured, eyes closing again as the room settled back into its slow, lazy quiet.
They stayed like that, the weight of the weekend pressing down just enough to make the moment feel suspended as if time was politely holding off on reminding them that Ryujin had to leave.
The coffee forgotten on the table, and the muted sounds of the city outside faded into the background.
“You’re warm,” Ryujin mumbled without opening her eyes.
Yeji allowed herself the smallest smile. “You’re heavy.”
“Liar,” Ryujin murmured, her lips curving faintly. She shifted but did not move away, her cheek pressing more firmly against Yeji’s side.
Yeji let out a soft breath, her gaze drifting toward the coats and bags waiting by the door. “You know we’re supposed to be on our way, right?”
Ryujin murmured, voice thick with drowsiness. “Supposed to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting,” Ryujin replied, still without opening her eyes.
Yeji shook her head, her hand finding its way into Ryujin’s hair almost without thinking, fingers combing idly through the strands.
Ryujin just hummed in reply, but the way she settled in made it clear she had already stopped thinking about leaving at all.
The apartment grew quieter. Ryujin’s breathing slowed, steady and even, matching Yeji’s without her even trying. Their knees brushed in the narrow space, and at some point, Ryujin’s hand found the edge of Yeji’s sleeve, thumb idly stroking the fabric without thought.
Yeji felt her eyelids grow heavier, the stillness pulling her in despite herself. She had promised she would not nap in the middle of the day, but the combination of warmth, the slow rhythm of Ryujin’s breathing, and the residual ache in her ribs made her surrender.
Within minutes, the space between them dissolved entirely, both of them tucked into the couch, coats forgotten, their plans to leave quietly surrendered to the pull of sleep.
Yeji woke to the faint buzz in her pocket, the vibration against her leg cutting through the slow, heavy calm of sleep. For a moment she did not move, her mind catching up to where she was: on the couch with the steady warmth of Ryujin pressed against her side.
When she blinked herself awake, the first thing she saw was Ryujin, utterly still, utterly unbothered, and definitely not showing any signs of getting up.
She shifted just enough to fish her phone out of her pocket, careful not to disturb the weight leaning into her. The screen lit up in her hand, and she squinted at the time. Their nap had stretched longer than she expected.
The clock on her phone told her they had about thirty minutes before they had to leave.
She glanced down again at the girl still curled into her. Ryujin was out cold, head resting comfortably against Yeji’s shoulder, her breathing slow and even. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, and Yeji resisted the urge to brush it away, partly because she did not want to wake her, partly because the sight was oddly disarming.
She slid the phone back into her pocket and let herself sink into the cushions again. The vibration had already stopped, and the apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater. Ryujin shifted slightly, pressing closer like she was chasing warmth, and Yeji’s arm adjusted automatically, holding her in place.
She glanced toward the clock on the wall, weighing the minutes. She could wake her now, start the slow process of getting her out the door… or she could give her just a little more time like this.
Yeji easily decided on the latter.
After a few extra minutes, Yeji glanced down at her for a moment, taking in the way her features softened in sleep, the way her lips parted just slightly with each slow breath.
Waking her with words felt almost… inelegant .
So instead, Yeji shifted, letting her arm slide a little more securely around Ryujin’s shoulders. She leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against her temple.
No reaction.
Another kiss, this one along the high curve of her cheekbone. Ryujin stirred faintly but kept her eyes shut.
Yeji smirked to herself, leaning lower until her lips brushed the corner of Ryujin’s jaw. “Wake up,” she murmured against her skin.
A faint, muffled sound escaped Ryujin’s throat, but she did not move, her lips curving just slightly like she knew exactly what Yeji was doing.
Yeji did not let up. She trailed another kiss down to the smooth line of her neck, lingering where she could feel the slow, steady beat of Ryujin’s pulse. Ryujin’s breathing hitched just a little, but she still did not open her eyes. She felt the subtle change, the way her body tensed just slightly under the touch.
“Are you awake now?” Yeji murmured against her skin, her lips brushing the words across another kiss, this one just at the corner of her jaw.
“No,” Ryujin muttered, voice low and stubborn. “Still asleep. Please proceed.”
Yeji let out a quiet laugh through her nose, then shifted so she was hovering over her, her hair falling forward to frame them both.
She caught Ryujin’s lips in a slow, warm kiss, the kind that pulled a faint hum out of her. Ryujin immediately kissed her back, one hand coming up to Yeji’s side to keep her there.
But before Ryujin could deepen it, Yeji pulled away, straightening with a deliberately neutral expression. “Oh hey,” she said lightly, “you’re awake. Get up.”
“That’s just cruel.” Ryujin blinked at her, a dazed smile forming. “You’re cruel, captain.”
“It works,” Yeji replied, her voice low.
“You keep that up,” Ryujin muttered, “and I’m not leaving today.”
Yeji smiled faintly, brushing a final kiss across her lips, “Then I guess I should stop?”
Ryujin shifted, still not sitting up, her grin lazy. “Or you could keep going, and we see what happens.”
Yeji shook her head but let her hand rest lightly at the side of Ryujin’s face for a moment longer, her thumb brushing against her skin, before finally nudging her upright.
“Come on. If you go back to sleep, I’m not carrying you out of the apartment.”
Yeji gave her arm one more squeeze before shifting to stand, but the moment she moved, Ryujin’s grip tightened like a stubborn kid refusing to leave a playground.
“Ryujin,” Yeji said, her voice a mixture of amusement and warning.
“Mmm?” Ryujin’s face stayed buried in her hoodie, her arms tightening around Yeji’s waist. “I thought you said you weren’t breaking up with me. That means I get at least another ten minutes like this.”
“That’s not how this works.” Yeji braced her hands against Ryujin’s shoulders, trying to push her upright. “We have to go. Your train—”
“Isn’t going to leave without me,” Ryujin cut in, clinging tighter.
“It is going to leave without you,” Yeji said, voice firm now, though her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile.
Ryujin groaned when Yeji nudged her again, tilting her head back into the cushions like she was digging in, the ghost of those kisses still warm on her skin.
“Five more minutes?” she murmured, eyes still closed.
“You’ve already had forty,” Yeji replied evenly, but there was the faintest curl of amusement at the edge of her voice.
Ryujin peeked at her through one barely open eye, a lazy grin tugging at her lips. “Guess I’m asking for forty-five.”
Yeji exhaled slowly, leaning over her. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“Nope.” Ryujin closed her eyes again, smug in her defiance.
Yeji studied her for a moment, watching the way she sank further into the couch like she had every intention of fusing with it. With a small shake of her head, she shifted closer, bracing a hand on the armrest and letting her other hand trail lightly along Ryujin’s jaw. Her thumb brushed against warm skin, just enough to make Ryujin’s lips twitch in reaction, but not enough to satisfy.
“Yeji…” Ryujin murmured, her tone caught somewhere between warning and request, though her eyes stayed shut as if refusing to give Yeji the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.
Yeji pulled back just enough to look at her, her expression calm but her eyes carrying that quiet challenge. “Still not getting up?”
Ryujin finally cracked both eyes open, a slow, reluctant smile forming. “I’m reconsidering. Might need… extra persuasion.”
Yeji arched an eyebrow, but her mouth twitched into the faintest smirk. “Get up, Shin.”
Ryujin’s arms folded behind her head, her grin turning downright mischievous.
“Make me,” she said, drawing out the words like a challenge.
Yeji’s brows lifted slightly, her tone as calm as it was matter-of-fact. “You do know I can physically make you, even with broken ribs, right?”
That only seemed to make Ryujin’s grin widen. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”
Yeji just stared at her for a beat, that patient, unblinking look she often gave rookies who thought they could skate circles around her.
Ryujin tilted her head back to look up at her, utterly unbothered. “You gonna prove it, captain?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Yeji replied evenly, but there was a faint smirk threatening to break through.
Ryujin sat up a little, leaning forward so their faces were just inches apart. “Tempting you is my entire personality.”
Yeji’s eyes narrowed, though the amusement was definitely there now. “Get your coat, before I decide to test just how much you can handle being dragged out the door.”
“Dragged out by you?” Ryujin chuckled, finally rising to her feet, deliberately slow. “Not exactly a deterrent.”
Yeji was already at the door, slipping her shoes on, when Ryujin finally wandered over with that same smug grin from the couch. Her jacket was only half-buttoned, hair slightly mussed from their lazy morning, and she looked far too pleased with herself for someone who had been seconds away from being physically hauled upright.
“You got lucky I was in a generous mood,” Yeji said without looking up as she adjusted her own coat.
“Mm, generous is one word for it,” Ryujin replied, stepping close enough that her shoulder brushed Yeji’s. “Merciful. Weak with affection. Completely unable to resist me…”
Yeji turned her head just enough to give her a level stare, the corners of her mouth threatening to curve. “Careful.”
“Why?” Ryujin asked lightly, taking a half-step forward so Yeji’s back brushed the wall by the door. “You’ll drag me to the station?”
Yeji did not answer with words.
Instead, she reached out, curled her fingers into the front of Ryujin’s jacket, and pulled her in.
The hug was firm from the start, no tentative easing into it. It was just Yeji wrapping both arms around her and holding her close. Ryujin’s teasing died instantly, replaced by the low exhale she always gave when Yeji hugged her like this, solid and steady, like she had no intention of letting go.
Ryujin’s arms came up around Yeji’s waist, careful around her ribs, her fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of her coat. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth and weight of the embrace soak in.
They stayed like that for a long moment, unmoving, the muffled city sounds outside making the apartment feel even smaller, quieter.
“You’re making it too hard to leave,” Ryujin murmured into her shoulder.
“That’s the point,” Yeji replied quietly, not letting go.
Yeji did not loosen her grip right away. She shifted her head just enough to rest her cheek against Ryujin’s shoulder carefully, breathing in slowly. “One week,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“One week,” Ryujin echoed, her voice softer now, the banter stripped out of it.
Eventually, Yeji pulled back just enough to meet Ryujin’s eyes, giving her a small, steady look before finally straightening.
Neither said much as they gathered their things from the couch. Yeji picked up her keys from the coffee table, Ryujin tucked her phone into her pocket.
The walk to the door was unhurried, but neither made much conversation.
Outside, the cold bit at their cheeks, the sky stretched in its muted winter gray, the cold wrapped around them instantly, visible in the pale clouds of their breath. Ryujin fell into step beside her as they made their way to the underground parking.
Ryujin climbed into the passenger seat of Yeji’s Aston Martin, glancing once at the driver with that lingering, crooked smile. She buckled her seatbelt, twisting in her seat just enough to study Yeji’s hands on the wheel.
“I could’ve just taken the cab,” Ryujin said, rubbing her hands together for warmth.
Yeji shifted into drive without looking at her. “And let you be crammed in the back of some stranger’s car? Not a chance.”
“It’s like ten minutes to the station,” Ryujin pointed out, leaning back. “I think I would’ve survived.”
Yeji’s mouth curved faintly. “Maybe. But this way I know you get there on time.”
Ryujin gave her a side glance, lips twitching. “You’re making it sound like I’m chronically late.”
“You are,” Yeji said simply.
“I’m still gonna miss this,” Ryujin said, her voice half-muffled by the fabric of her hoodie.
Yeji’s brows lifted slightly beneath the shadow of her cap. “Miss what?”
“Watching you drive.” Ryujin leaned back, smirking faintly. “You’re weirdly good at it. Calm, steady. Kind of nice to look at, too.”
Yeji huffed out a quiet laugh. “You’re acting like you’ll never see it again.”
“I won’t for a while,” Ryujin said matter-of-factly.
Yeji did not respond right away, her gaze fixed on the empty street ahead. If anything, her grip on the wheel eased, like she had just confirmed something to herself.
Ryujin did not notice. She took a sip from the travel mug Yeji had handed her, glancing out the window as they pulled away from the parking lot. “Besides, train rides aren’t exactly thrilling. I might as well enjoy the view now.”
Yeji’s lips curved almost subtly. “Yeah,” she murmured, merging smoothly into the main road. “Might as well.”
The car ride began in that sleepy, unhurried silence they had learned to share since becoming a couple. Yeji kept one hand on the wheel and the other curled loosely on the center console, close enough for Ryujin’s fingers to graze if she wanted.
Ryujin sat angled toward the window, sipping her coffee, occasionally watching the streets of Boston blur past or stealing glances at Yeji’s profile.
Yeji drove the way she always did. Steady hands, no wasted movement, eyes scanning the road like she was reading plays before they happened. It was almost hypnotic, the kind of calm that made Ryujin forget they were even on a clock.
They were only a few minutes from South Station now. Ryujin adjusted her mug in her hands, ready to gather her things when they got close. She did not notice Yeji shift slightly in her seat, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror like she was checking traffic.
The green exit sign was visible in the distance, traffic was light enough for an easy merge.
But Yeji did not move toward the right lane.
Ryujin frowned faintly but did not speak yet, watching as the gap for the exit crept closer. She figured Yeji would slide over at the last second.
Except… she did not.
“You’re cutting it close,” Ryujin said finally, nodding toward the sign.
Yeji’s gaze did not waver. “Am I?”
“Uh, yeah,” Ryujin replied, glancing between her and the lane ahead. “That’s our turn.”
“I see it.”
The sign was right there now. The dashed lane marker opened. One flick of the blinker and they would be on track for the station.
But Yeji stayed in her lane.
Ryujin’s eyes widened as the exit slipped past them. “Yeji!”
“Mm?”
“You just blew past the station.”
“I know,” Yeji said, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
“You… know?” Ryujin sat up straighter, suspicion prickling. “As in you realized and missed it, or you know and you’re doing it on purpose?”
“The second one,” Yeji answered without pause.
Ryujin stared at her. “Okay… so where exactly are we going if not the train station?”
“New York.”
Chapter Text
New York.
The word landed in Ryujin’s head like a puck off the board. Loud, abrupt, impossible to ignore.
For a heartbeat, she just sat there, seatbelt pressing against her chest, brain trying to reconcile what she heard with what she thought was happening.
She had woken up this morning thinking they would share an early coffee, Yeji would drop her at the station, and they would do the usual. Draw out their goodbye until the last possible second before Ryujin stepped onto the platform.
She had already braced herself for it.
But now?
Now Yeji was driving past the turn, steady hands on the wheel like this had been the plan all along.
No announcement, no discussion, no warning.
Just casually driving to New York.
Ryujin caught herself staring at her profile, the sharp focus in Yeji’s eyes, the way her mouth barely moved when she spoke. She looked calm. Too calm for someone about to drive nearly five hours with fractured ribs.
Ryujin blinked. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
Ryujin was caught between protesting and grinning. “Yeji, that’s almost a five-hour drive.”
“Three and a half if traffic’s kind.” Yeji’s tone was maddeningly casual, but her eyes had that quiet spark, the one that told Ryujin this had been decided long before she got in the car.
Ryujin turned fully in her seat. “You’re not cleared for that. And don’t you have some PR meeting today?”
“Rescheduled.” Yeji’s lips curved faintly. “I told them I had a prior commitment.”
“You what—? When?” Ryujin stared at her.
“When you were being stubborn and wouldn’t get out of my couch.” Yeji said matter-of-factly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Figured I’d rather spend the day with you than be stuck in some boardroom talking about you.”
“And your prior commitment is… chauffeuring me?”
“Yep.”
Ryujin stared at her, caught somewhere between exasperation and something warmer that she did not want to name in the middle of a highway. “Yeji… you didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” Yeji cut in gently. “Besides, you hate that train. I’m a better company than whoever you were gonna be sitting with.”
Ryujin exhaled in disbelief.
The city gave way to the highway, the skyline shrinking in the rearview. Ryujin watched the road unspool in front of them, feeling the change in her chest, how a ten-minute drive had just turned into hours they had not planned for but suddenly did not want to give back.
“You’re actually serious about this,” she said finally.
Yeji’s eyes flicked to her, just for a second. “Wouldn’t be driving if I wasn’t.”
“Could you at least let me drive halfway?” Ryujin asked finally.
Yeji’s mouth curved just slightly. “…Because you want to drive my car again?”
Ryujin’s voice caught. “…No?”
The smirk deepened. “You left the seat too far forward last time.”
Ryujin tilted her head, feigning innocence. “That’s because you’re a bit taller than me. I wasn’t trying to mess with it.”
“A bit?”
Ryujin rolled her eyes.
“Also no,” she added quickly, “it’s not because I wanted to drive your car again.”
Yeji gave her a sideways glance, unconvinced.
“You really should let me take over for a bit,” Ryujin said finally. “Even if it’s just an hour.”
“I’m fine,” Yeji replied without glancing over.
“You’re not supposed to be sitting this long without stretching, and your ribs—”
“—are fine,” Yeji interrupted, her tone even but not sharp.
Ryujin huffed. “I’m literally right here. I can drive.”
Yeji kept her eyes on the road for another heartbeat before her right hand slipped from the wheel, reaching across the console. She found Ryujin’s hand resting on her thigh and curled her fingers around it, steady and warm.
“ Baby ,” Yeji said, voice low enough that it almost blended with the hum of the engine. “I’ll be fine. I’m driving you home.”
Ryujin froze for a second, her usual comeback caught somewhere in her chest. The firmness in Yeji’s tone was not for argument, it was a quiet and certain reassurance.
Yeji gave her hand the smallest squeeze before returning it to the wheel, as if she had not just knocked the air out of Ryujin more effectively than any body check.
The road stretched straight for miles, bare trees lining either side, the winter light soft and pale over the horizon.
Yeji had been quiet for a while, one hand steady on the wheel, the other curled loosely around her travel mug in the cupholder.
When she finally spoke again, her voice was calm but deliberate. “If the question comes up… would you be okay with me confirming we’re together?”
Ryujin turned her head toward her. “In your PR meeting?”
“Yeah,” Yeji said, eyes still on the road.
Ryujin leaned back, thinking. “We weren’t exactly hiding it.”
“True,” Yeji agreed, “but do you want it publicized already?”
“I’m fine with your team and staff knowing about us,” Ryujin said, adjusting her seat slightly to face her more. “They’re gonna find out sooner or later. But I don’t think publicizing it right now is ideal.”
“I don’t want to publicize it yet either,” Yeji said. “Not because I’m ashamed of us. God, no . But this isn’t the time. Playoffs are coming. The focus needs to be on the game, on the team, not on us.”
“Well, we know how the media works,” Ryujin said. “If it becomes official, they’ll bring it up every time we’re in front of a mic. Every goal, every penalty, it’ll get framed as part of our relationship instead of part of the game. That’s not fair to me, to you, or to our teams.”
Yeji hummed in agreement, letting the soft sound of the tires fill the silence while she kept her eyes on the road.
A slow exhale left Yeji, almost unnoticeable if not for the faint shift in her shoulders. There was relief there. A relief that they were on the same page, that this was not going to be a thing they had to navigate under a microscope.
“The email mentioned the speculations surrounding us. They might want to talk about making a comment.” Yeji added.
Ryujin gave a small shrug, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, let the public speculate. I like what we have like this. The people who matter already know. Everyone else? They can speculate all they want. But I don’t want our first playoff run back with our clubs to get buried under a dozen articles about who we’re dating.”
Beneath Yeji’s relief was something quieter. She was glad, truly glad , that she was madly in love with someone who understood without needing to be persuaded.
Someone who saw it the same way she did.
Yeji’s grip on the wheel loosened slightly, her expression softening. “Exactly.”
They drove in easy silence for a while, the only sound the muted playlist from Ryujin since she claimed she did not want to be ‘seduced’ in a highway, and the hum of the road beneath them.
Ryujin kept her travel mug nestled between her hands, the coffee still faintly warm, the same coffee Yeji had brewed in her apartment before they left.
A green sign flashed by: REST AREA – 2 MILES.
“Food stop?” Ryujin asked, glancing over at her.
“Yeah,” Yeji said, flicking the blinker. “You’ve been eating that granola bar for forty minutes.”
“It’s called savoring,” Ryujin replied with mock offense.
They pulled into the service plaza, tires crunching over patches of gravel. The wind cut sharp the moment they stepped out, sending Ryujin tugging her hood tighter.
The air smelled faintly of baking bread and fryer oil.
They skipped the coffee counter entirely, each already carrying their travel mugs. Yeji grabbed a blueberry muffin and a small bag of trail mix; Ryujin came back with a cinnamon roll so big it needed both hands to hold.
“You’re not finishing that,” Yeji said as they headed back to the car.
“Please,” Ryujin said, already tearing off a piece. “I could finish this and still take a muffin from you.”
Yeji leaned against the side of the SUV, coffee mug in hand, watching her breath curl into the cold air. Ryujin stood beside her, balancing the paper wrapper of the cinnamon roll in one hand.
“You always steal half my food.”
“Not half. Just the good bites,” Ryujin said, holding the cinnamon roll closer to Yeji in offering. “Speaking of, you should take one before I eat all the middle.”
Yeji accepted a bite, chewing slowly. “You make a habit of this?”
Ryujin tilted her head innocently. “Only when I know I can get away with it.”
Her gaze shifted past Yeji toward the brightly lit convenience store a short walk away. “Oh! I’m going to need more snacks if we’re making it to New York without stopping again.”
Before Yeji could respond, Ryujin was already stepping away from the SUV. “Stay here. Don’t drive off without me! I’ll be quick.”
Yeji sipped her coffee, watching as Ryujin jogged across the lot, hood up and head bent slightly against the wind. The glass doors slid open, and Yeji could see her moving between aisles with the kind of focus she usually reserved for a puck in the offensive zone.
The service plaza parking lot was half-empty, the air crisp enough to sting if you stood still too long. Yeji stood by the passenger side of her SUV, one shoulder resting lightly against the door. Her coat was buttoned halfway, the hood of her jacket pulled up underneath. The brim of her black cap was low over her face, and a pair of dark sunglasses hid her eyes from curious glances.
She cradled her travel mug in both hands, the faint steam curling into the cold air. From a distance, she could have passed for just another traveler stretching her legs, if not for the way her posture gave her away. Calm, but alert. Waiting.
Through the wide glass windows of the convenience store, she could see Ryujin at the counter, talking animatedly with the cashier as she paid for a paper bag stuffed with snacks. Something about the way Ryujin was half-grinning, half-arguing over the receipt made Yeji’s mouth tug upward beneath the shadow of her cap.
She took a slow sip of coffee, the warmth pooling in her hands, and let her gaze linger. The noise from the highway was a dull backdrop, the kind that made moments like this feel like their own little bubble, the two of them on the road, halfway between where they had been and where they were going.
The door swung open, and Ryujin stepped out with a paper bag of snacks in hand. Her grin widened when she spotted Yeji leaning there like she owned the space.
“You know you look like a celebrity in hiding, right?” Ryujin called as she crossed the lot.
Yeji did not move from her spot. “Or maybe I just don’t want to be recognized by someone I played against.”
“That’s not gonna work on me, ” Ryujin said, stopping close enough for their coats to brush. Her gaze lingered on the shadowed line of Yeji’s jaw under the brim of her cap.
Yeji started to reply, but Ryujin’s hand came up first, fingers hooking under the edge of her cap and tilting it just enough to reveal her eyes. The sunglasses slipped lower on Yeji’s nose, and before she could adjust them, Ryujin leaned in, pressing a slow, warm kiss against her lips.
As Ryujin began to pull back, Yeji caught her by the coat, tugging her in again. This time, the kiss was deeper, steady and unhurried, like she had a point to make. It lingered enough to steal the last bit of winter chill from between them.
When they finally broke apart, Ryujin blinked, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “What’s that for?”
Yeji’s gaze flicked toward the convenience store window. “The cashier you were chatting with hasn’t stopped looking at you since you walked out.”
Ryujin laughed, glancing over her shoulder to see the woman peeking from behind the glass, pretending to tidy a shelf. “So you kissed me because she was watching?”
“Because she was staring ,” Yeji corrected, pushing off the SUV and opening the passenger door for her.
The moment the doors shut and the engine rumbled back to life, Ryujin was already leaning back in her seat, her smirk firmly in place.
“So…” Ryujin started, tearing open a snack from the paper bag, “that was a jealous kiss.”
Yeji pulled out of the parking lot without looking at her. “It was a kiss.”
Ryujin popped a pretzel into her mouth. “A kiss you made very sure the cashier saw.”
Yeji’s lips curved just slightly. “I couldn’t kiss my girlfriend in front of people coincidentally looking now?”
“Not when it’s that timed,” Ryujin said, narrowing her eyes in mock suspicion. “That was a statement kiss.”
Yeji’s hands stayed steady on the wheel. “Maybe it was.”
Ryujin grinned, leaning back in her seat. “You’re so insanely attractive for that.”
There was a beat of quiet before she added, “So… what was the statement?”
Yeji kept her gaze on the road. “That I’m your girlfriend.”
Ryujin blinked, the corner of her mouth curving into a slow smile. “And here I thought I was the one making all the bold plays.”
“She was staring too much,” Yeji admitted, her tone flat but unflinching.
Ryujin laughed, shaking her head. “Captain Hwang, jealous at a rest stop… I fucking love it.”
Yeji’s lips twitched, though she tried to hide it. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I’m getting used to it,” Ryujin said, settling deeper into her seat with a smug smile. “ It’s definitely my new favorite.”
“If you keep talking to people like that, maybe you should get used to it.” Yeji said, meeting her eyes without flinching.
Ryujin’s laugh was warm, almost smug. “Noted. Also… very hot of you.”
Yeji’s lips curved, but her tone stayed light. “I’m kidding. I just wanted to kiss you. That’s all.”
Ryujin smirked. “Well, mission accomplished. And for the record... still hot.”
Yeji shook her head, eyes back on the road, but Ryujin caught the faintest hint of color in her cheeks.
They had been driving for a few minutes, the rest stop now well behind them, when Ryujin leaned back in her seat, glancing sideways at Yeji.
“You didn’t drive off without me,” she said casually.
Yeji gave her a puzzled look. “Why would I?”
“I don’t know,” Ryujin said, smirking. “Maybe this was a long con. Make me fall in love with you, then ditch me in the middle of nowhere so I can’t play in the playoffs.”
Yeji’s lips curved faintly. “That’s a terrible plan. If I wanted you out of the playoffs, I’d just shut you down on the ice.”
Ryujin chuckled. “Yeah, but where’s the romance in that?”
Yeji shook her head, but the smile lingered as she refocused on the road.
The SUV’s cabin settled into an easy quiet. The heater hummed low, filling the space with steady warmth. Ryujin shifted in her seat, curling one leg slightly under her as she propped her elbow against the armrest, travel mug cradled in her hands.
Yeji kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on her thigh. Every now and then, her gaze flicked toward the mirrors, but otherwise her focus stayed forward, her posture loose in that way she only got when the miles stretched ahead and there was no rush.
The hum of the tires, the faint rattle of the snack bag in Ryujin’s lap, and the occasional creak of the leather seats became the soundtrack. No pressure to fill the silence. No need to talk unless they felt like it.
For Ryujin, it was one of her favorite versions of Yeji. The one that did not feel the need to command the pace, who could just be beside her.
“Comfortable?” Yeji asked eventually, without looking over.
“Very,” Ryujin murmured, leaning her head back against the seat. “I could get used to this.”
Yeji’s mouth curved, but she did not answer, her eyes still fixed on the road ahead.
Ryujin reached into the paper bag at her feet, rustling around until she found the pretzels again. She popped one into her mouth, then held the bag out toward Yeji.
“Want?”
Yeji shook her head. “I’m good.”
“You say that,” Ryujin said, “but you’re gonna want one in about three minutes, and then you’ll give me that ‘just one bite ’ look and take the best piece in the bag.”
Yeji’s lips curved faintly. “Best piece?”
“Yeah,” Ryujin said, digging around and pulling out a big, perfectly salted one. She held it up between two fingers. “This. The gold standard of pretzels.”
Yeji gave it a glance but kept her hands on the wheel. “You’re very dramatic about snacks.”
“And you‘re still not admitting you want them,” Ryujin countered, tossing the pretzel into her mouth.
They went quiet again for a bit, the occasional crunch breaking the hum of the drive. Then Yeji’s hand drifted off the wheel for a moment, palm open.
Ryujin blinked at it. “You’re asking now?”
Yeji spared her a glance, mouth already smiling. “Just one, please.”
Ryujin smirked but dug back into the bag, fishing one out and placing it carefully in Yeji’s hand. “Knew you’d cave.”
“Mm,” Yeji said, biting into it, “you were right.”
“That’s going on record,” Ryujin teased.
Yeji just hummed, eyes still on the road, but the smile lingered.
A moment later, her right hand left the wheel again, this time not for a pretzel. She extended it across the console, palm open, fingers relaxed in silent offering.
Ryujin glanced down at it, then up at her profile. “This for moral support… or to stop me from finishing the bag?”
“Both,” Yeji said simply, her eyes still forward.
Ryujin’s grin softened. She set the snack bag aside and slid her hand into Yeji’s, fingers curling easily between hers. The quiet pressure of Yeji’s grip, steady and unhurried, was enough to make the car feel even warmer than the heater could manage.
They stayed like that, hands linked between the seats, the miles sliding by.
After a while, Ryujin’s thumb traced lightly over the side of Yeji’s hand. “How’re your ribs holding up?”
Yeji’s eyes stayed on the road. “Fine.”
“Fine as in you’re not in pain,” Ryujin pressed, “or fine as in you’re ignoring it?”
A faint smirk tugged at Yeji’s lips. “Fine as in I can drive you to New York without falling apart.”
Ryujin was not entirely convinced, and her gaze lingered on Yeji’s profile for a moment. “You know… you really should let me take over for a bit.”
“That so?”
“Yeah.” Ryujin tilted her head, voice edging into a playful challenge. “I’ve driven your car before. And I won’t even mess with the seat this time.”
Yeji’s mouth curved a little more, but she kept her attention forward. “Not happening.”
“Come on,” Ryujin coaxed, squeezing her hand. “Let me be the one doing the work for once.”
Yeji’s fingers tightened briefly around hers, and then, without taking her eyes off the road, she lifted their joined hands toward her mouth. The brush of her lips was light, almost casual, but it carried a quiet certainty that made Ryujin’s chest feel strangely full.
Ryujin blinked, caught off guard by how easily Yeji could make something so small feel so disarming. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” she murmured.
Yeji lowered their hands back to rest between the seats. “Only to you.”
Ryujin smiled to herself, letting the heater’s warmth and the steady hum of the tires carry them forward.
The city skyline appeared in the distance just as the afternoon light began to shift, the glass and steel catching glints of fading gold. Ryujin had dozed off somewhere past the Connecticut border, their hands still loosely linked between the seats. When the hum of the road gave way to the deeper, uneven rhythm of city streets, she stirred.
By the time they rolled into Manhattan, the hours on the road had settled into a comfortable quiet. The city unfolded around them in flickers of familiar corners, yellow cabs, and the faint gleam of snow along the curbs.
Yeji’s fingers tapped once on the wheel before she glanced sideways at Ryujin, her voice low but laced with amusement. “So… are you ever going to tell me where you actually live, or should I just keep driving around New York until I guess right?”
Ryujin turned her head, giving her a look. “You’ve been holding that in for hours, haven’t you?”
“Maybe,” Yeji said, her mouth curving slightly. “Wanted to see how far we could get before I gave in.”
Ryujin huffed a quiet laugh. “Cross the next intersection and keep going until you hit the bridge.”
“The bridge?”
“You’ll see,” Ryujin said, settling back in her seat.
Yeji followed the directions without another word, navigating the turns with an ease that made it clear she had been in the city enough to know its rhythm, and soon the wide steel arcs of the Williamsburg Bridge came into view. Just before the on-ramp, Ryujin told her to slow down, pointing toward a building tucked along the side street.
“That’s me,” she said simply.
When they pulled into Ryujin’s parking just after four in the afternoon, the drive from Boston still clinging faintly to their shoulders, Yeji felt that familiar stretch of ribs that told her she had been in the driver’s seat too long.
Ryujin noticed.
Of course she noticed.
Yeji eased the DBX to the parking lot, putting it in park. “Not a bad view,” she remarked, eyes flicking toward the bridge before coming back to Ryujin.
Ryujin unbuckled, but instead of reaching for her bag, she turned toward Yeji. “You should come up for a bit. Rest before you drive back.”
Yeji shook her head lightly. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’ve been on the road for hours,” Ryujin said, her tone soft but insistent. “And you’re not even supposed to be cleared for this much travel yet. Just… sit for a while. I’ll make you tea, you can stretch, then head out when the traffic thins.”
Yeji hesitated, eyes on the bridge ahead like she could weigh the drive just by looking at it.
“Please?” Ryujin added, leaning an elbow on the console. “Humor me. I don’t like the idea of you heading straight back when you’re already running on fumes.”
After a moment, Yeji shut off the engine. “Alright. Tea first, then I’m heading home.”
“Tea first,” Ryujin agreed, already grabbing her bag and opening the door.
The air outside was sharp with the faint bite of winter, the low rumble of traffic from the bridge cutting through the quiet. Ryujin slung her bag over her good shoulder and waited until Yeji had locked the SUV before falling into step beside her.
The building’s lobby was warm and softly lit, the faint scent of coffee drifting from somewhere down the hall. The polished floor reflected the glow of old brass light fixtures, and a large potted plant stood sentry by the elevator.
Yeji’s gaze flicked around as they stepped inside. “It’s nice,” she said quietly, almost like she was cataloguing details without meaning to.
“Wait until you see the view,” Ryujin replied, pressing the button for her floor.
The elevator doors opened directly into Ryujin’s penthouse, the kind of quiet, polished entryway that made it feel instantly private.
The first thing Yeji noticed was the light. Wide, floor-to-ceiling windows wrapping around the corner living space, framing the Williamsburg Bridge in all its steel arcs and afternoon glow. From this height, the traffic looked almost unreal, a slow, glittering current moving beneath them. The bridge felt close enough to touch, the city spread out beneath them like a living map.
The living room was anchored by a deep, dark gray sectional sofa, the kind you could sink into for hours, with navy throw pillows scattered across it. A chunky knit blanket was draped over one end, the edges trailing onto the cushion like someone had just been curled up there.
The wall of memorabilia caught her next, and something in her chest tightened. It was easy to imagine the story behind each piece. The framed rookie jersey, the game puck from her first hat trick, the photo where Ryujin was grinning so wide she probably forgot the camera was even there.
But between the trophies and frames were small, lived-in details: a Polaroid tacked to the corner of one frame, the faint droop of a plant that clearly was not getting enough sunlight, a paperback novel wedged between two vinyl sleeves on the shelf.
It felt personal in a way Yeji had not expected, like the space had not been designed to impress anyone but Ryujin herself.
She found herself walking toward the windows, her steps slow, drawn to the way the afternoon light spilled into the room.
“You weren’t kidding about the view,” she said finally, her voice quieter than she intended.
Ryujin came up beside her, close enough that Yeji could feel the warmth radiating from her.
“Told you,” she said, her tone light but threaded with something softer.
Across from the couch, a sleek black media console held a record player, stacks of vinyl, and a set of high-end speakers. Next to it, leaning casually against the wall, was a well-worn guitar, and in the opposite corner, an old hockey stick with its tape frayed from years of use.
The kitchen was separated from the living area by a wide marble island with three bar stools. The countertops gleamed, but there were lived-in touches. A ceramic fruit bowl, a stack of mismatched mugs near the coffee machine, and a stainless steel kettle waiting on the stovetop.
The hardwood floors ran the length of the apartment, warm and rich under the glow of recessed lighting. Near the windows, a small dining table sat half in shadow, set with nothing but a single candle and a pair of coasters, as if ready for company without really trying.
It was modern without feeling cold, personal without being cluttered. A penthouse that said Ryujin lived here, not just stayed here.
And from the way the bridge loomed so close through the glass, Yeji could imagine Ryujin watching the city every night before bed, the hum of New York below like a constant, unshakable heartbeat.
Ryujin brushed past her toward the kitchen, setting her bag down on the counter with a soft thud. “Alright, Captain, shoes off and sit. You’re not moving until I put something hot in your hands.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow but obeyed, pulling off her coat and draping it over the back of the couch before sinking into the corner of the sectional. From here, the bridge lights looked even closer, the muted hum of the city faint through the glass.
“I can help—”
“Nope,” Ryujin interrupted without looking back, already filling the kettle at the sink. “You’ve been driving for hours, and you weren’t even supposed to be cleared for that. The only thing you’re allowed to do right now is sit there and look smug about getting me home.”
Yeji let out a quiet laugh, leaning back into the cushions. “You make it sound like I carried you here on my back.”
“You basically did,” Ryujin called over her shoulder, reaching for two mismatched mugs from the cabinet.
When Ryujin came back over with two steaming mugs, she set one down on the low table in front of Yeji, then slid onto the couch beside her. “See? Tea. No more arguing.”
Ryujin shifted sideways on the couch, tucking one leg under herself so she could face Yeji more fully. Her eyes softened, losing the teasing edge. “How’s your ribs?”
Yeji took a sip of tea before answering, letting her gaze drift past Ryujin for a moment. It was strange, sitting here in person and realizing she recognized parts of this apartment. The navy pillow she had seen pressed against Ryujin’s shoulder during a late-night FaceTime, the corner of the bookshelf that had been in the background while Ryujin laughed at something she said, the very couch Ryujin was sprawled across when she called after a training session.
It was all here, but warmer, more real.
“Sore, but manageable,” she said at last.
“That’s not a real answer,” Ryujin countered, setting her mug down. She leaned forward, fingertips brushing lightly along Yeji’s side, as if she were mapping the edges of the injury. “Tell me if this hurts.”
Yeji caught her wrist gently, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “You’re not my doctor.”
“No,” Ryujin said, her tone quiet but steady, “I’m worse. I actually care.”
That quiet admission hung between them for a beat. Yeji’s grip eased, letting her hand wander where it was. “It’s fine,” she murmured. “Really.”
Ryujin studied her face for a moment longer, then withdrew her hand, resting it on the cushion close enough for her knuckles to brush Yeji’s thigh. “Alright. But if you feel even a twinge on the drive back, you pull over. Got it?”
Yeji huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. “You’re relentless.”
“Learned from the best,” Ryujin replied, the words warmer now, almost fond.
At some point, Yeji found herself at the window again, the bridge glowing in that muted gold of the skyline transitioning to a late afternoon, traffic moving in steady ribbons of light. The city noise was a distant thrum, softened by height and glass.
Ryujin joined her, a shoulder pressing lightly into her side. For a moment, they both just stood there, reflections overlapping in the pane.
“I’ve always imagined this ever since I got home from the tournament,” Ryujin said quietly.
Yeji glanced at her. “What?”
“You. Standing here. Staring out at the bridge from my window,” Ryujin replied, eyes still fixed on the skyline. Then she finally turned, the faintest smile pulling at her lips. “But it’s nothing compared to actually having you here.”
The words landed with a weight Yeji felt in her chest. She let them sit between them, warm and unhurried, before leaning a little closer, her arm brushing Ryujin’s.
Yeji kept her gaze on the bridge, but Ryujin did not miss the way her jaw set, like she was holding something back.
A slow, knowing smile touched Ryujin’s face. She shifted just enough for their arms to press fully together, her hand brushing lightly against Yeji’s before she turned toward her completely.
Yeji finally looked at her, and that was all the invitation Ryujin needed. She closed the distance, her lips catching Yeji’s in a kiss that was unhurried but full of intent, the kind that made it clear she had no interest in letting the moment pass.
Yeji’s hand lingered at Ryujin’s waist, neither of them stepping back. Her voice was quiet, almost like she was admitting it to herself as much as to Ryujin. “I drove you all the way here so the goodbye wouldn’t be hard. But now that I’m here…”
Her words trailed off, but the meaning hung heavy in the space between them.
Ryujin’s smile softened, her thumb brushing against the back of Yeji’s hand. “You just made it harder.”
Yeji exhaled, not denying it. “Yeah. I know.”
From there, the hours dissolved easily. They moved from the window to the kitchen again when Ryujin decided they needed “ actual food ” and reheated leftover pasta. Yeji insisted she could help, only to end up perched on the counter, knees brushing Ryujin’s hip whenever she leaned closer.
They talked.
About nothing, mostly. About Chaeryeong’s latest text in their group chat, about the Cyclones’ new locker room playlist, about how Yeji’s building in Boston had the slowest elevator in existence. Every so often, Ryujin’s hand would find hers, a squeeze when Yeji shifted in discomfort, a thumb brushing over her knuckles when she laughed.
Ryujin pointed out a building across the river where her teammate used to live, Yeji commented on how the bridge lights would start flickering on soon.
They sat cross-legged on the couch, sharing bites from the same container, Ryujin’s leg brushing Yeji’s with every shift. The TV played something neither of them paid much attention to. Some muted documentary that served more as background than entertainment.
By six, the apartment had settled into a quiet kind of glow, the sun low enough that the skyline beyond the windows looked painted. Ryujin caught Yeji staring at it again and laughed under her breath. “You’re gonna wear out my view.”
“Maybe I just like the company that comes with it,” Yeji replied without looking away.
The hours blurred.
At some point, the couch felt too far away, so they ended up on the floor instead. Ryujin sat with her back against the couch, legs stretched out just enough to bracket Yeji, who leaned back against her chest.
Yeji’s head rested just beneath Ryujin’s chin, the crown of her hair brushing against her jaw. One of Ryujin’s arms draped loosely over Yeji’s middle, the other lazily tracing shapes on her sleeve. The muted documentary on the TV flickered in their periphery, but neither of them could recall what it was about.
Every now and then, Ryujin’s hand would tighten slightly, as if she needed to remind herself Yeji was actually here and not just another call on her phone screen. Yeji, for her part, would tilt her head back the smallest bit, not enough to look, just enough for Ryujin to feel the faint weight of her leaning in.
The city hummed beyond the glass, low and steady, the kind of background noise that made everything feel slower, softer. Neither of them said much. It was one of those silences that did not need filling.
A low hum of traffic outside reminded them they were not suspended in their own world, but neither moved to break it.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the quiet stretching easily between them. The only sign of time passing was the changing glow of the sky outside. Late afternoon gold bleeding into the cooler tones of early evening.
Ryujin’s hand had gone still against Yeji’s arm, her thumb just resting there, unmoving. Yeji could feel the slow rhythm of her breathing against her back, steady and warm. She did not want to think about the clock, but the light in the room shifted again, and it was impossible not to notice.
Her phone buzzed softly against the floor beside her, the screen lighting up with the time. 7:42. She let it fade back to black.
Ryujin noticed anyway. “You should get going soon,” she murmured, though there was no real conviction in her tone.
Yeji hummed, not moving. “I know.”
Neither of them made the first move to stand. Ryujin’s arms stayed around her, holding on as if that alone could delay the inevitable. The hum of the city outside felt louder now, more insistent, as if reminding them the night was coming whether they wanted it or not.
It was not until Yeji glanced at the clock and saw the red digits reading 8:04 that the spell of the evening cracked.
She hesitated, just long enough for Ryujin to catch it.
Yeji stood reluctantly, brushing off her coat from where it had been draped over the armrest.
“You could stay, ” Ryujin said quietly.
Yeji’s expression flickered. Temptation, restraint, and something that looked like ache.
“Tempting. But if I don’t leave now, I’ll convince myself to call in tomorrow, and then there will be mutiny.”
The elevator ride down was quiet except for the low whir of the machinery and the faint jingle of the key fob in Yeji’s pocket. Ryujin stood close enough that their coats brushed, her gaze fixed on the glowing floor numbers as if counting down to something she was not ready for.
When the doors opened, the warm, faintly metallic air of the parking lot met them. The muffled hum of an engine somewhere in the distance made everything feel enclosed, private. Their footsteps echoed side by side, the sound bouncing off painted walls and pillars.
Yeji’s SUV sat near the far corner, still carrying the faint scent of the coffee they had brought along that morning. She unlocked it with a click, the headlights blinking in acknowledgment.
“You’re sure you’re okay to drive?” Ryujin asked, her voice low, almost careful.
“I’m sure,” Yeji replied, lips curving faintly.
Ryujin stayed still for a moment, then closed the gap between them. She rested one hand lightly at Yeji’s hip and the other just behind her neck, leaning in to kiss her slowly, as though she wanted to keep the taste of this moment for later.
When she pulled back, Yeji’s eyes stayed on her. The parking lot felt quieter somehow, the air heavier.
Yeji opened the driver’s door but kept her gaze on Ryujin.
She lowered her window as soon as her DBX came to life, the headlights casting long shadows across the lot.
Ryujin’s hand found the brim of Yeji’s cap, tipping it back just enough to catch her gaze. “Text me when you get home. And not tomorrow morning when you remember.”
“Text me back if you’re still awake when I get home.”
“I will.”
Ryujin stepped back from the SUV, hands in her coat pockets, the taste of Yeji’s kiss still lingering. She stood there as the engine’s hum echoed against the concrete walls, watching the taillights glow red as Yeji steered toward the ramp.
She thought that would be it. Just watching her girlfriend’s car disappear into the street above. But halfway up, the vehicle slowed. Through the rear window, Ryujin caught the faint movement of Yeji glancing in her rearview mirror.
Then the hazard lights blinked once.
Twice.
Three times.
It took Ryujin half a second to register it, and when she did, a smile broke across her face, her whisker dimples on full display.
Wide, unguarded, the kind she did not let many people see.
She pulled her phone from her pocket without thinking, thumbs moving before the SUV even disappeared from sight.
[Ryujin]
i love you too
She stayed where she was until the read receipt popped up, the familiar dots appearing almost instantly.
[Yeji]
Get your ass back upstairs, baby.
A quiet laugh left her before she tucked her phone away and headed for the elevator, the warmth in her chest refusing to fade.
Chapter Text
The next morning broke quietly over Boston.
Light filtered in through the edges of the blinds, brushing against the hardwood floor and casting soft shadows over the foot of Yeji’s bed. Her eyes opened slowly. Not from an alarm, but from the way her body naturally stirred when the room shifted from dark to gray.
It was just a little after seven.
The apartment was quiet, too quiet , after hours of steady road noise, music low in the background, and Ryujin’s laughter filling up all the silences Yeji would never admit she left on purpose.
She did not move immediately. She lay still for a while, listening to the sound of the city starting up beyond her windows. The ache in her ribs had dulled overnight, replaced by a familiar stiffness that came with rest after strain.
She rolled onto her back carefully, letting her arm fall across the empty space beside her.
For a split second, she imagined Ryujin there, still curled up in the sheets, her face buried into Yeji’s shoulder like she had been a day before.
But there was only the faint weight of memory and the quiet hush of her apartment returning to routine.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
[Ryujin]
good morning!!
how are the ribs?
go easy on the ice today, okay?
[Yeji]
Good morning.
Sore but not bad.
Don’t miss me too much
She could almost hear Ryujin’s scoff in reply.
[Ryujin]
what would you do if i already do?
Yeji smiled faintly at that. Her thumb hovered above the keyboard, but she did not type anything yet. Not until her thoughts drifted back to her drive back to Boston.
The drive home had been long.
Too long, if she was being honest with herself. Not just in distance, but in the way every minute away from New York felt like she was unraveling something she had just barely stitched together.
Yeji had removed her coat. It now lay bundled into the passenger seat where Ryujin had sat that day, forgotten. She kept both hands firm on the wheel, the sleeves of her hoodie pushed up to her forearms, the travel mugs resting in the holder between the seats.
The city lights thinned as she reached the on-ramp, the glow of New York fading slowly in her mirrors.
The last green sign flashed past overhead:
Boston, 200 miles.
8:35 PM — Just before entering I-95, near New Rochelle, NY
She pulled over just before the merge, easing the SUV onto the shoulder. The engine idled low beneath her, headlights washing the pavement in pale white. Her hands rested on the wheel, still steady, but she could feel the weight of the next few hours settling in.
A few messages from Ryujin flashed on her phone.
She had not been on the road that long but Ryujin was already keeping track.
Not in a suffocating way, just… attentive.
Constant .
Present in a way that still caught her off guard sometimes.
Yeji blinked down at the keyboard, debating whether to type a quick update. She was not sure what to say without sounding like she missed her already.
So instead, her thumb hovered, shifted, and opened the location settings.
She paused.
Then hit the button.
A confirmation blinked across the screen.
You started sharing location with SRJ ♡
[Yeji]
I’m about to get on the highway.
Figured you’d want to know where your girlfriend is without having to ask every 15 minutes
[Ryujin]
you mean I can watch my girlfriend’s little dot move around like she’s in Mario Kart???
yes please
Yeji exhaled a chuckle, the tightness in her chest easing just slightly. She put the car into gear, signaled, and merged onto the open road.
The silence no longer pressed so hard.
And somewhere in a penthouse in New York, Ryujin watched her go.
She had expected Ryujin to stop tracking after a while, but every time Yeji slowed down, the messages came in like clockwork.
Short. Attentive. Sometimes sarcastic.
Always there.
9:32 PM — Branford, Connecticut Rest Stop
By the time Yeji eased off the interstate and into the quiet glow of Branford’s Service Plaza, the road had begun to press itself into her back.
She did not want to stop so soon. She had told herself she would drive at least three hours straight before needing a break.
But the roads out of Manhattan had been dense with slow weekend traffic, and her ribs ached in that dull, insistent way that reminded her she was still on the edge of recovery.
It had only been an hour.
She could feel it in the dull weight of her shoulders, the stiffness creeping along the underside of her arms, the familiar tug in her ribs from sitting too long in one position.
The lights in the plaza parking lot cast long reflections on the hood of her car. She pulled into a far spot, angled beneath one of the lampposts, and took a few quiet seconds to sit still, both hands resting on the wheel.
She reached for her phone out of habit.
A message from Ryujin waited, timestamped just a few seconds ago.
[Ryujin]
first stop already?
you miss me that much?
[Yeji]
Bathroom.
Not everything’s about you, my darling.
[Ryujin]
rude
i was going to say i miss you too
but now i’m not so sure
Outside, the Connecticut air was colder and sharper. She reached for her coat from the passenger seat and slipped it on before stepping out. The wind nipped at her ears as she made her way toward the building.
Inside, the bathroom was quiet, mostly empty. The tile echoed under her sneakers. The fluorescent lighting made her wince. She kept her movements careful, adjusting her posture slightly to ease the pull against her ribs.
When she returned to the car, she took her time settling back into the driver’s seat, reclined just slightly, and let herself breathe.
Then, she tucked her phone into the console, started the car, and checked her mirrors. The rest stop faded behind her as she merged back onto the highway, the familiar rhythm of the road returning.
With each mile, the sky grew quieter.
The kind of silence that curled beneath her ribs and refused to leave.
But the silence of the road did not bother her.
What did was the echo.
The air inside the SUV was warm, still faintly edged with the scent of Ryujin’s perfume.
Now that scent lingered in Yeji’s car. It lived in the folds of the blanket Ryujin had tugged over herself in the passenger seat earlier that morning. It lingered on the seatbelt strap, warmed by the hours they had spent driving together.
Yeji knew the scent was not supposed to be that evocative. But it had rooted itself inside her like a thread she could not un-pull. Every time she exhaled now, it felt like she was still surrounded by Ryujin.
Not just reminded.
Surrounded .
It was the same scent that Yeji had inhaled in that grocery store aisle, just Friday.
Barely over two days ago.
Yeji still had not decided if she had forgiven her for that surprise, or if she had fallen even harder because of it.
She was already somewhere past Connecticut. Her hands stayed steady on the wheel, but her mind wandered far too often to that grocery aisle, to the way Ryujin had stood beside her cart like she had all the time in the world.
Like she had not just shown up in another state unannounced.
Like her entire being had not caused Yeji’s heart to lurch sideways in her chest.
It had been just barely over two days ago.
And now here she was, driving alone back to the city she loved, to the team that needed her.
Back to responsibility.
But still… thinking about the girl who had driven her mad all weekend.
Who was she kidding?
Of course she had forgiven her.
Of course she had fallen harder because of it.
The corners of her lips lifted despite herself.
God , Ryujin was infuriating. And reckless. And so terribly good at knowing exactly when and where to show up.
And she would have driven a thousand more miles if it meant turning around and finding Ryujin there again.
She rolled down the window an inch as the highway curved eastward, letting the wind cut through the warmth inside.
She exhaled slowly, fingers shifting on the steering wheel, her gaze trailing over the faint reflection of the road in the side mirror.
She was alone, but the car still carried the warmth of someone else’s presence.
Ryujin’s presence.
Her voice had filled the car for most of the day, laughing and teasing and arguing over which exits had the best coffee.
And now, the sound of the wind filled the car briefly.
11:20 PM — West Warwick, Rhode Island Rest Stop
The exit signs blinked past her headlights before she even fully realized she was pulling off. It was not planned, none of her stops really had been, but the tension in her lower back and the tightening line of her shoulders said enough. She took the turn quietly as the car slowed into the near-empty lot.
Overhead, the rest stop was washed in that dim orange glow that made everything feel slower, quieter, like the world had dulled itself for just a bit.
Her phone buzzed almost as soon as she parked.
[Ryujin]
you’re parked again
everything okay?
Yeji’s lips curved, faintly.
Of course she had noticed. Of course she had been watching the little dot again, probably zooming in and out on the map like she was tracking something fragile. The thought warmed her more than she wanted to admit.
She leaned back against the seat and replied.
[Yeji]
Yeah.
Just pulled over to stretch.
No need to panic, baby.
[Ryujin]
i’m not panicking
i’m being normal
go walk around or something
Yeji rolled her eyes but set her phone aside, pulling the hoodie over her head tighter as she got out of the car anyway… just to follow orders.
The cold met her like a slap.
It bit sharply at her cheeks and crawled into the cracks of her sleeves before she could shove her hands into the pocket. She exhaled slowly, watching the mist of her breath dissipate under the parking lot lights. The stretch of pavement around her was almost deserted, save for one parked truck humming gently on idle. Everything else was still.
Even the stars above Rhode Island looked like they were holding their breath.
She stopped just before the restrooms and stretched her arms behind her head, feeling the pull down her spine. Her ribs ached faintly but nothing unbearable. She circled her shoulders back twice.
The hoodie still carried Ryujin’s scent, faint but stubborn like her. She closed her eyes and inhaled once, long and slow.
She stayed like that for a moment.
Then she walked back to the car, slower this time. Not because she was tired. But because she was not ready for the silence waiting inside.
She pulled out of the rest stop with a soft press of the gas, the tires crunching over gravel before merging back onto the highway. Warwick faded behind her, swallowed by the dark stretch of I-95 as the night grew quieter around her.
She kept her eyes on the lanes ahead, letting the white lines flicker beneath her headlights like a metronome, keeping time against the hum in her chest.
The lights of Dedham flickered faintly in the distance, soft on the horizon, a quiet reminder that she was almost home.
Yeji eased her foot off the gas just slightly, letting the car coast a little. She was not in a rush. Not anymore.
The roads had emptied out the further she got from New York, but the weight in her chest had not. If anything, it had settled deeper the closer she came to familiar streets.
She shifted her grip on the wheel and exhaled.
The Dedham exit slipped behind her, but the low blink of the fuel light on her dashboard did not.
Yeji glanced at it, jaw ticking softly as she calculated the remaining distance home. She could probably make it. Barely.
But that was not the point.
The gas station up ahead was a familiar one. She had stopped here before on trips back from away games. There was something weirdly comforting about it now, with its sleepy neon lights and empty lot.
She flicked on her signal and pulled in, parking beside a pump.
12:15 AM — Dedham, Massachusetts Gas Station
The lights above the station hummed against the dark, cold sky. The engine ticked as it cooled. She sat for a moment, hands resting on the steering wheel, her eyes skimming the near-empty lot. Just one other car idled across from her, its driver staying inside.
She exhaled through her nose, reaching for her wallet from the side compartment. She moved carefully as she stepped out into the cold air, pulling her hoodie tighter as she walked around the car.
The handle was cold in her hand as she began fueling up. The numbers on the display clicked steadily upward. Her reflection stared back at her in the window’s faint glare: wind-blown hair, tired eyes, and slightly ruffled hoodie.
She finished setting the pump and pulled it out, expecting another check-in from Ryujin. But there was nothing.
No new message.
She opened their messages anyway.
[Yeji]
Finally fell asleep?
She stared at the message for a second longer before locking her phone and slipping it back into her pocket. The quiet without Ryujin’s usual commentary was odd, noticeable in its absence.
But part of her hoped that meant she was resting. That Ryujin had let herself relax, even for a little while.
Yeji exhaled and looked up at the sky, letting the cold bite into her for just a moment longer before getting back in the car.
She had just settled back into the driver’s seat when her phone buzzed quietly inside her pocket. She pulled it out, already knowing who it would be.
[Ryujin]
no
i was just waiting
wanted to see if you’d message me first this time
did you miss me?
[Yeji]
Don’t get ahead of yourself.
[Ryujin]
that’s a yes
Yeji blinked, the corner of her mouth tugging up. She shook her head softly, warmth blooming in her chest despite the chill that clung to her hoodie.
She glanced once more at the passenger seat, and exhaled through her nose.
It was always easier leaving places than people.
Buildings did not text you every fifteen minutes.
Streets did not kiss you in grocery aisles or make you laugh at red lights.
Cities did not make your chest ache when you pulled away from the curb.
People did.
Ryujin did.
She went back on the road. The night stretched endlessly ahead of her, the road bathed in pale orange under sparse streetlights. The cities gave way to tree lines and shadowed overpasses.
The ache was not dramatic.
It was the kind of ache that came with missing something even as it lingered inside her clothes, her car, her skin.
Yeji glanced at the passenger seat. Empty now, but not truly. Her body still remembered the way Ryujin sat curled there, eyes shifting between Yeji and the road as if both were equally fascinating.
The scent had not faded yet.
She was not sure she wanted it to.
The clock on the dash ticked past 12:30 AM. The highway signs had started to look familiar again. Green and white markers of a return to routine.
The final stretch was always the hardest.
The city was coming back into focus. Signs for Quincy and Milton flashing past as she neared Boston proper.
She took a slow breath, adjusting the heater a notch warmer. She had not meant to hold on to the scent this long, but it clung to her clothes.
Her GPS ticked down the miles.
Ten more.
Then five.
She blinked hard, a mix of exhaustion and resistance pooling behind her eyes. She did not want to pull into the parking garage yet. She did not want to go upstairs. Not just because she was tired, but because going upstairs meant it was really over.
The weekend they spent together, the lingering softness, the goodbye in Ryujin’s building.
It would all become a memory the moment she turned the key to her apartment.
She took the long way into her neighborhood. Just a few extra blocks. No traffic, no reason not to. It was the only way to buy herself a few more minutes.
And when she finally turned into her underground garage, the lights overhead flickering on one by one as she descended the ramp, her chest ached in the quiet.
The car slid into her spot. She shifted into park.
For a moment, she did not move.
Yeji stayed in the driver’s seat, hands still on the wheel, engine still on. Her headlights lit the concrete wall in front of her, casting everything into a bright, hollow stillness.
She did not unbuckle. She just leaned her head back against the seat and exhaled.
Her eyes drifted to the phone on the passenger seat.
Yeji reached over, picked up the phone, and unlocked it. The live location was still on.
She typed slowly.
[Yeji]
Made it to my parking spot.
Resting for a few before I head upstairs.
[Ryujin]
take your time
but text when you’re in bed
i’ll wait
[Yeji]
You don’t have to.
[Ryujin]
i know
i want to
just… don’t fall asleep in the car
[Yeji]
I won’t.
She let herself sit in it a little longer. Her hands resting in her lap, eyes closed for a full minute, then two. The heater was still running gently, wrapping her in warmth that somehow felt lonelier now.
[Yeji]
Ryujin
[Ryujin]
yeah?
[Yeji]
How did you know what the three blinks meant?
[Ryujin]
because i know you
and i hoped
and maybe i looked for a sign because it already hurt to watch you leave
so when the lights blinked three times
i just… knew
romantic, btw
[Yeji]
In my defense
I didn’t think you’d catch it
[Ryujin]
please
like you’d ever forget those lights were on
you’d never
you blink at me wrong and i know exactly what you’re trying to say
[Yeji]
I mean
It was just a small thing
[Ryujin]
you think anything about you is small to me?
That did make Yeji smile, soft and involuntary.
She had not expected Ryujin to notice the three hazard blinks. It was silly, a quiet little gesture. A way of saying I love you without saying it.
She had not planned it when she drove off, but the ache in her chest had done the thinking for her. A glance in the rearview, Ryujin standing there watching, and Yeji had blinked the lights three times like instinct.
And Ryujin knew.
With one last glance at her screen, she gathered her things, opened the car door, and stepped out into the stillness of her building’s underground garage.
The sound of her shoes against the pavement echoed faintly as she pulled her bag over one shoulder and headed for the elevator, hoodie sleeves tugged down low against the chill.
The door clicked shut behind her with a soft finality, and Yeji stood still for a moment in the dim quiet of her apartment.
She did not flick the lights on right away. Just let the soft glow of the hallway spill in behind her, casting a faint outline of her figure across the entryway.
Everything was as they had left it.
And yet, still laced with something that was not.
She moved on autopilot after that: washing up, plugging in her phone, setting her water bottle on the nightstand, turning down the bed with slow, tired hands.
She had driven hours. Her body ached in places she had ignored all day, her ribs flaring in brief protest, but her heart felt oddly steady. She slid under the covers and lay still, the room dim and steady around her. One last message lit up her screen.
[Ryujin]
thank you for driving me all the way home to new york
[Yeji]
You don’t need to thank me
I’d do it again in a heartbeat
I would’ve driven twice as far if it meant I got to bring you home safely
[Ryujin]
that’s not fair
how am i supposed to go to bed after that?
[Yeji]
I’m just saying…
You’re worth every mile, Shin Ryujin.
[Ryujin]
you make it very hard not to love you, you know that?
[Yeji]
That's the point.
[Ryujin]
:P
goodnight, captain
i miss you already
[Yeji]
Good night, superstar.
Thank you for making it so easy to love you back.
And finally, she let herself rest.
That had been hours ago.
Now, standing barefoot on her cold kitchen tiles, she stared blankly into her mug as the kettle clicked off behind her. The ache in her ribs was nothing compared to the ache in her chest. The kind that only flared up when she looked too long at the spaces Ryujin filled during the weekend.
She moved slowly, one arm wrapped around her middle out of habit more than pain.
She moved with practiced efficiency through her morning routine: ice pack, pain meds, stretching.
Her gear was already laid out near the door, and she moved through the motions in silence: hair tied up, hoodie pulled over her head, sneakers laced, thermos filled.
Everything was precise. Everything was measured. Her body was in recovery, but her mind was already shifting into captain mode.
The Boston Sentinels’ practice rink was quiet when she arrived. Only a few staff were there, setting up pylons and cones. The moment her skates hit the ice, she felt the familiar pull. Her stride was cautious at first, but as the laps built, so did her rhythm.
Her body remembered the way.
The team joined in gradually. Some offering waves, others patting her lightly on the back. There were no big greetings. Just a quiet acknowledgment.
The captain was back.
That was enough.
The rink was colder than she remembered.
Yeji stood by the boards, gloves tucked under one arm, her stick resting lightly against her hip. The familiar scrape of blades echoed around the dome, but the rhythm was slower today. The Sentinels coaching staff had intentionally kept things light for her first day back: passing drills, corner puck control, low-intensity skating.
Still, she could feel the stiffness in her stride. Her ribs were better but they reminded her with every pivot, every half-turn. She wore a modified contact jersey just in case, though she hated the visual reminder of limitation.
A few of her teammates skated by with teasing glances and light chirps, welcoming her back in their own way. Karina tapped her stick against Yeji’s as they passed in a half-lap.
“Still skating like a ghost,” Karina called, grinning.
“Still defending better than you,” Yeji shot back, breathless, but smiling.
“Captain’s back,” called Lauren, one of the Sentinels’ forwards, grinning as she tapped her stick on the ice. “Try not to make us look bad, Yeji.”
“Too late,” Taylor chimed in, adjusting her gloves. “She hasn’t even touched the puck and I already feel benched.”
Yeji cracked a small smile, skating backward to face them. “Then maybe pick up the pace.”
“God, I missed you,” said Julie, dramatically flopping against the net post. “No one chirps us with that calm death glare quite like you.”
“Okay, wrap it up,” came Coach Evans’ voice from the bench, authoritative but amused. He clapped his hands. “Good to see you back, Hwang. Tell me if anything doesn’t feel right. Everyone else, let’s get moving. Playoffs don’t wait.”
Yuna skated up beside Yeji and nudged her lightly. “You good?”
Yeji nodded. “I’m fine.”
Her pulse was steady. Her lungs were not yet burning.
But it felt good to move again.
Yeji was halfway through a slow loop around the rink, her strides long and steady, when she heard the familiar scrape of skates pulling up beside her.
“You look like someone who got a full night of sleep,” Lia said mildly, tone too innocent to trust.
Yeji glanced over warily. “I didn’t.”
“No?” Lia raised an eyebrow. “That’s weird. I just assumed anyone who drives five hours to drop someone off and then drives back five hours more would at least sleep like the dead afterward.”
Yeji’s jaw ticked. “Did Ryujin tell you?”
“Yeah, but no one had to.” Lia smirked. “You came in glowing and exhausted at the same time. Classic post-Ryujin symptoms.”
Yeji exhaled through her nose. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m observant,” Lia countered, her voice lilting with amusement. “Also, you’ve had that ‘I kissed my girlfriend in a parking garage and now I’m emotionally wrecked’ energy since warm-ups.”
Yeji’s cheeks colored faintly as she kept her gaze forward. “We weren’t in a garage.”
Lia gave her a look. “Don’t lie to a goalie. We know everything.”
Yeji bit back a laugh and focused on her stride. “How’s your glove hand feeling? I could test it right now.”
Lia snorted. “See? Emotionally wrecked. I don’t even have to try.”
They skated another slow stretch in silence, the chill of the rink brushing against their jerseys. Then Yeji muttered, mostly to herself, “It was worth it.”
Lia smiled, soft but teasing. “I know. You’re just mad I caught you being in love on a Monday.”
They reached the corner of the rink and turned, their blades cutting smoothly across the ice. Lia slowed a little, matching Yeji’s pace.
“But seriously,” she said more gently now, “how’re your ribs?”
Yeji let out a breath, nodding once. “Sore. Not worse, though.”
“After that long drive?” Lia frowned. “You know Coach Evans would’ve lost his mind if he found out you did that the night before you were back on ice.”
“I took breaks,” Yeji replied. “Stretched. Moved around. I didn’t do it recklessly.”
Lia tilted her head. “You didn’t do it recklessly because it was for Ryujin.”
Yeji did not argue. She did not have to.
Lia bumped her shoulder lightly. “Just don’t go turning your ribcage into a love letter, alright? We still need you upright for playoffs.”
Yeji let out a quiet laugh. “Copy that, goalie.”
By the time the whistle blew to end the session, she was flushed with exertion and satisfaction. Her legs ached but it was the right kind. Earned .
Coach Evans gave her a subtle nod from across the ice, as if to say: welcome back .
Yeji showered quickly, towel slung over her shoulders as she padded back to the locker room. Her teammates were louder now, energized. But she lingered behind as the others filtered out.
She had been briefed already. Media day follow-ups, rumors still circling from the IIHF run, and the unavoidable speculation about her and Ryujin.
Her assistant coach appeared in the doorway.
“Yeji. They’re ready for you upstairs.”
Chapter Text
Yeji had gone over what she would say at least a dozen times.
The meeting was supposed to be routine. A light agenda, or so they had said. A few quick notes on playoff prep, updated media guidelines, and a check-in on her progress. Yeji had walked in expecting structure. Logistics. Maybe a rundown of her scheduled appearances and a conversation about easing back into captain duties while still on partial recovery.
But she also knew that the real reason for the meeting was not just her ribcage or her media calendar.
It was Ryujin.
More specifically, the rising wave of speculation surrounding her and Ryujin.
She had expected the question: Is it true?
And she had come prepared to answer it.
She was not ashamed of being with Ryujin. She was not going to pretend it had not happened.
She also had expected a short conversation. A closed-door chat. Maybe a passing acknowledgment of the noise. Some talk about tone and boundaries in interviews.
What she had not expected was a full room.
She thought she was ready for it.
She had rehearsed her lines in the mirror that morning in her head, calm and controlled, like every press conference she had ever done. Like every time she had stood at the podium after a loss and answered the questions no one else wanted. She had come prepared to speak clearly, honestly, and with just enough restraint.
She had prepared a version of the truth: respectful, controlled, responsible.
Yes, we’re together.
No, I won’t let it affect the team.
That was what she had planned to say. Honest, but contained. Measured. Professional .
She was the captain of the Sentinels. She knew how to speak in ways that made people feel reassured. But the moment she stepped into the room, she realized this was not that kind of meeting.
As she stepped into the glass-walled conference space on the third floor of the Sentinels’ training facility, Yeji paused.
It was not just Mallory from PR. There was also Lucas, a senior rep from management, Jonah from social media, and two reps from brand partnerships. Even Assistant GM Andrew, who rarely attended these sessions.
It felt heavier than expected. The air was too still. The smiles were too polite.
She knew this was not just a check-in.
It was an intervention .
Yeji sat down slowly, jaw tightening. Her carefully prepared speech was already dissolving in her mind.
Mallory started with the usual, “Thanks for coming, Yeji. We appreciate your time.”
The meeting had begun the way most post-recovery check-ins did.
She had known this was coming, had even prepared for it. Her rib fractures were healing on schedule, her physical evaluation scores were solid for someone easing back into the ice, and her recovery timeline was well within what the team’s medical staff had projected.
They opened with a calm rundown of the medical team’s report. No contact drills until next week, followed by a progressive reintroduction to defensive assignments.
Nothing unexpected yet.
Yeji responded with short, clear affirmations, her posture upright, her tone respectful but efficient.
She had been through too many of these to make it complicated.
Then, almost as an afterthought, Mallory mentioned it.
“Just so you’re aware,” she said, eyes flicking toward Yeji without lingering, “press inquiries about your pending contract status are starting to trickle in. We’ve kept the messaging neutral for now— you’re focused on the playoffs, talks are ongoing, no comment on specifics —but once postseason ends, that’ll heat up.”
Yeji only gave a small nod. She had expected that, too. Her contract with the Sentinels was ending this season, and while quiet discussions had already started behind closed doors, nothing was finalized.
Not yet.
Still, it was not the focus of the meeting.
Not today.
Then finally came the PR brief.
A thick folder was slid across the table, its tabs color-coded and neatly labeled. Mallory, ever meticulous, laid out her media schedule with sharp precision: a feature shoot for The Athletic , a scheduled interview with a local Boston morning show, a limited media scrum ahead of the club’s playoff press conference, and a longform sit-down piece that would be embargoed until the end of postseason.
None of it surprised Yeji.
As captain, she was the face of the team whether she liked it or not, especially after returning from an international gold medal run. Especially now that she was the one who had played through injury and still delivered when it mattered. She noted the times, asked two clarifying questions, then gave a crisp nod.
Business as usual.
But then the air shifted.
There was a pause. A glance exchanged across the room. And then,
“Let’s talk about the Ryujin situation .”
Yeji blinked. “ Situation ,” she repeated, almost to herself.
Not your relationship .
Not your privacy .
The situation .
Lucas did not flinch. “There’s been a notable uptick in speculation. Photos. Edits. Commentary. It’s trending into national coverage, Yeji. You’ve seen it.”
“I have,” Yeji said.
Mallory stood, tablet in hand. “This isn’t formal,” she began, “but it’s something we need to be mindful of. There’s chatter picking up again about you and Ryujin. You’ve seen the fan stuff. We’re starting to get press inquiries now, too.”
Yeji let out a slow exhale, arms folded loosely across her chest. Her jaw tightened from the exhaustion of knowing this moment would come, and still not being ready for the spin.
“It’s not the first time people have talked. People have always thought we were together,” she said quietly. “Or at least thought we had some kind of history. Ex-girlfriends in high school. Secret crushes during juniors. We’ve been romantically paired since I was sixteen. Why the sudden interest now?”
Mallory tapped her fingers once against the edge of her tablet, then glanced back up at Yeji. “The speculation ramped up during the national team run. You and Ryujin were all over media day. Interviews, photoshoots, those mic’d up practice clips. People saw something different this time.”
Yeji’s brows furrowed. “We were teammates.”
Mallory nodded. “Exactly. That’s what made it harder to dismiss. You were rivals for years. Every headline, every face-off, it was you versus her. Then suddenly, you’re on the same team, sitting next to each other in press conferences, syncing perfectly on the ice, and not chirping each other every five seconds like usual. It threw people off. Made them look closer.”
Mallory’s concern still lingered in the air when another voice joined in, one that had been silent until now.
Jonah, the team’s social media manager and the youngest person in the room by at least a decade, shifted in his seat near the back. Usually more of an observer during these meetings, he rarely spoke unless asked. But now he cleared his throat lightly, eyes flicking between Yeji and the rest of the staff.
“From a comms standpoint,” Jonah began, cautiously but firmly, “it’s already out of our hands.”
Mallory glanced over, not surprised he had something to say, but clearly wary of what it would be.
Jonah continued, “The shipping, the edits, the side-by-side breakdowns… they’re not slowing down. If anything, they’ve doubled since the gold medal game. We’ve got clips going viral of the two of you during national anthems. Fans sync your shifts like it’s choreography. People are treating this like a storyline with arcs and callbacks.”
He glanced down at his laptop, half-smirking. “And that’s without either of you posting a single thing together.”
A beat.
“Oh, except for that one picture in Montréal that Ryujin posted. Roommates.”
It was the first and only picture that confirmed what the media had only suspected: they had been roommates during the pre-camp stint in Montreal.
“Of course we were roommates,” she said, tone flat, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They paired us because of our jersey numbers.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Right,” Jonah murmured again. “ Very efficient.”
Yeji narrowed her eyes at Jonah, the corners of her mouth twitching just slightly, not quite a smile, but dangerously close. The kind of look that made rookies straighten up during film review and made teammates shut up before a chirp went too far.
Jonah did not even pretend to be innocent. He just held up both hands like he was surrendering, grin spreading anyway.
“I’m just saying,” he offered, half-laughing, “you keep insisting it was about numbers and logistics, but the vibes in that photo were very much not logistical.”
“We weren’t even together then.”
That pulled the air right out of the room for a second. Not because it was dramatic, but because it was true.
Jonah’s smirk faltered, just a bit. Mallory glanced up from her tablet. Even Lucas looked momentarily unsure if he should say anything.
Yeji leaned back in her chair, arms crossing, tone cooler now, but without venom.
“We are together, by the way,” she said, steady but clipped. “If that’s still important in this conversation, since none of you have bothered to ask.”
She did not glance away, nor soften the edge in her eyes. There was no shame in the declaration. Only a calm, coiled challenge in the way she said it, as if daring anyone in the room to decide what they wanted to do with that truth.
Mallory shifted slightly at the conference table. They had been focused on protocol, optics, locker room stability, everything , except the most human element of the situation.
The fact that this was not some rumor on a forum, not a whisper in the stands, but something real. Something that carried weight. Something Yeji had chosen, not stumbled into.
“I thought we were going to talk about whether or not I was ready to share it publicly,” Yeji said quietly. “Not whether or not it’s a situation .”
For a moment, no one responded. The room was still, caught between the weight of her words and the tension humming underneath them.
Then Lucas shifted forward, clearing his throat, fingers drumming once against the edge of his tablet.
“Okay, see, that’s what I’m saying,” he began, tapping two fingers against the side of his tablet. “You weren’t even together then, but the media had already perceived you both as a couple just off that one picture.”
He looked at her steadily, gesturing slightly with the tablet as if building a case in real time. “It’s not just that people think you are close. They think something changed during Team USA.”
Yeji’s expression did not waver, but something in her jawline twitched.
She blinked once. “If something did change,” she said slowly, the words deliberate, “what does that have to do with hockey?”
Lucas did not answer right away.
He sat back slightly, eyes narrowing with the careful calculation of someone trying to find the right phrasing. The question had landed harder than expected. Across the table, Mallory gave him a sidelong glance, then spoke instead, her tone carefully even.
“It shouldn’t have anything to do with hockey,” she said. “But media doesn’t care about what should matter. It cares about what people think matters.”
Lucas spoke next, his voice polite but direct. “That’s true. It is shaping faster than we can control. And this isn’t just a player-to-player situation, Yeji. This is you and her. The rivalry . One of the league’s most important marketing engines.”
Yeji stiffened. “We’re not a marketing engine. We’re athletes.”
“And athletes are part of narratives,” Lucas said, without missing a beat. “You and Ryujin are not just rivals on the ice. You’re two opposing brands. Boston’s control versus New York’s chaos. That tension sells . If that tension becomes… compromised , we lose more than just a storyline.”
Yeji’s brows lifted slightly. “So you’re worried about optics.”
“I’m worried about perception ,” Lucas corrected. “You’re the face of a team in the middle of a playoff run. You and Ryujin have defined the biggest rivalry in the league.”
This was not about her and Ryujin.
It was about them, the product .
The rivalry that filled arenas.
The narrative that sold tickets.
Lucas hesitated, careful with his words. “The speculations are about you being with Ryujin. With the star of the Cyclones. With the face of your direct rival. The rivalry that fills seats, sells jerseys, builds stories people follow all season long.”
Yeji did not move. Her expression did not crack. But something in her jaw twitched.
“So the game is only valid if we hate each other?”
Mallory finally stepped in, more gently. “That’s not what we’re saying. You know that’s not what we’re saying.”
Yeji’s eyes did not move from Lucas. “Then say what you are saying.”
“What I’m saying,” he began slowly, “is that for better or worse, this rivalry… your rivalry with Ryujin… has become bigger than either of you. It’s not just about Boston and New York anymore. It’s the narrative the league leans on, the one the media chases, the one fans are obsessed with. It drives engagement. Viewership. Even broadcast scheduling. It’s a foundation piece.”
He looked at her, not confrontational, but direct. “So when that rivalry becomes romantic? It changes the framing. For everyone. And while that’s not necessarily bad, it becomes disruptive. It pulls attention, shifts storylines, and yeah, it makes people start asking if the edge is still there.”
Yeji’s jaw flexed again.
“Even if it is still there,” Mallory added quickly, “they’ll still question it. They’ll pick apart every move, every shift, every interaction. They’ll slow down replays and ask if you’re holding back. Not because you are, but because it makes a better headline.”
Lucas folded his hands, the tablet untouched now. “You and Ryujin are two of the biggest names in the league. Your rivalry is not just athletic. It’s a product . It’s drama, contrast, mythology. If it comes out that the two of you have been in a relationship while playing against each other, people start asking questions:
Did you let her through the zone?
Did she pull up short on a hit?
Was that turnover really just a mistake?”
Yeji’s expression did not change, but her voice dropped just enough to cut clean through the tension.
“I’m a professional athlete.”
She said it calmly, without heat nor sarcasm, but it landed like a slap against the polished glass of the conversation. Her eyes did not waver, focused squarely on Lucas.
“I know how to separate things. I’ve been doing it since I was thirteen. On ice, off ice, it doesn’t matter what’s going on in my personal life. The second that puck drops, my job is the same.”
She let the words settle, the final syllables taut with certainty.
Mallory studied her for a long moment, as if weighing how much to push. “We’re not doubting your professionalism. We know you can separate things. But not everyone watching will believe that. If they think there’s even a chance you’re holding back, every missed hit, every split-second hesitation is going to be put under a microscope.”
Yeji blinked slowly, jaw tightening just slightly. Then she let out a breath, not amused, not irritated, but tired of hearing the same rehearsed concern.
“We all know that’s not true.” she said, her voice low.
Lucas gave a diplomatic smile, the kind people in rooms like this practiced in mirrors. “It’s not about whether it’s true,” he said smoothly. “I told you, it’s about how quickly perception becomes truth in the media.”
He turned his tablet slightly, as if to gesture toward an invisible mountain of metrics and campaign data.
“You and Ryujin are two of the most visible players in the league,” he continued, “and more importantly, two sides of its most profitable rivalry. That rivalry fuels attendance. Marketing. When people talk about the league, they talk about you two. You’re the storyline.”
Yeji’s jaw flexed.
“If people start reinterpreting that rivalry through a personal lens,” Lucas added, not unkindly, “it… shifts everything.”
Yeji exhaled slowly, her patience thinned but her restraint still intact.
“How the rivalry is perceived drives engagement,” he added. “And the second people start thinking that rivalry is something else, that it’s softened or blurred, it becomes harder to sell.”
At the edge of the room, Coach Evans shifted, but remained silent.
Yeji leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on the table. Her voice was quiet, but each word came with weight.
“Whatever happens,” she began, “however this story comes out… whenever it does… I need all of you to understand something.”
She let that hang in the air. No one interrupted.
“Our relationship does not, and will never, change what we are on the ice. That rivalry? It’s not an act. It’s not some branding strategy cooked up for engagement or merchandise or broadcast slots. It’s real. And it still lives in both of us.”
Her voice did not falter. Not once.
“It’s in how we skate. How we fight. How we read each other across a blue line. Every goal she scores on me, every hit I throw at her, every shift we battle for the upper hand… it all means something because we built it that way. Before anyone ever put a camera on us.”
Yeji did not flinch as the silence stretched. Her gaze swept across the room unapologetically. She sat up straighter, her voice steady, but there was steel beneath it now.
“When I play against Ryujin, I don’t see someone I need to protect. I see someone I have to beat. Someone who knows my game better than anyone. Someone who forces me to be faster. Smarter. Sharper. She makes me better, every shift. Every single time.”
Yeji’s fingers curled slightly into her palm. Not in anger. In certainty.
“That hasn’t changed,” she said. “It never will.”
She glanced toward Lucas, but the words were for everyone now.
“So if the league wants to keep selling the rivalry, go ahead. It’s not dead.”
A final pause.
“Nothing about that rivalry changes, especially not for the playoffs.”
And when she was done, she did not lean back. She did not blink. She simply waited, daring anyone to question her again.
The room did not argue. There was nothing to argue. Not after that.
Assistant GM Andrew, who had been leaning back in his chair for most of the meeting with his arms crossed and his mouth firmly shut, finally spoke.
“Okay, but let’s not pretend this is just about narrative control,” he said, sitting forward now, his voice carrying the bluntness that had made him both respected and difficult in front office circles. “At some point, we’ve got to stop circling the PR and marketing drain and ask the hockey question.”
All eyes shifted toward him. Yeji stayed still.
Andrew gestured toward her, firm but not unkind. “What happens when it’s game seven of the finals, last two minutes, tied score, and Ryujin’s flying down the left side on a zone entry? You’re the last line. Are you stepping up, or are you giving her half a second more because you’re calculating something that’s not on the board?”
There it was.
The part they had been dancing around.
Not the media. Not the game.
Her .
They were questioning her judgment. Her integrity. Not because she was not focused.
But because the person on the other end of that puck had her heart.
And they wanted to know, was that enough to make her hesitate?
Yeji did not blink. “I’m stepping up.”
Andrew held her gaze. “Fast enough to stop her?”
“Fast enough to drop her,” Yeji said, voice cutting in clean.
A brief silence stretched between them, heavy with mutual understanding. There was no defiance in her voice. Just certainty. Years of it. Layered with grit and memory and the way Ryujin always took the outside edge like she wanted someone to chase her.
Lucas butted in again. “Aren’t you gonna hold back, even by a second—”
Yeji cut him off, voice low but searing.
“There is no world where that happens.”
Mallory blinked, taken aback by the quiet conviction in her voice.
“You think I’ve come this far to compromise the game for anyone? Even her? You think I don’t know the stakes of what it means to wear this letter on my chest, to play for this city?”
Yeji’s voice was steady, her tone stripped of anything performative. “I respect Ryujin more than anyone I’ve ever played against. And because I respect her, I will never go easy on her. That’s not how we work. That’s not what we are. That’s offensive to the game and to her. ”
There was no bravado in what she said, only conviction.
When the time came, Yeji knew exactly what she would do.
She would meet her at full force.
No hesitation.
Because that was what Ryujin deserved.
Because that was what hockey deserved.
And because that was who Yeji was.
It was the truth. She could love Ryujin and still take her apart on the ice. She could still strip the puck off her stick, still shut her down at the blue line, still take the body when the play called for it.
If anything, she owed Ryujin that much. No half-speed, no pulling punches.
She did not raise her voice. She did not need to. The weight of the truth was enough.
The room was still.
Coach Evans, who had been leaning quietly against the wall for most of the meeting, gave the smallest nod. It was subtle, just a shift of his chin, but it held weight.
He had seen Yeji in every stage of her career. He did not need more words from her. He already understood.
But the others did not move. Did not speak.
Because they did not know Yeji as a player.
They knew her as the captain. As the poised, unshakable figure at the postgame podium.
The face of the Sentinels’ brand.
The one who smiled cleanly for sponsors, the one with tailored suits and soundbites that never cracked under pressure.
They did not know the player who had gone to war in three different championship finals and left blood on the ice just to earn a one-goal win. They did not know the competitor who still watched film until 3 a.m. to figure out how Ryujin might cut inside on a backhand rush.
They knew the image. The uniform. The controlled, curated edge of her leadership.
But they had never seen her as a player outside of the ice rink.
Coach Evans had.
And that was why he did not need convincing.
Andrew, who had been uncharacteristically quiet through the last exchange, finally spoke again, his voice rougher than the others, less filtered by PR polish or corporate diplomacy. He did not bother looking at his notes or checking his phone.
Instead, he leaned forward, gaze fixed on the floor for a beat before lifting toward Yeji.
“You know,” he started, tone low and casual like he was just remembering something in passing, “I keep thinking back to that game against Germany. Team USA. Third period.”
Yeji did not respond, but her eyes flicked toward him, alert.
“Ryujin took a hit along the boards. Hard and dirty technically, but no call. Got knocked sideways and didn’t get up right away.” He glanced around, like he was checking if anyone else remembered. “Crowd went quiet for a second. She was down longer than she should’ve been.”
Jonah nodded slowly, remembering. Even Mallory stilled, curious where Andrew was going.
Andrew looked directly at Yeji then. “And you skated right over to the girl who laid that hit, didn’t even think twice. You just shoved the German player so hard she slammed into the boards, gloves up like she didn’t even know what she’d done.”
Yeji did not deny it. Her jaw tensed, but she said nothing.
“Got called for roughing and misconduct,” Andrew added. “Crucial penalty. You were in the box while they got power play goals that tied the game.”
Lucas shifted slightly, as if to say this is exactly the concern .
Andrew did not let the moment settle. He was not backing down, at least not yet. His tone shifted, sharpened with something colder than before. Less storytelling, more challenge.
“Were you together then?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly. “During that Germany game, were you two already something ?”
The room went still again, this time more charged.
Coach Evans did not speak. Mallory’s fingers hovered over her tablet, frozen. Jonah glanced up, wide-eyed.
Andrew did not wait for a reply. “Because if you were, I’ve got to ask… was that shove about protecting a teammate? Or was it about defending your girlfriend?”
Yeji’s eyes did not move. Not even one blink.
“That was a crucial penalty,” Andrew continued. “You almost lost the game because of it. You were in the box, and Ryujin was still on the bench getting checked out. We were down a forward and a defenseman for most of the third. You two only got back on the ice with a few minutes left. If Germany pushed you to overtime…” He stopped short of saying you would have cost everything, but the implication hovered.
Yeji’s voice was calm when she finally spoke. “I was trying to defend a teammate.”
She did not raise her voice. Did not snap. But every syllable carried weight.
“I would’ve done the same thing if someone had knocked Riley into the boards like that. Or Karina. Or Yuna. It wasn’t about her being my girlfriend. It was about her being one of ours.”
Andrew looked like he wanted to press, but Yeji kept going, eyes locked on his.
“You think I don’t remember the stakes of that penalty? I do . I took it knowing exactly what I was doing.” She leaned forward slightly, spine straight, voice cooling with precision. “And I’d do it again.”
“I stand up for my teammates. Always have. That’s what leaders do. That’s what captains do.”
The air in the room felt heavier now, not with tension, but with something undeniable.
Even Andrew, for all his skepticism, did not fire back right away. He just looked at her for a long beat, jaw shifting, like he was trying to find a crack in her reasoning and could not.
Because there was not one.
Yeji did not break eye contact. When her voice came, it was calm, but laced with something harder beneath.
“Come on,” she said to Andrew, chin lifted ever so slightly. “Tell them what happened the rest of that game.”
Andrew froze for half a second.
Yeji tilted her head just slightly, expression unreadable, but the challenge was unmistakable now. “You brought it up. So finish the story.”
The room was silent. Even Coach Evans was watching now with a flicker of something like amusement in his eyes.
Andrew shifted in his seat. His tone was not combative anymore, more reluctant now, like a man who realized too late he had walked into a trap.
“You came out of the bench with under two minutes left,” he muttered. “Ryujin got cleared to play the next shift. You were tied. They were pressing hard.”
Yeji said nothing, letting him continue.
Andrew exhaled, then finally admitted it. “And then you scored.”
Jonah, trying not to smile, looked down at his laptop.
“You passed the puck to Ryujin, she dragged players with her, and passed it back to you. You shot a one-timer. Game winner. Sent Team USA to the finals.”
Yeji did not smile. She just nodded once, crisp. “Right.”
Then, quieter.
“So don’t act like that penalty defined the game. Or that protecting a teammate cost us something it didn’t. I made a choice. And I finished the game the same way I’ve always played: focused .”
Andrew had no response.
Because she was right.
She had taken the penalty.
Then iced the game.
And if she had been a little more fired up than usual that night against Germany, if the sight of Ryujin staying down longer than she should have sent something rushing through her chest faster than she could check it…
Well, they did not need to know about that.
Mallory cleared her throat gently, the sound soft but intentional, cutting through the rising tension without sharpness.
She offered Yeji a more tempered expression. Less about control, more about care. The kind of look that said let us pivot without saying it aloud.
“Okay,” she said carefully, folding her hands in front of her. “What do you want to do about the speculation? About all the noise that’s already out there.”
She did not phrase it as pressure. Just a question. But everyone knew what it meant.
“Do you want to address it?” Mallory asked. “Go public? Say something definitive about your relationship with Ryujin before the playoffs?”
Yeji did not hesitate.
“No,” she said simply, but firmly. “Not now. Not while we’re heading into postseason.”
She let that settle for a second before continuing, her voice steady, but decisive.
“This team is fighting for something bigger than my personal life. I’m not going to let that get drowned out just because people are obsessing over who I’m dating.”
She glanced around the table, gaze direct.
“When the season ends, we can talk. But until then? Let them guess.”
Yeji’s eyes did not waver, her arms now loosely crossed as she leaned back in her chair.
“I came in here today because I knew this conversation was coming,” she continued, voice calm but firm. “And I wanted to make it clear that I’m not denying anything to you. I’m not lying about it. But I’m also not giving the media a headline to run with while we’re preparing for playoffs.”
She looked directly at Mallory, then Jonah, then Lucas.
“I respect my teammates too much to let the spotlight shift away from what we’re building. This group has fought through everything this season. Injuries, pressure, double shifts, back-to-backs and I won’t be the reason the focus shifts.”
No one interrupted. No one dared to.
“I know exactly how visible I am. Ryujin and I know how visible we are. But that’s exactly why I won’t let our relationship be the headline when Boston is fighting for something bigger than a storyline.”
Her gaze lingered on Lucas, not with spite, but emphasis.
“You want to protect the rivalry? The marketing? The storyline? Then watch us play. Because we’re going to make noise either way, whether people think we’re rivals, soulmates, or both .”
There was no deflection in her tone, no coyness.
“When it’s over, you can ask whatever you want,” she added, her voice softening just slightly at the edge. “But right now? I’ve got a team to lead.”
Coach Evans finally shifted again, and though he still said nothing, a quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Mallory gave a slow nod, tapping the corner of her notepad once.
“Understood.”
From his quiet post near the edge of the room, Coach Evans finally let the silence breathe before stepping forward just slightly. Arms still crossed, his expression softened with something far warmer.
Something proud.
A slow smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth as he gave the room a sideways glance and said, low and certain,
“That’s the Sentinels’ captain for you.”
It was the kind of line that did not ask for agreement. It simply reminded everyone in the room why Yeji wore the C on her jersey. Why her word carried weight. Why no amount of speculation could shake the foundation she played on.
Then, without looking at anyone else, he murmured,
“Is that the same person you guys were doubting a while ago?”
It hung in the air for half a second too long. Enough for some discomfort to creep in. No one replied immediately.
Lucas exhaled through his nose, steadying his voice.
“It’s not unreasonable to think emotions might get involved. You care about her, that’s human. And in a high-stakes game, even a split-second pause could change everything.”
He looked at Yeji carefully.
Yeji did not answer immediately. She let the silence sit there, she let the discomfort grow heavy in the room. She wanted them to feel the weight of what he was implying.
“We just need to be sure you won’t hesitate if the moment comes.”
Yeji’s attention was fixed on Lucas, face unreadable, but the shift in the room was immediate. Even Mallory straightened slightly, lips pressed thin, and Jonah had gone completely still beside his laptop, like he was praying the conversation would walk itself back before someone got verbally flattened.
Yeji let out a quiet scoff, something sharp and incredulous under her breath.
Then she leaned back slightly in her chair, eyes fixed on Lucas with a look that was more disbelief than anger.
“I’ve met her on the other side of the ice every year for almost a decade,” she said quietly, each word landing like stone. “Playoffs. Finals. State championships. Every regular season since we went pros. And I’ve never once let how I feel get in the way of how I play .”
Her voice did not rise. If anything, it dropped, quieter, steadier, deadlier .
“And if you think this relationship somehow makes that different, then maybe you haven’t been watching closely enough.”
Lucas shifted, just barely, but Yeji was not finished.
“You think I’m gonna hesitate because I’m playing against someone I like?” she asked, voice flat and dry with sarcasm. “What am I, ten ?”
The room stilled. Even Jonah looked briefly surprised by the rawness of her tone.
Yeji did not wait for anyone to respond.
“I’ve played against Ryujin since we were teenagers. We’ve gone at each other harder than half the league ever has. And you know why people liked it?” She leaned forward now, voice tightening with quiet precision. “Because neither of us ever played like we cared. We just played to win.”
She tilted her head. “So now suddenly, because I am dating her, that makes me soft? That makes me less of a competitor?”
Lucas stayed composed, but he did not respond right away.
Yeji pressed on, her voice low but steady. “I’ve played through injury, through fatigue, through noise. I’ve held this team together through locker room shifts, trade rumors, and league restructuring. But this… this is what you think might make me drop my gloves and forget how to skate? Liking her?”
She shook her head, exhaling sharply through her nose.
“You want to know what I actually think?” Her gaze snapped back to Lucas. “I think people will look for any excuse to doubt a woman’s focus. If it’s not emotions, it’s leadership. If it’s not that, it’s toughness. And now? Now it’s the idea that maybe I care too much. That I might hesitate because she matters to me.”
Lucas shifted slightly in his seat, adjusting the angle of his tablet though he never looked down at it. His eyes stayed on Yeji, guarded but not defensive like he knew he was walking a line and still chose to take the step.
“I hear you,” he said, slower now. “And you’re right, it’s not fair. None of this is. The double standards, the scrutiny. I’m not arguing against your leadership, or your composure, or what you bring to the ice. No one here is.”
He let the silence sit for a breath before continuing, quieter but firm.
“But the media does not care about fairness. They care about framing. And whether it’s true or not, the moment people think your judgment might be clouded, even for a second, that’s the story. That’s what takes over. It doesn’t matter how many games you’ve carried this team through, or how many hits you’ve taken and gotten back up from.”
Yeji held eye contact. “You want to talk about perception? Then let them see it. Let them see me shut her down at full speed. Let them see us fight for every puck like it’s the last shift of our lives.” She paused, just briefly, her gaze leveled and calm.
“That’s how I honor what we are. Not by pulling up short.”
Yeji was done.
The silence that followed her last words was thick but settled, no one dared to challenge her again. She had said what needed to be said.
With a quiet inhale, she gathered herself, pushing her chair back with a controlled scrape. Her fingers brushed the edge of the table, her body halfway to standing when Andrew spoke.
“You’re sound so sure about that right now,” he said, eyes steady over the edge of his tablet, “but you haven’t met each other again on opposite sides of the ice since your relationship started. That moment hasn’t come yet. You don’t know how it’ll feel.”
The room stilled. Even the air shifted.
Yeji froze, not because she was caught off guard, but because she was deciding whether or not to let that go.
Across the room, Coach Evans visibly exhaled and tilted his head, eyebrows raised, an incredulous he did not just say that etched all over his face.
And Yeji, still standing halfway, slowly returned to her seat. She was calmer now… in a dangerous way.
Whatever exit she had planned, it would have to wait.
“I don’t need to wait for that moment to know exactly how I’ll play,” she said, voice firm. “I’ve spent years training myself not to blink when Ryujin cuts through the neutral zone. I’ve studied her tape, her pivots, her habits. I’ve shut her down on the rush. I’ve taken hits from her, thrown checks at her, and come back up swinging.”
Yeji’s face remained composed, but there was something sharper behind her eyes now. Something cold. Something offended.
“You’re right, I haven’t faced her since we started… this . But I’m ready for that moment. And so is she.”
Yeji stood.
Her chair slid back with a soft thud as she rose, shoulders set, movements calm and deliberate. The tension in the room did not ease. It just shifted.
Conversation had run its course.
There was nothing left to justify.
Her hand was on the door when Andrew’s voice cut through, softer this time, but laced with that same careful doubt.
“You say all that now, but when it happens… when she’s in front of you in a real game, skating full speed with the puck, when you have to choose between hitting her or letting her go, don’t fool yourself. You won’t play her the same way.”
The words were calm, but they struck a nerve.
Yeji stopped.
Her fingers curled around the handle until her knuckles whitened. A second passed. Then another. Her jaw flexed once, and when she turned, her eyes were steady flames.
She did not walk back to her seat this time.
She did not raise her voice.
She just said it, crystal clear. Sharp as steel.
“Watch me.”
It was not a threat.
It was not a plea.
It was a promise .
A line drawn in ice and fire.
And when she left the room, her footsteps echoed down the hall with the quiet finality of someone who knew exactly who she was.
Chapter Text
The tension in Yeji’s shoulders had not quite settled, but the cold weight in her chest was gone. She adjusted the cuff of her sleeve, heading out the building already, when a familiar voice caught up from behind.
“Hey,” Coach Evans called, casual as ever.
Yeji turned, slowing her stride.
He fell into step beside her, hands in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable but easier than it had been inside the room.
“You kinda iced them in there,” he said with a quiet chuckle, glancing sideways.
Yeji did not smile. “They deserved it.”
Coach Evans hummed, like he agreed but did not want to say it too loud. Then after a second, he added more gently, “I never doubted you. You know that, right?”
Yeji looked at him then.
And for the first time since the meeting started, the sharp edge in her expression softened.
“I know,” she said quietly.
Evans nodded once, then stopped walking. She stopped with him.
“And just so it’s said,” he added, voice lower now, more sincere, “I’m happy for you and Ryujin.”
Yeji blinked, caught slightly off guard by how genuine it sounded.
He gave her a half-smile. “Doesn’t matter what the league thinks. You two are still the best players I’ve ever seen go at it. Together or not.”
Yeji did not respond right away. But after a second, she offered a nod, smaller than usual, but real.
“Thanks, Coach.”
He nodded back, then gestured down the hallway. “Go get some rest. Media’s gonna be louder than ever next week.”
Yeji exhaled, something close to a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth now. “Let them talk.”
As Yeji turned the corner, the hallway cleared out now, she heard Coach Evans call out behind her again. This time softer, with none of the edge from the earlier meeting.
“Good to see you on the ice today.”
She paused mid-step and glanced over her shoulder.
Yeji gave a short nod, voice even. “Felt good to be back.”
Coach Evans offered the faintest smile. “You didn’t miss a step.”
She did not smile back, but something lighter passed through her expression.
“Would’ve been nice if they remembered that too.”
He shrugged. “They will. They just needed a reminder.” Then, he added after a pause, “And you gave them one. Loud and clear.”
Yeji held his gaze a moment longer. Then turned, walking out of the facility without another word.
She did not need to say thank you. Not here.
Coach Evans already knew.
Once Yeji settled into the driver’s seat, the weight of the meeting finally sank in like gravity catching up. The door clicked shut, muffling the outside world. Her bag slid off her shoulder into the passenger seat with a dull thud, and for a few seconds, she just sat there, hands resting on her thighs, pulse steady now, but her jaw still tight from how hard she had held her ground.
She did not replay the arguments. She did not let herself dwell on who doubted her or how long it took for them to listen.
Instead, she reached for her phone.
Her thumb hovered over Ryujin’s name only briefly before tapping it.
[Yeji]
Hey
Meeting’s done
[Ryujin]
my captainnnn
hiiii
how’d it go?
[Yeji]
I’ll tell you everything later
Still in the facility lot
[Ryujin]
you’re still there??
it’s past 7pm
it went long?
[Yeji]
Yeah
Longer than planned
I’ll call you once i’m home
[Ryujin]
ooof
that bad, huh?
okay baby
drive safe, okay?
She would let Ryujin say whatever she wanted later: jokes, concern, teasing threats about hip-checking her during warmups.
But for now, this was enough.
The city blurred past her windows, a familiar stretch of lights and turns, but Yeji barely noticed any of it. One hand rested loosely on the steering wheel, her mind still thick with everything that had unfolded in that meeting. The absurdity of it lingered like static in her chest, buzzing low and relentless.
She could understand the branding or marketing side, at least on some level. The league had always capitalized on image.
As the face of one of the most dominant teams in the league, Yeji had long accepted that her image came with expectations: marketable ones, curated ones, even scripted ones sometimes.
The rivalry had always been good for business.
Rivalries sold seats.
Rivalries built legacies.
She and Ryujin had been part of that storyline for years, ever since high school.
So when things between them shifted, when the rivalry evolved into something more personal, more private, it made sense that people in suits got nervous.
She expected that part.
What she did not expect were the questions.
Will she hesitate now?
Will she, of all people, hold back?
It still made her jaw tense just thinking about it. It was not just offensive. It was lazy.
A shortcut of logic. As if years of discipline, of bleeding for her team, of anchoring a blue line through injuries and double shifts, could be undone by a kiss.
They had asked her if she could still go all out against Ryujin.
It echoed with a sharpness that scraped at her patience. They had really asked her that. Like everything she had built as a player could suddenly be undone by emotion.
As if her leadership, her record, her decisions under pressure, everything she had proven season after season, was now on trial because she had the audacity to care about someone.
She nearly laughed out loud now, the memory of it just as surreal.
It was ridiculous.
She had spent years studying Ryujin on the ice, learning the unpredictability of her plays, adjusting to her speed, figuring out how to shut her down without giving her space to dance.
Their rivalry had been crafted through grit and respect.
No one knew how to push her like Ryujin did.
No one demanded more from her.
The suggestion that she might pull her punches?
Yeji scoffed even just at the thought of it. Her grip on the wheel tightened.
That was not love.
Love was not pulling up short.
Love, in their case, was going all in. It was skating harder, pushing faster, crashing into each other and knowing the other could take it. Respecting the game enough to never fake it.
What frustrated her most was not that the question was asked, but that some of them had genuinely expected her to say yes. That maybe she would be softer now. Slower. Afraid.
It was insulting.
To her.
To Ryujin.
To what they had always been on the ice.
She turned onto her street, headlights sweeping across the parked cars as she slowed.
No. She would not hesitate. She never had. Not for anyone.
And if the league wanted to see how love and rivalry could exist in the same breath, then she would show them because Ryujin would not hesitate either.
She knew who she was on the ice. And Ryujin did too.
If the rest of them needed reminding…
Then maybe the playoffs would be the perfect time to show them.
Yeji pulled into her usual spot of her building’s underground parking garage.
She sat there for a while, hands resting on the steering wheel. Then she exhaled like she was finally allowing the weight of that meeting to settle into her bones.
Before turning off her engine, she reached into the passenger seat for her phone. There was no need to wait until she got upstairs. She wanted to hear Ryujin’s voice now.
Not as a distraction, but as something she needed to ground her. Because she needed something that felt real again. Less curated, less managed, less about optics and speculation.
She tapped the call button beside Ryujin’s name, already slipping one AirPod into her ear, then the other.
The line only rang once.
“Hi captain,” Ryujin’s voice came through, warm and quick, like she had been waiting. “You home?”
Yeji was still sitting in the car, one hand curled around the handle of the door, her gym bag slung over her shoulder. She finally turned the engine off and got out of her car.
“Just parked,” she said, voice low, tired in a way that Ryujin would hear immediately. “Didn’t even go in yet.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Ryujin replied, gently amused. “Figured you’d call the second the engine turned off.”
Yeji huffed softly, “Meeting was a mess,” she said, shutting the door behind her and locking the car with a beep. “You wouldn’t believe half the things they said.”
“Try me,” Ryujin murmured, and Yeji could hear the rustle of fabric. Her girlfriend was getting comfortable, settling in for whatever came next.
As Yeji made her way toward the elevator, the quiet tap of her slides echoing off the cement, she let the tension of the day start to unspool.
Finally, finally , she was speaking to someone who would understand.
The elevator dinged softly as Yeji stepped out onto her floor, still mid-call with Ryujin. She barely registered the warm lights of the hallway or the quiet of the hour. Her mind was still swimming, running hot with everything she had not said in that boardroom, at least anything she knew she was not allowed to say.
She unlocked her door, pushed it open with her shoulder, and kicked it closed behind her in one motion. She dropped her gym bag by the entryway like it had personally offended her.
After dropping her keys into the ceramic dish by the door with a sharp clink, she pulled out her phone and hit the FaceTime icon without thinking.
The line buzzed once and Ryujin’s face appeared on screen, blinking sleepily in the glow of her bedroom lamp, hair messy against the pillows.
Yeji did not even give her a chance to speak.
“Do you know what they asked me today?” Yeji said, her breath was still tight from the cold outside. She did not bother taking off her jacket, only kicked her slides off lazily by the door as she paced into the apartment. “They asked if my judgment would be clouded now that it’s my girlfriend on the other end of the ice.”
On Ryujin’s end, the camera jostled a little as she propped herself up with a lazy hand, smile barely forming at the corner of her mouth. “Hi to you too, baby.”
“I mean, I get the whole PR thing,” Yeji continued, now walking toward the kitchen as she dropped her small bag on the counter. “I really do. But acting like I’m going to freeze on the ice because I’m in love? Like that’s the moment everything crumbles?”
She turned the phone so Ryujin could see her, the frame catching Yeji’s half-unzipped jacket and somehow still-wet hair from post-practice.
Her tone was not angry, maybe just tired or fed up. There was a tension she had held all meeting long that finally started to crack now that she was home, talking to Ryujin.
“I was polite. I was professional. I gave them the clean version. But I’m still trying to figure out how we went from me doing my damn job to me being treated like a liability.”
Ryujin tilted her head. “Did they really say that?”
“They didn’t have to,” Yeji muttered, one hand now braced on the countertop. “It was in the questions. In the tone. They kept circling back to perception. Like it outweighs everything else.”
Ryujin’s voice softened, “You want to sit down? Breathe for a second?”
Yeji let out a breath. “Not yet. I’m still fired up.”
“Okay. Then keep going.”
Ryujin, adjusting the camera to a better angle, leaned back against her pillows with the quietest smile.
She expected a quick call.
A check-in.
A “ meeting was crap ,” maybe an “ I’m exhausted .”
Something clipped, efficient.
A classic Yeji.
Instead, what she got was a full-blown unraveling.
Yeji was pacing in her apartment, loose jacket slipping off one shoulder, voice animated, hands moving as she recounted every ridiculous moment from the conversation.
The words kept coming. Furiously .
Her cadence was like slapshots. Each one was strong, firm, and confident.
She was speaking faster than usual, words sharper, a little more fiery.
At some point, Ryujin was almost sure Yeji started ranting in French.
Or maybe cursing in it.
She could not tell.
But she let it all wash over her, watching with quiet fascination.
Ryujin barely recognized this version of her.
This was not the version of Yeji the league knew.
Not the composed captain in interviews, not the ice-cold defenseman in press conferences, not the disciplined, tightly stitched face of the Sentinels.
Ryujin had met Yeji in Minnesota when she was fifteen. Sharp-edged and silent, never wasting a breath on anything she deemed unnecessary.
Back then, Yeji did not talk unless it was tactical. She kept to herself, observed more than she spoke. Ryujin had always respected that. She admired it, even.
But this?
This Yeji, pacing barefoot, ranting in disbelief that anyone saw her as a product to be marketed, instead of a player who had bled for every inch of ice she owned?
This Yeji made Ryujin fall for her all over again.
Because she burned. She lit up with conviction. She cared so much it set fire to the room.
Ryujin leaned her cheek against her pillow, smiling softly, even as Yeji went on about how absurd it was that they were treating her like she did not know how to do her job just because her girlfriend wore a different jersey.
The truth was, Ryujin liked the idea of Yeji storming into every boardroom with the same energy she brought to a third period power kill.
She liked being loved by a hurricane.
Yeji froze mid-step, one hand still half-raised in the air, as if she had been about to emphasize another point in her rant.
Her brow furrowed slightly, thrown off by the expression on Ryujin’s face.
Through the screen, Ryujin was not laughing, not exactly.
But there was something settled in her features. Softness around her eyes, that slight curve of her mouth that tugged like it knew exactly what it was doing.
Yeji narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What are you smiling at?”
Ryujin did not answer right away.
She looked completely at ease, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other holding the phone at a lazy angle.
“I love you, Hwang Yeji.”
Yeji stopped whatever she was doing.
Whatever fire had been in her chest moments ago softened, melted. The rant cut off, and in its place, a quiet stillness settled between them. Her mouth parted like she might answer but no words came, only the faintest smile pulling at the corner of her lips.
Her voice came out softer. “You really mean that right now?”
Ryujin smiled wider, lazy and full of affection. “ Especially right now.”
Yeji blinked fast, her voice stumbling out before she could stop it. “Are you saying that to shut me up? Sorry, I’m—”
“What? No, no, no— no ,” Ryujin said immediately, sitting up a little straighter, the blanket falling slightly as she propped herself on one elbow. Her eyes were wide now, earnest, her voice rushing out in layered insistence.
“That’s not why I said it. I’m not trying to calm you down or distract you or make you stop.”
She exhaled, pushing a hand through her hair.
“I said it because it’s true. Because I’ve been listening to you for the past hour, Yeji. You, pacing around your apartment, unraveling this ridiculous meeting one thread at a time, reminding the world who the hell you are. You’re so… loud right now. Not in a bad way . Just… loud.”
Ryujin’s voice softened, like she was letting Yeji hear something she had been holding in. “And I love all of it. That’s why I said it.”
Yeji’s eyes dropped to the screen where Ryujin was still watching her, her blanket pooled around her waist, staring like Yeji had just split the earth in half and handed her the core.
She let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it caught on something tender instead.
“…You’re so annoying,” she muttered, shaking her head, lips twitching like she was trying not to smile.
And then, quieter, almost shy, she added, “I love you, too.”
Yeji’s dimple appeared on her cheek, faint but there, the way it always did when she was not trying to hide anything.
Ryujin saw it and just stared, quiet for a moment like the sight alone had knocked the wind out of her.
Her smile came slowly, curling warm and stunned.
“God,” Ryujin whispered, “I’m in so much trouble.”
Ryujin shifted under her blanket, phone still propped in front of her as if she had not moved an inch since Yeji started her rant.
“Don’t stop now,” she said, eyes soft but amused. “You were on a roll.”
Yeji blinked, a faint laugh escaping her as she turned in a slow circle like she had forgotten what room she was in. “Where was I?”
Ryujin did not miss a second. “You were right in the middle of saying, and I quote, ‘It’s like they think I’m just a walking product with a jersey number and a media quote, not someone who actually plays the fucking game.’ ”
Yeji let out a laugh, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh. Right. That .”
She rolled her shoulders back like it reset something inside her. Then she picked up where she left off, pacing again, her tone climbing in sharp, passionate bursts.
And across the screen, Ryujin just smiled to herself. Every time Yeji ranted, every time her voice cracked from disbelief, Ryujin found herself falling even harder.
By the time Yeji reached her bedroom, the adrenaline from the meeting had settled into a low simmer under her skin. Her phone propped up on her dresser with Ryujin’s face still on screen, who was silently watching her without a trace of judgment.
“—and I’m serious, Ryujin, you should’ve seen their faces when I said we were together. It was like I’d just told them I was defecting to another sport,” she said, half-laughing now, frustration undercutting the humor. “All that time talking about perception like I don’t know what the hell I’m doing out there.”
Yeji did not break stride.
She pulled off her jacket mid-sentence and tossed it onto the bed.
“Yeji…” Ryujin said, voice firm but amused from the screen.
Yeji did not stop.
Then her shirt followed.
She was distracted and mid-rant, lifting it over her head. Underneath, the snug compression brace around her ribs was visible, hugging close to skin still marked faintly from physical therapy tape.
“Captain,” Ryujin tried again, a little louder, eyes wide.
She was now just in a sports bra, then reached for the drawstring of her sweats while continuing, tone sharp but casual, like she was not half-undressed on camera.
Ryujin blinked, startled, almost dropped her phone, but Yeji kept going. She was oblivious, utterly relentless.
She propped herself up on one elbow. “ …Baby? ”
Still nothing.
Ryujin blinked, then slowly leaned her cheek back onto the pillow.
She did not try again. Did not interrupt. Just watched her girlfriend pace barefoot across the room, ranting, half dressed, hair a mess, stubborn glint in her eyes.
Her entire attention was frozen, though. Her eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, like her brain had short-circuited somewhere between the mention of the staff meeting and Yeji tugging off her sweats mid-sentence.
And now here she was: watching the woman she loved rant furiously about media perception and professional double standards while changing clothes on FaceTime like it was nothing.
It was not the bare skin. It was not even the messy hair or the rib brace peeking out from under the band of her sports bra.
It was Yeji’s fire.
The way she paced like the room could not contain her. The way her voice sharpened when she talked about the absurdity of being doubted. The way she looked completely and unapologetically herself.
Yeji was halfway through carefully tugging a tank top over her head when she paused, suddenly aware of the slight shift in Ryujin’s breathing.
She was too quiet, too focused .
The kind of silence that meant her girlfriend was absolutely still staring at the screen, not just listening.
She froze and turned around slowly.
Ryujin’s face was right there on the screen, wide-eyed, barely blinking, clearly caught.
Yeji narrowed her eyes suspiciously, one brow lifting as she crossed her arms loosely over her now-covered chest.
“…Are you still listening?”
Ryujin, caught but trying to play it cool, blinked fast and straightened up. “What? Yeah! Of course!”
Yeji tilted her head, unconvinced. “You haven’t said anything in like five minutes.”
Ryujin grinned, flustered but proud. “I didn’t want to interrupt. You were… uh… making a really strong point.”
Yeji sighed, biting back a smile as she was looking through her closet for a pair of sleep shorts. “ Sure .”
“Am I wrong?” Ryujin shot back, clearly regaining her footing. “You were making a strong point. Just… very convincingly.”
Yeji shot her a look over her shoulder.
Ryujin raised both brows, mock-innocent. “Hey, you were the one changing in front of the camera!”
“I was focused .”
“Yeah,” Ryujin said under her breath. “ Well, so was I .”
Yeji paused mid-motion, catching the tone, the weight behind the joke. Her eyes narrowed, not out of annoyance, but something closer to amusement wrapped in disbelief. “You’re really not.”
Ryujin just shrugged from her spot on the bed, cheek pressed into the pillow, eyes still fixed on the screen like Yeji might vanish if she looked away.
“You’re the one pacing around half-dressed while tearing apart every executive in the Northeast division. What do you want from me?”
Yeji huffed a laugh despite herself. “Maybe for you to stop ogling me like I’m your pre-game hype video.”
Ryujin grinned, chin now resting on her hand, completely unbothered. “I was ogling respectfully .”
Yeji scoffed, rolling her eyes as she ran a hand through her hair. “ Respectfully? ”
“Absolutely,” Ryujin said, sitting up slightly. “I mean, what else am I supposed to do when my girlfriend’s ranting about PR nonsense while stripping down like it’s part of the monologue?”
“…Listen to the damn monologue…?”
Ryujin threw her head back with a laugh. “I was listening to the damn monologue!”
Yeji raised a brow, unimpressed, “Really? Because you looked like you were one breath away from drooling.”
“I was multitasking,” Ryujin defended, “Absorbing your righteous fury and admiring the view. That takes skill.”
“And you’re hot when you’re mad,” Ryujin added with zero shame, flopping back onto her pillow. “Honestly, I should piss you off more often.”
Yeji turned toward the camera, lifting a single brow. “Go ahead. See how that works out for you.”
Ryujin blinked, then slowly raised her hands in surrender. “Respectfully… rescinding that last comment.” She grinned. “But also, not really.”
Yeji turned back toward the closet, shaking her head with a grin. “Oh, you already do piss me off often. So no need to try harder.”
Ryujin gasped, faux offended, full of pride. “That’s love, right there.”
Yeji snorted, tugging open a drawer. “It’s something.”
“Character-building.”
“Infuriating.”
Ryujin grinned wider, utterly unbothered. “Same thing.”
Yeji pulled up a pair of worn red plaid sleep shorts with one hand, tugging the waistband into place with practiced ease. Her other hand reached for the phone propped against the dresser, screen still lit with Ryujin’s face on call. Yeji picked it up and padded toward her bed, bare feet quiet against the floor.
Yeji had always been the one who controlled the room. She was the measured one, the one who did not speak unless she meant to say something with weight. Even back in high school, she had been described as the wall; stoic, immovable, the kind of presence that gave nothing away.
But here she was now, pacing her room in her tank top and plaid shorts, talking with her hands, her voice rising and falling like she was skating through the meeting all over again, dragging Ryujin along with her.
It was ridiculous.
It was vulnerable.
It was… safe .
She stopped at the edge of her bed, hands bracing her thighs, and let out a slow breath.
“I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore,” she muttered, wiping her face with her hands.
Ryujin’s voice came through, soft but amused. “No, I get it. I mean… I didn’t understand the French part, but the rest? Crystal clear .”
Yeji let out a laugh. A real one.
She sat down at last, grounding herself with the weight of the mattress beneath her, eyes finally meeting Ryujin’s again through the screen.
“You’re really still here,” she said, a little quieter.
Ryujin grinned. “You’re my girlfriend. Where else would I be?”
That made something shift in her again, just slightly.
A reminder.
That none of what happened in that meeting room could touch this. Could touch them .
Yeji shook her head lightly, almost like she was brushing away the last hour from her shoulders.
“Good. Because I’m not done talking.”
Ryujin leaned back, smile deepening. “I’m all ears, captain.”
And just like that, Yeji kept going.
Just because she could.
“ Anyway ,” she muttered, tone shifting, “they think I’ll fall apart on the ice versus the Cyclones because I’m with you? Come on.”
She did not even try to hide the disbelief in her voice.
On Ryujin’s end, there was a beat of silence. “I mean,” Ryujin said dryly, “I am pretty distracting.”
“You wish.”
Ryujin grinned, “It’s true.”
Yeji rolled her eyes and climbed onto her bed, back pressing against the headboard as she got settled. “You know what really got me?” she said, voice dipping a little, more incredulous now.
“They actually asked if I’d hesitate. If I’d pull back when it’s you coming down the ice.”
There was silence on the other end for a beat. Ryujin blinked slowly, jaw tightening.
“They what ?”
Yeji exhaled through her nose, already annoyed again just recalling it. “Said that now that we’re… involved , I might not go one hundred percent. That I might freeze, or let something slide because it’s you.”
Ryujin sat up straighter, like her entire body recoiled from the thought. “That’s insane.”
Yeji gave a half-shrug, trying to play it off, but the burn in her tone was still fresh. “I know.”
“No, like actually insane,” Ryujin repeated, voice low now, with a kind of offended disbelief. “You— you —pull your punches? On me? Have they met you?”
Yeji cracked a small smile despite herself.
“Please,” Ryujin went on, gesturing wildly even though Yeji could only see part of her. “I’ve been hit by you, Hwang. I still have bruises from your hits. You dream about shutting me down.”
“I don’t dream about it—” Yeji started, deadpan.
“Yeji,” Ryujin interrupted, eyes narrowing like she could see right through her. “You do. And I love you for it. But come on. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my girlfriend is also the same person most likely to try and send me flying into the glass if I cross her blue line.”
Yeji snorted. “Only if you’re sloppy.”
Ryujin beamed. “See? That . Right there. They think that’s gonna disappear?”
Yeji did not answer at first. Just looked at her through the screen, eyes softer now, but no less certain.
“No,” she said. “It’s not going anywhere.”
Ryujin leaned back, satisfied. “Damn right it’s not.” Then, after a moment, a smirk tugged at her lips. “But just so you know, I’m gonna dance past you in the neutral zone.”
“You can try.”
“Oh, I will.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to see it in the finals.”
“Bring it, Captain.”
The challenge was real. But the affection underneath it? It was undeniable.
“I’d be offended if you didn’t go at me one hundred percent, by the way.”
Yeji pointed at the screen, nearly dropping her phone. “That’s what I said!”
“Like seriously,” Ryujin continued, all mock drama and real fire underneath. “What do they think this is? Some Disney channel rivalry where we hold hands and giggle through a game? I live for the way you play me. The speed, the pressure, the checking—”
Yeji narrowed her eyes. “You’re just listing things you’re weirdly into.”
Ryujin shrugged, unabashed. “As if I don’t like it when you throw me across the ice.” She pressed her palm against her cheek, feigning a dreamy sigh. “Nothing like getting sent flying by the woman you love.”
Yeji rolled her eyes, “You’re the worst.”
“You didn’t seem to mind earlier when you were doing your very passionate TED Talk while changing pants.”
“I was ranting .” She glared accusingly at the screen. “You were the one staring without saying a word for five whole minutes.”
“I tried saying something! Three times, in fact. You were too busy yelling about media perception while in your underwear.”
Yeji paused, then gave a helpless laugh and muttered, “Oh my god.”
Ryujin just grinned, smug and fully leaning into it now. “Don’t worry, I was listening. Very carefully. Strong point, by the way. Especially the part where you said you’d strip the puck from me without hesitation? Hot .”
Yeji covered her face with one hand.
“Also true,” Ryujin added brightly.
Then she added, sincere beneath the teasing, “They don’t get it, but I do. I know you’re not going soft on me. You couldn’t if you tried.”
Yeji let her hand drop, her face calmer now, eyes softer. “Good.”
Ryujin’s voice was lighter again. “And anyway… playoffs are no fun unless you’re trying to knock me through the boards.”
Yeji laughed, her shoulders relaxing into something lighter.
“I’m being honest,” Ryujin grinned, her voice softening just a touch. “And I’m not worried about us. Not on the ice. Not off it.”
Yeji let the silence stretch for a moment, gaze steady on the screen.
“Neither am I.”
Ryujin had always known the second their relationship started that it would never soften the way Yeji played her game.
And thank God for that.
Because Ryujin had never wanted soft.
She wanted the Yeji who stared her down across the faceoff circle like she could read her next three moves in advance.
The Yeji who kept her to the outside, stick low, eyes sharper than any scouting report.
The Yeji who made her earn every inch of ice like it was sacred.
That was the version of Yeji Ryujin had fallen for, long before the late-night texts, before the quiet mornings, before Plymouth and Montréal.
She knew Yeji did not know how to play at half-speed.
Not for her city.
Not for her team.
Not for the letter on her jersey.
Not even for her.
And that was what made her love Yeji more fiercely.
She knew what was coming the moment they would step on opposite sides again.
Cyclones vs. Sentinels.
Dark Gray and Teal vs. Navy and Gold.
Yeji would not go easy.
She would track her on every shift, close every gap, make her fight for every scoring chance. She would body her into the boards if she had to.
She would do it without blinking.
And Ryujin would not want it any other way.
Because if the world eventually learned the truth, if the story of them ever spilled into headlines and cameras and press rooms, there was one thing she wanted to be undeniable:
That no matter what they were off the ice, once the puck dropped, Yeji would never hand her anything she did not fight for.
Because Yeji had never once considered going easy on Ryujin.
Not when she first lined up across from her at sixteen with the state title on the line.
Not when they met again in the pros, their clubs circling each other like wolves every season.
And certainly not now. Not with everything between them laced tighter than ever.
Because Ryujin’s brilliance did not deserve hesitation.
It deserved resistance.
Fire met with ice.
And Yeji never wanted to be the reason Ryujin dulled her blade.
When the puck dropped and teal streaked toward her in full speed, Yeji would not see her girlfriend. She would see the fastest winger in the league with a wicked release and no patience for defenders who blinked.
And she would meet her with everything she had. Body angled low. Stick tight to the lane. Reading the cut, the fake, the glint in Ryujin’s eyes that always came a second before she snapped into motion.
There was no hesitation.
There was no pullback.
There was never a question.
Because Ryujin did not love her because she was careful.
She loved her because she never flinched.
Yeji knew that. Knew that what they had was carved from something sharper than comfort.
It was trust, competition, steel forged in years of battle.
So no matter what the media speculated, no matter how carefully the PR teams tried to spin it, no matter what narratives the league clung to about love softening rivalry, Yeji knew her truth:
She would give Ryujin her best every time.
Yeji was laying on her bed now. The call was still going, their screens propped up on the pillow beside them.
Yeji was in her quiet Boston apartment, Ryujin was in her New York penthouse. The late hour did not stop either of them; their voices had long since dipped into that half-whispered, half-intimate space reserved for the end of the day.
Yeji never talked this much. Never let herself get this worked up, especially not about things she could not control.
But this… the assumptions, the questions, the way they looked at her like love was some kind of weakness. That had stuck.
And Ryujin.
Ryujin was just there.
Quiet, but listening.
It threw her a little, how calm that made her feel.
“There was this one part,” Yeji began again, frowning slightly as she rubbed at the corner of her eye, “where Andrew brought up Germany.”
Ryujin squinted. “Germany? Like, the semis?”
“Yeah,” Yeji said, “When you got knocked into the boards in the third period.”
A beat. Ryujin blinked. “Oh. That .”
Yeji hummed. “He asked if we were already together then.”
Ryujin’s brows rose slowly. “Why? What does that have to do with anything?”
“He asked if I only took that penalty because I was trying to defend my girlfriend ,” Yeji muttered, voice sharp with disbelief. “As if that’s the point.”
Ryujin let out a scoff, but she did not interrupt.
“I told him I was defending a teammate. I’d have done the same thing for anyone else. But that didn’t matter to them. They wanted to use it as proof that I would hesitate now. That I’d prioritize you over the game.”
Ryujin stayed quiet for a second, the only sound between them the distant hum of her city through the glass.
Yeji nodded. “And they conveniently forgot the part where we won.”
“You scored that game-winner before the buzzer,” Ryujin said, a hint of pride in her voice. “Off my pass.”
Yeji blinked, half a smile tugging at her lips. “Did I ever thank you for that?”
Ryujin exhaled, letting the memory settle. “Maybe. But I got something better.”
Yeji tilted her head. “Hmm?”
A quiet pause.
“I got an ‘I love you’ off of that.”
Yeji groaned, face warming as she tilted her head back with a soft laugh. “Oh, shut up. You only knew that because I told you.”
Ryujin grinned, shameless. “Still counts.”
Ryujin’s voice was a quiet tether on the other end of the line, grounding Yeji in a way that few things ever could.
“You don’t have to carry their questions,” Ryujin murmured, not in a dramatic way, just certain. “They weren’t the ones trading hits with me since I was fifteen. They weren’t on the ice in Montréal, watching you drag our team past Germany into the final. They weren’t there every time we locked eyes across the faceoff dot, knowing neither of us would give an inch. They didn’t build this rivalry. You did. We did.”
“They only see headlines,” Ryujin continued, voice soft but clear. “But you and me… we know it’s not about protecting each other. It’s about pushing each other. That’s what it’s always been. That’s what it still is.”
Yeji closed her eyes. The tension she had carried since stepping into that conference room loosened, like a vice slowly unclenching from the back of her neck. She felt it in the silence between them.
Eventually, she let out a breath. It shook, just a little.
“You always do that,” she muttered, voice barely above a whisper.
“Do what?”
“Say exactly what I needed, even if I didn’t know I needed it.”
There was a pause, and then Ryujin laughed gently. “Well… I am your favorite person.”
Yeji gave a tired, genuine smile. “I’m too vulnerable right now to deny that.”
Ryujin grinned. “I’ll take it. Full admission. Timestamped and everything.”
Yeji chuckled quietly, her voice muffled slightly by her pillow. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I’m getting it framed.”
Yeji closed her eyes, shoulders finally easing down, the sharp edges of the day dulled by the one person who had always known how to meet her where she was, no explanation necessary.
“I’m okay now,” Yeji whispered.
“I know,” Ryujin said quietly. “I’ve got you.”
At some point during their call, Yeji’s voice had softened into mumbles, her words slower, sentences drifting off until they stopped entirely.
Ryujin had heard the quiet shuffle of her sheets, the faint sigh as she settled deeper into her pillow, and then nothing but the soft rhythm of her breathing.
She did not end the call.
At some point during the night, both of them had fallen asleep.
Neither one planned it.
It just happened mid-call, somewhere between Yeji complaining about media speculations and Ryujin teasing her about back-checking her in front of cameras.
Yeji had curled into her sheets with a final sleepy sigh. Ryujin, laying on her own, phone propped haphazardly beside her, had gone quiet not long after.
The screen stayed on. The call stayed connected.
When Ryujin blinked awake, it was still dark in her apartment. The sky was only just beginning to pale beyond the windows, thin lines of early morning blue creeping over the skyline.
She shifted just enough to glance at the phone.
The call timer read 10 hours, 42 minutes.
Yeji was still asleep, the camera angled perfectly at the edge of her pillow. Her hair was tousled, half-covering her face. One arm was folded beneath her head.
She looked peaceful. Not just tired but softened. Safe .
The silence was warm. Ryujin stayed quiet, not wanting to break it.
After a moment, she eased herself off the bed and muted herself on the call, stretching her arms with a quiet wince.
She picked up the phone carefully and she padded barefoot toward the kitchen. The camera faced her counter now, but the screen still showed Yeji’s sleeping form in the corner, still breathing slowly, still undisturbed.
She moved carefully, pouring water, cracking eggs, half-focused on breakfast but still checking the screen between every step. She did not even realize she was smiling until she caught herself doing it over the cutting board.
Eventually, a sleepy rustle crackled through the phone speaker.
Yeji stirred.
Ryujin looked up.
“…Did we seriously just fall asleep on call like some teenagers in love?” Yeji mumbled, voice rough with sleep.
Ryujin grinned, reaching to unmute the call. “Mm… speak for yourself. I was just… resting my eyes.”
Yeji scoffed, amused, dragging the blanket up to her chin as she shifted slightly in bed. “Right. While horizontal. For probably more than seven hours.”
Ryujin turned just enough to face the camera, her lips curving lazily into a grin. “Well, you didn’t hang up either. Guess that makes you the teenager in love too.”
Yeji rolled her eyes but could not fight the slow smile tugging at her mouth. “God, we’re embarrassing.”
“Completely,” Ryujin agreed, “Wanna do it again tonight?”
Yeji hummed, voice soft. “…Yeah. Probably.”
For a while, they didn’t say anything else. Just the quiet, comforting sounds of waking up in separate spaces that didn’t feel so far apart.
Yeji’s voice, low and gentle again, cracked through the silence. “Morning, baby.” she said, smiling into her pillow.
“Morning.”
Yeji tried to blink sleep off of her eyes. “How long have you been up?”
“Woke up maybe ten minutes ago.”
Yeji squinted at the screen. “Where are you?”
“In the kitchen,” she said, voice still scratchy with sleep. Her face appeared in the frame again, gesturing vaguely at her messy kitchen with a whisk. “Cooking breakfast.”
Yeji smiled faintly, brushing a hand over her eyes as she sat up, the blanket pooling around her waist. “You’re such a morning person now, it’s scary.”
“I woke up once before you and suddenly I’m a morning person?”
“You’re in the kitchen. That’s morning person behavior.”
“You snore, by the way.”
Yeji scoffed, “I do not.”
“You do,” Ryujin said cheerfully. “Very softly. Just a little. Like a cute grumble.”
Yeji did not reply. She just flopped onto her back, one arm flung over her face.
Ryujin paused, watching her for a second longer, then said softly, “You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to hang up.”
From behind her arm, Yeji murmured, “You’re such a sap.”
“Only for you.”
And for a moment, the weight of yesterday, of press meetings, marketing panic, playoff tension, felt distant, as if none of it existed in this quiet bubble of morning and sleep and long-distance phone calls.
Chapter Text
The chill of the rink settling deep in her shoulders was oddly comforting as Ryujin leaned into the boards, catching her breath. Her hands, snug in her gloves, rested on the top of her stick as she exhaled through her mouthguard, nostrils flaring slightly.
The sound of the rink surrounded her. Blades scraping ice, the hollow thud of pucks striking glass, and the rhythmic shouts from the coaching staff.
It was loud, messy, alive .
“Ryujin, back in line. We’re doing that again. Skate through it this time!” Chaeryeong’s voice cut through the ice like a blade, sharp and familiar.
As Cyclones captain, she was relentless in her standards, especially with teammates she knew could handle it. Ryujin gave her a lazy salute with her stick, grinning through her helmet before pushing off the boards.
She skated along the perimeter of the rink, her dark gray “no-contact” jersey standing out against the teal and white of her teammates.
Her stride was smooth, powerful, and as fast as ever.
From a distance, she looked like any other fully cleared skater, blazing through reps with ease, cutting into tight turns with barely a drop in momentum.
But anyone paying close enough attention could see the occasional hitch in her movements: subtle adjustments in balance and pivots, her left side favoring just slightly more caution than her right.
The Cyclones’ training staff had monitored every step of her reconditioning plan, especially since she had returned from international duty with minor injury and soreness.
Nothing serious, but enough for the coaches to pull her back just a little.
Still, Ryujin had chafed under the restrictions, knowing playoffs were only weeks away. Now, with her body beginning to feel like hers again, she moved with something closer to confidence.
Not full-throttle yet, but the pulse was back.
They were running zone breakouts against forechecking pressure. Ryujin had missed the last timing window by half a second. Not for lack of effort, but her instinct still lagged just a little behind the flow.
It frustrated her.
But it also made her hungrier.
Winter, skating up next to her, nudged her with the curve of her stick. “You good, hotshot?” she muttered, keeping her tone light but eyes observant.
“Getting there.” Ryujin’s smirk was tight, but real. She was grateful for Winter’s presence. Their line, rounded out with Winter today for drills, was a mix of tempo and chaos.
The Cyclones way .
Coach Marner had visited training two days ago and reminded them of their playoff identity: speed, puck control, and relentless pressure.
Ryujin cut through the neutral zone, fluid despite the restrictions. She rotated into breakout patterns with clean tape-to-tape passes, her movements crisp but just shy of her usual sharpness.
Her shoulder still ached a little, the kind of ache that whispered not yet , but she worked around it with the same fire she always brought to the ice.
Ryujin could feel it simmering under her skin again.
The Cyclones’ engine was starting to purr.
Winter skated up beside her after their rotation, tugging briefly at the hem of Ryujin’s jersey. “This thing’s giving ‘celebrity guest star ,’ not ‘hockey player,’” she teased.
Chaeryeong skated by backward, smirking. “You sure you’re not milking this no-contact jersey thing to avoid Coach’s battle drills?”
“Why suffer when I can be legally untouchable?” Ryujin shot back, grinning. “I could get used to this immunity.”
“More like unpunchable,” Winter added, gliding up with a lazy smirk. “I’m gonna start wearing that thing during video sessions. Might get me out of Coach Silva’s lectures.”
They shared a brief laugh, but it did not last long.
A whistle signaled the next drill. Line rushes, half-speed. Chaeryeong and Winter peeled off toward their usual group, while Ryujin hung back with a rotation of defenders and recovering skaters, her current drill assignment.
The separation was annoying, even if temporary.
Still, her competitive itch was undeniable. Her eyes trailed every live drill, every shoulder-check and puck battle she was barred from.
Around her, the rest of the Cyclones had already returned to full pace. Training had resumed with a controlled ferocity. The playoff bracket was tightening, and their second seed standing was not taken for granted.
Every rep, every shift, every shift-change, mattered.
One of their wiry wingers, with dyed navy-blue streaks in her hair, barked something across the rink at Winter, something about botching a cycle, and Winter yelled back with a mocking salute.
Ryujin chuckled.
Same old chaos.
Across the rink, Chaeryeong tossed a puck back toward her, purposefully sharp.
Ryujin caught it with a soft touch and lifted an eyebrow. “Friendly fire?”
“Just checking your reflexes,” Chaeryeong called out with a smirk. “No injury excuses when playoffs start.”
Another whistle blew across the rink, echoing against the high rafters as Assistant Coach Silva signaled for a short break.
Players peeled off from their drills in staggered groups. Some were coasting lazily toward the benches, others still exchanging breathless chirps as they passed water bottles back and forth.
The air was thick with condensation and sharp with the clean sting of skate blades and sweat.
Talia Grant, a defensive anchor with a measured presence, skated alongside Ryujin.
“Getting restless to join the chaos?” Talia asked, unscrewing the cap on her bottle.
“Coach said maybe Monday,” Ryujin answered. “If I behave.”
Talia raised an eyebrow. “That’s a big ‘if.’ ”
“Have a little faith.”
“No one has ever said the words ‘Ryujin’ and ‘cautious’ in the same sentence,” said Leighton as she joined them, her stick twirling in one hand.
“Hey, I’ve been a model of patience all week,” Ryujin said, deadpan.
Winter leaned over from the bench. “Sure. If pacing the locker room like a zoo tiger counts as patience.”
“How’s the shoulder?” Leighton asked quietly, voice low beneath her helmet.
Ryujin exhaled. “Better. Not perfect yet.”
“You’ll get there,” Leighton said simply. “You’ve got timing, instincts, and the ego of three forwards combined. You’ll be fine.”
Ryujin laughed despite herself. “High praise.”
“No, high facts ,” Leighton replied, tapping her stick against Ryujin’s before gliding off.
Ryujin reached for her water bottle and leaned her elbow onto the railing, fingers curling reflexively around the cool plastic as she took a few deep sips.
Just as she was about to reset her gloves, her phone buzzed on the bench where she had left it. Once. Twice. Then few more in rapid succession.
Chaeryeong, skating by with her helmet pushed halfway off, caught sight of the screen lighting up. “Uh-oh,” she called out with a grin. “Your phone is blowing up.”
Ryujin raised a brow. “Yeji?”
“Team chat,” Winter said as she also peeked. “But yeah. Probably.”
Ryujin grabbed the phone, eyes immediately flicking to the glowing name of the group chat:
Puck Around and Find Out
[Lia]
ryujin
your girlfriend tried to break the crossbar today with her slapshots
WITH HER STILL FRACTURED RIBS
[Karina]
she acted like it was nothing
again.
she’s probably gonna show up to playoffs with a punctured lung and call it “just a bruise”
[Yuna]
she’s gonna pretend she’s fine until the bone heals out of fear
[Ryujin]
HOT
did anyone take a video
SEND IT TO ME RIGHT NOW
…I am not above bribery
snacks? playlists? I’ll do custom goal cellys. I’ll cry.
just name your price
[Yuna]
you’re so unwell
[Lia]
YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE VOICE OF REASON
[Karina]
the voice being “yes babe injure yourself harder :>”
[Ryujin]
HEY YOU’RE ALL THE ONES SUPPOSED TO BE MONITORING HER
[Yuna]
we are!!
monitoring her ignore every piece of medical advice!!
[Ryujin]
try taping her to the boards.
with bubble wrap.
[Chaeryeong]
might do that to you, too
you were just practicing like your arm wasn’t almost out of socket a month ago
[Winter]
“no contact jersey” my ass.
you were skating like a raccoon full of caffeine in a locked grocery store
[Ryujin]
WHICH IS WHY I’M IN A NO CONTACT JERSEY
I FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS
[Chaeryeong]
sure.
instructions you edited in your head
[Winter]
you and yeji are literally the same species of unhinged
just in a different habitat
[Lia]
agreed.
both pretending they’re fine.
both pushing just enough to not get benched.
both scaring the crap out of their teams.
[Yuna]
match made in reckless heaven
[Winter]
ryujin does edge drills at a speed that makes the trainers nervous
calls it “light skating”
[Ryujin]
I was FINE. Coach said I could skate at my own pace
[Winter]
“own pace” = “faster than the Zamboni”
[Karina]
you both need to be locked in separate padded rooms
[Riley]
why are you guys even surprised
they literally went to our practice
when they should be in bed resting
[Lia]
they really ARE the same.
yeji just hides it behind that “ice queen” act
[Chaeryeong]
and ryujin hides it behind… absolutely nothing.
it’s just chaos up front
[Ryujin]
oh just let her do her sexy slapshots
my girl has pent-up anger
this is healthy. she’s venting.
artistically
[Karina]
…why
what did you do
[Ryujin]
WHY DO YOU ASSUME IT’S BECAUSE OF ME
[Yuna]
why should we assume that it’s not…???
[Winter]
statistically speaking
when yeji’s mad, it’s 73% of the time because of you
[Lia]
and the other 27% is usually hockey-related
but still somehow linked to you
[Yeji]
I can read this, you know
[Ryujin]
MY CAPTAAAIN
your slapshots are beautiful
you scare me in the best way
[Yeji]
Good.
You should be scared.
Also, the shots were clean.
[Karina]
you flinched.
[Yeji]
I blinked.
[Yuna]
you stopped breathing for like 10 seconds
[Lia]
you looked like you were doing math to see if it was worth passing out
[Yeji]
It wasn’t. So I didn’t.
[Ryujin]
SEE
she’s a brilliant, elite, borderline terrifying athlete
if she says she can handle it, I believe her
[Lia]
do you really
[Ryujin]
do I trust her to rest properly?
absolutely not
do I admire her for being a monster on skates?
every single time
[Yeji]
Thank you.
[Karina]
I hate it here
[Winter]
banquet seating chart better keep them on opposite ends of the building
[Lia]
no they’ll just find each other with eye contact and a telepathic link
[Chaeryeong]
we’ve lost both of them to this madness
[Ryujin]
if loving her is wrong I don’t wanna be right ;D
[Yuna]
ok shakespeare relax
The last of the water break chatter faded around Ryujin as she sat alone on the bench, helmet off, one gloved hand resting on her thigh, the other gripping her phone. The group chat had descended into chaos minutes ago.
Typical Team USA.
Teasing, roasts, dramatics, the usual blur of noise whenever they were all online and everyone decided to take turns roasting both of them.
But under all the jokes, Ryujin had felt something tighten in her chest.
She thumbed through the last of the group messages, and opened a private chat with Lia.
[Ryujin]
hey
real question
is she actually okay?
i know she plays it off
but like…
really okay?
Her leg bounced as she waited. The longer it took, the tighter her grip got on the phone. She was not even sure what kind of answer she was hoping for.
The reply came with a soft buzz.
[Lia]
stubborn as ever
karina tried to say something and got the patented yeji glare™️
she’s skating fine tho.
she’s just
you know
mad
since monday
Ryujin exhaled through her nose, chest loosening slightly. She could practically picture it, Yeji stone-faced and sharp-tongued, shutting down any sympathy with a single look. Still skating like nothing hurt, even when it probably did.
Another message popped up before she could type.
[Lia]
i know you’ll be spiraling so i’m cutting you off now
physically she’s fine!!
PT is monitoring her
figured you’d want to know.
[Ryujin]
i do
thanks lia!!
(also please tell her to stop trying to die in practice)
[Lia]
lol you tell her
i like my spine unbroken
[Ryujin]
coward!!!
Ryujin huffed a quiet laugh, tucking the phone under her towel as she stood and rolled out her shoulder. It still ached.
But her mind felt clearer now.
Yeji was okay.
Not great. Not fully calm.
But okay .
And more than that, she was being watched, supported, and cared for even if she pretended not to be.
That would have to be enough, for now.
Ryujin stepped back onto the ice as the next drill was called out, eyes sharper, movements steadier.
There were three more days until the banquet.
Three more days until they saw each other again.
She could wait. But barely .
And in the back of her mind, Ryujin’s thoughts flickered unbidden to Boston.
Specifically, to a certain apartment with cream walls and forest green accents. To the echo of Yeji’s voice from a video call the night before. She sounded tired.
The kind of tired that came from rehab, not rest.
Yeji had been cleared for light puck work yesterday.
Ryujin knew this not because Yeji had told her, but because Yuna had texted her a blurry picture of Yeji skating in her own yellow non-contact jersey with a caption “Your gf’s back.”
Ryujin had stared at the photo for ten full minutes before responding with a stupid emoji and a threat of “send better shots next time. i could barely see her.”
But her heart had swelled anyway.
Three more days.
Three more days until the Team USA banquet in Colorado, until she would see Yeji again, dressed up and out of uniform. The idea alone made Ryujin shift uncomfortably on her skates, like the thought was too much for her limbs to hold.
“Go!” the assistant coach barked.
Ryujin exploded forward, the world narrowing to puck and blade. Her legs burned, breath tightened, but the timing returned like it was second nature. She received the pass from Winter perfectly, sidestepped the oncoming defenseman, and snapped the puck cleanly past the goalie.
It was not a goal that would make highlight reels, but it felt like her first real one since the gold medal game.
Chaeryeong clapped her stick on the ice in approval. “Better. Still a little late on the pivot. Fix it before next rep.”
Ryujin nodded, skating back to the line, blood pumping through her veins with the kind of electricity she had missed. She welcomed the sweat, the sting in her muscles, the grating challenge from her captain.
It meant she was close.
Almost there.
As the drills shifted to small-area games, Ryujin was rotated into puck retrieval and outlet situations. Also known as the non-contact zones where she could still make reads and showcase timing. She made quick passes, redirected traffic, and shouted assignments with her usual bite.
Even without physicality, she moved like she belonged exactly where she was.
She darted into corners with low, sharp pivots, using her edges to gain position without making contact. Her stick snapped the puck free along the boards, head already lifting to scan for the next move.
No one needed to remind her where the lanes were. She saw them before they opened. Her breakout passes came fast and clean, tape-to-tape with clarity.
But what stood out more, what the coaches noticed, was her voice.
Ryujin had always been intense, but since returning from Team USA, something had shifted. She had become louder, more commanding, more present in the way she orchestrated the ice around her.
Her words were not just noise. They carried structure, purpose.
She was directing tempo now, not just reacting to it.
Even without physicality, she was asserting control. Redirecting traffic, organizing exits, keeping the pace exact. And the others followed, not because she was loud, but because she was right .
After a few more rounds, the final whistle blew sharp and short, slicing through the rhythmic chaos of blades on ice and shouted calls. One by one, sticks lowered and voices dropped, breath heavy in the chilled air. The Cyclones players coasted to the benches or dropped to one knee where they stood, catching their breath.
Ryujin skated a final arc along the blue line before gliding toward the boards, her legs heavy but her mind still wired. Sweat clung to her neck beneath her helmet, and her shoulder was beginning to throb. Not alarmingly, but enough to remind her of the boundaries she was still under. She peeled off her gloves and flexed her fingers, adrenaline slowly tapering off as she made her way to the bench.
At the mouth of the tunnel, a camera was set up on a tripod, manned by the team’s media intern and a couple of content staffers, one of whom held a phone mounted with a directional mic.
Chaeryeong immediately made a face the second she realized what was happening. She tried to play it cool, casually adjusting her hair and subtly veering toward the locker room exit, but she did not move fast enough.
The assignment was simple: ask each player their favorite Taylor Swift song for the team’s TikTok series.
The answers were meant to be spontaneous, unrehearsed.
An intern stepped into her path with impeccable timing, blocking her escape with a too-sweet grin and a microphone already raised like a challenge.
“Oh, come on,” Chaeryeong muttered, half-laughing as she slowed to a stop. “Do I have to?”
The camera was already rolling. The rest of the team could be heard snickering somewhere behind her.
She sighed dramatically, took the mic, and after a moment of hesitation, she said, “ Maroon .”
“Classic Enchanted ,” Talia said, not even slowing down.
Leighton had paused dramatically, stared into the camera, and whispered, “ Gorgeous .”
“Mine’s Cruel Summer , obviously,” Winter, spinning a water bottle as she passed the mic. “That chorus? Come on.”
From offscreen, Leighton’s voice cut in with expert deadpan, “…your name is Winter .”
Winter narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t say anything when you picked Gorgeous ,” she called back.
“Oh, fuck you!” Leighton groaned, laughter bubbling up as Winter shoved her lightly with the water bottle and strolled off victorious.
The responses were all over the place.
Chaotic, sincere, predictable, surprising.
And then Ryujin stepped out.
Still sweaty, her damp hair sticking to her cheeks, Ryujin lingered for a beat when she spotted the media setup. Her dark teal helmet dangled from one hand, the other tugging at the hem of the gray non-contact jersey she had worn all practice.
But she had skated hard today, almost like she was daring the trainers to let her loose.
There was a spring to her step, a cheeky sort of energy lingering from the end-of-practice sprint she had led, not needing to, but doing it anyway.
The intern called out, “Ryujin! You’re up.”
She cocked her head, already smiling. “Wait, what are we doing?”
“Favorite Taylor Swift song,” the staffer explained, lifting the mic.
Ryujin was not nervous. This stuff was easy.
But there was something about being asked to pick a Taylor Swift song, today of all days, that made her stomach twist with amusement.
Because she already knew what she was going to say. She just had to decide whether to say it the chaotic way, or the slightly more chaotic way.
She blinked once, then let out a short breathless laugh, like she needed a second. “Currently, or of all time?”
The staffer grinned. “Currently.”
Ryujin nodded, shifting her weight onto her left leg. Her eyes flicked upward in thought, still flushed from the skate, the edge of a smile tugging at her lips.
“Currently?” she said slowly, voice softer, more thoughtful. “Come Back… Be Here.”
That was all Winter needed.
She turned her head and started singing:
“This is falling in love in the cruelest way…”
Talia, walking past with her stick over one shoulder, caught the lyric mid-step and joined in:
“This is falling for you and you are worlds away…”
From farther down the tunnel, Leighton added,
“In New York, be here…”
Chaeryeong, without even looking up from her phone, finished the line automatically, like muscle memory,
“But you’re in London,”
Ryujin rolled her eyes, but her smirk deepened. She opened her mouth to make a comment, then paused.
Because faintly, from somewhere deeper in the tunnel, near the water station or maybe from one of the last players headed to the locker room, she heard it.
“ Boston ,” someone muttered.
Not London .
Boston .
Probably Winter, judging by the snort that followed. Maybe Abby.
“I heard that!”
By the time they hit:
“and I break down… ’Cause it’s not fair that you’re not around…”
— the tunnel had transformed into a sad, echoing chorus of sweaty, overdramatic hockey players fully leaning into the bridge of a 2012 Taylor Swift song like it was gospel.
Ryujin laughed but she looked down when she did. The kind of laugh that was trying to stay light but cracked just enough to feel real. She held her helmet loosely at her side, the chin strap swinging slightly.
“Okay, okay,” the intern pressed. “But of all time?”
That made Ryujin pause, then looked up at the camera again.
“ So High School. ”
She gave the camera a little shrug, like she knew exactly what that said about her and did not care in the slightest. Someone off-camera let out a laugh, and Ryujin just muttered a playful “They asked!”
And then, just as the video was wrapping, as she started to walk backward out of frame, Ryujin looked directly into the camera, grin curling wider, eyes sharp with mischief.
Then she winked.
A single, knowing wink.
Just enough to break the internet.
Then spun on her heel to catch up with Chaeryeong, who tapped her on the shoulder, still grinning.
She had chosen it because So High School was the exact song Yeji hummed under her breath on their way back to the hotel after their first date. It was the one Ryujin caught her singing, barely above a whisper. The one Yeji shyly admitted reminded her of Ryujin but never explained why.
She said it like it was obvious.
Like she had not just exposed the softest, most sentimental corner of her heart.
So high school .
So unbelievably high school.
But maybe that was the point.
The moment the New York Cyclones’ TikTok featuring Ryujin dropped, Swifties found it. And they did not hold back.
What started as a cute little team segment quickly spiraled into an emotional battleground in the comments because Ryujin casually dropped Come Back… Be Here as her current favorite, So High School as her all time favorite, and winked.
The fandom collectively spiraled.
Within minutes, the video had thousands of likes, the comment section overrun with a chaos that only fans could generate.
“girl in the gray jersey please step forward i just wanna talk”
“someone drop her name i’m BEGGING”
“what’s her @. what’s her number. what’s her favorite flower”
“the wink?? the voice?? the SMIRK??? whoever she’s missing i hope they KNOW”
“gray jersey girl if you see this i would literally write your name in a blank space”
The Cyclones’ media team finally stepped in, replying to one of the top comments:
@nycyclonesofficial
Her name’s Ryujin Shin. #17. You’re welcome!
And just like that, the floodgates opened.
“RYUJIN. okay. got it. memorized. printed it on a t-shirt already.”
“ryujin if you see this i’m free thursday and emotionally available”
“this is a RYUJIN stan account now. sorry to the rest of the cyclones”
“so highschool??? i fear she’s not single. i fear she’s in love. i fear she’s so in love and i fear it’s not with me.”
“petition for weekly Ryujin content. mic’d up. locker room. slow-mo exits. the works.”
“i don’t even play hockey and i’m ready to get checked just for a glimpse of her in that jersey again”
“whoever she’s talking about… i hope you know you’ve won. like ACTUALLY won.”
“i didn’t know hockey girls could be this hot wtf”
“petition for her to do a full Taylor Swift ranking”
“does anyone know if she’s single or do i have to fight someone”
By the time she was halfway through her way home, the video had crossed 300k. Twitter was already speculating who Ryujin might be “ talking to .”
Tumblr had resurrected a decade-old analysis of the song’s lyrics.
Fans on Reddit were dissecting the pause between her answer and the wink.
And on TikTok, the newest top comment said,
“But you’re in London, and I break down…” Nah. She meant Boston.
Ryujin shoved the door open with her elbow back in her apartment, gym bag slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from a too-fast shower after practice.
The apartment was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of the kitchen underlights. She had forgotten to turn them off before she left that morning. She dropped her bag by the entryway with a sigh and removed her slides, half-expecting silence and the lingering ache of post-practice fatigue.
She had no idea just how loud the internet had gotten, her phone buzzed in her pocket the moment she stepped inside.
She fished it out without thinking, thumb already swiping the screen as she walked toward the fridge.
One new message.
[Yeji]
Who’s in London, Ryujin.
She froze mid-step, door handle half-pulled, a water bottle forgotten in her other hand. For a second, she just stared at the message. It was a flat, unbothered tone.
But she could hear the deadpan behind it. That carefully constructed neutrality that Yeji always deployed when she was trying very hard not to laugh.
Or stab.
Depending on the situation.
She did not even need to ask what it was about.
The video.
The TikTok.
The singing in the background.
The fact that she had chosen Come Back… Be Here with that look on her face.
Ryujin closed the fridge and dropped onto the kitchen stool like gravity had tripled in her bones.
She typed back quickly.
[Ryujin]
…you do know i didn’t write the song
right..?
[Yeji]
That doesn’t answer my question.
Ryujin huffed out a soft laugh, low and tired and way too fond. She tipped her head back, eyes flicking to the ceiling like she was asking the hockey gods to grant her strength.
[Ryujin]
nobody!!
miss swift was three letters off
[Yeji]
Three letters off?
[Ryujin]
suspiciously the same rhythm as boston
suspiciously the same number of syllables too
just three letters apart
The reply came after a few quiet seconds, and when it did, Ryujin could almost picture the flat look on Yeji’s face, the one that gave nothing away except the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth.
[Yeji]
…
You’re suspiciously good at this.
[Ryujin]
i’ve had practice
especially when i’m missing someone who definitely isn’t in london but feels just as far
[Yeji]
You’re smooth talking your way out of this…
[Ryujin]
Am not!!
[Yeji]
If Boston’s what you meant, you could’ve just said so.
Ryujin stared at Yeji’s last message, the glow of her phone screen casting faint shadows across her face in the low kitchen light. The exhaustion in her limbs was still there, but it had shifted into something quieter, something warmer.
That last line, it did not read angry.
Not really.
If anything, it read like a challenge.
She set the phone down on the counter, face up, and leaned back in her chair, the wood creaking faintly beneath her.
Outside, the hum of New York spilled in through the window. Distant sirens, muffled voices, traffic crawling down rain-slicked streets. The kind of soundscape that made homesickness bloom in the chest without warning.
Kind of ironic, really, considering she was back in New York.
Her city.
Her roots.
Familiar skyline outside the window. Familiar jersey hanging by the door. Familiar ache in her shoulder.
Everything exactly as it should be.
And yet, the apartment felt too still. Too wide. Like something, or someone , was missing from it.
Like maybe “ home ” had started to mean something else entirely.
She was just about to respond to Yeji’s last message when her phone buzzed again, lighting up against the countertop. A second message, sliding in beneath the first.
[Yeji]
Also, that wink better be for me, Shin Ryujin.
Ryujin blinked, then immediately choked on a laugh. Half delight, half mortified realization like she had just been caught red-handed, which, in fairness, she had.
Because yes, she had winked at the end of that clip.
And yes, it had been just a little theatrical.
And yes, it had very much been intentional.
But she had not expected Yeji to mention it.
Still grinning, Ryujin sat up straighter and typed with zero shame.
[Ryujin]
obviously it was for you
who else do i look at like that
[Yeji]
Just making sure.
[Ryujin]
soooo
you watched the video
[Yeji]
Everyone watched the video
But only one person gets to text you about it
[Ryujin]
hmm
captain
are you jealous of the internet?
[Yeji]
Depends
Were you trying to flirt with 300k strangers or just one extremely observant defenseman?
[Ryujin]
maybe i was aiming for the one who knows all my plays
[Yeji]
Then you should know I don’t fall for your fakes.
And that wink?
Felt pretty intentional.
Almost like someone wanted my attention.
Ryujin’s mouth parted slightly. Her heart stuttered once, then kicked into full gear.
And before she could even process a response, another bubble appeared.
[Yeji]
It’s all yours, by the way.
Ryujin was still exhausted. Her arm still throbbed deep and persistent in that way old injuries liked to whisper under the skin. But now she was standing in the middle of her kitchen, barefoot and sore and smiling like an idiot, heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it always did when Yeji got the last word.
Somehow, even through a screen, Yeji could still get to her. Still knock the air out of her lungs with one deadpan line and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it softness buried underneath.
She sighed, shook her head, and leaned back against the counter. The laugh that escaped her was quiet, almost sheepish.
God.
She was so far gone.
And the internet was not helping.
The Cyclones’ media team had leaned heavily into the TikTok storm.
They took note of the comment: “ More Ryujin content or we riot!!! ”
By the next day, the team’s account had posted a follow-up: a 5-second slow-mo montage of Ryujin skating drills, tying her laces, and sitting on the bench grinning with a Gatorade bottle in hand, captioned simply:
“You asked. We deliver. #RyujinCam loading…”
The most liked comment:
“yeji definitely threw her phone across the room after this”
Yeji, as it happened, had not thrown her phone.
She sat on the edge of her couch in Boston, phone balanced against her thigh, the afternoon light catching faint streaks in the polished wood floors. She was freshly showered, hair still damp, wrapped in one of her oversized black hoodies, the kind she never wore outside but always reached for when she wanted comfort.
She had watched the new video three times, expression unreadable, cup of tea halfway to her lips, before finally sighing and opening her messages.
[Yeji]
You’re gonna be insufferable after this, aren’t you?
[Ryujin]
i’m already planning my acceptance speech
would like to thank my teammates, taylor swift, and that one very specific person in boston who was supposed to see it
and to the internet for seeing me the way my girlfriend refuses to admit she does
[Yeji]
Oh, so the videos are for me?
[Ryujin]
of course
i knew you’d be watching
[Yeji]
Bold of you to assume I’m waiting for a rival team’s TikTok.
[Ryujin]
aren’t you? :)
[Yeji]
Whatever.
How do I politely tell your comment section there’s a fucking line
It was definitely not her most composed moment. But it had been days since she saw Ryujin in person, and watching half the internet thirst over her girlfriend with no idea she was taken was testing every fiber of Yeji’s discipline.
[Ryujin]
captain
what line?
you’d check them into the boards before they even form one
Yeji did not even fight the smile this time. It stretched slowly across her lips, tugged her features loose. She cracked her neck to the side, leaned further into the couch cushions, and typed without thinking.
[Yeji]
I wouldn't even warn them.
Body check first, questions later.
[Ryujin]
now that’s romantic.
nothing says “she’s mine” like a clean open-ice hit
[Yeji]
“Clean” is generous
I’d get penalized for boarding and still sleep great that night
[Ryujin]
you’re insane
dw captain
they can get the clips
you get the girl
Yeji stared at that text.
And for a long moment, she said nothing at all.
The corners of her mouth curved upward. Not into her usual sharp smirk or her carefully media-trained grin, but something softer.
Something that felt like warmth under her healing ribs.
She picked up the phone, stared at the message again, then dropped it gently back onto the cushion.
No reply.
Just a soft breath.
And the undeniable knowledge that, yes—
She got the girl.
Chapter Text
Despite everything, weeks off the ice, fractured ribs not yet fully healed, and that persistent, dull ache still blooming beneath the brace around her torso, Hwang Yeji moved like she had never left.
No contact yet, per the medical staff’s orders. No full-body checks or stick battles. But in open ice, in pure movement and instinct, she was flawless .
From the first stride across the blue line, her skates carved sharp, decisive edges through the ice. She accelerated with that same signature power: low, centered, clean.
Her stickhandling remained precise, her posture unchanged, her rhythm unshaken. Even without the pressure of a body bearing down on her, there was nothing about her presence that looked tentative or post-injury.
Coach Evans watched her closely from the far end of the rink, arms crossed over his puffy Sentinels jacket, eyes narrowing every time Yeji rotated in.
Yeji rotated a lot.
During neutral zone drills, she shifted effortlessly into position.
During gap control drills, her pivots were crisp, her reads exact.
And when the team transitioned into defensive breakout work, her outlet passes connected stick-to-tape every time, with a velocity that said I have been waiting to play again.
Now, she was moving.
And it was everything.
Her body still ached in certain places, occasional flare just beneath the ribs when she twisted too hard or reached too far, but skating again, even just skating, brought a clarity she had not felt in weeks.
The wind against her jawline. The sharp inhale of cold rink air. The familiar vibration of her edges locking into turns. This was where her body remembered who she was.
As a defenseman.
A Sentinel.
A captain.
With every rep, every backward glide, every pivot around the dot, she felt the frustration she had carried melt off her shoulders like ice shavings. That suffocating PR meeting from earlier this week was a distant memory now.
There had been a moment during that meeting when she wanted to walk out. Her ribs had ached, her patience thinner than ever. But she had sat through it, quiet and civil, while her fingers curled under the edge of the table.
Now, the sting of it was gone. Replaced with the satisfying burn of motion and the steady pulse of her heartbeat catching up to the tempo of the ice beneath her.
No one said it aloud, but everyone noticed. Her lines were clean. Her angles were tight. Her game was sharp.
Yuna whispered it first during water break, nudging Karina with her elbow. “She’s not even flinching.”
Karina watched from the bench, jaw tight. “She’s skating like her ribs aren’t cracked. That’s not normal.”
“She probably can’t even breathe fully,” Lia murmured beside them. “But look at her. Not a single hitch.”
And it was true.
Yeji moved like someone chasing nothing but rhythm. She led transitions, stopped on a dime, changed direction mid-glide like gravity bent differently around her.
Not a single motion gave away the pain she still felt in her side, except maybe the brief moment, during corner turns, where her right hand tightened slightly around her stick, as though bracing something invisible.
But it passed quickly.
And no one dared call her out for it. She would not admit it anyway.
Because to Yeji, pain was background noise.
She had built a career out of pushing through discomfort. Through foggy mornings, swollen joints, aching lungs after back-to-back shifts.
This was nothing new.
But to her teammates, watching her now, half awe, half concern, it felt like something else entirely.
Something deeper. Like Yeji was skating with something to prove.
Not just that she could return after injury.
But that she was still her.
Still the one who set the tone, held the line, carried the weight of the team’s backline without complaint.
Still the Sentinels’ cornerstone.
“Last rep, Yeji, ” Coach Evans called from the neutral zone. “Take Karina. Defensive coverage, angle her wide.”
Yeji did not respond aloud. She just nodded once, chin dipping under her cage, blades snapping into motion.
Karina moved fast, faster than expected, but Yeji was already angling her, eyes locked on the puck. She cut Karina off at the hash marks, forced her out past the circle, then stuck her stick into the passing lane and cleanly swept the puck toward the wall.
No contact. No pain shown.
Just precision.
The whistle blew, sharp and final.
Coach Evans gave a subtle nod. “That’s it. Cooldown laps. Good work.”
As the rest of the team dropped their shoulders and turned into lighter strides, Yuna slowed next to Yeji and gave her a sideways glance.
“You’re unreal,” she said. “You’re not even supposed to look this smooth.”
Yeji let out a soft breath, skating straight ahead.
“I’m not here to look injured,” she said simply.
And Yuna did not argue.
Because no matter how tightly her ribs were taped, or how long she had been off the ice, Hwang Yeji still looked like the calm center of the storm.
Still moved like someone whose game had never left her.
And everyone, from the rookies to the staff, could see it.
Let the staff see for themselves that she was fine. That she had not lost her feel for the ice. That the woman who helped anchor Team USA’s backline just weeks ago had not lost her edge. Even without contact drills, she could make the reads, take away angles, hold the blueline.
And she did, again and again.
She was back .
Yeji did not even feel the weight of her brace anymore.
Practice had barely ended when she felt a trap begin to close.
Her jacket was already half on, her damp hair sticking to her neck from the shower she had taken only minutes ago. She had her tablet balanced on her thigh, scrolling through updated shift charts and recovery plans like the world was not still humming from two hours of drills.
“So,” Yuna began casually, leaning forward like she was stretching, but she was not. She was plotting. “How do you feel about layers?”
Yeji side-eyed her. “On the ice?”
“No,” came Karina’s voice, smooth and amused, from across the room. “In your hair.”
Yeji blinked. Slowly. “Why would I—”
“You know, for a change.”
“I literally have a wolf c—”
“Because we’re going,” Lia cut in sweetly, appearing behind them like a well-staged ghost. She was already half out of her gear, hair damp and skin glowing from the post-practice flush. “To the salon.”
“No,” Yeji said immediately, not even bothering to lift her head. “Absolutely not.”
“We’re leaving in ten minutes, Captain,” she announced. “I already booked the salon. Non-refundable.”
Yeji’s fingers paused mid-scroll. “What?”
“It’s time. The banquet is this weekend. Team USA’s big gold medal moment. Victory lap. National media. You cannot show up looking like you just left film study.” Lia said.
“I like film study,” Yeji muttered.
Karina did not blink. “We know. That’s the problem.”
Lia emerged from behind her locker holding her gym bag and a neatly folded towel, voice gentle as always. “I brought photos,” she said. “Mood boards. Very subtle. Very tasteful. Just enhancements.”
“My ribs still feel weird,” she murmured.
“We’re not taking you to a brawl,” Yuna said gently. “We’re taking you to get your hair washed and styled. We’ll make sure you sit like a queen.”
“We’ll even carry your gym bag,” Karina added.
Lia smiled. “And you don’t even have to talk to the stylist if you don’t want to.”
Yeji exhaled slowly, towel pressed to her face. “…If I hate it, I’m blaming all of you.”
“Fair,” said Yuna, already grinning.
Yeji blinked slowly at them, eyes narrowing. “You all planned this.”
“Yes.”
“Let’s take your car,” Lia said, all honey-sweet charm, like the decision had been made for Yeji. “Mine’s too cramped, and Karina’s still got salt crust on her floor mats.”
Karina, following behind with a knowing smirk, did not deny it.
Yuna simply added, “Besides, you drive smoother when you’re in control. And you’ll want to be calm for this.”
Yeji paused, her ribs faintly throbbing under the compression layer of her jacket. Her jaw ached from clenching through contactless drills. She had not planned to do anything except get home, eat something with protein, and lie horizontal on her couch for the next four hours.
And yet, here she was, ten minutes later, behind the wheel of her Aston Martin DBX, with three passengers who were definitely up to something.
Lia rode up front, legs crossed, and seat reclined like she owned the car. She was still glowing from practice, ponytail damp and pulled through a hoodie.
Karina and Yuna sat in the back, exchanging glances through the rearview mirror. Yuna’s hair was still towel-dried and half up, while Karina looked unbothered as ever, scrolling through a folder on her phone labeled Banquet Prep .
“You’re all really making me drive,” she said dryly, pulling her seatbelt into place.
Karina leaned forward slightly from the backseat, her elbow propped on the edge of Yeji’s seat like this was just another pregame ritual. “You’re probably the most stable person on the team. Physically. Emotionally. Driving included.”
“I’m also the one with fractured ribs,” Yeji reminded them, raising a brow as she adjusted her mirrors.
“That’s why we picked your car,” Lia said sweetly, buckling her seatbelt. “You’re less likely to hit a pothole if it’s your own spine on the line.”
Yeji scoffed as she pulled out of the Sentinels’ parking lot, one hand resting effortlessly at twelve o’clock on the wheel. “I’m one bad turn away from sneezing wrong and sidelining myself again. You’re all insane.”
“Oh shush. You drove your girlfriend home.” Lia countered, “To New York.”
Yeji did not answer at first. She made a clean right turn, merged into the main avenue, and exhaled through her nose.
Then Karina spoke, voice mild. “You’re not allowed to fight us.”
“I’m not fighting you,” Yeji said flatly. “I’m just driving.”
“To the salon ,” Lia reminded helpfully.
Yeji’s grip on the steering wheel tightened just a bit. “We’re still pretending I agreed to that?”
“No pretending,” Yuna chirped from beside her. “We just took your ‘if I hate it, I’m blaming all of you’ as a ‘yes.’ ”
“You’re all trusting me,” she said, tone flat but edged with amusement, “to actually drive us to the salon?”
Yuna turned to her with a grin. “We’ve made peace with it. If you take a hard left and drive us to the film room instead, I’ll just start crying.”
Karina leaned forward from the backseat, resting one elbow lightly on the center console. “I wouldn’t put it past you to make a detour to the nearest gym and call it ‘ mental clarity .’”
“I’m serious,” Yeji said, putting the car into drive. “You’re trusting me not to hijack this trip and reroute us to skate sharpening, video review or recovery therapy. That’s bold.”
“We’re aware,” Lia said calmly, buckling her seatbelt with quiet precision. “But we’re also banking on the fact that deep down, you know you want this.”
Yeji raised a brow.
Karina was flipping through Instagram photos of haircuts, occasionally turning her screen toward the others. “Yeji, bob or blunt layers?”
“No comment,” Yeji replied.
“You’re no fun,” Yuna muttered, sticking a piece of gum in her mouth. “You’ll thank us when your girlfriend’s jaw hits the floor at the banquet.”
Yeji narrowed her eyes. “I swear to god—”
Lia interrupted gently. “All you have to do is show up. We’ll handle the rest.”
And Yeji, staring out the window at the city rolling by, felt something in her chest soften.
She pulled into the curb in front of a polished, glass-walled boutique salon in Back Bay. Neutral tones. Soft lights. Minimalist gold lettering on the window.
The kind of place her younger self would have scoffed at.
Now, she cut the engine.
She turned to Yuna. “If I walk out of there looking like a washed pop idol, you’re dead.”
Yuna grinned. “If you walk out of there looking like a villainess in a Chanel revenge drama, you’ll thank me.”
Yeji rolled her eyes, but stepped out of the car anyway.
The salon was a modern oasis in Back Bay, all soft lighting and eucalyptus-scented air, the kind of place where the staff wore minimalist black uniforms and asked if you would like a rosemary spritzer while waiting.
Yeji sat stiffly in the stylist’s chair, arms crossed under the protective cape. Her hair, sectioned and combed out, felt foreign, like something detached from her, an identity she had been dragging along for convenience.
The others were scattered around the room. Karina was having her roots touched up, serene and glossy. Lia was flipping through a lookbook with her stylist, deep in discussion about soft waves. Yuna, of course, was already mid-process, foils in her hair, sipping iced coffee like a queen on her throne.
On their drive there, she was still convinced she would sit through another basic trim, let her teammates have their fun, nod politely at whatever treatment they forced on her, and then get back to film breakdowns and Sentinels scheduling by nightfall.
She did not see herself as the “ transformation ” type. Her current haircut, an overgrown wolf cut, had become part of her on-ice identity, a half-tamed mess that suited the quiet chaos of her game.
A little long, a little layered, often tucked into her hoodie or hidden beneath her helmet.
But the banquet was looming.
The gold medal.
The media.
The flashbulbs and podium shots.
And Yuna, Karina, and Lia, her unofficial styling committee, had been waiting weeks for this moment.
The salon floor was already scattered with strands of black hair when Yeji made the decision.
She had not planned on it.
“You don’t have to do anything dramatic,” Lia offered gently from her seat. “Just a little shape. Clean ends.”
But Yeji was not listening anymore.
She stared into the mirror, the salon’s bright lights casting even shadows on her cheekbones. Her eyes were tired but focused. Her reflection stared back, familiar, but not honest.
The shape was… fine .
But something about the reflection unsettled her.
Something tugged.
“I want it gone,” she said suddenly. Her voice was firm, measured, but carried the tremor of impulse.
The stylist paused. “Gone?” she blinked. “Like… gone how?”
“Short. A bob. Chin-length.”
There was a stunned silence from the other three. Even Yuna’s straw paused mid-sip.
“Wait,” Karina said carefully, “you’re serious?”
Yeji nodded once, eyes still locked on herself. “Yeah. Maybe I do need… something new. I want to do it.”
Yuna lit up like a sparkler. “Oh my god, finally! You’ll look so good.”
“Yeji,” Lia began, standing now, concern woven into her tone. “You’re sure? It’s not just post-meeting fog or emotional whiplash from too many questions?”
“I’m sure,” Yeji said simply. “I want to leave something behind with the old length.”
“We’ll take it slow. I’ll shape the cut gradually. But I promise, you’ll feel lighter.” The stylist, sensing the shift in atmosphere, moved gently. “We’ll do it clean and classic. Soft angles to frame your face. You’ll still look like you. Just… redefined.”
And then the scissors moved. The sound was precise.
Longer strands slipped away, sliding down the cape, pooling around her. With each cut, something shifted in Yeji’s shoulders, some tension, some edge, some past version of herself she was ready to let go.
The stylist worked quickly, confidently, reshaping the layers into something sleeker, sharper. The bob came to life in minutes: fresh, structured, with an effortless strength to it that surprised even her.
This was the shortest she had ever gone. No soft mullet ends, no face-framing shags, no tied-back ponytail to hide behind during games or interviews. Just a sharp, jaw-length bob, structured, balanced, and unapologetically exposed.
It framed her features in a way that left nothing to interpretation. Her eyes, darker and more piercing beneath the subtle sweep of her bangs.
When the stylist spun the chair at the end, revealing a clean, angled bob that framed her jawline and sharpened her gaze, Yeji barely recognized herself.
But she did not flinch.
When the cape came off and the mirror gave her the full picture, Yeji stared in silence.
Her jawline was more pronounced now. Her collarbones were framed by the sharp edge of her hair, now fully visible above the neckline of her tank top. Her gaze was clearer.
“No regrets?” the stylist asked, sweeping the floor behind her.
Yeji stood and slipped back into her zip-up, pulling it over her tank top. “None,” she replied simply, brushing her fingers through the ends. It still surprised her how light it felt.
Like she could breathe deeper.
Yuna gasped dramatically. “Captain Hwang has entered her villainess arc.”
Karina nodded with an approving smile. “You look lethal.”
Lia stepped forward and rested a hand on Yeji’s shoulder, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “You look like yourself,” she said softly. “Not the captain. Just you.”
Yeji stared at the reflection for a long moment, sharper, cleaner, lighter. Something in her chest eased.
“I like it,” she said quietly.
Yeji glanced at her reflection again.
It was still her.
They left the salon just before sunset, golden light spilling across the Boston sidewalks as they stepped into the cool March air. The city smelled like melting snow and early spring. Yeji adjusted her zip up, one hand absently brushing her newly cut hair behind her ear, and for a brief second, she felt light.
Just a woman among friends.
Not a captain.
Not a headline.
Just her .
Meanwhile, across state lines, the fluorescent lights of the Cyclones’ training facility were significantly less forgiving.
By 7 p.m., Ryujin had just stepped off the ice, still wrapped in light sweat and slightly annoyed by a missed scoring drill. Her gloves dangled from one hand, her helmet tucked under the other arm as she paced toward the locker room. She had planned to throw herself onto the lounge couch, chug a protein shake, and maybe sulk in peace for a few minutes before getting chirped by Chaeryeong or Winter again.
She had just finished her shower and was sprawled across the Cyclones’ recovery room couch, hair still damp, wrapped in a hoodie she had not bothered to zip up. The training staff was winding down for the night, and the rest of the team had filtered out, leaving her in the kind of silence that usually felt good, earned.
But her phone buzzed.
A message preview flashed across her screen followed by a photo.
Ryujin tapped it open and instantly forgot how to breathe.
She froze.
Yeji.
In a mirror.
Gone was the wild, windswept wolf cut Ryujin had memorized in every form, soaked after shower, tucked under hoodies, messily tied when Yeji stayed late reviewing a film.
That version had always felt like a trademark, a signature of the person Ryujin had sparred with, stared at, fallen into rhythm with on the ice and off.
But now…
A wet bob .
Black tank. Collarbone fully exposed. Cardigan falling off one shoulder like she had not even noticed. A slightly tilted head, lips pouted just enough to devastate. And the hair, her hair , dark and newly cut, heavier at the ends, messier, sexier .
Her eyes were hidden, but her posture said everything.
She knew.
She knew exactly what she looked like.
It was the kind of photo that made Ryujin’s pulse stutter and her knees feel unreasonably weak even though she was not standing.
[Yeji]
Bonsoir, mon cœur.
Ryujin stared at her screen like it had personally insulted her.
Or seduced her.
Or both.
Because what the hell .
She sat up.
Slowly.
Like moving too fast would shatter something.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Chaeryeong noticed first. She had just finished her post-practice stretching, walking by Ryujin with her hoodie still half-zipped.
She slowed when she caught Ryujin’s expression, blank, phone in hand, completely still.
“Ryu?” Chaeryeong said, cautious. “You good?”
No response.
Winter, lacing up beside her, followed her gaze. “What happened?”
Chaeryeong leaned down and peered at the screen. Her eyebrows shot up. “ Oh .”
Winter peeked too, and froze. “ Oh .”
Ryujin still had not moved.
Chaeryeong straightened slowly, her voice pitched somewhere between impressed and horrified. “Did she send that just now?”
“Y-Yeah,” Ryujin managed, hoarse.
Winter sat back on her hands. “Damn.”
“She’s not even looking at the camera,” Chaeryeong muttered. “That’s how powerful this is.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Ryujin said, eyes locked on the screen like she was trying to memorize every pixel. “Do I say something? Do I breathe ?”
Chaeryeong stepped back and pulled out her phone, shaking her head. “Forget you. I’m texting her.”
Winter followed suit immediately.
Yeji just got out of her car when the texts came in, her breath visible in the cool Boston air.
They were back in the Sentinels’ parking lot, waiting by Yuna’s car, which was parked somewhere on the far end. Karina was already checking her rear bumper for salt streaks, and Lia was digging through her tote bag for something she swore she packed and definitely forgot.
Yeji stood a few feet away, phone in hand.
Her phone buzzed once. Then again. Then a few more, rapid and desperate.
She glanced down and checked the screen, thumb brushing the screen. She immediately smirked.
[Chaeryeong]
what the hell did you just do
she is frozen.
FROZEN.
she looks like she got hit with a puck to the soul
[Winter]
you actually killed her
she hasn’t moved in three minutes
we’re considering calling medical
Lia noticed Yeji’s grip on the phone. The stillness. The smile .
She leaned in, voice low. “Cyclones?”
Yeji nodded once.
Lia raised a brow. “She combusted?”
Yeji did not answer right away.
Then, without hesitating, she opened Ryujin’s chat directly.
Her fingers hovered for just a second.
[Yeji]
You okay there baby?
Do I need to send someone
Or another picture to finish the job?
She slid her phone back into the inside pocket of her jacket, lips curling in quiet amusement as her teammates loaded into their own cars behind her. The parking lot buzzed faintly under the overhead lights, tires squeaking against wet concrete as they pulled out of the Sentinels’ facility and into the soft hush of Boston’s early evening streets.
By the time Yeji stepped into her apartment, the air had already warmed to meet her.
She dropped her keys into the tray by the door, toed off her shoes, and shrugged out of her coat, hanging it neatly on the hook.
Her shoulder muscles ached in that strangely satisfying way. Residual fatigue from drills layered over the buzz of adrenaline from the salon.
She moved into the bathroom and turned on the light, pausing in front of the mirror.
The cut still caught her off guard. Her jawline was sharper. The bob tucked perfectly around her face.
She looked… different .
She ran a hand through it once, watching it fall easily back into place.
Something about it felt like a relieving exhale.
Back in the Cyclones’ locker room, Ryujin still had not moved.
Her phone was in her lap, screen dimmed now, though she had not let go of it. She sat on the bench with one arm slung over the backrest, towel draped over her head like a veil of grief. A single knee bounced in place, betraying the chaos beneath the surface.
Winter and Chaeryeong had moved a few feet away, whispering like scientists observing an active specimen.
“She’s in phase three,” Winter muttered. “Text received. Systems scrambled.”
“She hasn’t spoken in four minutes,” Chaeryeong whispered. “I think she’s trying to astral project to Boston.”
Ryujin finally stirred. She slowly pulled the towel off her head and dragged a hand down her face like she had just woken from a coma.
“She called me baby ,” she muttered.
Winter leaned in. “And?”
“She offered to send more .”
Chaeryeong blinked. “You still breathing?”
“I need to call her,” Ryujin said.
Ryujin had already opened the thread. Her thumb was hovering above the audio call icon. Hovering. Shaking .
“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Cool. Calm. Confident. Just say hi. Compliment the haircut. Maybe pretend I speak French.”
“Do not pretend you speak French,” Winter warned.
Ryujin inhaled. Deep breath. She tapped the screen.
Except, her thumb missed. She hit the FaceTime call button instead.
It started ringing.
“OH MY GOD,” Ryujin hissed, face turning scarlet. “NO, NO, NO—”
Chaeryeong lunged forward. “Hang up!”
“I’m trying!”
Winter screamed, laughing. “You’re making it worse!”
But the FaceTime call connected.
And for one agonizing half-second, Ryujin saw the familiar pale lighting of Yeji’s bedroom, a glimpse of that damn collarbone, the edge of her smirk starting to form.
Ryujin threw her phone face-down onto the bench.
The call ended.
The locker room was chaos now.
Chaeryeong was folded over with laughter. Winter had fallen off the bench. Even Leighton from the next row was peeking around the corner with a curious expression.
Ryujin was frozen.
Absolutely still.
Eyes wide, heart in her throat.
Her phone buzzed.
[Yeji]
…Were you trying to say hi, or were you having a medical emergency?
Because I’ll call back
I just need to know if you’re conscious.
It took Ryujin a full five minutes to recover from the initial shock. She let out a soft, strangled noise.
And finally, when her brain cells began to return one by one like guilty party guests, she found the strength to text back.
She picked up her phone like it was heavy with consequence and typed, thumbs flying before she could overthink.
[Ryujin]
are you kidding me
who gave you permission
your NECK is out.
you’re so hot.
im so mad.
im actually so mad.
send three more pictures or i’ll scream.
if i die it’s on you
also you’re my girlfriend
just in case i forget
bc i’m looking at that pic and losing basic object permanence
[Yeji]
There you are.
;)
Noted.
And yes, I am your girlfriend.
She looked again at the photo.
The bob. The cardigan. That unholy combination of softness and precision Yeji had somehow perfected. And the caption.
It had struck her like a puck to the sternum.
She blinked hard. She needed proof now.
Maybe it was the adrenaline. Or maybe the fact that her entire locker still smelled like menthol and panic.
But she tapped the FaceTime icon again.
It rang once.
Twice.
She panicked.
Her thumb hovered over “ End .” But before she could even decide, the call connected.
Yeji appeared on-screen instantly, her face lit by warm lamp light, phone held low like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
Her bob was real .
Freshly dried now, parted neatly, brushing against her cheek. A little softer than the photo. She looked calm, collected, and so devastatingly aware of what she had done.
“Hi baby,” she said, her voice even. Quiet. Maybe even a little smug. “Feeling braver now?”
Ryujin blinked. Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Yeji tilted her head, the movement sharp and smooth. Her bob moved with it, short strands catching the light along her jaw.
“You called,” Yeji said, gaze steady. “Is this about me, or about the haircut?”
Ryujin swallowed. “I just… I needed to confirm.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “Confirm what?”
“That it was real,” Ryujin muttered. “The haircut. The photo. The… the neck.”
Yeji’s lips quirked. “You thought I faked it?”
“I don’t know!” Ryujin was spiraling again. “You just—you dropped that with no warning! You sent it and then disappeared like a hit-and-run criminal.”
Yeji leaned slightly closer to the screen. “Well. Now you’ve seen it.”
Ryujin was frozen again.
Silent.
Her eyes locked on the screen.
Yeji’s smirk softened. “Say something.”
“I think,” Ryujin said slowly, “I forgot how to talk.”
Yeji sat back slightly, adjusting the cardigan on her shoulder. “You called again after the first one. Bold move.”
“I had to be sure,” Ryujin whispered. “This is important.”
Yeji narrowed her eyes playfully. “And now that you’re sure?”
Ryujin exhaled, hand dragging down her face. “Now I have to figure out how to survive the banquet.”
Yeji’s smile finally broke through. Warm. Real. “You can try.”
Ryujin groaned.
Yeji tilted her head again, casually destructive. “But at least now you’ll see me coming.”
Then she ended the call.
Ryujin stared at the blank screen for several seconds.
Then she whispered into the empty locker room, “I am so, so doomed.”
She pressed the heel of her palm against her temple.
God .
Her phone buzzed again.
[Yeji]
Go home.
You look like you’re still sitting in your gear.
And hydrate.
You’re not passing out on my watch.
[Ryujin]
you act like i’m not already a ghost.
you ended me with one picture and a french phrase
do you have any idea what that did to me
[Yeji]
Yes.
That’s why I picked that phrase. :)
Finally forgot your million other girlfriends?
Ryujin blinked at the screen, mouth falling slightly open. A slow, disbelieving smile tugged at her lips as she shook her head, jaw slack with theatrical betrayal. She actually leaned back on the bench and groaned into the empty locker room ceiling.
[Ryujin]
WHO
i don’t know them
i only know one girl with a bob and a knife-sharp jawline and sexy collarbones and a neck
that’s been haunting me since 7pm
[Yeji]
Mhmm.
Just checking
Didn’t want the internet’s girlfriend forgetting her actual one
[Ryujin]
baby
i forgot my own name
when i saw that picture
Ryujin slumped forward, groaning into her gloves. “ She’s a menace.”
The notifications had been pouring in all day. Ever since the Cyclones posted their latest TikTok, a chaotic locker room challenge Ryujin had crushed with her usual ease and a smug smirk straight into the camera, the comment section had exploded.
She was trending under the hashtag ‘girlfriend material ’.
The views climbed by the hour. Her DMs were in a war zone.
Winter kept sending screenshots. Chaeryeong was threatening to forward one very bold DM to Yeji. The Cyclones’ PR intern nearly tripped walking past Ryujin in the hallway.
But none of it mattered.
Because her favorite notification of the day, maybe the whole month, was still that photo from Yeji.
The rest of the internet might have been calling Ryujin “ girlfriend ,” but Yeji knew how to stop her heart with one look.
And that picture had leveled her.
The high of viral fame, of cameras, of praise, it paled in comparison to the quiet violence of that photo, Yeji’s smirk like a promise and a challenge at once.
Ryujin scrolled past hundreds of notifications, ignoring them all.
Because she only had one priority now.
And she was already typing her name.
[Ryujin]
i can’t wait to see you on sunday, captain <3
And Sunday could not come fast enough.
Chapter Text
It was Sunday, March 23.
The morning of the Team USA banquet had finally arrived
It had a quiet kind of buzz to it. The sort of restless energy that came from anticipation more than exhaustion.
Across different time zones and cities, the women of Team USA stirred early, slipping out of their apartments, penthouses, and condo units, their garment bags and carry-ons in tow.
The entire roster had been scattered almost a month now, each back with their club teams or in recovery mode after the grueling tournament.
But today, they were converging again. This time not on the ice, but at a grand hotel ballroom, beneath chandeliers and dressed in anything but pads and jerseys.
In different cities, hotel rooms, and airport terminals, the members of Team USA were scattering like pinballs toward a single point on the map: Colorado, the site of today’s awaited banquet.
A final celebration of their championship run.
One last night to bring them all together before playoffs would split them back into club rivalries and postseason battles.
Some were already on flights, earbuds in, half-asleep with neck pillows askew.
Others were still at the gate, lounging in clusters, trading stories, sharing inside jokes only their locker room could understand.
Group chats pinged with updates: flight delays, roommate requests, blurry selfies from security lines.
One text thread had turned into a full-blown debate about who would cry first during the banquet speeches. Another was already speculating about Coach Donovan’s rumored surprise toast.
In Boston, Yeji sat quietly in the back seat of a black SUV bound for Logan International. Her rib compression wrap was tucked discreetly beneath her navy turtleneck and long gray coat, and her carry-on sat neatly on the seat beside her.
Her phone buzzed every few minutes, each notification a reminder of how many people were thinking of her.
Her Sentinels teammates had sent her off with a chorus of dramatic farewells and teasing calls to “ please don’t defect to New York at the banquet, ” to which she had only raised a brow and said, flatly, “ Why would I leave? ”
Her fingers hovered over Ryujin’s name more than once.
No texts sent… yet.
But she knew the other girl was on her way too.
In Los Angeles, Riley and Madison were running late, as usual. Riley’s suitcase was still half-open on the bed, a pair of heels sticking out like a final act of rebellion. Madison, dressed immaculately in slacks and a matching blazer, was sitting on the couch drinking her coffee, scrolling through the group chat.
Meanwhile, in a midwestern airport lounge, Jeongyeon was already seated at her gate, black coffee in hand, surrounded by a few starstruck fans whispering nearby. She wore an oversized hoodie, gold medal tucked inside her inner pocket for the night ahead.
In New York, Ryujin had been trying to keep a low profile: hoodie up, cap down, face half-buried in her scarf, but anonymity was a losing battle these days. She had barely made it past the Starbucks kiosk when a girl in a denim jacket approached with wide eyes and a phone clutched nervously in her hands.
“Um—sorry—are you… are you Ryujin? From the Cyclones?”
Ryujin blinked, pausing mid-step. Behind her, Winter and Chaeryeong stopped too, amused but clearly trying not to smirk.
“Yeah,” Ryujin said, gently. “That’s me.”
The girl beamed. “Oh my god. Can I get a picture?”
Ryujin laughed softly, nodding. “Sure.”
The girl handed her phone to a friend, then stood beside Ryujin like it was the highlight of her week. Ryujin adjusted her cap and smiled for the photo. As soon as the shutter clicked, another voice from behind chimed in.
“Wait, wait—me too! I love the Cyclones. You’re my favorite winger.”
Within moments, two more people had joined. One was asking her to sign their airport boarding pass, another asking what her favorite goal of the season was. Someone even asked if she was going to the banquet in Colorado, and when she nodded, they squealed like they had just confirmed a secret mission.
Winter leaned over, not bothering to hide her grin. “So when does the Ryujin meet-and-greet tour start?”
Chaeryeong folded her arms with mock seriousness. “Should we start screening autograph requests? Or do they go straight through your publicist now?”
Ryujin gave them both a flat look. “You two are the worst.”
“I’m just saying,” Winter said, voice sing-song, “Swifties and hockey fans? You’re unstoppable now.”
“Dangerous combo,” Chaeryeong added.
They kept walking through the terminal, a few steps slower now, with Ryujin politely nodding or smiling each time someone did a double take.
She stayed gracious. Gentle nods, quick selfies, a small wave here and there. It was flattering. Overwhelming, maybe, but in a good way.
Like something blooming too fast to fully grasp.
Still, as they neared their gate and finally found seats together, Ryujin exhaled and let her cap drop a little lower again.
Winter and Chaeryeong flanked her with amused grins, keeping pace, throwing off jokes and gentle nudges.
“Superstar treatment, huh?” Chaeryeong said.
“Pretty sure someone yelled ‘ wife me’ back there,” Winter added, laughing.
Ryujin just exhaled, tugging the brim of her cap a little lower.
It was not until they passed security and ducked into the relative quiet of the terminal that she finally slowed down, tilting her head back toward the ceiling with a groan.
“God,” she muttered. “That was a lot.”
“You okay?” Chaeryeong asked.
Ryujin nodded. “Yeah. Just didn’t expect it to follow me into Terminal C.”
Winter tossed her duffel under the seat. “You went viral quoting heartbreak lyrics in a Cyclones jersey. You’re basically a Swiftie demigod now.”
Ryujin smirked, stretching her legs out in front of her. “God help me.”
She leaned back in her chair, phone in hand, notifications blinking like impatient taps on her shoulder. Mentions, tags, group chats, a blurry photo someone already posted from just five minutes ago.
She scrolled past them absently, numb to the stream of noise… until her eyes caught two quiet notifications in the chaos.
Her heart flicked once.
[Yeji]
Boarding now.
See you soon, superstar.
And that was it, the world quieted.
Ryujin stared at the message, thumb hovering.
Chaeryeong was still talking. Winter had wandered off to buy something. The terminal buzzed around her.
They had finally boarded after a while.
Ryujin had her usual pre-flight ritual down to muscle memory: hoodie up, headphones in, gum unwrapped, and sunglasses on. But she had not pressed play on her playlist yet.
Her screen stayed on the same text conversation, the one labeled ‘ my captain’ , where Yeji had finally replied to her earlier message with a blurry photo of the airport security dog and a caption that read: he’s judging your travel fit already .
Yeji’s read receipt lit up within seconds. No reply. Which was the reply.
Flights were lifting off by the hour. The Boston girls. The New York trio. The West Coast crew. Midwestern veterans. Southern rookies. Every gate carried a piece of the red, white, and navy mosaic that had stunned the world only a month ago.
Meanwhile, in the team’s group chat, Coach Harper had just dropped a last-minute reminder:
“Formal dress code tomorrow. Be on time. Speeches start at 7 PM sharp. No surprises.”
The banquet was not just a ceremony.
It was the bookend to a golden campaign. A night of laughter, tears, and whispered promises to see each other again after rivals became teammates, and teammates became family.
By noon, players from every time zone were descending in Colorado Springs.
The drive up into the hills was smooth. Snow-lined roads winding through pine trees, the mountain resort appearing slowly out of the landscape like something from a postcard.
Nestled high above the town, the Broadmoor rose like a dream of old-world elegance: terracotta rooftops, stone pillars, wide balconies overlooking the frozen lake. The kind of place that felt too pristine to touch without gloves on.
As soon as the van pulled up to the entrance, Ryujin was the first one out, duffel in hand, hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows despite the cold. She took in the crisp air and exhaled slowly, trying to ground herself after the hours of travel.
The familiar voices of her teammates filled the space around her. Chaeryeong was already complaining about her ears popping, Winter cracking a joke about having her own altitude sickness protocol, and the rookies trailing behind, wide-eyed and buzzing with excitement.
The early arrivals from Team USA were beginning to trickle into the designated check-in and lounge space for the day’s formal banquet.
Outside, chartered cars unloaded luggage and garment bags.
Inside, the International Center was already humming. Staff moved quickly, greeting arrivals at the glass entrance, where a red and navy USA Hockey banner welcomed the players to the ballroom wing.
The entire east wing of the complex had been blocked off for the national team’s private use: rooms, lounges, press areas, and the grand ballroom itself, where the banquet would be held that evening.
The air buzzed with low conversation, the quiet swish of garment bags, and the occasional echo of luggage wheels skipping over polished tile.
Ryujin surveyed the place with a practiced calm.
The room was quiet, spacious, and richly carpeted, with glass doors opening to a view of the snow-lined mountains. A wide bar sat in the corner, unmanned for now, with high tables arranged for casual seating before the main banquet room opened.
Winter whistled under her breath. “Damn. This place is serious.”
Chaeryeong dropped her duffel next to one of the tall chairs, eyeing the intricate chandelier overhead. “Colorado money hits different.”
Ryujin took it in silently for a beat. Her eyes scanned the quiet room, already imagining the chaos that would erupt once the full roster arrived. A few media staff lingered by the far wall, setting up lights and sound equipment for the interviews scheduled later in the afternoon.
A member of the banquet crew handed them a printed itinerary with their schedules, then motioned toward the back where they could drop off their formalwear.
Ryujin’s eyes lingered on the engraved plaque that read Broadmoor International Center – East Ballroom Level like even she had to admit it was impressive.
In the foyer, a concierge team checked them in, handing out crisp white envelopes with their names printed in navy ink above the Team USA crest.
“One room key?” she asked, brows lifting.
The staffer smiled. “Yes, ma’am. You each have your own room. All under the Team USA reservation.”
Ryujin blinked. “Wait— seriously ?”
Behind her, Winter let out a dramatic gasp. “You mean I get to snore in peace?”
“That’s elite,” Chaeryeong said, pulling her hood down. “No roommate mirror schedule fights? No ‘stop taking up the closet’ arguments?”
The rookies behind them immediately erupted in celebration, half-joking, half-genuinely thrilled. Ryujin stayed frozen for a second longer, keycard pinched between her fingers.
She had not expected that. National team camps usually meant shared rooms, even for senior players.
At Plymouth, she had roomed with Winter and Chaeryeong the whole time. At Montréal, she had roomed with Yeji.
But here? One suite .
Her mind immediately did a loop she could not stop—
Does Yeji know?
Has she checked in yet?
Did they tell her the same thing?
She barely realized she was staring at her phone until Winter leaned over and whispered, “You’re texting her, aren’t you?”
“I’m not.”
“You are thinking about texting her.”
Ryujin gave her a sideways glance. “Just go get your key.”
Winter smirked and wandered off toward the front desk. Ryujin lingered.
Even as she made her way to the elevator, she kept thinking about it. The privacy of having her own space tonight.
The silence.
The weight of what the banquet would bring.
And the distinct possibility that at some point, whether accidental or very much on purpose , Yeji might end up standing in the doorway of her room.
Or she might be standing in Yeji’s.
The elevator doors opened, and Team USA began to scatter toward their respective rooms. Ryujin stepped into hers and took a slow breath.
The suite was gorgeous. It had floor-to-ceiling windows, polished oak furniture, a king-size bed layered in navy and white linens. A handwritten welcome card sat on the nightstand, and the view outside framed the mountains like a painting.
She dropped her duffel beside the armchair and stood there a moment, hands on her hips.
Alone.
No teammate giggling in the background. No suitcase being unzipped across the room. No whispered strategy session over who would cry first at the banquet.
Just quiet.
She was now crouched beside her open duffel in the corner of the suite, pulling out her garment bag and setting it over the back of a leather armchair. Her toiletries were already lined up on the bathroom counter, her coat draped over the edge of the bed, and her charger plugged into the wall beside the nightstand.
The suite still smelled faintly of pinewood and something citrusy, hotel-standard clean, but it was beginning to take on her rhythm now.
Then, three sharp knocks.
She froze.
Her heart flickered, catching on the possibility.
The timing.
The pattern of the knock.
She crossed the room in a heartbeat, barely checking the peephole as she opened the door, pulse quickening at the thought of Yeji standing there.
But it was not Yeji.
Sure enough, standing outside in a messy cluster were Riley, Winter, Chaeryeong, and Jinni, all bundled in various levels of half-prepped casual wear, like they had agreed to meet but never bothered to say how dressed they were supposed to be.
“There she is,” Riley announced like they had found a rare bird, grinning as she leaned her elbow on the doorframe. “Come on, lounge time. No sulking in here while the rest of us socialize.”
“I’m not sulking,” Ryujin deadpanned.
“She was totally sulking,” Winter stage-whispered to Jinni, who immediately nodded.
Chaeryeong, already halfway into the room uninvited, and said, “We’re going to the private bar lounge. They opened it for Team USA early. Staff-only access until five. No media. Just us.”
“Come on,” Jinni added. “We’re calling it mental prep.”
“You mean emotional damage control,” Ryujin muttered, grabbing her phone and jacket anyway.
She did not protest.
Honestly, it was better this way, being dragged out by her teammates, distracted by their energy, letting the minutes pass without her pacing by the window or checking her phone for the third time in five minutes.
The walk down to the lounge was filled with the kind of casual noise that made Ryujin grateful to be part of a team like this.
Riley poked fun at Ryujin’s TikTok fame. Chaeryeong bragged about already mapping out the best lighting spots for pre-banquet photos. Jinni claimed one of the rookies from the men’s development camp had tried to flirt with her at the elevator, which sparked a whole debate over whether that counted as poor taste or brave optimism.
When they reached the private bar lounge tucked at the far end of the ballroom floor, a staff member checked their name badges and waved them through.
The space was gorgeous.
It was dimly lit with warm wood and brass finishes, tall windows overlooking the frozen lake outside, and a soft jazz instrumental humming from discreet overhead speakers.
No press.
No spectators.
Just a quiet hum of Team USA players trickling in and taking up space like they belonged there.
They absolutely did.
Riley headed straight to the bar to ask what was being served. Winter and Chaeryeong claimed a high-top table near the bar, spreading out like they owned it. Ryujin lingered by the edge, watching the room, the weight of travel finally lifting from her shoulders.
It was nice. Grounding, even.
But a small part of her kept flicking toward the doorway, every time it opened, every time footsteps echoed against the tile.
The conversation flowed easily, laughter laced with mockery. Riley had secured a round of drinks, Chaeryeong was already halfway through hers, and Winter was poking fun at Ryujin.
Winter leaned forward across the table, eyes narrowed in amusement. “Be honest. How many photos did you take at the airport?”
Ryujin blinked over her glass. “What?”
Riley grinned. “Don’t act surprised. You were mobbed at security.”
“I wasn’t mobbed ,” Ryujin muttered, but her ears were already pink.
“Oh, come on,” Chaeryeong said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “We had to slow down because three different people asked if you were that Ryujin from Team USA . And you just smiled and posed like it was no big deal.”
“It was not three. Maybe two.”
“Two at security, one in the coffee line, and another by the gate,” Chaeryeong counted off on her fingers. “And you stopped for all of them. You didn’t even try to hide.”
Ryujin set her drink down, but there was the faintest tug of a smile threatening to break. “They were polite. What was I supposed to do, say no?”
“Absolutely not,” Jinni said brightly, sliding into an empty seat beside them. “You’re the heartbreaker of the national team now. You owe the public access.”
Riley raised her glass. “To public figures and airport photo ops.”
“Stop,” Ryujin groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “It was not even about me. Some of them just wanted photos with anyone from Team USA.”
Winter scoffed. “Then why’d they know your name first?”
Ryujin tried to focus on the present. On Jinni’s teasing, Chaeryeong’s relentless commentary, Winter half-planned a pre-banquet selfie circuit with Riley.
And she was smiling.
Laughing, even.
But every few minutes, without meaning to, her eyes flicked to the door.
Because there was still someone missing.
Someone she had not seen since that kiss inside her penthouse nearly a week ago.
Someone who had not responded to her last text with anything more than a flight update.
Ryujin exhaled and looked down at her drink. The glass caught the light.
The private bar lounge was filled with conversation instead. They could faintly see the snow-covered slope beyond the windows, but all the warmth was inside, concentrated near the bar where five players were already comfortably gathered, drinks in hand.
Ryujin was mid-laugh, cheeks slightly pink from the whiskey and the altitude, and sat on the bar stool beside Chaeryeong. Her legs were kicked out beneath the table, hair tucked beneath her cap worn backwards.
She had not stopped talking since she got her third sip of whiskey.
Across from her, Jinni and Riley were sharing a highball, glass making faces every time they sipped it.
Winter had kicked her feet up on the seat next to her and was swirling something vaguely expensive in a lowball glass, looking far too relaxed for someone who had been dragging her suitcase through the resort twenty minutes ago.
It was Riley who noticed it first. The slow, familiar rhythm of the door opening again.
“Oh, more of us,” she murmured.
In ones and twos, the rest of Team USA began to arrive, still shrugging off coats, cheeks flushed from the cold.
Some had just checked in and were clearly lured down by the promise of company and liquor. Others wandered in aimlessly, drawn by noise and comfort.
The room gradually filled with familiar laughter, greetings, and half-spoken updates about flights, and the views from their rooms.
Sydney came in with Casey and Madison, heading straight for the bar. Jeongyeon and Seulgi strolled in behind them, joining the circle without hesitation. Chaeyoung stole Winter’s drink with zero shame, Yujin bumping shoulders with Chaeryeong in greeting before sliding into the booth’s edge. Even Jules appeared from the hallway with a soft nod, ordering her usual and taking the seat nearest the fire.
Ryujin exhaled, lips still curved in amusement. “It’s a party now.”
Winter raised her glass. “To solo rooms.”
Jinni groaned happily. “To room service and robes.”
“To not hearing each other snore,” Riley added, and they all clinked their glasses together.
It was the kind of midday that had no real agenda.
A lull before the storm.
Everyone dressed down. They were in sweatshirts, thermals, fleece-lined jackets, eyes a little tired from travel but bright with the anticipation of what was coming next.
Tonight’s banquet, the cameras, the inevitable questions about the tournament and their gold medal.
But for now, it was just Team USA. Slowly gathering. Settling into warmth. Drinks in hand.
The fire crackled softly in the corner of the lounge, a warm counterpoint to the rising laughter around the booth. The cushions were sunken from hours of leaning, coats piled messily to the side, and the drink count had edged just high enough to lower everyone’s guard.
Team USA had officially taken over the private lounge.
Winter was gesturing wildly, Riley throwing in commentary, Chaeryeong leaning her head back with that full-body kind of laughter.
Ryujin was in the center of it, shoulders relaxed, voice low but animated as she leaned into the table, setting the pace for the story with her usual flair.
“Okay, okay, listen,” she began, raising a hand to quiet the crosstalk. “This happened like three months ago. Right after our game in Toronto. Everyone was dead tired, half the team could barely walk straight, right?”
Winter leaned in from across the booth. “Is this the hotel thing?”
“Yes.” Ryujin pointed at her. “Exactly. So we got back to the hotel, and somehow, somehow , the front desk mixed up all our rooms. I was supposed to room with Chaer. Easy. Routine. But they had also given her my key and gave me the key to some poor businessman’s suite on the top floor.”
“Wait, like… an occupied suite?” Madison asked, eyes wide.
“ Fully ,” Ryujin confirmed, nodding. “I walked in, tossed my duffel on the couch, kicked my shoes off, opened a Sprite from the minibar—”
“Classic,” Jinni said.
“—and then I heard a voice from the bathroom go, ‘Honey, did you pack my charger?’ ”
The table burst into laughter.
“No,” Jinni wheezed.
“Yes,” Ryujin said, nearly choking on her own words now. “He walked out in a robe. I was standing there holding a Sprite like I had just broken into a honeymoon suite.”
“You technically did break into a honeymoon suite!”
Seulgi buried her face in her hands. “You stayed?”
“Of course not! I sprinted out and left my duffel. It took three hours to get it back because security thought I was a stalker.”
Winter was still mid-laugh, glass raised as the table erupted again.
“To Ryujin’s criminal record,” she declared with a dramatic flair, and everyone clinked whatever they were holding, bottles, tumblers, even a glass of water in Jinni’s case.
Ryujin leaned back, smug and satisfied, her hand curled around her glass again. “Hey,” she said over the noise, “I apologized and offered him my charger! That’s diplomacy.”
“Diplomacy?” Chaeryeong repeated, laughing. “You fled the scene!”
“I panicked ,” Ryujin said, grinning. “Wouldn’t you, if some guy in a bathrobe walked out asking about a charger?”
Laughter continued around her, but she only half-registered it. Her eyes were focused ahead, her expression just starting to relax again.
“If you ever break into my hotel room by accident, you’re not getting off with just an apology, mon cœur .”
Ryujin’s entire body froze.
Her glass halted just short of her lips. Her shoulders stiffened before she even had time to process what was happening.
The voice was unmistakable. Lips brushing behind her ear, voice low and close, smooth like velvet and cold enough to make her spine straighten.
And then she caught the scent: cedar, faint laundry, and winter air.
She was a hundred percent sure it was her girlfriend.
Her fingers tensed around her glass.
She did not turn.
Not right away.
Yeji had leaned in just enough that Ryujin could feel the faint whisper of breath against her neck, and the slight pressure of a hand on the edge of the table near her shoulder.
She hated how her heartbeat stuttered.
Hated how easily it gave her away.
The room went on, someone ordering another round, Riley half-repeating a joke to Madison, but for Ryujin, everything else was muffled.
The sound around her dipped, or maybe it just faded in her head. Her mouth parted slightly but her words were gone.
Yeji chuckled low behind her. It vibrated against Ryujin’s spine like a secret.
Then, without another word, Yeji dipped in closer and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
Like punctuation.
Ryujin’s eyes widened, breath halting, entire body locked in place while her mind struggled to catch up. The kiss was not rushed. It lingered just long enough to make sure Ryujin felt it.
Then it was gone.
The warmth remained.
Ryujin finally turned to her.
She opened her mouth to speak. Some attempt at “ Hi ,” or “ You’re late ,” or “ Did you seriously just —” but the words never made it.
Because Yeji leaned in again.
No teasing. No pause.
She tilted her head forward and pressed her lips gently on Ryujin’s.
It was not dramatic.
Not the kind of kiss meant for show or shock.
It was intimate in a way that made the rest of the room dissolve into nothing.
A hello and a homecoming all in one.
Ryujin’s breath caught again, but this time she responded, leaning into it, her hand lifting slightly before it stopped short, not sure whether to reach for her or just let the world tilt.
Then Yeji pulled back, just barely, and murmured, “Hey, baby.”
She was still wearing her navy turtleneck, long gray coat, and a black cap pulled low, shadowing her eyes, but Ryujin did not need to see them to feel the heat of her gaze. The dim light caught her jawline, the faint line of her cheek, but the rest was obscured.
Her freshly cut bob was hidden still, tucked under the shadows of her cap. A few strands slipped out beneath it, brushing her cheek, her smile ever so present.
Smug .
Knowing.
And just for Ryujin.
Ryujin blinked. Then exhaled. “…Hi.”
Winter was staring, mouth open.
Chaeryeong had paused mid-sentence, completely frozen.
Yeji looked at both of them, unfazed. “Were you in the middle of something?”
“Only watching Ryujin emotionally combust,” Winter answered.
Chaeryeong just raised her glass. “Cheers to that.”
Yeji’s smirk lingered as she finally stepped into view, peeling off her gray coat with ease, and setting it on the back of her stool.
She walked to the long bar counter, sliding into the seat like she had not just turned Ryujin’s blood into electricity. Every line of her posture was as precise and effortless as ever.
She wore a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she eased her duffel bag on the floor. The look in her eyes was impossibly calm.
Teasing .
Like she knew exactly what she was doing.
Ryujin’s eyes were locked on Yeji, on the shadows under her cap, on the teasing shape of her mouth, on the subtle curve of affection hidden in her flirty tone.
It was too much.
It was not enough.
She did not even know anymore.
Ryujin still had not moved.
Her cheek burned where Yeji had kissed her, and her heart was pounding like someone had fired a puck through her chest.
Chaeryeong stared at Ryujin. “It’s dark in here but you are visibly so red.”
“I am not .”
Winter leaned in with a smirk. “You’re matching your whiskey.”
Jinni nearly choked on her drink laughing, and even Riley tilted her head and grinned. “Should we get a medic?”
Before Ryujin could respond, before she could even steady herself long enough to form a sentence, Yeji leaned back against the bar stool, finally easing into the space like she owned it.
Ryujin had barely processed anything when Yeji reached for her drink.
Not a word.
She just took it, lifting the glass from between Ryujin’s fingers with a casualness that should have been illegal.
Yeji tilted the glass once, watching the amber swirl.
And before Ryujin could even say her name in protest, Yeji brought it to her lips and drank.
Yeji held eye contact the entire time.
Ryujin’s breath caught but Yeji’s gaze did not waver, did not even flicker. She sipped slowly, deliberately, with a control that sent a low current racing through Ryujin’s chest.
The whiskey went down smooth. She barely showed any reaction, just the faintest shift in her throat as she swallowed. Then licked the edge of her lip with the slow grace of someone enjoying the burn.
“Hibiki 17,” she murmured, setting the glass back down with one hand. “You’re in a mood.”
Ryujin stared at her, stunned into stillness. “You… how did you know what it was?”
“I know your taste,” she said, cool and easy, then leaned in closer, voice dipping just for Ryujin again. “Especially when it’s expensive and a little too smooth for your own good.”
The words settled heavily in the space between them. She let her arm rest behind Ryujin on the bar stool, like she knew Ryujin was still processing the fact that she was even here at all.
Ryujin turned to look at her fully now, the edge of a smile curling at her lips. “You flew in just to steal my drink and psychoanalyze me?”
Yeji tilted her head, finally letting her eyes meet Ryujin’s without the shadow of her cap.
“No,” she murmured, her voice smooth and steady. “I flew in to see you flustered in a room full of people who think you’re impossible to rattle.”
Before Ryujin could answer, Yeji reached for the glass again, not to drink it this time, but just to slide it a little closer between them.
She leaned in, lips brushing Ryujin’s ear with the same casual intimacy as before.
“You’re cute when you panic,” she whispered, and then sat back like nothing had happened at all.
Ryujin swallowed. “You steal drinks like you own the place.”
Yeji smirked, the corner of her mouth curving just enough to be dangerous.
“Because when it’s yours,” she whispered, voice low and teasing, “I do.”
Ryujin did not respond at first. She watched Yeji with something like disbelief. Equally flustered and impressed.
Her glass now sat where Yeji had placed it, half-empty and somehow warmer than before. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to reclaim it, but the imprint of Yeji’s lipstick on the rim made her hesitate.
The mood in the lounge subtly shifted.
Not just around Ryujin, but across the room. Players looked up from their drinks and conversations, heads turning in that domino-effect way that always seemed to happen when they noticed Yeji had entered the space.
Not because she asked for it. Just because that was the kind of gravity she carried.
“Captain’s here!” Jinni announced with a grin, lifting her glass slightly.
“Look who made it,” Riley added. “We were starting to think you missed your flight.”
Yeji smiled faintly, still adjusting the sleeves of her turtleneck. “I came straight here from the lobby.”
“Wait, straight ?” Winter asked, narrowing her eyes. “Did you even check in?”
Yeji shook her head, “Nope. Just found out you were here, so I figured I’d stop by first.”
“You didn’t want to drop your stuff off?” Chaeryeong asked, leaning her chin on her hand. “You’re literally holding a garment bag.”
Yeji glanced down at the sleek gray garment bag still looped over her forearm, and the black duffel settled on the floor. She gave a small shrug. “I’ll deal with it in a bit. Just needed to see a certain someone first.”
That earned a round of fake oohs and knowing glances, but Ryujin barely heard them.
Because something clicked.
Her gaze drifted to Yeji’s hands again.
The bags still with her, the faint crease on her wrist where the duffel strap had pressed too long into her skin.
The way she had walked in like she had been in a rush, not wanting to waste time.
And the fact that she had headed straight for her, the moment she knew Ryujin was in the lounge.
Ryujin turned, glancing past Yeji to the door, as if the realization needed space to land.
She had not checked in yet.
Yeji had come here first.
Just to see her.
Riley, sipping from someone’s wine glass, asked absently, “ Where’re Karina, Yuna, and Lia?”
“They’re checking in,” Yeji replied smoothly, her tone even. “We landed together, but I told them I’d catch up.”
Winter let out a low whistle. “So you’re really just out here wandering the halls for your girlfriend .”
Ryujin blinked, caught mid-sip of her whiskey. “I—”
“She hasn’t even seen her room,” Jinni laughed. “Romantic.”
Ryujin turned her head, just enough to glance sidelong at Yeji. Her jaw tensed slightly, eyes low, cap still shadowing most of her face.
“You haven’t checked in,” Ryujin said softly.
Yeji’s smirk deepened. “I had better things to do.”
Then her gaze dipped lower, just once, just briefly, like it did when she looked at Ryujin after time apart.
And Ryujin, finally letting out the breath she had been holding, gave in to the smile pulling at her lips.
Her heart was still pounding.
Because now it was confirmed.
Yeji could have gone anywhere. Dropped off her coat. Taken a shower. Put her feet up. Met with the coaches.
But instead, she walked straight through the doors of a private bar lounge, still carrying her bags, just to sit beside Ryujin.
And steal her drink.
She glanced at Ryujin again, her voice quieter, something warmer curling behind the sharpness.
“Did it help?” she asked. “The drink.”
Ryujin swallowed, then shook her head once. “No.”
Yeji smiled.
“Good,” she said. “Then you’ll remember this instead.”
Yeji lingered just a moment longer before deciding to leave. The others were still deep in conversation, too wrapped up in their drinks and the buzz of reunion to notice the shift in air.
Ryujin had barely spoken. Her gaze had been locked on the girl beside her, on the subtle tilt of her smirk, the way she sat like she already owned the space she had just walked into.
“I should go check in before someone sends a search party,” she murmured, slipping off her stool.
Ryujin nodded, but her gaze stayed fixed following the curve of Yeji’s coat as she reached for her bags again. The room around them had faded. Her glass of whiskey sat forgotten beside her hand.
Until Yeji reached for it again.
Yeji raised the glass, sipped it slowly. Her lips lingered on the rim, savoring the taste, before she gently set it back down with the soft clink of crystal on wood.
Then, she leaned in without a word.
Just one hand grazing Ryujin’s arm as she leaned forward, closing the space between them.
Lips warm and tasting faintly of Hibiki 17. The faint, smoky warmth of her whiskey, still lingering on Yeji’s lips. A little sweet, a little sharp.
It hit her like a second kiss layered into the first: the press of Yeji’s mouth, the soft burn left behind, the cool contrast of air when she finally pulled back.
Ryujin blinked, her lips still tingling.
Yeji hovered close, her voice curling at the edge of a smile. “You taste better with good liquor.”
Ryujin blinked, heart pounding. “ You —”
But Yeji had already stepped back, eyes catching hers beneath the brim of her cap. “I’ll text you once I check in,” she said casually, like she had not just knocked the breath out of her, then turned toward the exit with the ease of someone entirely unaffected.
Ryujin did not move for a full beat. Then she let out a breath she did not realize she was holding and reached blindly for her drink, eyes still fixed on the space Yeji had just occupied.
Silence followed.
The room around her slowly came back into focus: laughter, clinking glasses, Winter arguing about card games with Jinni and Chaeryeong reaching over the table for more pretzels.
And Ryujin just… breathed .
“Oh my god,” she muttered under her breath, her face burning, heart racing like she had just skated a full shift in overtime. “That was my girlfriend.”
The realization hit her all over again.
Her girlfriend.
In public. Sort of.
Whispering in her ear like no one else existed, kissing her like the rest of the lounge was frozen in time.
Her heart fluttered so hard it knocked her sideways.
“ Jesus —” she stumbled a bit, accidentally elbowing Riley, nearly knocking her off her stool.
“Hey!” Riley caught herself on the bar, laughing. “You okay?”
Ryujin could barely form a sentence. “No. I mean—yes. I mean…”
Winter leaned over with a knowing grin. “She got you good, huh?”
Ryujin slumped forward, pressing her forehead to the bar. “She destroyed me.”
From somewhere behind her, Chaeryeong raised her glass. “To our newly obliterated winger.”
“To Yeji,” Winter added, eyes twinkling.
“Okay,” Ryujin muttered, blinking hard. “You guys saw her too, right?”
Riley raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Yeji,” Ryujin said, still sounding mildly dazed. “She was here.”
“…Yes?” Winter replied slowly, trying not to laugh.
“Okay,” Ryujin exhaled, picking up her glass again, “just making sure I didn’t hallucinate all of that.”
Riley muttered, “I do not want to know what that was.”
“I do.” Winter leaned across the table. “Was that your soul leaving your body just now, or…?”
Ryujin, dazed and flushed, just lifted the glass and mumbled, “No one’s allowed to speak for the next ten minutes.”
Chapter Text
The lounge had thinned out gradually, though it was only just past 1 p.m., a reminder that this was merely a pause before the evening’s real event.
Players filtered out in loose waves, laughing, stretching, slinging coats over their shoulders as they made plans to nap, unpack, or iron their formal wear. The banquet was still hours away, but no one wanted to feel rushed.
“We’ve got what, six hours?” Winter asked, popping the last fry in her mouth. “That’s enough time for a nap, a panic, and a wardrobe crisis.”
Riley rolled her eyes as she stood. “I’m showering before any of you decide to flood the plumbing.”
“I’m gonna lay down and not move,” Jinni said, already halfway toward the door. “If anyone calls me before 4, I’m deleting your number.”
The rest of Team USA mumbled agreements as they drifted toward the elevators. The energy had mellowed, but it still buzzed under the surface, anticipation for the banquet, for the cameras, for what it meant to be here .
Ryujin lingered in the hallway a moment longer after saying her goodbyes, walking back toward her suite in the quieter light of afternoon. The hallway was peaceful, her footsteps soft against the carpet, and for the first time all day, she felt her shoulders relax.
She was back in her own room, finally alone, but still reeling.
She stood at the foot of the bed, her open suitcase half-unpacked. The room smelled faintly of fresh linen and hotel carpet. Her garment bag now hung on the closet door, untouched.
She had showered quickly, dressed down in a soft tank and loose shorts, and now stood with damp hair and bare feet, trying to mentally map out how to not panic when she saw Yeji again.
Then her phone buzzed.
[Yeji]
Got held up.
Just getting my key now.
They're giving us our own rooms?
Ryujin’s pulse was still uneven, like her body had not caught up with the rest of her. She let herself grin, just a little. Just enough.
[Ryujin]
yeah
all solo
hotel’s fancy like that
it feels kinda illegal
A few seconds passed. She could still feel Yeji’s lips on hers. The taste of whiskey lingering in the corners of her mouth. The faint scent of cedar and something warm and clean clinging to Yeji’s coat.
Her mind had not fully caught up.
Her heart definitely had not.
[Yeji]
Oh
What floor are you on?
[Ryujin]
9th.
912
you?
The screen stayed on.
Read.
Ryujin sat on her bed for another moment, barely breathing, her thumb still resting on the side of her phone. She had barely processed what had happened in the lounge.
That Yeji had been there.
That she had seen her. Barely, hidden under that low cap and dark coat, but still.
Still .
Her body had registered it more than her mind. The sound of Yeji’s voice curling into her ear. The way the room had fallen away when Yeji had kissed her. How her chest had tightened, like something important had short-circuited.
And now, in the quiet of her room, with only her phone screen glowing against the early afternoon light, Ryujin realized: she still had not caught her breath.
Then, she heard a quiet knock.
Just three soft taps against the wood, slicing clean through the silence of the room.
Ryujin blinked.
Her heart jumped.
Her breath caught somewhere between her ribs as she stared at the door.
There was no message.
No warning.
Just the knock.
It sounded like the knocks she heard a while ago.
But this time, she already knew who it was.
She crossed the room in a few steady strides, barefoot on the carpet, every step stretching with anticipation. Her hand hesitated for only a second on the handle.
When she opened the door, there she was.
Yeji .
Her cap was gone now, tucked away, forgotten.
The soft fall of her dark bob was finally visible, still a little windswept from the walk through the lobby. That same navy turtleneck, the gray coat unbuttoned now, letting the warmth of her body rise into the cool hallway air.
She looked like she had walked straight out of a magazine shoot with just that raw presence and that infuriating calm she always wore when Ryujin was flustered.
And Ryujin was flustered.
She stood just inside the doorway in a soft black tank and shorts, her skin still warm from the shower, her hair damp against the nape of her neck. The room behind her smelled faintly of steam and perfume.
She had not even thought about getting dressed yet.
Not when Yeji had texted.
Not when she had knocked.
Not when she looked at her like this .
Yeji was just standing there, a garment bag slung over one shoulder, her room keycard held between her fingers. Her eyes met Ryujin’s with something quiet and certain, like she already knew the door would open like this.
Ryujin’s throat went dry.
Yeji did not speak immediately.
She glanced at Ryujin again, gaze briefly dropping to the tank top, then back to her face, unreadable.
The air between them buzzed, heavy with something neither of them named.
“Hi,” Yeji finally said, voice low, that small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Miss me?”
Ryujin moved before her mind caught up.
Her fingers gripped the edge of Yeji’s coat, knuckles brushing against the cool fabric, then pulled her in, crashing their mouths together with the kind of urgency that had lived in her chest since the moment they parted, the press of Yeji’s mouth warm on hers.
Yeji inhaled sharply against her lips, stumbling slightly with the force of it, but her free hand found Ryujin’s waist.
Yeji’s coat rustled between them as Ryujin backed into the room, walking them inward without breaking contact, hands still fisted in the collar like she could not bear to let go.
The door shut behind them with a soft, final click.
Yeji still tasted faintly of whiskey. Something smooth, aged, a warmth that curled low in Ryujin’s stomach.
But this was more intoxicating than liquor.
More dangerous than anything poured in a glass.
Ryujin could barely feel the floor anymore. It was like the world had tilted, like gravity belonged only to the way Yeji was kissing her now
Yeji’s hand rose slowly, unhurried and sure, skimming up Ryujin’s side, over her back, until her fingers found the back of her neck. She slid them beneath the edge of Ryujin’s hair, warm and deliberate, thumb brushing that tender spot just beneath her hairline.
With a muffled thud, the garment bag slid off her shoulder, forgotten. A second later, the key card slipped from her hand and hit the floor.
She reached for Ryujin fully now, both arms wrapping around her, anchoring herself to the moment as if it was the only solid thing in the room.
Ryujin exhaled shakily into the kiss, her hands roaming over the familiar lines of Yeji’s coat until they settled at her waist. The space between them was gone.
Every breath, every inch, drawn in like gravity had given up pretending.
When they finally broke apart, it was only by a breath. Just enough to stay upright. Just enough to remember where they were.
Ryujin’s voice was barely a whisper when they broke apart, foreheads nearly touching.
“You took your sweet time checking in.”
Yeji smiled against her mouth, eyes still half-closed, her gaze a bit hazy.
“You look like you’re supposed to be getting ready,” she whispered.
Ryujin’s chest rose and fell, her breath shaky but full of heat. “Then you shouldn’t have come here looking like that .”
She glanced down between them, lips parted, eyes flickering over the details: Yeji’s collar still crooked from where Ryujin had gripped it, the slight smudge in her lipstick, the way her hair was just barely mussed from their kiss.
Yeji’s coat was still draped over her shoulders, but her duffel and garment bag now rested in a quiet pile on the floor.
The moment had softened. The urgency had quieted. But the air between them still thrummed, like something suspended, waiting to fall.
Here, in the quiet of her room, with Yeji standing inches away, her breath warm against her lips, the bob made her feel like time had slowed down to admire it too.
She reached out without thinking, her fingers brushing the ends gently, tracing the line from Yeji’s cheek to her neck.
She was gentle in a way Yeji was not used to seeing on Ryujin.
Her thumb lingered just behind her ear, where the hair tapered and revealed skin so soft, so vulnerable, it made her heart stutter.
“You’re really something else,” Ryujin said quietly.
Yeji tilted her head slightly into the touch, her eyes searching Ryujin’s face. “Is that your way of saying I pull off short hair?”
Ryujin huffed out a breath of a laugh, “It’s my way of saying I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things in my life, but this?” Her gaze flicked up, slow and full of awe. “This is just straight up unfair .”
Her gaze flicked up, locking onto Yeji’s with something open and bare. No games, no teasing. Just awe.
The kind that made Yeji forget how to breathe for a second.
Yeji’s smirk faltered slightly, and something softer bloomed behind her eyes. “You’re not supposed to say things like that when I’m still holding on by a thread,” she said, quiet, almost like a confession.
So Ryujin said nothing.
She just stared.
Her hand remained at the side of Yeji’s neck, thumb still resting just behind her ear, like if she looked long enough, she could carve every detail into memory.
Yeji shifted slightly, breath catching in her throat.
Slowly, her expression softened into something unguarded. Her fingers moved gently to Ryujin’s wrist, curling around it. Not to pull away, but to keep it there.
To feel it.
To feel her .
Yeji’s smile returned, soft and warm, “You’re staring.”
“I know,” Ryujin whispered, eyes still on the bob like it was the first thing that had ever made her believe in restraint. “And I’m not sorry.”
Yeji laughed softly through her nose. “You kissed me twice and now you think you’ve unlocked privileges?”
“No,” Ryujin said, thumb grazing just under her ear now, her voice low. “I think I earned those when you kissed me back.”
That shut Yeji up for a moment.
Ryujin let herself savor the closeness, the clean scent of Yeji’s hair, the curve of her bob grazing her cheek, the way the shorter strands at the nape shifted ever so slightly as Yeji breathed.
“It really suits you,” Ryujin whispered, her voice a little softer now. “Like… I don’t know. You walk into a room and no one sees anything else first.”
Yeji turned slightly, eyes meeting hers at close range. “That’s dramatic.”
Ryujin did not answer right away. Her thumb lingered along Yeji’s cheekbone, her touch featherlight, her eyes tracing each line and shadow like they were a map she was learning all over again.
Finally, voice low and unhurried, Ryujin spoke again.
“You’re really pretty.”
Yeji’s lips parted, but no words came at first, just the faintest breath of surprise. Her cheeks flushed, and she smiled despite herself.
“You say that like you just noticed.”
Ryujin smirked, leaning in just a little closer.
“No,” she murmured. “Just… reminding you.”
“I actually didn’t expect you to say that.”
“Why?” Ryujin asked.
Yeji hesitated. “Because you usually say it with your eyes. Or your hands . Like what you were doing moments ago. Not… words.”
Ryujin reached out again, brushing her fingers lightly along Yeji’s jaw.
“I’ve been wanting to say it since the second I opened the door,” Ryujin said softly, her voice low and thick with something close to awe. “Actually, since you kissed me in the middle of that lounge like it was nothing.”
Yeji’s gaze dropped for half a second, confidence faltering in the quiet between them.
Her knuckles grazed her skin, and then lingered, thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a tenderness that made Yeji exhale shakily.
“Since I saw you still in your coat, hair still half-tucked in your cap,” she continued, voice quieter now, “and I realized you came straight to me. Like you couldn’t wait either.”
The hand on Yeji’s waist tightened, just slightly.
“And now… now with your cap off and your hair like this…” Her voice dipped to a whisper, filled with something wrecked. “I don’t even know what to do with myself.”
Yeji’s grip around her shoulders tightened imperceptibly.
“You’re killing me, Yeji,” Ryujin breathed.
Yeji’s breath hitched, and in that moment, something in her cracked open.
She was just there, quiet and composed and impossibly beautiful in the soft hotel lighting, the kind that made her skin glow and her eyes look darker, deeper. Ryujin’s gaze wandered over the flush on Yeji’s cheek, the faint smudge of lipstick, the slope of her jaw framed by the sharp cut of her bob.
She was not even trying.
And that made it worse .
“Ryujin…” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.
But Ryujin was already leaning in, her lips brushing the corner of Yeji’s mouth.
“I mean it,” she murmured. “You’re beautiful. And it’s driving me insane.”
Yeji did not speak.
Not right away.
She just stood there, looking at Ryujin like she was trying to steady herself, like the words had landed somewhere deep and real and unexpected.
Her breath came out a little uneven. For a moment, the distance between them, barely a breath, barely anything, felt impossibly heavy.
“You look like something poets would give up sleep to describe.”
The words hung there, suspended in the tension between them.
Yeji did not move. Her lips parted, then closed again, like whatever she had meant to say had vanished into the moment. Her gaze searched Ryujin’s face, stunned, maybe, or just completely undone.
She was caught somewhere between surprise and surrender. She let out the softest, breathiest laugh, like the sound had been waiting at the edge of her ribs all this time.
“ I think my heart just tripped over itself.” she whispered, more to herself than to Ryujin, and it made the air between them shimmer.
Ryujin’s smile returned slowly, slightly crooked, and entirely smitten.
“I didn’t even get to the part about your eyes,” Ryujin whispered. “And wait ‘til you hear me rhyme ‘jawline’ with ‘divine’.”
Yeji’s laugh came again, fuller this time, eyes glinting with fondness and disbelief. She shook her head slowly, fingers still curled around Ryujin’s wrist like she was afraid letting go would make her disappear.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been secretly writing poetry this whole time,” she said, teasing, but her voice trembled just enough to betray how much it meant.
How much she meant it.
Ryujin leaned in a little more, until there was no space left to hide. “I was serious about the folder of poems on my notes app,” she murmured. “Just… for you.”
Yeji did not answer right away.
She only looked at her, really looked, like she was seeing Ryujin not as the forward who drove her crazy on the ice, not the rival with the sharp tongue and faster hands, but the girl who had been quietly writing verses behind locker room doors, saving them like secrets.
And all of them for her .
Yeji’s lips curved upward as her fingers found Ryujin’s waist, grounding herself in something she still did not quite know how to hold.
“Save it then,” she said. “Tell me later.”
Ryujin kissed her, slowly this time.
Like punctuation.
Like a promise she would.
The kiss stretched, melting gently into the quiet. Ryujin’s hands had slipped back to Yeji’s waist, fingers curling in the fabric of her coat, while Yeji leaned in with that quiet kind of certainty that always made Ryujin dizzy.
It was not rushed. It did not need to be. It was full of intention, as if they had all the time in the world.
Yeji’s hands slid up the back of Ryujin’s neck, curling into her damp hair. Ryujin’s fingers drew her closer until there was no space left between them. Her back hit the edge of the dresser, and Yeji only gasped softly before Ryujin caught her lips again.
And then, a knock.
Loud and clear and unmistakably directed at Ryujin’s hotel room.
It came just as Yeji pressed her lips to the edge of Ryujin’s jaw, slow and barely there, more breath than contact, but enough to make Ryujin’s pulse skip.
Yeji’s forehead dropped against Ryujin’s shoulder.
Another knock. This time paired with a muffled voice but still audible through the door.
“Team USA staff here. We’re looking for Captain Hwang. Have you seen her?”
Yeji cursed under her breath. “ Shit .”
Ryujin blinked. “They’re looking for you?”
“I wasn’t supposed to vanish,” Yeji muttered, “I have a captain interview in an hour. I told them I was headed to my room to change.”
“And instead you detoured to make out with me.” Ryujin whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You didn’t tell me how soon it was,”
“I thought I had time,” Yeji muttered into her collarbone. “I didn’t think I’d be ambushed.”
“ Ambushed ?” Ryujin’s voice rose, incredulous but fond. “You knocked on my door.”
Yeji lifted her head, a flush blooming along her neck. “Yeah, well. I didn’t think I’d get distracted for this long.”
Ryujin, already moving, grabbed her by the waist and gently pulled her out of direct view. “Get behind the door,” she whispered, grinning despite herself.
Yeji ducked behind the door in a quiet scramble, flattening herself to the wall, trying not to laugh. She was still in travel clothes. Her garment bag was forgotten on the floor.
She bit down on her lower lip as Ryujin adjusted her top and ran a quick hand through her hair.
Yeji’s eyes dropped, and only then did she seem to register again what Ryujin was wearing.
She was just in a fitted black tank top.
Her skin was still flushed from the way they had been wrapped around each other moments ago. She looked completely kiss-bitten and freshly ruined.
Yeji blinked once, then she removed her coat.
“This looks stupid,” she muttered, but she was already moving, draping the gray coat over Ryujin’s shoulders. “But less stupid than you answering the door like that .”
Ryujin opened her mouth to protest, but Yeji tugged the lapels together and stepped back to look at her. Her expression was unreadable for a second, then her mouth twitched, betraying the beginning of a smirk.
Yeji whispered, “You’re a terrible liar, remember?”
Ryujin winced. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“I’m serious. You always panic and over-explain.”
Then with one hand, she reached for the door, the other still firm at Yeji’s waist, keeping her tucked just out of sight.
A Team USA staff member stood in the hallway, clipboard in hand, brows slightly raised. She gave Ryujin a polite smile.
“Sorry to bother,” she said. “We’re looking for Captain Hwang. She wasn’t in her suite, and her phone’s not picking up. Just need to remind her she’s got her captain’s interview in an hour.”
Ryujin blinked, keeping her hand firmly braced against the door so it would not swing wider and reveal the very important person currently hiding behind it.
She offered her best impression of calm indifference. “She’s not here.”
The staffer scribbled something on their clipboard. “Alright. Thank you. If she turns up—”
“I’ll send her your way,” Ryujin promised with a practiced smile. “Good luck.”
They nodded, then turned and hurried off.
As soon as Ryujin closed the door, Yeji stepped in closer, arms slowly sliding back around Ryujin’s waist, settling there like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Ryujin reached for the coat, slipping it gently off herself. Without speaking, she eased it over Yeji’s arms.
“That was better,” she murmured, her voice low, amused, still warm from the kiss they had barely paused. “You did not mention a single unnecessary detail. No weird tangents. No fake story about bumping into me in the lobby.”
Ryujin narrowed her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “I kept it simple.”
“You did.” Yeji nodded solemnly, then tilted her head with a teasing grin. “You even sounded like you believed it for a second.”
Ryujin rolled her eyes, but her hands stayed on Yeji’s coat, “Are you saying I’m improving?”
“I’m saying there’s hope for you yet.” Yeji gave her a light, deliberate nudge with her nose. “Ryujin, growing up. Lying like a big girl.”
“Oh my god.”
Ryujin let out a strangled sound as she dropped her forehead against Yeji’s shoulder. Then, without warning, she let herself collapse fully into her, arms winding around Yeji’s waist as if gravity had finally caught up to her.
Yeji stumbled back a step, caught by surprise, but immediately steadied them both with a quiet laugh, her hands instinctively rising to circle Ryujin’s back.
Yeji chuckled again, low and fond. “You’re actually hiding.”
“I’m recovering,” Ryujin replied, voice muffled against her chest. “Let me live.”
Yeji tilted her chin, resting it lightly atop Ryujin’s head, her hand now slowly tracing the curve of her spine.
“I have like five minutes before I need to go,” Yeji said, breathless but still trying to sound stern.
“Your interview’s in an hour,” Ryujin countered, lips ghosting along the edge of Yeji’s collarbone. “That’s practically years from now.”
Yeji looked down, lifting an unimpressed brow, but her expression had already started to crumble, laughter tugging at the corners of her mouth no matter how much she tried to resist.
“I need to shower and change.”
Ryujin lingered there for a moment longer, her cheek pressed to the soft fabric over Yeji’s chest, breathing in the quiet comfort she was never quite ready to let go of. But eventually, she shifted, just enough to pull away.
Her hands slid gently to Yeji’s shoulders, fingertips brushing over the collar of the coat she herself had draped over her minutes ago.
“I can help with that,” she offered, teasing in words but not in tone.
Her fingers slipped beneath the collar, slow and familiar, and in one smooth motion, she eased the coat from Yeji’s shoulders, letting the fabric fall away.
She did not break eye contact, not when the coat slid down Yeji’s arms, not when she tossed it over the back of the nearby chair.
Yeji stood still, like she might say no.
Like she should say no.
But her silence made space for the moment to stretch.
Then Ryujin stepped in again, closer this time, her breath warm against Yeji’s skin, her lips brushing just below Yeji’s ear.
“Ten more minutes, captain?” she whispered.
Yeji exhaled, her eyes fluttering shut for the briefest second.
“Twenty,” she murmured back.
Ryujin grinned. “ Dangerous .”
But she kissed her anyway.
When they finally broke apart, just barely, the room felt quieter. Dimmer. Like everything else had taken a step back.
Yeji’s voice broke the silence, soft and edged with a smile. “You’re supposed to be getting ready, too.”
Ryujin hummed. “I was trying . You walked in and ruined that.”
Yeji gave a low chuckle, pulling back just enough to look at her properly. She lifted a hand and ran her fingers through her own hair, then looked at Ryujin with mock seriousness.
“So this is what undoes you?” she asked. “A haircut?”
“No,” Ryujin said, letting her thumb trace slow circles against Yeji’s hip. “It’s you. Looking like this .”
Yeji tilted her head. Ryujin had that look in her eyes again, the one that seemed to slow time, to fix Yeji in place like she was something worth memorizing.
And Ryujin did just that: eyes following every shift in Yeji’s mouth, her jaw, the way her bob had started to fall a little uneven from all their kissing. She reached up without thinking, tucking one side gently behind Yeji’s ear.
“I’m so screwed,” Ryujin whispered, mostly to herself.
That pulled another soft laugh from Yeji. A real one this time.
But eventually, Yeji pulled back reluctantly, eyes half-lidded and lips still parted. Her fingers lingered at the base of Ryujin’s neck.
“I really need to get going baby,” she said softly, like an apology. “They’ll mic me up. Third floor press suite. You’ll be there later, too.”
Ryujin nodded, her hands still resting lightly at Yeji’s waist. “I know.”
Yeji did not move right away.
Neither did Ryujin.
She exhaled through her nose, resting her forehead lightly against Yeji’s. “I’ll pretend not to know you so you don’t get in trouble for this.”
Yeji smiled, brushing a hand across Ryujin’s cheek before stepping back. “You’ll fail. You always stare too much.”
Ryujin opened her mouth to protest, but Yeji had already grabbed her coat and slung her duffel over her shoulder. She paused in the doorway, turning to glance back once more.
“You’re distracting, Shin Ryujin.”
Ryujin leaned her weight against the doorframe, one brow raised, her tank top still slightly rumpled from Yeji’s hands.
“Well,” she called out. “You knocked.”
Yeji laughed under her breath as she turned away, already walking down the hall.
“I’ll see you at the banquet,” she said over her shoulder. “Try not to get cornered by the media without me.”
Ryujin watched her go, pulse still a little high, the warmth of her mouth still lingering.
She shut the door, finally alone, and blew out a long breath.
God help her if the rest of the night felt like this.
Ryujin stood there for a moment, motionless in the middle of her hotel room, letting the silence settle around her.
The door clicked shut, but her pulse still beat like Yeji’s lips were just inches away.
She let out a slow breath and dropped onto the edge of the bed, her body still humming with energy. The sheets rustled under her, but everything still smelled like Yeji’s coat, that subtle scent Ryujin had memorized without meaning to.
Her head fell back against the mattress as she stared at the ceiling.
“Distracting,” she muttered, echoing Yeji’s voice with a scoff of amusement. “Says the girl who shows up at my door in a coat and makes out with me like she doesn’t have a whole schedule to follow.”
But the grin tugging at her lips gave her away.
It had been almost surreal.
Yeji appeared in the lounge, whispering into her ear like the rest of the team did not exist. Kissing her like they had stolen something precious and did not regret it. Hiding behind Ryujin’s door just minutes later, the two of them stifled laughter like teenagers. And now, walking down the hall with that confident gait, bob swinging, like she had not just turned Ryujin’s brain into static.
Ryujin ran a hand through her hair, then stood and padded toward her suitcase.
She needed to get ready.
The banquet was in a few hours, and she still had to shower, iron her outfit, and decide whether to wear the blazer or not.
But her mind kept slipping.
Back to Yeji’s mouth.
Her voice.
Her laugh when they almost got caught.
The way her eyes softened when Ryujin had said she was pretty. Like the words meant more than they should have.
She exhaled slowly, grounding herself.
Yeji had her captain’s interview.
Ryujin would be called down soon enough for team photos and a media walk-through.
They had roles to play tonight: leaders, champions, icons of a gold-medal Team USA. The storybook darlings of the tournament.
She would have to keep her hands off Yeji.
Keep her expression neutral.
No staring too long.
No getting caught in a gaze that lasted half a second too long.
But they were on the same floor in the same building.
Wearing dresses they had not seen each other in.
Walking into the ballroom with every eye on them.
Ryujin’s mouth twitched into a smirk.
Tonight was going to be dangerous .
Chapter Text
The quiet that had settled over the hallways after the Team USA midday lounge drinking was gone.
Now, the ninth floor buzzed with the low, electric chaos of athletes trying to get ready on time. Blow dryers roared from open bathrooms, bags unzipped, music pulsed faintly through the walls, and someone had already stolen the iron from the hallway cart… twice .
In Room 912, Ryujin had kicked everyone out. Politely. Mostly .
“I love you, but I need a second to myself,” she had told Winter, grabbing the door handle.
“Is this about your outfit or Yeji?” Chaeryeong had smirked.
“Yes,” Ryujin said flatly, and shut the door.
She stood in front of the mirror, hairbrush in one hand, blazer laid out like armor across the bed.
She stood in front of the mirror, fingers slipping through the loose strands of her hair, tugging the hair tie tighter.
Still no texts from Yeji.
Which was fine.
Obviously.
She was not waiting.
… She totally was.
The last time they had seen each other was hours ago, after her captain’s interview. Yeji had kissed her in that slow, maddening way before slipping out to meet Coach Donovan downstairs. Something about player order, speech notes, and final logistics.
“Don’t be late for your photos,” she had said after knocking once on Ryujin’s door and disappearing again.
Ryujin had been thinking about that kiss ever since.
She exhaled sharply, picked up her necklace from the nightstand, and clasped it behind her neck.
A thin chain. Silver. Something Yeji had once said “ looked like trouble .”
She smirked to herself.
Across the hall, Jinni was having a minor meltdown over her necklace clasp. “Riley, I swear, if you don’t get this—”
“I only have two hands, Jinni!”
“Then use both!”
Chaeyoung, seated on the edge of the bed with her heels already on, pointed toward the mirror. “You’re sweating. Don’t sweat in the dress, we don’t have backups.”
In 909, Karina was curling Yuna’s hair while both of them swayed to a playlist that was three parts Beyoncé and one part early 2000s pop. Lia had her feet propped up on the windowsill, reviewing banquet logistics while wearing under-eye masks and sipping ginger tea.
“I’m not even nervous,” she lied.
Yuna threw her a look in the mirror. “You threw up in Plymouth.”
“That was different. I was asked to speak.”
“You’re presenting tonight.”
Lia groaned and pulled the masks off.
Back in her own room, Ryujin slid into her wide leg trousers, low and sharp against her hips, and sat carefully on the edge of the bed to put her heels on.
Her blazer stayed on her bed. She liked the reveal, liked holding power in reserve. Her fingers brushed the satin ties of her waistcoat as she stood. The cut of it made her feel exposed and invincible at once.
At the same time, across the resort, Yeji stood before the mirror in the staff wing near the ballroom, sliding on her sheer gloves with practiced ease. Her hair had been coaxed into soft waves, just grazing the curve of her jaw.
She checked her posture once, then reached for the clipboard on the counter behind her, eyes scanning the event flow. The fabric at her sides shifted with the movement; smooth, structured, snug in all the places that mattered.
It was enough. She looked like she had everything under control.
Yeji glanced at the time.
She had not seen Ryujin in hours.
And she had not seen what Ryujin was wearing.
That thought stayed with her longer than it should have.
She exhaled once, steadying herself, and stepped out toward the ballroom.
Back in the ninth floor of the hotel, doors were opening, heels clicking against the carpet, zippers flying, jackets shrugged on, perfume sprayed in haste.
“Who has the lint roller?”
“Check Madison’s room. She stole it with the iron.”
“I did not! I borrowed it and forgot to return it. There’s a difference!”
“You threatened to fight me over it, Madison.”
The hallway had become a temporary runway and war zone all at once.
Doors were cracked open just wide enough for lip gloss to be passed between rooms, for heads to peek out and ask for help with zippers or eyeliner, and for last-minute outfit changes to be either approved or ruthlessly vetoed.
Winter stood barefoot in front of the full-length mirror, one earring in, her shirt halfway tucked in like she could not decide if she was going formal or unhinged.
“Do I look like I have my life together?”
“No,” Chaeryeong said, sprawled upside-down on the bed with a curling wand in her hand. “But you look expensive. Which is more important.”
“She looks like she could buy your life and write it off as a tax deduction,” Riley added, stepping out of the bathroom while dabbing concealer under her eyes. Her dress pants were pressed. Her button-up was crisp. Her cufflinks sparkled. “Which is to say: you’re killing it .”
Winter made a finger-gun gesture at her reflection. “Perfect. That’s the vibe.”
Meanwhile, Lia stood in front of a steamer that hissed at her like a jealous snake.
“Why is this thing louder than my actual anxiety?”
“Because it’s more honest,” said Jules, walking by with a half-zipped dress and a bag of bobby pins in her mouth.
Across the hall, Karina was helping Yuna thread the back of her dress. The two moved like clockwork, Karina lacing the ties with silent efficiency, Yuna adjusting her earrings with one hand while holding a curling iron with the other.
“You nervous?” Yuna asked softly, eyeing her reflection.
Karina shrugged. “I’ve done banquets before.”
“Not as part of a national team.”
Karina smiled. “Still dinner with a dress code and speeches. The part where Ryujin accidentally flirts with the press is just a bonus.”
Yuna giggled. “She’s going to combust when she sees Yeji.”
“Oh, one hundred percent. I give it three seconds before she starts malfunctioning.”
The silence in her room was an anomaly.
Ryujin stood in front of the mirror, her blazer still draped over the chair. The dark green waistcoat she wore felt both too much and not enough, the satin ties brushing her skin like a secret.
She had not told Yeji about the haircut.
Not really.
She did a great job at hiding it since Tuesday.
And she had not shown her the outfit.
That was the point. Tonight was the point.
Her phone buzzed.
[Winter]
leaving in 20
dont be late or maddox will make you sit next to donovan.
[Chaeryeong]
wearing red lips.
decide your power move.
Ryujin grinned.
She tossed her phone on the bed, ran her hand through her loose hair once, and grabbed the blazer.
She did not put it on.
Not yet.
She wanted to walk in holding it. She liked the drama of it.
She checked her nails one last time. Matte navy. It did not match anything. Yet it matched everything.
Then she turned off the light and stepped out.
Team USA slowly gathered, a collective exhale of nerves and excitement.
“You ready?” Karina asked Yuna as they stepped outside the room.
“Are you?” Yuna raised a brow.
Karina gave her a calm nod.
Down the hall, Riley clapped Jinni on the back. “No tripping!”
“I tripped once!” Jinni groaned. “And I saved it with a hair flip!”
“I still have the slow-mo.”
Winter adjusted her cuff and caught sight of Ryujin stepping out of her room, and actually paused.
“ …Damn .”
Chaeryeong followed her line of sight, then grinned. “Oh, she’s going for blood.”
“Wait—are those heels?”
The reaction came the moment Ryujin stepped out of her room, the sharp click of her heels echoing faintly against the walls.
Jules gasped. “No way. She’s taller than me now. This is betrayal.”
Ryujin only gave them a casual look as she passed, blazer folded over her arm, a silver chain catching the light.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, breezing past.
“ Holy shit ,” Jinni muttered under her breath, pausing mid-sip from her water bottle. “She’s not even trying to be legal tonight.”
“Is that velvet?” Winter whispered, already squinting at the blazer like it offended her.
“Yeah,” Chaeryeong confirmed, but her eyes were tracking the satin tie closures behind Ryujin’s ribs like they were a national security concern.
Riley let out a low whistle. “Okay, but why is she walking like she knows we’re all looking?”
“She does know,” Yujin said flatly. “She built that outfit for this moment.”
“And she hasn’t even put the blazer on yet,” Jules added from the far side of the hallway, eyes wide. “She’s carrying it like a prop.”
“Because it is a prop,” Jinni muttered again.
Karina, ever the composed one, just blinked twice and nodded slowly. “I’ll admit it. I wasn’t prepared.”
Neither were any of them. Ryujin was smiling, soft and lazy, like the cameras did not matter and her dark green waistcoat was not cutting off just above the ribs.
Her trousers slung low on her hips like they had been designed just for her.
And the worst part was she looked comfortable.
Effortless .
Like it had not taken a mirror or twenty minutes or half a dozen outfit changes to get there.
“Wait, hold up.” Winter pointed. “ Is that a bruise?”
Ryujin did not bother hiding it. Just above the curve of her low-slung waistcoat, where the fabric stopped shy of her ribs, a faint bruise peeked through, a soft shadow just under her skin, tinted brownish-yellow against the light.
She glanced down, then back up with a shrug.
“Oh. That’s from the final. Canada game.” Her voice was casual, even as the rest of the team visibly flinched. She straightened again, completely unfazed. “I think it adds to the vibe.”
“The vibe ?” Jinni echoed, incredulous.
“Yeah,” Ryujin said, unbothered. “Bruised but hot? It’s a look.”
Yujin cackled. “You’re insane.”
“She’s got the injury and the outfit,” Riley added, still stunned.
“She’s also got a million internet girlfriends. They’re gonna lose their minds.”
“Seriously,” Jinni agreed, laughing. “One photo of her like that and the internet’s gonna collapse.”
“ Collapse ?” Riley scoffed. “They’re gonna declare a national emergency. Someone’s going to write a think piece.”
Winter raised a brow. “She’s showing up looking like that. That’s not flirting with the internet… that’s asking for a hand in marriage.”
Then someone said, “Wait, did Yeji even see her yet?”
Everyone paused.
Chaeryeong blinked. “ Oh no. ”
“You guys smell like Sephora exploded,” Jeongyeon said, stepping out of her room and fanning the air dramatically. “I love it.”
“You look like you ironed your soul,” Riley shot back, raising her brow at Jeongyeon’s crisp tuxedo-style ensemble.
“I did. And then I lint-rolled it for good measure.”
Down the hallway, Jules was dragging a small mirror down the wall trying to catch the light. “Can someone tell me if my highlighter is uneven or if that’s just my uneven face?”
“Both,” Chaeryeong offered helpfully.
“Great, love that, so supportive.”
Meanwhile, Yujin was attempting to walk down the hall in her heeled boots without making noise. Each step echoed like a gunshot. “Why do these sound like I’m entering a saloon to challenge someone?”
“They sound hot,” Karina assured her. “Which is more important than stealth.”
“Speak for yourself,” Riley muttered. “Mine sound like clown shoes. If I go down the stairs and wipe out, avenge me.”
Lia stuck her head out of her room, fixing an earring. “Do we have a plan for photos?”
“Smile. Don’t blink. Don’t accidentally flirt with the press,” Yuna listed.
“Ryujin’s already failed step three,” Jinni called.
Ryujin, leaning against the wall near the elevator, feigned offense. “What the hell did I do?”
“You exist ,” Winter said as she passed by, “in that outfit.”
“She’s got a point,” Jeongyeon muttered.
“I’m going to fight all of you.”
“See? That’s step four,” Chaeryeong noted. “Don’t threaten violence before cocktails.”
Someone yelled from down the hall, “Elevator’s here!”
“Okay, okay, everyone act like we weren’t feral five seconds ago,” Yuna whispered, smoothing her dress.
“Wait… did we even see Yeji yet?” Jinni asked suddenly, frowning like she just realized a very serious oversight.
The hallway fell silent.
Then, like clockwork, every head turned toward Yuna, Lia, and Karina.
The three of them stood by the elevator, suspiciously quiet.
Yuna was the first to crack, grinning like she could not help it.
Lia’s eyes sparkled with poorly concealed glee.
Karina just looked Ryujin dead in the eye and smirked.
“ Oh my god ,” Winter gasped. “You’ve seen her dress!”
“She picked it with us,” Lia admitted. “After trying on like seven others.”
Ryujin froze, halfway through adjusting her chain. “You guys helped her choose?”
“She was dead set on wearing a suit,” Lia said, brushing invisible lint off her blazer.
Karina nodded. “Like, full three-piece. Pressed and perfect. You know the type.”
Yuna twirled one of her earrings, eyes alight with mischief. “Until we intervened.”
From behind them, Winter raised a brow. “Wait… are you telling me you got our captain to wear a dress?”
Karina did not even blink. “Yes.”
Lia tossed a glance over her shoulder at Ryujin, who had just caught up, still adjusting the collar of her blazer.
Yuna grinned directly at her. “And not just any dress.”
Karina smirked, stepping into the elevator as the doors opened. “We made sure her girlfriend’s favorite parts would be left exposed.”
Ryujin narrowed her eyes. “My favorite wha—”
“That was according to her!” Lia interrupted.
“You’ll have to see for yourself,” Yuna added, biting back a smile.
Ryujin stood frozen in the hallway. “…You coordinated this.”
Karina answered, “We simply helped her remember what her girlfriend likes.”
Chaeryeong passed by a beat later, nonchalant. “That wasn’t a warning, by the way.”
Ryujin blinked. “What?”
Chaeryeong grinned. “It was a guarantee.”
And suddenly, Ryujin had never wanted to see her girlfriend more.
As they packed into the elevator, Karina checking her lipstick in the mirrored panel, Lia adjusting her earrings, Jinni clutching her clutch like a lifeline, there was a sudden hush, then a ripple of whispered commentary.
Because just before the doors closed, they saw a flash of black from the far end of the hallway.
Their captain.
Only a glimpse, her figure framed in the hall light, movement fluid as always.
“Wait—was that Yeji?” Jinni whispered.
“I didn’t see her face.”
“She is wearing a dress!”
“Does anyone know what she’s doing before the banquet?”
“She’s probably with Coach,” Karina murmured. “Captain stuff.”
“What’s happening?” she asked, after turning around towards the closed elevator doors.
Chaeryeong glanced at her with a tilt of her head. “They saw Yeji.”
“What?” she said, breath catching like she had just missed the most important detail of a movie. “Where? I didn’t see her!”
Winter’s laugh echoed faintly from inside the descending elevator. “That’s because you were too slow, loverboy.”
“I’m serious!” Ryujin called out, frustration creeping into her voice as she turned toward Chaeryeong, who was still by the elevator buttons. “Where was she? I didn’t even— was she on our floor?”
Chaeryeong just shrugged, like it was not the biggest injustice of Ryujin’s night. “Far end of the hallway. All black. Moving fast.”
As the elevator hummed down toward the lobby, the group buzzed with energy, fixing sleeves, stealing glances at each other’s outfits with playful judgment.
“I swear,” Riley muttered, adjusting her top for the fifth time. “If we get a group photo and I’m blinking, someone better crop me out.”
“Same,” said Winter. “But not before you tag me in the original.”
Ryujin, who had been unusually quiet the past few floors, finally let out a dramatic sigh.
Loud enough to turn a few heads.
“I was this close to crashing out,” she said, lifting her fingers an inch apart. “Not even a glimpse of my girlfriend. I can’t live like this .”
Chaeryeong gave her a deadpan look. “You saw her like two hours ago.”
“Yeah, but that was hours ago. What if she shows up tonight with a new haircut or hair color and I combust on the spot?”
Winter grinned. “You’re dangerously close to combusting already.”
Ryujin put a hand to her chest. “I’m just saying, if Yeji walks into the ballroom before I do, no warning, no prep, I’m going to fall down in front of all the photographers. On purpose.”
“New York Cyclones forward collapses during banquet photos, cites ‘emotional distress ,’” Riley narrated like a news anchor.
Jules nodded solemnly. “Honestly? Valid.”
Lia turned to Ryujin and patted her arm. “Just hold it together for five more minutes.”
“I make no promises,” Ryujin said.
But there was a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth, and her foot was already tapping restlessly on the elevator floor.
The main hall just outside the banquet room had been transformed. Red carpet, a media wall with the Team USA crest and sponsor logos, at least five photographers rotating rapid-fire shots, and a small crowd of credentialed reporters tucked to the side, mic flags in hand. A velvet rope lined the edge, but players could roam the space freely, stepping in for photos or pulling back to mingle.
The energy was light but sharp. A little pageantry, mostly barely restrained chaos.
Winter was first to hit the photo area, already spinning like it was a runway. She threw her arms around Chaeryeong, who hissed through her teeth but did not pull away.
“Stop sticking your elbow in my ribs,” Chaeryeong muttered, though she smiled anyway.
Jinni showed up next in all black, cracking a joke about being their unintentional bodyguard. She held up a peace sign behind Winter’s head during half the group shots. Riley, dressed in a deep green suit with rolled sleeves and white sneakers, fist-bumped the team photographer and took two solo pictures before dragging Chaeryeong and Jinni in for a trio pose.
Seulgi and Jeongyeon arrived with the gravitas of veterans, but Jeongyeon still threw an arm around Ryujin when she arrived, muttering something about “setting the bar too damn high” as soon as she clocked the velvet waistcoat.
Ryujin took her place near the photo wall, blazer slung effortlessly over one shoulder.
The second she stepped forward, the room shifted.
It was subtle, but hard to miss. The cameras started clicking faster, reporters leaning in, teammates pausing mid-conversation to glance over.
Winter whispered loudly to Jinni, “She finally debuted her hair,” and Ryujin pretended not to hear.
Photographers called her name in quick succession.
“Ryujin, look left!”
“Chin down!”
“One with the blazer on, please!”
She indulged them with two poses and half a smirk. She made eye contact with one of the Sentinels’ staff passing by and winked, just to be annoying.
Between flashes, Yujin sidled up with a grin. “Your girlfriend’s gonna short-circuit.”
Ryujin’s lips curved as she stared at the ballroom doors. “That’s the plan.”
Then, inevitably, came questions.
“Ryujin! Any thoughts on your line’s chemistry this year?”
“How’s the recovery after IIHF—fully back in playoff mode?”
“What was the most emotional moment of the tournament for you personally?”
She answered with practiced charm, humble, sharp, and just enough sass to make Winter beam in approval from the sidelines.
But every few minutes, her eyes drifted back to the ballroom entrance.
She still had not seen Yeji.
Yeji had finished her captain’s press rounds first and came up probably to finish up her look for tonight.
Or maybe she was downstairs now, prepping closing remarks with Coach Donovan and confirming lineup presentations for the awards segment later.
She had no idea.
It was not nerves, not exactly. Just that tug again, the gravity of a person who was not in the room yet.
By 6:30, the ballroom glowed in soft amber light, casting shadows against the white linen and golden trim. Music hummed from a jazz trio in the corner. Glasses clinked faintly. Soft conversation rippled beneath it all, a slow build of greetings, laughter, and first compliments of the evening.
The air smelled of citrus and polish and a hint of something floral from the tall arrangements flanking the entryway.
Ryujin walked in with Chaeryeong and Winter, all three in sync without meaning to be. The murmurs in the room shifted subtly, a handful of heads turned, someone raised their phone, but none of them paused.
A ripple moved through the cocktail crowd. A few turned their heads. One of the photographers near the step-and-repeat nudged her assistant.
Someone, a younger athlete from the junior development pool, nearly spilled her drink.
“Here come the heartthrobs," Riley muttered from a few steps ahead, flashing a grin over her shoulder.
Winter raised her glass in mock salute. “We’re not liable for broken hearts.”
Jinni laughed, already halfway to the drinks table. “Speak for yourself. I want the chaos.”
“You’re glowing,” Casey said, giving Ryujin a once-over. “I would kill for that waistcoat.”
“She is glowing,” Chaeryeong chimed in. “It’s the shine of someone with a million girlfriends on the internet.”
Ryujin huffed a laugh. “I’m just trying not to get tackled.”
“Too late,” Jules said, nudging her side. “You’re trending again. Sorry in advance.”
A server passed by, and Ryujin plucked a glass of something bright and fizzy from the tray. She took a sip, greeted Jules with a crooked smile and a clink of glasses.
“Three people asked me about that last goal already,” she muttered as Jules stepped up beside her.
“Only three?” Jules teased. “They’re slacking.”
Ryujin grinned, but it did not quite reach her eyes. They kept drifting, scanning the ballroom, flicking past the photo backdrop, the players clustered near the bar, the media huddled near the main stage.
She was not listening to the music. Or the conversation. Or the compliments.
She was looking for someone.
Her eyes moved constantly; toward the entrance, then toward the back where the AV booth glowed faint blue. The ballroom was filling fast now.
Reporters in black, clipped ID badges swinging.
Media crews from league networks and international outlets angling for shots.
Committee chairs and event organizers greeting club team staff at the periphery.
Cyclones and Sentinels and other club team executives exchanging polite bows.
Players and coaches filtering in by the minute, polished and glowing under the lights.
“Is it just me,” Riley asked, sipping her drink, “or is this fancier than the championship dinner?”
“This is definitely fancier,” Jinni confirmed. “I think I saw someone from Adidas trip over a trophy.”
And then, just past the banquet tables, Ryujin saw a flicker of movement.
Yeji.
But not for long.
She was all motion, slipping between Coach Maddox and a pair of venue staffers with ease. She handed off a flash drive, checked a clipboard, tapped something on a laptop at the tech booth. The way she moved was all precision.
Her heels clicked softly on the tile. Her black dress caught the light for only a second, a flash of structured elegance and exposed skin, before she turned, half-shadowed again, her focus sharp, her mouth forming quiet instructions.
She did not see Ryujin.
Ryujin did not call out. Did not move.
Not yet.
“She’s not mingling yet?” Winter asked, eyes following Ryujin’s line of sight.
“She’s working,” Ryujin murmured.
“Of course she is,” Chaeryeong said. “She probably fixed the lights, approved the drinks, and drafted the program notes.”
“I bet she micromanaged the centerpiece placement,” Jinni added.
“Respectfully,” Riley added, raising her glass, “she’s hot for that.”
Ryujin did not argue. She did not even speak.
Instead, she looked down at her half-empty glass, swirled the remaining drink, and smiled a little.
She had not seen Yeji dressed. Not fully, at least.
But she could feel the gravity of her already.
And she was not sure what would be more dangerous: seeing her now, or waiting a second longer.
“You’re so whipped,” Chaeryeong said fondly beside her.
“I didn’t even see the dress yet,” Ryujin muttered, looking down into her glass.
“Exactly,” Riley said. “That’s the point.”
By the end of the cocktail hour, the buzz of voices swelled beneath the low lights: reporters finishing interviews, federation staff mingling with club coaches, flashes from cameras bouncing off glasses of champagne.
Club executives lingered near the bar. Former players posed for photos. Members of the organizing committee made quiet rounds at the perimeter, already eyeing the stage.
Team USA had gradually splintered into clusters around the room. Some were stationed near the entrance, others lounging against cocktail tables or weaving through the growing crowd.
Ryujin stood with Winter, Chaeryeong, and Riley near the far wall, her second drink untouched in her hand. Every few minutes, her eyes swept toward the double doors.
“Alright, everyone, let’s find our seats,” came a polite voice over the speakers. Someone from the venue staff, ushering in the transition.
“Program starts in five,” a tournament coordinator added as she passed their table.
Chairs scraped softly against polished floors. Tables were labeled by number, gold-rimmed cards positioned between flower arrangements and LED votives. Ryujin’s group began migrating toward theirs: Table 3, close to the stage.
Seulgi and Jules were already there, waving them over.
“Saved you a spot,” Seulgi called.
“Thank you, queen,” Chaeryeong replied, already sliding into the seat beside her.
Ryujin took the one on the edge, the one with the clearest view of the stage. The ballroom had dimmed further, soft amber lights now circling the perimeter, drawing attention to the podium and the team crest projected behind it.
Lia passed behind them on her way to the wings, adjusting her blazer and giving Ryujin a two-finger salute.
“Time to clap for people,” she said with a grin.
Winter grinned back. “I’m only clapping for myself.”
“You would,” Ryujin muttered.
And then a hush.
The banquet had officially begun.
The lights softened, and the chatter faded into quiet as Coach Donovan took the stage. His presence alone steadied the room, his signature navy suit catching the glow of the spotlight.
When he spoke, his voice was clear and warm, cutting through the ballroom with the gravity of someone who had built this team brick by brick.
“Good evening,” he said, nodding once. “And congratulations.”
A ripple of applause. Glasses clinked. Heads turned toward the stage.
He spoke about the journey from training camp to the gold medal game. About grit, character, and the rare chemistry this group had forged. He praised veterans and rookies alike. He smiled at inside jokes the crowd would not understand. He did not name names, not yet, but every sentence rang with familiarity.
“And tonight, we celebrate not just a victory, but a standard,” he said. “One that every single person in this room helped uphold.”
When he stepped aside, the applause was loud, sustained. Ryujin joined in, smiling, clapping, looking every part the polished player she was supposed to be.
Jeongyeon and Lia took the stage next, opening the first round of recognition, honorary pins for performance, consistency, leadership.
Jinni got one. So did Winter. Then Casey. Then Karina.
Each name brought new cheers and shouts from teammates.
Some stood.
Some whistled.
Everyone applauded.
Ryujin clapped when she had to. Smiled when she was supposed to. Elbowed Chaeryeong when she got hers.
But her eyes kept flicking toward the wings of the stage.
Still no Yeji.
No sign of her dress.
No flash of her earrings.
No glimpse of her bob grazing her jaw, or that sharp line of her shoulder under the dim light.
Just the slow weight of anticipation in Ryujin’s chest.
The room buzzed softly as Jeongyeon and Lia stepped down from the podium. There was polite applause, the rustle of shifting chairs, flashes from a few cameras.
At Table 3, someone, Ryujin was not sure who, muttered a quiet joke, and Winter snorted into her water.
The energy had lifted a little. People were starting to relax.
But not Ryujin.
Ryujin barely blinked when the lights dipped again.
A new name was called over the mic, this time clear, strong, and with just the slightest pause for gravity.
“Team USA Captain: Yeji Hwang.”
A shift swept across the ballroom like wind.
Heads turned.
Conversations stilled.
Ryujin’s heart stuttered.
When Yeji finally stepped onto the stage, Ryujin forgot how to breathe.
Winter’s eyes widened. “Oh my god.”
Riley choked slightly on her champagne. “Okay. Wow .”
At first, it was just the sharp outline of Yeji’s black skin-tight dress. It was sleek, minimalist, and deadly .
But then the details came into view, and Ryujin’s grip on her champagne glass tightened.
The spotlight caught her just right, turning the black fabric into something almost fluid, soft where it clung and sharp where it cut.
The dress sculpted every line and hugged every curve of her body.
The top front panel of the dress was opaque, from collarbone to bust, enough to probably hide the rib compression she was wearing, like the dress was selected and designed intentionally just for that purpose.
But what stole the air from Ryujin’s lungs were the mesh panel over her abdomen revealing the defined lines of her abs, impossibly subtle beneath the lights, the flashes of skin at her sides, and the low dip of her back.
She wore her newly cut bob styled in soft waves, just grazing her jawline. Her makeup is subtle. Just a winged eyeliner and warm-toned lips, and she finished the look with simple silver hoops, sheer gloves, and thin black heels.
It was not just that Yeji looked good.
It was that she looked like everything Ryujin could not touch yet .
Her eyes followed the subtle roll of Yeji’s shoulders as she adjusted the mic. The way the gloves framed her hands as she steadied her breath.
Even the simplicity of the silver hoops, how they swayed just enough to remind Ryujin they were real, not a trick of the light.
“I have been many things in my career,” Yeji started, voice clear.
“A daughter, a sister, a rookie, a defender, a captain. But I have never been part of a group that held itself to a higher standard than this one.”
Somewhere to Ryujin’s left, someone whispered damn .
But she did not hear them. She was focused on the way her captain looked talking on stage.
And God.
That fucking dress.
Ryujin could not stop staring.
Her eyes dragged back down to the structured mesh, the clean cutouts, the impossible confidence in the way Yeji wore all of it, like she was not even trying to be seductive, just strong.
But Ryujin was undone anyway.
Because even from across the ballroom, even under all the control and polish, Yeji looked like a secret meant only for her. And Ryujin wanted to ruin it.
Or be ruined by it.
“We showed up in Plymouth not knowing each other. Or worse, thinking we already did.”
Laughter broke out across the tables. It was real and a little self-deprecating. Teammates exchanging side-glances, shoulders nudging.
Yeji did not smile but her cadence relaxed as she continued.
“And at some point, it stopped feeling like a team. And started feeling like a problem… for everyone else .”
Laughter again. Louder this time.
“When I first got the call to captain this team, I remember thinking: this is it .”
She paused, just long enough. The room quieted again.
“I’ve captained before. I’ve been on winning teams. But nothing... nothing … prepares you for the kind of group that makes you rethink what leadership actually looks like.”
A few nods from the coaching staff. A murmur of agreement near the back. A ripple of recognition.
“I walked into camp in January thinking I had to be perfect. That being captain meant being unshakable, all the time. But that’s not what this team asked of me.”
Her voice did not waver. But there was something in the way her hand tensed briefly at her side.
“They asked me to be honest. Be present. Be accountable. They didn’t need someone flawless. They needed someone who would skate the extra drill. Someone who’d pick them up after a bad shift. Someone who’d take the hit and still show up the next day like it meant something.”
At the Team USA table, someone exhaled shakily. Probably Jules. She blinked fast, then faster, and tried to play it off by tilting her head back like she was just rolling her eyes at the ceiling.
Riley grinned, teeth and all, nudging her shoulder gently. Seulgi leaned forward with her elbows on the table, lips parted like she had forgotten to breathe.
Riley clapped once too loudly, then immediately ducked her head and whispered, “Sorry,” even though no one minded.
Karina was already sniffling behind her champagne flute. Winter reached over and handed her a napkin without looking, like it was muscle memory at this point.
Chaeryeong leaned into Ryujin’s shoulder and whispered, “She’s actually gonna make me cry.”
But Ryujin did not say anything.
She could not.
“I’ve been lucky,” Yeji continued, voice softer now. “To lead a lot of lines. A lot of games. But this… this was different .”
Her eyes scanned the room.
“This team reminded me that control isn’t everything . That sometimes, you play your best game when someone pushes you just enough to lose it a little.”
She did not name her .
But she did not need to.
And somewhere in the middle of the banquet hall, Ryujin’s fingers froze against her glass. Her breath caught, shallow and sudden.
Yeji continued. Her voice held steady as she stood under the lights, posture poised, every word measured with that familiar captain’s control. She spoke of resilience, of the grind, of every early morning and late-night skate. She spoke of the team, her team , with conviction that filled the room.
And then, mid-sentence, she looked out over the crowd.
Her rhythm slightly shifted as her eyes landed on one figure near the middle tables.
Their eyes finally locked.
Yeji’s breath caught for just a moment. Enough for her next word to land half a beat late.
Only Ryujin seemed to notice, making her smirk.
Because Ryujin knew what made her react that way.
Yeji blinked, gathered herself, and continued.
“And some of you,” she said, not looking away, “made it a little less miserable than it could’ve been.”
The crack had already slipped through. And it stayed with her through the rest of the speech.
“I’m proud to have worn this letter for this team. And I’ll carry it, every lesson, every bruise, every moment, for the rest of my life.”
Applause followed like thunder.
But Ryujin did not clap.
How could she?
Her hands felt too useless, settled loose on her lap.
Her eyes were locked on the woman standing on stage, the one she had kissed earlier in nothing but a coat and a whisper.
And now that woman stood in front of the world in that dress, looking ethereal.
Looking like Ryujin’s undoing.
All she could do was watch her girlfriend stand there and think:
Holy shit, she’s mine.
“Uh-oh,” Jules muttered under her breath. “There goes Ryujin’s brain.”
“You okay there, champ?” Winter nudged her. “You’re blinking like you just saw God.”
“I basically did,” Ryujin said flatly.
They all watched as Yeji, still calm and composed, got down from the stage, as if she was not currently being worshipped from across the room by at least twenty teammates, hundred different people, and her very stunned girlfriend.
A few staff members reached out for a congratulatory handshake. A camera flashed. Someone from the media called her name.
“I mean,” Riley said, “no offense to the sport, but I would switch teams for that woman.”
“She is your team,” Lia reminded, amused.
“Even better.”
Ryujin was still frozen, glass in hand.
“She knew exactly what she was doing,” Chaeryeong said knowingly. “Look at the cutouts. That mesh. She picked that dress with intention.”
Winter leaned in, grinning. “You’re gonna combust, Ryu.”
Ryujin finally tore her gaze away to mutter, “I am, aren’t I?”
And the team lost it.
Someone snapped a photo of her stunned expression, probably Yuna, someone else offered her water, probably no one, and somewhere on the other side of the ballroom, Yeji looked up briefly, caught Ryujin’s eyes, and smirked like she had heard every word.
Ryujin had not even meant to watch her. She had been half-listening to Riley’s story about how Winter nearly spilled sparkling water all over Coach Maddox’s shoes.
The wavy bob was sharper closer. Way sharper.
In pictures it looked clean, yes.
Elegant and maybe practical.
But seeing it up close, in motion, under the warm lighting of a championship banquet?
It wrecked Ryujin.
The cut framed Yeji’s face like punctuation, drawing all attention to her eyes, her jaw, and the elegant line of her neck and collarbone.
Something that was purposefully hidden by the turtleneck Yeji wore earlier.
Her hair moved just enough when she turned to speak to someone, catching the light as if on cue.
Every part of it felt intentional.
From the dress, to the haircut, to the exposed skin.
Ryujin could not look away.
She had always liked Yeji’s hair, braided or tied up during games, tumbling down in soft waves after, usually practical, sometimes even a little messy when they stayed up too late on calls.
But this… this was weaponized.
Yeji looked untouchable.
And yet Ryujin ached to touch her.
She could still remember what it had felt like earlier, how her fingers slid along the nape of Yeji’s neck in that quiet moment between knocks.
How soft her skin had been where the hairline met skin.
How Yeji had barely breathed when Ryujin’s thumb brushed under the edge of her jaw, like she was being memorized.
Like she wanted to be.
And now she was out there, holding a flute of champagne, nodding politely at the media director, cool and unreadable like she had not just been tangled up in Ryujin’s arms hours ago, hair askew, lips parted.
She felt it then, that soft twist in her gut, the kind that only came when Yeji looked like this.
When the rest of the world got to see her, but only Ryujin got to touch her.
And Ryujin, always the chaos to Yeji’s control, felt her hands curl into fists just to stop herself from walking across the room and undoing it again.
She took a slow sip of water.
Swallowed.
Ryujin forgot to laugh at the punchline of Riley’s story. She just stared and watched as Yeji turned toward her again with that tiny, knowing smirk.
The one that said:
I know you’re looking.
And I’m letting you.
The adrenaline from her speech was still tightening her ribs, or maybe that was the compression, but Yeji’s eyes were already sweeping toward one place only.
The Team USA table.
And more specifically, the figure seated near the end of it.
She had not seen her up close all evening.
She had been pulled in every direction: captain duties, final checks, AV coordination, small talk with executives. She barely had a moment to breathe, let alone search for Ryujin in the crowd.
The buzz in the ballroom never quite settled, but it shifted when Yeji finally made her way toward the Team USA table.
She had shaken a few more hands along the way, nodded politely at committee members, returned half a dozen congratulations with practiced ease.
But when she caught sight of her team, her girls , clustered in the middle of the banquet hall with empty champagne flutes, flushed cheeks, and matching grins, something in her shoulders eased.
She approached the Team USA table slowly, the low ambient light of the ballroom catching on the sheer mesh of her dress as she weaved through the crowd.
Conversations still echoed faintly behind her from the speech, though most of the team had gone quiet again, not out of formality, but because they saw her coming.
Because she looked like that .
Karina nudged Winter in the ribs. Chaeryeong sat up straighter. Even Jules, mid-conversation, let her words trail off when Yeji stepped into view.
Winter calling out, “Look alive, people. Captain’s here.”
Yeji only rolled her eyes, waving off their antics. “I’m off duty,” she said, tapping her name badge. “Just here for the free drinks.”
They laughed. Yuna slid a glass toward her like it was sacred. “You’re glowing, by the way.”
“Lighting’s good,” Yeji said smoothly, even though she knew that was not what Yuna meant.
Then Ryujin finally stood.
It was not dramatic. No scraping chair, no grand gesture. It was instinctive, like it was all she could do.
And Yeji saw her.
Really saw her.
Yeji had seen glimpses earlier: flashes of velvet, a confident smirk across the room, a silhouette framed by flashbulbs and shadows.
But none of it prepared her for the full picture.
Ryujin’s black velvet blazer still hung from her shoulders, sharp lapels catching the light, sleeves pushed slightly up her forearms.
But Yeji’s eyes were already dropping, taking in the cropped waistcoat underneath, the way it hugged Ryujin’s chest but it stopped scandalously high. High enough that every time she shifted or moved just so, Yeji caught a glimpse of the toned line of Ryujin’s abs.
It was not accidental.
Nothing about this felt like it was.
The sliver of skin on display was deliberate and unfair and clearly driving Yeji to madness.
The glint of a silver chain resting on her sternum.
The way her black wide leg trousers clung just right at her hips, held together with a slim belt she did not need.
And those heels, giving her just enough height to draw a soft, internal curse from Yeji’s brain.
And then the bangs.
The bangs were real .
Full, soft, slightly messy bangs that brushed just over her eyebrows. Paired with loose strands pulled out from the effortless bun she had gathered up, a few wisps tucked behind one ear and a few falling out by design.
But it was the way her ears were fully exposed now that stopped Yeji for a second too long. Her piercings were all visible: the familiar small silver hoops on the helix and the second lobe studs.
It was the first time Yeji had seen them with all the quiet boldness that was so uniquely Ryujin.
She looked…
Beautiful .
Ryujin looked so devastatingly beautiful.
And Yeji, for once, had no idea how to hide the way that made her feel.
This version of Ryujin, in heels, blazer draped open to tease at her abdomen, hair pulled up and bangs grazing soft over her eyes, she was not just pretty.
She was stunning.
And she was not dangerous tonight because of how sharp she looked, or how fast she could skate.
She was dangerous because Yeji could not stop staring.
The hairstyle softened and sharpened all at once.
It made Ryujin look confident and charming in the same breath.
And for a half-second, while standing onstage earlier under a hundred watchful eyes, Yeji almost forgot the next line of her speech.
Ryujin saw it.
Yeji knew she did because Ryujin’s smirk bloomed slowly; a quiet, wordless gotcha that made Yeji want to walk off stage and kiss it off her face.
They were feathered just above her eyes, softening her jaw while still making her look stupidly good.
Infuriatingly good.
Yeji could not believe she had not seen them earlier.
She could not believe Ryujin had kept them hidden from her for God knows how long.
Her gaze swept down to the matte navy nails, to the silver chain flashing subtly at her sternum.
Yeji did not speak right away.
She just looked at her girlfriend for another second too long.
Memorizing .
She took a breath, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was trying very hard not to react.
The flicker in her eyes, the slight raise of her brow, the way her fingers subtly curled into her palm like she needed to ground herself.
Because there was her face.
That stupid, perfect face.
Her eyes were sharp, watching Yeji right back. Meeting her gaze like they were the only two people in the room.
Yeji felt something pull in her chest.
She had been so composed all night. Even when she faltered during her speech, even when she had stood in front of hundreds.
But now, looking at Ryujin up close, at every detail, every inch that Ryujin had revealed…
She felt like unraveling was a real, dangerous possibility.
Yeji could not find the strength to speak.
Ryujin… was no better.
She had risen to her feet out of habit when Yeji arrived, almost like muscle memory but standing there now, up close for the first time all night, she looked completely undone.
Her eyes lingered at Yeji’s bare shoulder, then dipped lower, to the smooth curve of her waist, the shallow line down her abdomen, the faint outline of muscle catching under mesh.
Ryujin swallowed.
She had told Yeji earlier, “You look like something poets would give up sleep to describe,”
But now, seeing her at the banquet dressed in something sleek and merciless like it was designed to silence every room she walked into, and styled with elegance and effortless control…
Ryujin swore,
Yeji looked like something poets would spend entire lifetimes trying to name .
Not just sleepless nights, not just a few scribbled verses at 3 a.m., but whole chapters, whole careers lost to chasing the shape of her.
A thousand metaphors still fell short.
Not because she was unknowable, but because her beauty was too precise .
Like language could not keep up.
Like every line written about her would only ever get it almost right.
And Ryujin, who had always had the words, was suddenly left with none.
The entire four tables of Team USA had also gone silent. Karina’s drink hovered halfway to her mouth. Riley had stopped mid-sentence. Even Lia looked like she was holding in a grin, barely.
And then, someone spoke.
“Okay, are we supposed to pretend this isn’t happening?” Jules said, eyes darting between them.
“Oh my god, blink!” Winter groaned, laughing. “One of you blink or we’re calling the hotel staff to separate you.”
Ryujin did not flinch. “Don’t interrupt a moment,” she muttered, not even looking away.
Yeji, finally, cracked a smile. “You’re the one who stood up,” she murmured.
“You’re the one who stopped walking.”
“Wow,” Riley deadpanned. “This is so romantic. I’m actually crying.”
Jinni cleared her throat, fully enjoying herself. “Not to be rude, but if you’re going to have a magnetic eye-lock across the table like this, can we at least get popcorn?”
Yuna leaned forward, chin on her palm. “I just wanna know if you two are telepathically planning a kiss or murder. Either way, I support.”
The laughter broke the spell.
A little.
“You were staring,” Ryujin said quietly.
Yeji blinked, caught .
But she did not look away.
“You’re making it difficult not to.” Her voice was low and private.
She leaned in slightly, just enough for Ryujin to feel the heat of her breath. “You do realize how you look right now?”
Ryujin grinned.
“I have a vague idea.”
Yeji shook her head, biting down a smile, but her fingers itched.
To touch.
To pull her in.
To thank her in a way that had nothing to do with words.
But there were too many eyes.
“It suits you,” Yeji said instead, her voice lower now. “The bangs.”
“Yours does too.” Ryujin’s mouth curled, slow and deliberate. “The bob.”
Yeji rolled her eyes, exhaling through a smile as Ryujin laughed under her breath.
“I should get to my table,” Yeji said, eyes never leaving Ryujin’s.
“I just stopped by to tell you…”
A pause.
A glance that dropped to the blazer, to the bare abdomen, the way those heels added just enough height, then rose again, warmer, softer.
“…my date looks beautiful tonight.”
And just before she turned to leave, Yeji winked at her subtly.
Then she was already walking away, leaving Ryujin frozen, a heartbeat too slow, with nothing to do but stare.
And Ryujin followed her with her eyes the entire way to the next table.
Like she had just seen the most beautiful person in the room, and would spend the rest of the night trying to survive it.
Chapter Text
Team USA had been assigned four tables, arranged in a compact square near the center of the ballroom, each one dressed in deep navy linen and bordered with minimalist silver place cards.
They were clustered close enough to still feel like one group, but scattered enough that Yeji ended up a table away from where she should have been:
Beside Ryujin.
Yeji knew the moment she arrived that she would not be sitting with Ryujin.
Whether it was Coach Maddox’ call or the logistics team trying to avoid a viral “ heated whispering at the gala ” clip, Yeji did not ask.
At their table, Lia shifted to make space. Yeji exchanged a quiet comment with Yuna, nodding once to Casey who sat across from her. She did not turn again, not even a glance over her shoulder, but Ryujin still felt the tether that had been drawn between them the second Yeji walked away.
Yeji eased down gracefully, back straight, lips pulled into a polite smile for her tablemates.
Her name card was perched neatly at Table Four, tucked between Lia and Yuna, both perfectly kind but not the person Yeji had wanted at her side.
Not the person she was still trying not to look at.
It was becoming challenging.
Because she could feel Ryujin staring at her.
She had barely settled into her seat when her phone buzzed against the side of her thigh, like it had been waiting for her to sit down before making its presence known.
The timing was almost rude.
Yeji flicked the screen on with a barely-there glance, angling it low beneath the table. The moment she saw Ryujin’s name, the faintest smile ghosted across her lips.
[Ryujin]
why is my date not sitting next to me
Yeji still did not look up.
She could already feel the heat of Ryujin’s stare from across the room, like a live wire. She could picture the expression Ryujin must be wearing without even needing to check: a crooked smirk, eyes too amused, posture too casual to be innocent.
[Yeji]
Do you see my place card on your table?
She hit send, slipping the phone back into her lap just as Lia leaned in to whisper something about the centerpieces.
Yeji nodded, but she was a bit distracted. Her thoughts were already a table over.
Ryujin did not respond right away.
She sat back in her chair, brows drawn faintly together, one hand loosely cradling the stem of her champagne flute. Her other hand hovered over her phone, thumb tapping against the screen like it might help her come up with a better answer than what she was actually thinking — that no , she did not see Yeji’s place card on their table.
And yes, she had already checked. Twice .
She looked down anyway, just to be sure.
No card.
No Yeji Hwang in neat black serif font on silver.
Instead, there was Riley, Seulgi, Jules, and Chaeryeong on her right, deep into a heated debate over whether the dessert was cheesecake or mousse.
Then to her left, Karina was helping Winter carefully rearrange the cutlery on the dessert plate, rotating the spoon and fork like they were solving a puzzle only they could see.
She hesitated.
[Ryujin]
…yes?
;D
Yeji’s fingers moved with deceptive calm as she lifted her phone, framing a quick shot of the silver place card beside her champagne glass.
The lighting caught the subtle gloss of the ink: Yeji Hwang in sharp, embossed font.
She sent the photo to Ryujin. Below the image came the messages.
[Yeji]
Mhmm.
It’s right here baby.
It only took seconds for Ryujin to respond, as if she had been waiting, phone in hand, frustration mounting.
[Ryujin]
i’m filing a formal complaint
against your stylist
against the federation
against god
It took every ounce of self-control not to react.
But she failed… just slightly.
A soft, involuntary chuckle slipped from her lips before she could stop it.
It was not loud. Not exactly attention-grabbing.
But enough.
Yuna turned to her with an arched brow. “What?”
“Nothing,” Yeji said too quickly.
She cleared her throat, smoothing her expression as she leaned forward, eyes finding the appetizer menu in front of her like it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the room.
Across the ballroom, Ryujin caught the faint laugh, the quick cover-up, the way Yeji leaned her cheek into her hand like she could hide the reaction.
She knew better.
That kind of laugh, that particular tilt of Yeji’s mouth, was for her .
So Ryujin smiled wide and sent one last message.
[Ryujin]
i saw that.
and i’m still offended.
come sit beside me and apologize properly.
[Yeji]
Shut up.
The banquet continued around them like a polished machine: unfolding speeches, awards, and pre-recorded video montages that played on the screens behind the stage.
A highlight reel of the team’s season lit up the room in bursts of light and color: slow-motion goals, triumphant saves, locker room celebrations, and final seconds from the gold medal game.
The crowd clapped dutifully. Some players whistled when their faces appeared on-screen. Coaches leaned in to whisper inside jokes. Laughter rippled here and there.
Everyone at the tables leaned in, murmuring quietly, clinking glasses. Laughter burst out when a video of Yuna’s rookie year interview resurfaced: her awkward pause before answering a question about locker room dynamics drew snorts from half the team. Winter actually slapped the table. Karina covered her mouth to keep from laughing too loudly.
But for Ryujin, everything blurred.
She was barely listening.
Her fingers drifted to her phone again.
[Ryujin]
captain
tell me
why did you sign off on this seating chart again
[Yeji]
I didn’t sign off on anything.
Coach Maddox did.
Ryujin exhaled slowly, screen dimming in her hand.
Somewhere near her, Riley said something about Winter’s mullet phase, and Chaeryeong chimed in with, “She was iconic and brave,” while Jules offered a loud, “She looked like a failed boy band trainee.”
Ryujin’s fingers hovered over the screen, mouth twitching at the corners, even as the crowd around her broke into cheers over another flashback montage playing on the ballroom projector.
Someone across the table raised a toast to Chaeryeong’s helmet hair.
She did not even look up.
[Ryujin]
you’re telling me
you went through five run-throughs
three logistic drafts
four briefings
but missed the part where i’m seated ten feet away from you?
A brief pause. She could imagine Yeji rolling her eyes.
[Yeji]
I didn’t miss it.
I saw it in the final chart.
[Ryujin]
so you did see the chart
and still left me to suffer
There was a delay this time. Long enough for Ryujin to glance up and see Yeji laughing politely at something Yuna said. Chin tilted, hand resting neatly by her glass, posture impeccable.
Then her phone buzzed.
[Yeji]
Because I know myself.
If I sit next to you…
We won’t make it before the entrées even come out.
Ryujin blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then she leaned back slightly, as if the weight of those words had hit her somewhere physical. Her phone stayed in her hand, but her fingers loosened around it, screen glowing up at her like a confession no one else could hear.
Ryujin had not even tried to hide the staring.
From the moment Yeji stepped onto the stage, dressed in that black dress with the sheer mesh panels and the open lower back, Ryujin’s gaze had followed her like gravity.
Even now, Yeji could feel it.
A burn against her temple.
A hum beneath her ribs.
She had not glanced back once, had not dared to return the look.
Because to look would be to give something away.
Because the cameras were still watching.
But Ryujin had not stopped.
She knew she should look away.
Cameras were still rolling. A federation photographer was posted by the far corner, lens sweeping slowly across the tables, catching candid moments for social media reels. Somewhere, a GoPro was blinking red.
Every instinct told Ryujin to break the stare.
To play it cool.
To pretend .
But she could not.
She was seated at Table Three, sandwiched between Riley and Karina. She had not touched her champagne, barely touched the appetizer.
She just sat there, elbow propped against the table, two fingers resting lightly on her lip while she watched Yeji like she was waiting for something to happen.
She saw Yeji pick up her phone under the tablecloth.
Then, she felt her phone buzz.
She glanced down, blinked once, then let the smallest smile tug at the edge of her mouth, lopsided and slow, like it was meant for no one else.
[Yeji]
You’re supposed to look at me like you hate me.
Her thumb hovered over the screen, heartbeat loud in her ears. Across the table cluster, Yeji had not moved. She was still looking at Lia, still nodding slightly as if she had not just texted her ‘rival’ — her girlfriend .
She typed back quickly.
[Ryujin]
i’m trying.
you make it hard captain.
Ryujin was doing a terrible job pretending to engage in conversation.
Chaeryeong had caught her drifting off mid-sentence twice. Riley was watching her with thinly veiled amusement. And Winter, goddess of subtle sabotage, had clearly figured it out.
She leaned in over the table and said, “If you keep burning a hole through her with your eyes, the table might catch fire.”
Ryujin did not even look at her. Just mumbled, “Shut up,” and checked her phone again.
[Yeji]
Stop making it obvious.
[Ryujin]
then stop sitting there like you know exactly what you’re doing to me.
Yeji still had not looked back.
Still had not turned her head.
But her body language had shifted.
She was angled just enough to suggest control, but not enough to be cold. Her fingers moved with practiced ease, grace, and calmness as she tapped her screen under the edge of the tablecloth.
She did not rush.
Ryujin finally lowered her gaze when she felt the reply come.
[Yeji]
What exactly am I doing to you, superstar?
Ryujin sucked in a quiet breath. She stared at her phone like it had just lit a fuse under her skin. Yeji’s message sat there innocently enough.
Just one question.
Punctuated, polished, simple .
But it was not simple at all.
That was Yeji.
She never played these games the way anyone else would.
She did not just flirt. She wrecked .
With calm words.
With steady hands.
With questions that never sounded as dangerous as they were.
Ryujin adjusted her position at the table, elbow resting now on the back of her chair instead of the tablecloth, trying to look unfazed.
As she shifted, her blazer rode up just enough with the motion to expose a fleeting sliver of skin under her cropped waistcoat. The edge of her toned abdomen drawn taut with restraint and tension.
Chaeryeong gave her a side-eye so loaded it might have tipped the table.
Winter let out a noise halfway between a cough and a laugh. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, reaching for her water glass.
Riley arched a brow and did not bother lowering her voice. “You planning to seduce the entire federation or just the captain?”
“Both,” Karina said dryly before Ryujin could answer, not even looking up from her plate. “She’s running on audacity and thirst tonight.”
“I’m gonna make a supercut of just their eye contact from tonight,” Riley muttered, already typing something into her Notes app. “With dramatic music. Or no music. Just their breathing.”
“Is it breathing if Ryujin hasn’t exhaled since Yeji walked onstage?” Jules said from behind her glass of water.
Even Seulgi, the veteran among them, shook her head and muttered, “Back in my day, rivals didn’t make heart eyes during award ceremonies and banquets.”
“ ‘Back in my day’ sounds so… old,” Jules shot back.
Meanwhile, Chaeryeong was trying, and failing , to get her table to behave. “Guys. Just one normal banquet. Please.”
“No such thing,” Winter said brightly, reaching for another tart off Karina’s plate.
Ryujin ignored them and tapped out her response under the table, thumb moving slowly across the glass.
[Ryujin]
asking like you don’t already know
like you didn’t spend minutes getting dressed knowing it would ruin me
like you didn’t walk past my table just slow enough for me to memorize it
[Yeji]
Go on…
[Ryujin]
like you did not pause just long enough for your perfume to stay with me
like you did not wink
like you did not know i would be watching
as if you weren’t hoping i would
Her pulse was loud now, thudding like it knew what her hands were doing, like it had taken sides.
She watched Yeji’s face across the room: serene, unreadable, a perfectly composed picture of elegance and calm.
But Ryujin knew better.
She always had.
Yeji’s fingers moved beneath the tablecloth, the tiniest shift of her hand. Her gaze did not waver from the conversation around her, but a smile teased the corner of her mouth.
Then her screen lit up.
[Yeji]
Then I guess I’m sitting exactly how I meant to.
And you’re staring exactly how I wanted you to.
Ryujin blinked.
Her pulse kicked a sharp, precise strike beneath her ribs like the words had been lined up and aimed straight at her.
She read it again.
A slow breath. Then another.
She dropped her phone facedown on the table before she did something stupid again… like reply.
Or stand up.
Or knock over a glass just to create a scene, to pull Yeji’s eyes to her.
She had not realized how tight her grip had become until her fingers unfurled, faint tremors buzzing under her skin like residual static.
The lights felt too warm now, the room too small, the silk lining of her waistcoat suddenly sticking to her spine despite the hours of air conditioning.
She inhaled, slow and deep, then held it.
Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, just long enough to gather herself, to press down the heat that had been steadily rising in her chest.
She reached for the lapel of her blazer with the casual flair of someone who was trying not to look like she was melting inside.
But she was.
Not from the lights, not from the press.
From the fact that Yeji had the audacity to sit just a table away, back straight, legs crossed, half-lidded eyes doing absolutely nothing, and still wrecking her.
She shrugged the blazer off her arms with a quiet exhale, rolling her shoulders back as she did. She draped it over the back of her chair like it had nothing to do with the fire slowly building behind her ribs.
Across the room, Yeji was tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, cool and composed like she had not just made Ryujin want to crawl under the table and scream into a napkin over a question.
She had that soft, focused look again, almost icy from afar.
Only Ryujin knew it was not.
Underneath the tailored dress and the captain’s poise, Yeji had looked at her like she had already won whatever game they were playing.
Ryujin straightened in her seat, smoothing down the crease of her trousers with both hands. She reached for her water glass and took a long sip.
The coolness helped.
Her thumb brushed the edge of her phone again, tempted to send another message, something reckless or embarrassing or worse…. something honest.
But she held back.
Not yet , she said.
Not until her pulse slowed.
Not until she could look at Yeji again without thinking about the way her voice had sounded earlier in the lounge, heavy and low against her neck, or the quiet kiss she had left behind Ryujin’s ear in her hotel room before heading out to do her captain duties.
Not until Ryujin could trust herself not to do something in front of three coaches, four photographers, and half the damn federation.
So she sat there, breathing.
Trying to remember she was still in public.
Trying to remember she was supposed to be composed.
But then, she made the mistake of looking up, of letting her guard down for one second too long.
Because Yeji was already looking at her.
Not glancing. Not peeking.
Looking .
Like she had all the time in the world to watch her unravel.
Like she knew what Ryujin had been thinking.
Like she had been waiting for her to break first.
Her chin tilted slightly, and her lashes lifted just enough for her eyes to lock with Ryujin’s from across the room. A deliberate, patient sweep, like peeling back the last layer of restraint.
A steady, quiet return of every ounce of attention Ryujin had been pouring into her since the moment she walked onstage.
Ryujin froze.
All the air she thought she had gathered collapsed in her lungs.
It was not the kind of eye contact meant for show. It was not performative. There was nothing coy or playful to mask it.
It was just Yeji, finally meeting her stare, and holding it.
Like she had felt every glance Ryujin had thrown her way and decided now you may have it back .
Ryujin’s pulse kicked up again, but this time it did not race. It throbbed , slow and deep, like it had settled into the weight of something it could not outrun.
Because Yeji was not just looking at her.
She was letting her feel it.
Their eye contact stretched longer than it should have.
Too long for rivals. Too long for teammates. Just long enough for everyone at Table Three to go still.
Winter caught it first. She paused mid-bite. Then slowly lowered her fork and turned to look at Ryujin like she had grown a second head. Riley followed her gaze. Chaeryeong stopped talking altogether.
But Ryujin did not flinch. She did not even pretend to look away.
Then Yeji did something worse than looking back.
She smiled.
Barely.
It was the kind of smile you would not catch unless you were watching very closely. Just the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth. It did not need to reach her eyes because the damage was done.
Ryujin exhaled, lips twitching in return. She was one breath away from a grin, but still holding onto her composure by a thread.
Her phone buzzed again.
[Yeji]
Your mouth is doing that thing again.
Ryujin looked down at her screen, pressed her fist against her lips, and muttered something that sounded vaguely like a curse.
Winter leaned in again, gleeful. “Is she murdering you with her eyes or proposing to you across the table? I can’t tell anymore.”
Ryujin did not answer. She just typed back.
[Ryujin]
you smiled first.
that’s on you.
When she looked up again, Yeji was already turned away, back to sipping water, back to nodding at Yuna, back to pretending like her world had not just tilted a little off-center.
But Ryujin did not stop looking.
Because now she knew.
Yeji had broken first.
She caught it and knew exactly what it meant.
Ryujin watched Yeji pick up her phone again and type slower this time.
[Yeji]
If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to forget there are cameras.
[Ryujin]
then look back at me like there aren’t any.
Yeji closed her eyes briefly.
She had been trained for this — all of this .
The stage presence. The restraint. The interviews. The politics of posture and timing.
But nothing in her career, no final period, no overtime scramble, no gold medal game, had ever made her feel like this .
Like she was seconds away from losing her breath just because someone would not stop looking.
And worst of all, she did not want it to stop.
She let the tiniest smile pull at the edge of her mouth. The kind that lived in the eyes, and the fingertips, and the space between words.
[Ryujin]
come on
just another look
and i’m gonna end up doing something stupid
There was a pause. Long enough for Ryujin to think maybe Yeji would not bite, that she would play it safe.
But then her phone buzzed.
[Yeji]
Define stupid.
Ryujin huffed a breath through her nose, jaw tightening as her thumbs moved before she could think better of it.
[Ryujin]
like standing up
walking across these tables
and kissing you in front of the entire federation
and god help me
i wouldn’t even care if the cameras caught it
Ryujin watched Yeji read her messages line by line. She watched her eyes shine in amusement.
Then Yeji looked up and met her gaze.
This time, heavier. Longer .
Yeji did not smile this time, not even a smirk.
She just looked at her like she was measuring every beat of Ryujin’s pulse from a table away.
And then she picked up her champagne flute, took a slow sip, and tilted her head.
Her eyes said what her mouth did not need to.
Then do it.
Ryujin felt it immediately like a slow drag behind her ribs.
The moment Yeji tilted her head, glass still at her lips, eyes locked on her across the ballroom, Ryujin forgot how to breathe properly.
No smirk. No smile. No raised brow or cheeky reply.
Just that look.
Daring .
Like she already knew exactly what Ryujin would do with it.
And God, she was not wrong.
Ryujin’s fingers tensed slightly around her phone, the device suddenly too small, too fragile for the storm pressing against her chest.
It was not just heat anymore.
It was ignition.
It was not a question now.
It was not even about whether it was reckless.
Yeji did not need to say anything. That look had said it all.
And Ryujin, the idiot that she was, the girl in love that she was , was dangerously close to standing up and making a goddamn scene.
She could already picture it.
Pushing her chair back.
Crossing the floor without a word.
Taking Yeji’s face in her hands and kissing her until someone physically pulled her away.
Until the whole federation had photographic evidence of how utterly, devastatingly gone she was for this woman .
Her jaw clenched.
Not yet , she reminded herself.
As the program entered intermission, the room shifted into a soft buzz. Chairs creaked, glasses refilled, silverware chimed faintly. Laughter rose from the coaches’ table, and someone from Team Media waved over a staff photographer.
The lights dimmed slightly, signaling a short break before the final set of awards.
Ryujin did not move.
Yeji, on the other hand, was tired of waiting.
Their little game, if you could call it that, had reached a tipping point.
Ryujin’s messages were getting bolder, teetering between desperate and daring, but she had not moved, not like she promised.
Yeji rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
That knowing kind.
That captain kind.
The kind that said: coward .
Then, in one fluid motion, she stood.
Her chair barely made a sound against the carpet as she pushed it back and rose, graceful and unhurried. She smoothed the front of her black dress and turned in Ryujin’s direction.
She held her gaze.
It was only for a beat, two seconds, maybe three, but it was enough. Ryujin sat up straighter in her chair. Everyone else might have missed it, but to Ryujin, it was seismic.
Yeji tilted her head. A subtle challenge.
Come on, then.
And then she walked.
Not toward her, not toward the bar, not toward their teammates.
But straight for the ballroom exit.
Ryujin’s pulse shot into her throat.
Riley leaned in beside her and whispered, amused, “If you don’t follow her in the next two seconds, I will.”
Ryujin did not even answer.
She was already pushing her chair back.
She did not even remember standing.
One second, she was in her seat, still clutching her champagne flute like it might ground her. The next, she was rising, body moving before her mind could catch up, her blazer half-forgotten on the back of her chair, waistcoat riding up slightly as she moved too fast.
Somewhere to her left, Chaeryeong made a noise of disbelief.
“Ryujin—hey, where are you—?”
“Bathroom,” Ryujin muttered, already circling the table, already lying, already not caring.
Winter snorted, elbowing Karina with a grin. “She’s so gone.”
That was the cue. Everyone at their table followed Winter’s gaze, heads swiveling as one toward Table Four.
Yeji’s seat was empty.
A beat passed, then came the collective:
“Ohhhhhh.”
Chaeryeong shook her head, but there was a fondness in the gesture, her eyes lingering on the direction Ryujin had disappeared.
“She didn’t even bring her blazer,” she said.
“Bold of her,” Seulgi murmured, half amused, half impressed.
No one followed. Not really. Not with the way Ryujin kept her eyes locked ahead like a target had been marked and she was not going to miss.
Yeji was already gone from the ballroom. Ryujin could feel it.
She slipped out through the side doors, the hush of the hallway hitting her like cool air after fire. The carpet muffled her steps, heels pressing a little too hard as she walked faster, breath coming out sharp.
Then she saw her.
Just past the next turn, halfway down the corridor. Standing by the windows with her back to Ryujin, arms folded neatly, posture relaxed.
Ryujin did not think.
Her chest was still tight from the walk, but her steps had gone silent the moment she saw Yeji.
Backlit by the window glow, Yeji looked composed.
Too composed.
Like she had not just dared Ryujin across an entire ballroom.
Like she had not just set her on fire with a glance.
Like she had not just walked away knowing Ryujin would follow.
But she had.
And Ryujin had.
She reached her in three strides, silent except for the faintest scuff of her heel on the carpet. Her arms slid swiftly on Yeji’s waist.
Yeji gasped, barely . She had not expected to be caught this quickly.
But she did not flinch.
She leaned back into the touch like she had been waiting for it.
And Ryujin leaned forward, nose brushing against the side of Yeji’s neck, lips finding the bare skin of her shoulder, soft, warm, exposed by the cut of her dress.
She pressed a kiss there. Just one.
Yeji exhaled audibly, like it had pulled something straight out of her chest.
The height difference that used to frustrate Ryujin did not matter now. Not with her heels. Not with Yeji tipping her head slightly, granting her access, like a surrender.
“Couldn’t wait a bit more?” Ryujin muttered into her skin.
Yeji smiled, teeth grazing her bottom lip. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Ryujin pulled her closer, chest flush against Yeji’s back now, her cropped waistcoat leaving nothing between them.
“You’re not cold,” Yeji whispered, her hand covering Ryujin’s at her waist. “Where’s your blazer?”
Ryujin kissed her again. “Didn’t need it.”
Yeji turned her head just enough to catch Ryujin’s eyes over her shoulder.
“You’re an idiot,” she murmured.
“And you left me to suffer,” Ryujin whispered back, mouth brushing her cheek now.
“Looks like you survived.”
“Did I really?”
She slid her hand up, fingers trailing across the dip of Yeji’s ribcage. Yeji shivered, grip tightening around Ryujin’s.
“Don’t start something we can’t finish,” Yeji warned, voice already breathless.
Ryujin kissed the corner of her jaw and smiled. “Then don’t walk out on me like that.”
Yeji finally turned all the way to face her, slow and certain.
And Ryujin kissed her like she had been waiting the whole night.
No restraint.
Just heat.
And hunger.
And the quiet, dangerous kind of want that built up under dresses and sideway glances and texting wars across linen-draped tables.
Yeji’s fingers ghosted down her back, then paused.
No lining.
No jacket.
No fabric.
Just skin.
Her fingers spread instinctively, tracing the smooth, open space between the cut of Ryujin’s cropped waistcoat.
Backless .
She was wearing a backless waistcoat.
Yeji pulled back just enough to breathe, lips still brushing Ryujin’s. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a second, she looked genuinely stunned.
Then, quietly, against Ryujin’s mouth, like a curse and a prayer all at once, Yeji muttered,
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Ryujin’s grin was immediate, teeth flashing as her hands curled tighter around Yeji’s waist. “What?” she whispered, far too pleased with herself.
“God, you’re—” Yeji started, but the sentence dissolved before she could finish it.
Ryujin did not need to hear the rest. She tilted her head and kissed her again, because she couldn’t not .
This was the crash after hours of building speed.
And Yeji, even in disbelief, even with her fingers still splayed over Ryujin’s bare back like she might lose her if she let go, kissed her back like she had been waiting just as long.
She pulled her closer, deeper this time, half in protest, half in surrender. Because of course Ryujin would show up half-armored, half-bare, smug and magnetic and completely unapologetic.
Yeji shifted subtly in Ryujin’s arms, the fabric of her dress whispering as she moved.
Her breath was still uneven, her skin still warm from where Ryujin’s lips had found her pulse, but she managed to gather enough clarity to slide her hands up until her arms were resting around Ryujin’s shoulders instead.
Not her back.
Not her waist.
Not anywhere her nails might leave behind the kind of marks they would have to explain later.
The kiss was reckless.
The kind of moment that could unravel everything if anyone walked around the corner. If a door opened. If a flash went off. But neither of them moved to stop it. Neither of them could.
Yeji had pulled Ryujin into the far corner of the hallway near the powder rooms.
What she did not say, and what Ryujin clearly knew the second she followed, was that Yeji had also been holding back the entire night, a thread pulled tight since the speech, since the seating assignments, since the unspoken stare during the program that had nearly lit the entire tablecloth on fire.
Now that the thread had snapped, there was no putting it back.
Their breathing was uneven. The back of Yeji’s dress was creased from how fast she had spun to push Ryujin against the wall.
But neither cared.
Not when Ryujin was kissing her like she was starving, like Yeji had been oxygen all night and she had finally let herself breathe.
Yeji was no better.
Her control, her calm, her perfectly held posture throughout the evening, was unraveling at the feel of Ryujin’s hands, holding her like she was afraid Yeji might disappear.
When they finally broke apart, it was only because Yeji had to breathe. She leaned her forehead against Ryujin’s, eyes fluttering open.
“You said we were going to behave tonight,” she murmured, still breathless.
Ryujin’s lips were parted, flushed, her messy bun slightly messier now from where Yeji’s fingers had tangled in it. She gave a crooked smile, a little dazed, a little too proud.
“I tried,” Ryujin said. “You’re the one who lured me here.”
Yeji let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You were texting me threats , Ryujin.”
“ Flirting ,” Ryujin corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “You said you were going to walk across the room and kiss me in front of everyone.”
Ryujin did not even blink. “Still an option.”
Yeji tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “You said I looked too good.”
“That’s not flirting. That’s a fact.”
Yeji exhaled sharply, then leaned in again, this time slower, less frantic, her lips brushing once against Ryujin’s cheek before settling at her ear.
“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” she whispered. “You’re still wearing a waistcoat with no back.”
Ryujin shivered under the words, her pulse picking up again.
The kiss lingered between them, heavy and warm in the dim hallway. Ryujin’s breath slowed against Yeji’s lips, both of them still leaning in close, like neither of them was quite ready to step away from the space they had carved out, away from the lights, away from the ballroom, away from the world that always seemed to be watching.
Yeji was the one to pull back first, just slightly. Her fingers slid gently through Ryujin’s freshly cut bangs, brushing them to the side so she could see the full shape of her face.
She stared for a second, longer than she meant to, caught between surprise and something softer.
“You really cut it,” she murmured, voice quiet with something like awe. “It suits you. A lot.”
Ryujin tilted her head into Yeji’s touch, her voice low and teasing. “Glad you approve.”
Yeji kept her gaze fixed on her, then slowly blinked, realization dawning across her face.
“…Is that why you always had your cap on backwards whenever we talked on FaceTime?”
Ryujin froze for a second, then burst into a soft, guilty laugh.
Yeji pulled back a little more, giving her a slow once-over. “You had it on earlier, too,” she added, piecing it together aloud. “In the lounge.”
“I had to hide it somehow,” Ryujin said, grinning now, face flushed.
Yeji leaned her head back against the wall slightly, letting out a breathy laugh. “I thought you were just trying to seduce me.”
Ryujin tilted her head, smirk creeping in as she stepped a little closer, one hand still loosely resting on Yeji’s waist. “And did it work?”
Yeji did not back away. Instead, she arched one brow, mouth tugging into a smirk.
“Why did you think I flirted as a greeting back in the lounge?” she said, tone even, dry as ever, like the question was its own answer.
Ryujin blinked.
Then she laughed, head ducking, forehead briefly brushing against Yeji’s shoulder as the warmth bloomed too fast, too real in her chest.
“It worked. Way too well.”
“I kinda thought you would’ve already noticed,” Ryujin said, her voice low. “Back when you came up to my hotel room. ”
Yeji tilted her head, curious. “Really?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t wearing my cap then.” Ryujin gave a little shrug, eyes flicking upward like she was mentally tracing back the memory. “My hair was still damp. I hadn’t styled it yet, just brushed it all back after the shower. The bangs were pretty obvious to me, so I figured you’d clock it right away.”
Yeji blinked, then gave a small, incredulous laugh, stepping in just a little closer. Her eyes softened, gaze locked on Ryujin’s, full of amusement and something far more tender.
“Ryujin,” she said, voice dry but warm, “how could I have noticed?”
Ryujin raised an eyebrow. “Because it was right there?”
Yeji smiled, her thumb brushing once along the edge of Ryujin’s fringe again. “The moment the door opened,” she murmured, “I was tackled for a kiss.”
Ryujin‘s smile widened, trying to hold back the laugh building in her throat. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Yeji said, her grin threatening the corners of her usually composed face. “I wasn’t exactly focused on your hair.”
They stayed like that for a moment. Cheeks flushed, chests still rising unevenly, the distant hum of the people at the banquet carrying faintly through the corridor. Then Yeji exhaled, stepped back just enough to adjust Ryujin’s waistcoat and smooth her own dress back into place.
“Ready to go back?” she asked, voice quieter now, but not unsure.
Ryujin nodded. “If you walk in first, I might actually survive it.”
They laughed softly as they walked in the hallway, heels clicking gently against the carpet.
They did not make it far, though.
Because Yeji’s dress was dangerous in the quiet. The mesh glinting faintly over her abdomen, the sharp lines of fabric drawing toward the open back, the low cut dipping beneath her shoulder blades.
But it was her neck that Ryujin could not stop staring at.
The bob, styled soft earlier, had shifted now. Slightly tousled from the evening. One side tucked neatly behind her ear. The other side loose, framing her cheek.
But her collarbones…
The light hit it just right. She was glowing.
Yeji had barely turned the corner when Ryujin caught up, grabbing her by the wrist and spinning her around with a force that should have jolted but did not.
Yeji met her halfway, lips crashing into Ryujin’s.
It was full of moments spent pretending to be just teammates again.
Just colleagues.
Just two players with matching jerseys, not matching heartbeats.
There was nothing delicate about the way they kissed this time.
Yeji’s fingers threaded through the waistcoat, tugging her close until there was no space left. Ryujin responded in kind, one hand curling around Yeji’s jaw, the other sliding down to anchor them together at the hip.
A breath hitched between them, Ryujin murmuring some words into Yeji’s mouth. Or was it a curse? It did not matter what it was. Yeji was already pulling her closer again, backing blindly down the hall without breaking contact.
Ryujin kissed her harder, lips tracing down Yeji’s cheekbone, along her jaw, lower. She did not even notice when Yeji’s hand slipped from her shoulder and skimmed the wall beside them, searching blindly.
And then there it was.
The sound of a doorknob turning, the edge of a door nudging open behind her.
It clicked open with barely a sound.
Ryujin barely had time to register where they were going before Yeji pulled her inside by her waist, kissing her again just as the door shut behind them with a soft click.
The room was dim. It was some kind of unused conference suite, half-lit by the corridor spill and the soft glow of recessed ceiling lights.
It did not matter.
Nothing mattered except the feeling of Yeji’s mouth on hers, familiar and new all at once, like the adrenaline of their stolen exit had nowhere else to go.
Like the heat they had barely touched back in the hallway was now rising too fast to contain. Her hands were warm on Yeji’s bare waist, thumbs pressing into skin with startling focus.
Ryujin walked them backward until Yeji’s back gently hit the table. She did not let up. One hand was resting at Yeji’s hip while the other slid up, brushing the fabric of her dress just enough to make her shiver, like the locked door had lowered something in her chest.
Like now that they were alone in private, she could finally let it all show.
With a firm but careful touch, she eased Yeji up. Her hands slid to the backs of her thighs, coaxing her gently onto the table. The movement was fluid. Yeji gave no resistance, lifting herself without a word, legs shifting as she settled on the surface.
Ryujin stepped forward into the space, her hands settling at Yeji’s legs, thumbs pressing lightly at the inside of her thighs through the fabric, just enough to feel her tremble.
Yeji looked down at her, a hint of breathless amusement caught between her parted lips. “You know we have about fifteen minutes before someone looks for us.”
Ryujin’s mouth curved upward.
“Then we better make it count, Captain.”
Ryujin kissed the side of Yeji’s neck, slow and indulgent. She did not rush. Her hands mapped familiar lines like she had not already traced them dozens of times before.
Yeji responded in kind, arms curling around Ryujin’s shoulders carefully. She could feel it again: bare, warm, no layers of fabric in the way. The cropped waistcoat stopped just high enough, the backless cut deliberate and devastating.
Her hands rested at the back of Ryujin’s neck, steadying her even as her knees wobbled slightly from the way Ryujin’s lips lingered along her jaw.
“This is a really bad idea,” Yeji whispered.
Ryujin smiled against her skin. “You say that like it’s going to stop me.”
Yeji exhaled a laugh, barely holding still. “We shouldn’t be doing this in a random room.”
“And yet here we are.”
Yeji finally opened her eyes, the ceiling lights catching in her lashes as she looked down at Ryujin, her flushed cheeks, her crooked smile, the way her waistcoat was bunched slightly from how quickly she had moved.
The distant laughter and muffled music from the ballroom was far away.
In here, there were only the two of them, and the sharp line of tension that had been stretching tighter all night.
Ryujin’s hands became steady at Yeji’s waist, fingers slipping beneath the mesh panel of her dress, warm against skin that had been untouchable for hours.
Her mouth found Yeji’s jaw again.
Then lower.
Along the curve of her jaw, then the line where her pulse met skin, the same spot she had been glancing at since the first glimpse of that dress.
She felt it beat against her lips.
Yeji inhaled sharply, her hands bracing on Ryujin’s shoulders. Her head tilted slightly to the side, enough that the soft waves of her bob moved just enough to bare more skin.
She felt Ryujin smile against her pulse point.
“You left your whole neck open,” Ryujin murmured between kisses, voice warm and low. “What did you think was gonna happen?”
Yeji laughed a quiet, breathless sound, but it melted into a sigh when Ryujin kissed just beneath her ear, careful not to leave a mark but bold enough to make her knees weak.
Ryujin let her hands settle at Yeji’s hips, thumbs brushing the sides of the dress, careful not to wrinkle it, though she was tempted to ruin it.
Her mouth trailed down again, slower this time. Along the slope of Yeji’s neck, down to the hollow where the collarbone met shoulder. She kissed there, then again, a little firmer.
A little more like a claim.
Yeji exhaled hard, her hands clutching faintly at the lapels of Ryujin’s waistcoat.
“Ryu,” she whispered, barely audible.
But Ryujin only hummed, her lips still ghosting against her.
Then she felt it, a little too much pressure, the slow drag of Ryujin’s mouth just under the hinge of her jaw.
A near-mark.
Intentional .
Yeji’s breath hitched.
“ Ryujin .” she said again, sharper this time, her fingers tightening in the fabric.
“I know.”
But she did not move away. She just stayed there, trying to remember they were minutes from walking back into a ballroom filled with people, cameras, coaches.
Yeji’s heart pounded so loud it drowned out everything else.
Her hands slid down Ryujin’s back, palms skimming over the bare strip of skin exposed by the waistcoat. Her fingertips grazed the edges of muscle and heat, and Ryujin inhaled sharply. Not from surprise, but from the way Yeji touched her like she knew exactly what she was doing.
Ryujin’s waistcoat shifted slightly under Yeji’s touch, the satin ties taut but fragile. For a brief second, Yeji’s thumbs hovered at the center of the knot, the vulnerable part that held everything in place.
Ryujin felt it.
The pause.
The question not asked out loud.
She answered by leaning in, lips brushing just below Yeji’s jaw again, slow and deliberate. Her voice was barely audible, warm against skin.
“Go ahead, captain.”
Yeji’s thumbs lingered over the delicate knot at the small of Ryujin’s back, satin edges smooth beneath her fingers.
Ryujin stood there waiting, quiet but unyielding, like she was not offering herself.
Not exactly .
But daring Yeji to take what she wanted.
And Yeji wanted her .
God .
She wanted her so bad .
Yeji did not pull the ribbon. At least, not yet.
But her hands settled there, grounding her. She tilted her head slightly, letting Ryujin press a line of kisses down her neck, lingering at the hollow of her throat. Ryujin’s lips moved like she had all night to do this, like this was something she had been waiting to memorize.
She swallowed. Her hands moved before she decided to move them, fingers sliding carefully to the center of the knot. Her grip tightened, just barely, testing the tension, the fragile give of fabric beneath pressure.
Ryujin did not flinch. She simply kissed Yeji again, slower this time.
The room was too quiet now. The hum of the ballroom far behind them, muffled by heavy walls.
Time felt suspended; a brief, dangerous in-between.
Yeji let her forehead rest against Ryujin’s, her voice barely a whisper. “If I undo this, there’s no going back.”
Ryujin’s eyes did not leave hers. “I know.”
A beat.
“And?”
Ryujin reached up, thumb brushing lightly against Yeji’s lips, tracing the shape of her restraint.
“I’ve been gone since the second you walked in.”
Yeji exhaled once and let her forehead press more firmly against Ryujin’s.
Her legs slid off the table one at a time, heels touching the floor again as she stood back up.
Then, slowly, her fingers drifted downward, slipping between them to where the back of Ryujin’s waistcoat was fastened by a single knotted tie.
Yeji let the knot slip between her fingers.
Then she pulled.
The ballroom had not fully quieted down yet.
Intermission meant clusters of coaches and players lingering near the dessert table, photographers swapping lenses, and federation staff conferring over programs.
Back at the Team USA table, half the team had already sat back down, idly scrolling through their phones or picking at the last crumbs of cake.
“Okay,” Jules finally said, setting down her glass. “Where the hell did our star forward and our captain go?”
Winter did not even look up. “Ryujin said ‘bathroom,’ which is code for ‘I’m about to risk my entire career.’ ”
Riley snorted into her water. “She left like she was on a mission. Didn’t even finish her champagne.”
Seulgi offered a more cautious take. “Maybe they’re just… catching up?”
“Sure,” Chaeryeong muttered. “With Yeji conveniently disappearing a minute before?”
Karina leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed in amused suspicion. “They were eyeing each other like the room was about to catch fire.”
Jules leaned forward, conspiratorial. “Do you think they’re just talking?”
A silence settled across the table. Then:
“No,” everyone said at once.
Karina coughed. “Should we… go look?”
Chaeryeong shook her head. “If they’re not back by the next part of the program, I’ll file a missing persons report. Until then, let them be.”
Winter raised her fork. “To strategic exits and captains who know exactly what they’re doing.”
The clink of cutlery followed, laughter quietly rippling through the table, because really, they had all seen this coming.
Riley laughed under her breath. “I give them ten more minutes before one of them comes back looking wrecked and pretending nothing happened.”
Jules glanced at the ballroom entrance again. “I give them five.”
“May they return before Coach Donovan starts asking questions.”
That drew a groan and scattered laughter, but still, two seats remained empty, and no one really expected them to stay that way for long.
Back in the quiet of the conference suite, Ryujin’s back hit the wall with a soft thud, and Yeji’s breath was still warm against her lips when a muffled shift in sound reached them, applause tapering off, a voice through a mic testing levels.
Yeji pulled back, just enough to blink toward the ballroom doors.
“…Shit. That’s the program starting again.”
Ryujin did not move.
Yeji exhaled sharply. “Ryu…”
“Mm?” Ryujin still did not stop.
“We have to go back,” Yeji breathed, though her grip tightened slightly, contradicting her own words.
Ryujin pulled back just enough to blink at her. “What? Now?”
“The program resumes in like five minutes.” Yeji murmured, though her tone lacked any urgency.
She pulled back just barely, forehead resting against Ryujin’s.
“You ruined my makeup,” she said, her breath uneven.
Ryujin’s hand slid down Yeji’s side as she let out a soft huff of laughter. “I’m literally half-undressed.”
Yeji smirked, eyes closed. “Touché.”
But neither of them moved.
Yeji’s fingers were still threaded loosely through her hair, the pads of her thumbs brushing rhythmically against the back of her neck, grounding, coaxing.
Like she knew, without being told, that Ryujin needed a moment.
And Ryujin, breathless, blinking slowly as her pulse came down, let herself lean into it.
Because the truth was: Ryujin was not ready to return yet.
To the noise. The formality. The watching eyes.
Not when her lips still tingled from the taste of Yeji’s skin.
Not when her hands still remembered the shape of her waist beneath sheer mesh and structured seams.
“Alright,” Yeji whispered, barely above a breath. “Turn around.”
Ryujin raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Already?”
Yeji gave her a look. “So I can fix your waistcoat.”
Ryujin chuckled under her breath, low and quiet, but obediently turned, allowing the silk panels of the cropped waistcoat to fall back into place.
Yeji’s fingers worked with practiced grace, pulling the satin ties taut, smoothing out the fabric, realigning the seams with a kind of tenderness no one else ever got to see.
Ryujin did not say anything at first, just reached for the waistband of her trousers with practiced fingers, fastening the clasp and button with a muted snap, then smoothing the fabric out.
Her back still faced Yeji, but her posture had changed, less reckless now, though the flush had not fully left her skin.
She ran both hands down the front of her thighs, steadying herself, then reached up to her head. The messy bun she had thrown together earlier had half-fallen apart, loosened strands slipping past her ears and over her cheekbones.
Ryujin sighed through her nose, then calmly gathered the strands back with both hands, twisting them into a cleaner bun. Her fingers moved swiftly, as if familiar with the ritual, a quiet reset that she could do by feel alone.
A few shorter pieces still framed her face, stubborn and soft, but the rest was neat now.
Ryujin turned to face her again. “You sure I don’t look like I’ve been thoroughly somewhere?”
Yeji shrugged, tone casual but gaze deliberate. “You do.”
Then, with a smirk that made Ryujin’s knees weak, she added, “But it’s nothing a little lipstick and confidence can’t cover.”
And for a moment, they just stood there again. Not kissing. Not speaking. Just breathing each other in. The air smelled Yeji’s perfume, mixed with the scent of velvet, and whatever tension still hung in the shadows around them.
“My lipstick’s a mess.” Yeji touched the corner of her mouth, then eyed Ryujin’s still-slightly-swollen bottom lip. “Yours too.”
“I didn’t bring anything,” Ryujin admitted, unbothered.
Yeji rolled her eyes. “Who the hell makes out in the hallway and doesn’t bring a clutch?”
Ryujin blinked. “Who the hell brings a clutch to make out in the hallway?”
“I do.” she said flatly, “Here. Take mine.”
“Wow. You really are a captain through and through.”
Ryujin accepted the lipstick tube, inspecting the color with narrowed eyes. “Like this is any less suspicious. We both have the same lipstick.”
“Better than looking like someone devoured yours,” Yeji shot back, smirking.
Ryujin paused mid-application. “Did someone?”
Yeji just shrugged, eyes twinkling. “I plead the fifth.”
Eventually, Ryujin stepped back.
Not far. Just enough to see her properly.
Her gaze flicked down the length of Yeji’s dress again.
The curve of her waist.
The faint sheen of her skin under the lights.
The ribcage that still bore bruises from gold medal glory.
The rib compression safely tucked underneath the thin fabric of her dress.
The steady rise and fall of her chest.
“Let me be annoying one more time,” Ryujin said, voice light but eyes too earnest.
Yeji blinked. “What now?”
“You’re unreal, Yeji.” Her throat worked. “Like—stupid levels of beautiful. It’s not fair.”
Yeji smiled. Really smiled. “I’m already yours, Ryujin.”
Ryujin nearly choked. “You can’t say that here.”
Yeji tilted her head, playfully innocent. “Why not?”
“You’re in a dress like that.”
“And you’re in a backless top, with your hair pulled up like a villain,” Yeji shot back. “You think I’ve survived this night unscathed?”
Yeji reached for the handle of the service door. “We should go.”
Ryujin nodded. “We’re already going to be accused of sneaking off.”
“We did sneak off.”
“Exactly.”
Yeji pulled Ryujin out of the conference room quietly, fingers curling around hers and holding tight. She did not speak, did not glance back, just moved with purpose, guiding them through the side door that led into the quieter hall.
Their hands stayed linked, fingers intertwined, the warmth of it grounding. Ryujin did not ask where they were going. She did not care where Yeji was planning to lead her.
The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft glow of overhead sconces. Their footsteps barely made a sound against the carpet. Every few steps, Yeji slowed, head tilting slightly, listening.
They rounded a corner, just a few feet from the alcove that would take them past the side entrance of the ballroom, when the distant shuffle of heels echoed ahead. Both of them froze.
Before Ryujin could even voice a question, Yeji pivoted with startling precision and pressed her against the wall.
The contact was firm but careful, just enough force to keep Ryujin from stumbling, her back landing with a muted thud against the carpeted paneling.
And then, Yeji’s hand was over her mouth.
Her breath caught in her throat, not from the impact, but from the sudden closeness. Ryujin let out a breath she had not realized she was holding, heart slamming in her chest for a very different reason now.
Ryujin’s eyes widened slightly, startled, but she did not move. She could feel Yeji’s breath on her cheek, could see the faint flicker of alertness in her eyes, sharp and focused. Her expression was composed, but just beneath the surface was something almost electric.
Adrenaline, maybe.
Or something far more dangerous.
Yeji’s body was flush against hers now, barely an inch of space between them. She did not speak. She did not even blink. Just waited, listening to the approaching footsteps with deadly stillness.
Her body was angled protectively, she peered around the corner. The voice down the hallway grew louder, then softer, passing them.
Whoever it was had turned down another corridor or slipped through one of the banquet doors, leaving behind only the muffled hum of music and the soft thrum of Ryujin’s pulse in her ears.
Neither of them breathed.
When the sound faded and silence returned, Yeji turned her head slightly, her mouth just a few inches from Ryujin’s ear.
“All clear,” she murmured, but did not move away.
Ryujin’s lips parted slightly beneath Yeji’s palm, and in a breathless murmur that was more felt than heard, she whispered against her skin, “You really like pinning me to things, huh.”
Yeji went still.
Her eyes flicked down to meet Ryujin’s again, and this time they did not just hold tension, they shimmered with it. Her fingers twitched ever so slightly against Ryujin’s mouth.
Ryujin blinked up at her. “You could’ve just said hide.”
Yeji scoffed, “And miss the chance to pin you to a wall? No thanks.”
Ryujin smirked, even as she was utterly cornered with her heart racing and lips parted.
“Are you trying to lead us back to the ballroom,” she whispered, low and warm near Yeji’s ear, “or are you suggesting another round?”
Yeji’s eyes moved back to hers, sharp and unreadable in the low light.
Her voice, when it came, was barely more than a breath. “Do you want another round?”
Ryujin grinned beneath her hand.
Mischievously.
Dangerously .
“Always.”
The curve of her grin was hidden by Yeji’s palm, but the rest of her gave it away. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, dark with amusement, and those faint whisker dimples carved into her cheeks like they had a mind of their own.
Yeji finally stepped back, barely tugging Ryujin by the hand again. “Later,” she said, composed once more. “We’re not getting caught over you being a menace.”
“I’m your menace,” Ryujin muttered.
Yeji did not disagree.
“Come on. We’re not in the clear yet.”
And with that, they slipped deeper into the hallway, shadows in motion.
They walked side by side through the quiet hallway, Yeji’s hand still wrapped around Ryujin’s, fingers laced like it was the most natural thing in the world. Their steps were slow, deliberate, neither quite ready to let the moment go.
Ryujin leaned in, her voice low, teasing just beneath the whisper. “You sure you don’t want to sit next to me?”
Yeji’s thumb brushed along Ryujin’s knuckles once before replying.
“My table has a better view.” She said, “I like watching you sulk.”
Ryujin huffed softly under her breath. “Watching? You were barely looking at me.”
Yeji finally turned, eyes sharp, smile barely there. “I spared one glance at you and look where it got us.”
Just before the soft golden lights of the ballroom came back into view, Yeji slowed her steps.
Ryujin, still walking half a pace behind her, did not notice at first. Her hand was still loosely curled around Yeji’s, thumb brushing idle circles against her knuckles, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But Yeji had already seen the first few shadows moving beyond the entrance. Staff. A few guests lingering near the edge of the main floor.
Too close now.
Too visible.
She stopped.
Ryujin did too, their hands still joined in the dim light of the hallway, tucked behind the safety of the corner just shy of the ballroom doors.
Yeji did not speak. She just looked down at their joined hands.
Then up.
Ryujin met her eyes, expression unreadable but quiet.
There was no pout, no challenge, no question.
Just understanding.
Ryujin did not let go first.
Yeji did.
She eased her hand from Ryujin’s grip gently, so gently it almost felt like an afterthought, but her fingers lingered for a beat too long against Ryujin’s, like muscle memory refused to let go even when her mind had already decided to.
No words passed between them. There was no need. Not now.
Ryujin glanced toward the ballroom entrance, then back at her, the usual smirk replaced with something softer.
Yeji smoothed the front of her dress. Straightened her posture.
Captain again.
And then, without looking back, they stepped forward.
The low hum of conversation barely masked the quiet swoosh of the doors when they slipped back in.
Ryujin kept her head down just enough to avoid the immediate stares, her waistcoat still knotted neatly.
The lights inside the ballroom felt too bright after the hush of the hallway.
Too revealing.
But no one said anything.
Not right away.
Her teammates immediately stared at her once she reached their table.
Chaeryeong was the first to glance at her, her brow arching all the way to her hairline. Winter pressed her fist against her mouth like she was trying not to burst. Karina swiveled dramatically in her chair to face her head-on, and Riley mouthed took you long enough with all the subtlety of a flare gun.
Chaeryeong did not even pretend to look away. “Bathroom, huh?” she muttered under her breath.
She tried not to flinch. She just calmly pulled out her own chair, sat down without a word, and reached for her glass of water like she had not just been pinned against a hallway wall minutes ago.
Ryujin’s fingers twitched around her cutlery. She tried to act normal.
Failed.
“Nice waistcoat,” Winter whispered across the table, eyes gleaming. “Looks freshly tied.”
“Eat your bread,” Ryujin muttered, cheeks pink, but her voice was light.
“You look flushed,” Karina added, not bothering to hide her grin. “Is it hot in here?”
The program resumed, lights dimming slightly as the host returned to the stage, and slowly, conversation turned back toward speeches and upcoming awards.
Ryujin reached for her champagne, her pulse still ticking fast under her skin.
The air around the Team USA table was buzzing, but her eyes flicked instinctively to the spot one table away.
Yeji’s seat was empty.
She blinked. Then checked again.
Still empty.
She pulled her phone out under the table, thumb tapping fast.
[Ryujin]
where’d you go?
[Yeji]
Bathroom
Ryujin stared at the screen, teeth pressing into the inside of her cheek.
[Yeji]
Before you get any idea
No.
That was not a signal.
Ryujin blinked down at her phone, the corner of her mouth twitching despite herself.
She typed, quickly, hidden under the tablecloth.
[Ryujin]
what if i’m already halfway out of my chair
[Yeji]
Then I suggest sitting your ass back down.
Like a professional
Like a composed, innocent, totally unsuspicious national athlete
[Ryujin]
who just got mauled in a hallway
[Yeji]
Don’t make me come back there and do it again
Ryujin bit her lip, hard, to keep the sound in.
[Ryujin]
you’re lucky i like my career
and i like yours
because if i ruined the best defenseman in the league’s career
what thrill would be left in the game?
[Yeji]
Focus.
Program’s restarting.
[Ryujin]
so bossy when you’re flustered
Yeji’s seat remained empty for the next minute.
Then the lights dimmed again, the soft chime cueing the next portion of the evening.
An announcer returned to the mic at the front of the room, voice polished and cheerful.
“And now, to present the The USA Hockey Excellence Award, please welcome back to the stage, Team USA captain, and your IIHF tournament MVP, Yeji Hwang.”
There was a burst of applause.
Ryujin turned just in time to see Yeji emerging from the far left, steps smooth, composed, expression unreadable, except to her.
Because Ryujin saw it: the ghost of a smirk tugging at Yeji’s lips when their eyes met again under the soft spotlight.
And maybe it was not fair, how effortlessly put together Yeji looked, like she had not been undoing Ryujin breathless in a conference suite twenty minutes ago.
Ryujin exhaled slowly, already reaching for her water glass again.
This woman was going to end her.
There was a shift in the room as Yeji stepped toward the podium. The light caught the sharp lines of her dress, her shoulders pulled back in perfect posture, calm and composed.
Her voice carried easily across the room, firm and steady — the voice of a captain.
“ This next honor is one we present each year to the player whose performance throughout the international campaign stood above the rest. This player not only delivered when it mattered most, but also did it with grit, creativity, and a little bit of chaos… ”
A few scattered laughs rose from the audience.
“…someone who constantly challenges the limits of speed and instinct, and makes it look terrifyingly effortless.”
Yeji paused for a breath, brief but noticeable.
“She led Team USA in points this season, broke through every defensive scheme thrown her way, and still had the audacity to smile through it.”
Ryujin sat motionless at her table, hands in her lap, eyes fixed on Yeji. Her pulse was audible in her ears.
“This year, that presence was impossible to ignore. From the first drop of the puck to the final seconds of overtime, she didn’t just show up. She defined what it meant to wear this jersey.”
Ryujin felt her entire table shift. Jules’ head whipped toward her. Riley actually gasped. Karina’s elbow found Winter’s ribs.
And Ryujin…
She blinked.
Slowly.
Stupidly.
As Yeji looked directly at her.
“Please welcome the recipient of the 2025 USA Hockey Excellence Award… Shin Ryujin.”
A beat of stunned silence.
Then the table erupted.
Chairs screeched. Utensils clattered. Half the team stood in sync while the rest chanted her name. Yuna let out a full scream. Chaeryeong turned to Winter and said, “I think she’s going to die.”
Ryujin muttered, almost inaudibly, “ Holy shit .”
It was not the award. It was the way Yeji said her name.
Yeji was still looking at her.
Still holding the envelope.
Still waiting like she had not just turned Ryujin’s pulse inside out in front of everyone.
“Hurry up! Captain’s waiting.”
Ryujin rose slowly, pushing back from the table with hands that only shook a little. She tried to walk with control, but her mouth betrayed her.
A smile, too wide. Too real.
Applause echoed across the ballroom. The crowd loved her. They always had.
But applause did not matter. The cameras did not matter.
Only one thing did.
She had done this before. She had accepted awards, shaken hands, stood under too-bright lights while cameras clicked and her teammates clapped like they meant it. She had given speeches half-laughed through, played the part of the confident forward, the effortless performer.
But tonight, something sat just beneath her skin, humming beneath every step she took toward the front of the ballroom.
She could still feel Yeji’s lips on hers.
Not in a figurative way.
Literally.
Her bottom lip still tingled from how hard Yeji had pulled her in. Her jaw still remembered the pressure of Yeji’s hand. Her heart had not slowed down since.
The walk to the stage felt longer than it should have. Her heels echoed against the wood as she ascended the steps.
Yeji did not look immediately, she made herself wait, count the seconds, and keep her posture still. But the moment Ryujin stepped into her peripheral vision, it was like a magnetic pull dragged Yeji’s gaze sideways.
She looked beautiful.
Of course she did.
Her waistcoat was slightly rumpled, maybe from how Yeji had grabbed it earlier. Yeji wondered if anyone noticed. Ryujin’s walk was relaxed, confident as always, but her eyes were locked on her, and Yeji felt it like a pulse down her spine.
They had only kissed minutes ago.
Now they were about to stand in front of everyone.
Yeji forced herself to take a slow breath as Ryujin reached the stage. Their eyes met long enough to crack something open inside her again.
Ryujin saw it.
She saw the subtle shift in Yeji’s chest as she breathed deeper than necessary. She saw the tension in the corners of her mouth, like her lips also remembered everything and were trying not to give it away.
Still, she stepped forward with the plaque in hand, arms steady. Her smile was soft and professional.
Ryujin did not realize how hard her heart was pounding until she was within arm’s reach. She blinked against the lights, trying to look composed, but it was too warm again, her collar too tight.
Yeji extended the award with both hands.
Ryujin accepted it with both of hers.
And when Ryujin took the award from her, their fingers brushed.
The metal was cool. The contact was not.
Ryujin bit back the smirk threatening to break across her face.
More flashes.
The photographers were eating it up.
The prodigy forward received the USA Hockey Excellence Award from the captain herself.
Their hands lingered longer than necessary. Yeji did not pull away.
And when she finally did, she extended her right hand for a formal handshake.
Protocol.
Professional.
For the cameras.
For the crowd.
For the federation’s archive.
The room applauded louder, a camera shutter clicking somewhere to the left.
It was a formal gesture. Expected. The kind of image that would land on federation newsletters and post-event recaps.
Ryujin took it anyway.
They locked eyes.
Ryujin felt her heart stutter. Yeji’s touch was firm but brief, businesslike, exactly what it needed to be.
But just before she let go, Yeji leaned in half a step. Her voice was low, just above a whisper, masked by the wave of cheers still swelling behind them.
“Smile, superstar.”
Cameras caught everything.
But only Ryujin felt it.
That pulse. That static. That certainty.
Ryujin stepped back, the award cradled in one arm now, Yeji just inches away.
She did not even need to fake the smile for the photo op this time.
The flashes came fast.
White bursts cutting through the dimmed ballroom like heat lightning.
Ryujin barely flinched.
She held the plaque steady, smile locked in place, gaze angled somewhere above the front row of photographers. Beside her, Yeji had already stepped back into the line of presenters, composed as ever, her expression unreadable save for the faintest upward pull of her lips.
It did not help.
Not when Ryujin could still feel the imprint of Yeji’s fingers against hers.
Not when her waistcoat still sat slightly off-center from being re-tied.
Not when her lipstick still was not quite the same shade as earlier.
The cameras did not care. They clicked anyway.
And Ryujin let them.
And when Ryujin stepped away from the podium, award in hand, she expected Yeji to return to her seat like everyone else did.
She did not.
Yeji stayed rooted by the stairs at the side of the stage, gaze locked on Ryujin as she descended.
Waiting .
Ryujin stepped offstage, passing off the award to the staff member who reached for it. Then, they made their way back to their respective tables together.
As they were walking back, Yeji clocked him almost instantly, deep in conversation with two other executives, one hand lazily stuffed into his pocket like he owned the place.
Andrew .
The Boston Sentinels’ assistant general manager.
Yeji’s steps slowed before she even realized it. Ryujin noticed immediately, glancing sideways with a question already forming on her lips.
Yeji’s posture had straightened a notch, spine tall and shoulders squared in that unmistakable captain’s stillness. She turned her head just slightly toward Ryujin, voice calm and low.
“Come with me for a second.”
Ryujin arched a brow. “Is this a trap?”
“Maybe.”
But Yeji was already moving, gliding toward Andrew with that same unshakeable grace she wore before stepping into a post-game press conference.
Ryujin had known who he was the second they walked up.
The sharp-cut suit, the half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. His posture was too relaxed for someone with real power, which made him more dangerous. The kind of man who never made the trades himself, but whispered enough in the right ears to make them happen.
She had seen him before, hovering at Sentinels games, in the background during injury briefings, lingering outside locker rooms with crossed arms and strategic questions.
Andrew turned just as they approached. “Yeji,” he said with a smile too practiced,
She stopped directly in front of him, perfectly composed. “Andrew. Glad you could make it tonight.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Especially with you at the helm of Team USA.” His eyes flicked to Ryujin briefly, then back again. “Quite the season.”
Yeji did not flinch. “You know Ryujin, of course.”
Ryujin extended her hand with a smile that could cut glass.
Andrew hesitated for a fraction of a second before reaching out, his palm meeting Ryujin’s with the kind of practiced civility reserved for business dinners and boardrooms. His grip was firm, but Ryujin’s was firmer.
She smiled, all polite charm on the surface. But her handshake was not just a greeting, it was a message.
Her fingers curled with precision, her posture still, shoulders square. The warmth in her smile did not reach her eyes.
“Shin Ryujin,” she said, shaking firmly. “Sentinels’ seasonal headache, apparently.”
Andrew gave a short chuckle that felt forced. “Hard to forget. You’ve caused us a lot of grief on the ice.” he said, his hand already twitching to pull back. “Congratulations, by the way.”
Ryujin let him go a moment longer.
“I do my best,” Ryujin replied smoothly, then turned slightly toward Yeji, her voice dropping just enough to toe the line between charm and challenge. “But I figured if anyone could handle me, it’d be your captain.”
Andrew blinked.
Ryujin smiled wider. “You know. The one who just led the entire national team to gold with a fractured rib. While playing beside her so-called ‘rival.’ ”
Andrew’s mouth twitched. He looked at Yeji, then at Ryujin again, measuring the distance between them, and clearly finding it too close for his liking.
Yeji had not expected Ryujin to say much.
Not here.
Not in front of Andrew, who always cloaked his judgments in polite concern, who rarely raised his voice but always managed to twist a conversation into a subtle dig.
Since the start of February, Yeji had been walking a tightrope with him: balancing her responsibilities, her body’s limits, and the growing weight of his doubt.
But Ryujin had just said everything in one sentence.
Not as a defense. Not even as a challenge. Just as fact.
Yeji glanced at her from the corner of her eye. Ryujin stood tall, blazer off, back exposed beneath the cropped waistcoat. There was nothing smug in her tone, nothing overly sharp. Just the truth, delivered like a match placed gently on the table.
Yeji did not look at Andrew, though she felt his posture shift beside her. She did not need to see his face to know the message had landed.
Instead, she kept her eyes on Ryujin.
And in that moment, Yeji was overwhelmed with the quiet, brutal ache of being seen.
Not just by a teammate. Not by a coach or a reporter or a medical staff member glancing at her bruised ribs with worry behind their eyes.
But by her.
By the one person who had been there on the ice through it all, who had watched her break and still carry the weight.
Who knew the pain, the pressure, the precision of every shift. Who skated with her, fought beside her, challenged her, chose her.
Ryujin had said it like it was obvious. Like anyone with eyes should have seen it by now.
Yeji swallowed. It took everything in her not to reach for her hand right there.
Andrew opened his mouth, probably to say something neutral and dismissive, but Yeji spoke first, voice calm, cool, final.
“Thanks for your support, Andrew. I’ll see you at training.”
With a polite nod, she turned and walked away, Ryujin following half a step behind, the echo of heels striking the ballroom floor sharp against the low murmur of the crowd.
Ryujin’s hand brushed lightly against the small of Yeji’s back, not possessively.
Just a quiet I’m with you.
They did not speak right away. Their steps moved in sync, heels on carpet, the clink of cutlery in the distance, a muffled laugh from somewhere near the dessert table. The encounter was behind them now, but Yeji could still feel it, still feel the echo of Ryujin’s voice, that calm, deliberate statement delivered like she had rehearsed it a hundred times in her head.
Once they were out of earshot, Ryujin leaned over with a smirk. “That man does not like me.”
Yeji whispered, “You didn’t have to go that hard.”
Ryujin grinned. “He doubted the league’s best defenseman. Not to mention, my girlfriend. That makes it personal.”
Yeji chuckled, but she did not disagree. She just brushed their arms together as they walked.
“You really did listen to all those hours of me ranting.”
Ryujin turned her head, a slow grin forming. “Of course I did.”
Yeji glanced at her sideways, amused. “I thought you were zoning out half the time.”
“I was zoning out,” Ryujin admitted shamelessly. “But I still heard you.”
She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like of course she remembered every strained practice, every post-game analysis Yeji mumbled over protein shakes and shoulder tapes, every long-winded frustration about play structure and press narratives and the line between control and exhaustion.
“I think I might be in love with you,” Yeji muttered.
Ryujin's smile turned smug. “I’m counting on it.”
They were already at the edge of Ryujin’s table, but they paused, just shy of sitting back down.
Yeji turned slightly toward Ryujin, eyes searching her face, the edges of her resolve softened by something warmer now.
Pride, maybe.
Gratitude.
Something heavier, quieter, that she did not have the words for in that moment.
Ryujin leaned a little closer, voice low. “I didn’t say all that for him, you know.”
Yeji met her gaze.
Ryujin’s lips curved again, less smug this time. More real.
“I said it for you.”
Yeji’s chest tightened with clarity. She felt the knot in her ribs ease, just a little.
She stepped closer, voice quiet.
“I know.”
“Yeji! Ryujin! Over here for a shot, please?”
Her words had barely left her mouth when she turned toward the call with the tone photographers always used when they knew their targets had no real choice.
Yeji straightened instinctively, a polite smile sliding into place, shoulders already squaring.
Ryujin, beside her, groaned softly under her breath.
“Do I look like I’m ready for this?” she muttered, hand still in her pocket, blazer still abandoned at the chair behind them.
Yeji barely looked at her. “You left your blazer, showed your back to the entire room, and then gave an on-brand sass attack to my assistant GM.”
Ryujin grinned. “So… yes?”
The photographer motioned them a few steps away from the table, toward a cleaner backdrop. There were soft golden lights, a sweep of the national flag on one side, the federation logo on the other. A few other players had already stopped by earlier in the evening.
Yeji and Ryujin stood side by side.
Ryujin, unbothered, tipped her head slightly toward Yeji. “You want classic rivals pose? Or power couple?”
Yeji did not move, her voice low and razor-sharp under her breath. “You say power couple one more time and I’m stepping on your foot.”
Ryujin smirked. “That’s fine. I’ll just hold your hand the entire time so no one notices.”
Yeji shot her a warning glance, but then the photographer lifted his camera.
“All right, one shot. Stand tall. Closer, please.”
Yeji’s smile sharpened automatically. Chin up, posture perfect, arms relaxed at her sides.
Captain’s face, refined and cool.
Beside her, Ryujin slid effortlessly into place, shoulders relaxed, expression confident, one arm casually behind Yeji’s back but not quite touching her. Their bodies angled slightly inward, close enough to imply chemistry, tension, something just a little too compelling to be coincidence.
The camera clicked.
“Perfect,” the photographer said brightly. “Another one—Ryujin, can you turn just a bit more toward Yeji? Yes, like that. And Yeji, slight tilt toward her—Okay good.”
Click .
Ryujin tilted her head, leaned in a fraction closer, and murmured under her breath, “Pretty sure I’ve seen you stand like this in every post-win photo.”
Yeji kept her expression calm, lips barely moving. “That’s because we win a lot.”
“I know. I have a whole folder of you.”
Yeji’s eyes narrowed without breaking her smile. “Say that louder and you’ll be in next week’s press cycle.”
Ryujin blinked, exaggeratedly innocent. “What, for being supportive?”
“Obsessive.”
“ Devoted. ”
Another click .
“Great, got it!” the photographer beamed. “Thanks, you two. You’re always a favorite.”
They both murmured their thanks, stepped out of frame, and turned back toward their tables, walking side by side again, the heat between them humming just beneath the surface.
“I think we just gave them a new headline,” Ryujin said, brushing Yeji’s arm with the back of her hand as they moved.
Yeji did not look at her.
But her voice was quieter when she replied.
“Let them.”
They returned to their table again with the practiced ease of people used to attention. But beneath the surface, the atmosphere between them simmered. It was not the spotlight that made Yeji hyper-aware of Ryujin’s presence.
It was the closeness.
The way Ryujin had angled her body in the photo like she belonged there. The whispered comments. The heat of her hand not-quite-touching Yeji’s back.
All of it clung to Yeji’s skin like static.
They reached the table just as Winter was mid-sip of her drink and Jules was trying to convince Seulgi to steal a centerpiece for their hotel rooms.
“Did you two get roped into media again?” Chaeryeong asked, not even looking up. “God, they really don’t rest.”
“They said we’re a favorite, ” Ryujin said, sliding into her seat. “Which is code for: You’re both emotionally damaging to look at, and we profit off it. ”
Karina snorted. “So, standard .”
Ryujin turned to walk to her seat, only to immediately be ambushed.
“DUDE.” Riley yelled, flinging both arms around her neck.
“Icon behavior. Absolute menace behavior.” Winter said, looping one arm through hers.
“You’re buying drinks after this, by the way,” Jules added, looking smug.
Beside her, Karina raised a brow. “I saw Andrew’s face. What did you guys say that made him short-circuit?”
“Yeah. That looked spicy. What was that about?”
“Just reminding Boston management who their captain is,” Ryujin said casually, sliding back into her seat.
“Pretty sure he needed a moment to reboot.” Yeji deadpanned. “He’s been circling like a vulture ever since we got back from international duty. He keeps bringing up my ‘objectivity’ now that I’m with Ryujin.”
“Wait, really? That’s rich,” Riley muttered, returning to her seat just in time to catch that last line. “You literally played through cracked ribs and still carried your zone. I’d say he’s the one lacking objectivity.”
Winter leaned forward, chin resting on her hands. “Why is it always the middle-aged men who think love makes you worse at hockey?”
“Because love makes them worse at hockey,” Ryujin quipped.
Jules nearly choked on her water again. “Please.”
“What?” Ryujin blinked innocently. “Yeji’s playing the best hockey of her life and I’m not allowed to take some credit? I’m supportive. I listen to her systems talk even when I don’t understand half of it.”
“That’s because you zone out halfway through.”
“I still nod like I’m learning.”
Yeji gave her a sideways glance, eyes narrowed in fond accusation. “You memorize my game tape, not my systems talk.”
“Same thing,” Ryujin said, without missing a beat. “One's just prettier.”
Yuna, from the other table, peeked around Riley with wide eyes. “Wait, are we talking about how Ryujin has Yeji’s entire highlight reel saved in a Dropbox folder labeled defense queen ?”
Ryujin made a strangled noise. “ Yuna?! ”
“I told you that in confidence!” Chaeryeong gasped dramatically.
Riley shrieked. “Not defense queen .”
Yeji turned her head slowly toward Ryujin, expression unreadable. “Is that true?”
Ryujin cleared her throat, cheeks pink but chin lifted in defiance. “I didn’t think we were outing people at dinner, but yes. You’re my girlfriend and my favorite defenseman. Sue me.”
The table broke into full laughter, teasing, howling, delighted noise.
Yeji narrowed her eyes slightly, then said under her breath as she turned toward her table, “Don’t change the folder name.”
Ryujin’s eyes crinkled, smile stretching wider. “Never even crossed my mind.”
Yeji did not look back again, but her ears were still burning as she walked the final steps to her own table. Yuna made room for her immediately, still cackling, and Lia passed her a napkin like it was a medal of honor.
Chaeryeong leaned in close. “Did you thank your captain properly ?”
Ryujin blinked, mid-sip. She nearly choked. “What?” she coughed, already reaching for her napkin. “I—I mean, yeah? We—”
Winter snorted. Jules smacked the table. Riley leaned forward like she had just been handed front-row seats to something scandalous.
Chaeryeong’s eyes widened slightly, delighted. “Wait. What did you think I meant?”
Ryujin froze. Too fucking late.
Riley let out a bark of laughter, throwing her head back. “Oh my god. She thought you meant—”
“ No one say anything,” Ryujin hissed, face turning crimson.
Winter grinned. “So you did thank her.”
“I shook her hand onstage!”
“Not what you were thinking of two seconds ago,” Chaeryeong pointed out gleefully.
Ryujin sank lower into her seat. “I hate all of you.”
Across the room, Yeji glanced over, a bit suspicious of the ruckus.
Chaeryeong offered her an angelic smile and a thumbs-up.
Ryujin buried her face in her hands. “We are never speaking of this again.”
“Too late,” Riley said. “It’s already in the group chat.”
Laughter rippled through their circle as the program continued in the background.
Someone was giving another speech, maybe the federation president, but Ryujin could not focus.
Not when Yeji was back at her table now, accepting quiet praise with that familiar nod-and-smile rhythm, poised like she had not just sucker-punched Ryujin with the most public, professional declaration of admiration possible.
Their eyes met across the room.
Just for a second.
And Ryujin grinned.
Because Yeji looked too pleased with herself.
Because Ryujin’s knees were still a little weak.
Because the cameras were not flashing anymore.
But her heart still was.
And dinner was yet to be served.
Chapter Text
The lights in the ballroom brightened slightly, signaling the next transition in the evening. A soft chime rang overhead, elegant and unobtrusive, followed by the faint rustle of servers moving into motion across the floor.
From every corner of the room, polished silver domes were lifted in synchronized grace, releasing gentle wisps of steam and the layered aroma of the entrées.
Dinner was finally served when the program wound down.
Plates with slices of duck breast fanned out over a bed of wild rice pilaf, drizzled with a port wine jus were laid down. Roasted root vegetables, glazed just enough to catch the light, formed neat little clusters at the side.
Ryujin sat straighter as the plate was set in front of her, her appetite finally catching up to the adrenaline still simmering low in her chest. Across the room, Yeji accepted her dish with a quiet nod, her expression unreadable again beneath the polished calm of her captain’s demeanor.
They had returned to their assigned seats. The momentary shadows of hallway tension, of waistcoats and whispered threats of proximity, were now tucked away behind linen napkins and wine glasses.
Low conversations resumed as the evening shifted into a softer, more indulgent rhythm. Glasses refilled, laughter grew more relaxed, and the occasional camera flash still flared from distant corners as some attendees took photos with their tablemates or tried to snag a candid of someone they admired.
At the Team USA table, conversations quieted into murmurs as meticulously plated, perfectly portioned plates, but the teasing had only barely died down. Riley was already halfway through her bread roll. Chaeryeong, fork in hand, was still eyeing Ryujin like she was sitting on a secret.
Ryujin, for her part, focused intently on cutting her duck.
Too intently.
It did not help that she could see Yeji across the room, back at her assigned table now, head tilted slightly as she listened to something Yuna was saying.
She was not sure if it was the wine, the adrenaline, or whatever that whole stage moment had done to her, but suddenly, duck had never tasted so bland.
“Are you seriously going to cut your food like it insulted you?” Chaeryeong muttered from Ryujin’s right, amusement tucked into every word.
“I’m just hungry,” Ryujin mumbled, not looking up.
“Hungry and haunted,” Winter said, delicately lifting a forkful of wild rice pilaf. “She’s spiraling. Look at her.”
“I am not—”
“Sure,” Karina interrupted, elbow nudging her. “Is that why you’ve only looked at your plate and a certain someone across the room?”
Ryujin did not dignify that with a response.
She just took a long sip of her wine.
But it was true.
Every few moments, her eyes would flick to Yeji again like instinct.
Like gravity.
She was locked in conversation with one of the coaches now, nodding along politely.
Still, she looked… unbothered .
Like she had not just handed Ryujin an award, kissed her speechless in a hallway, or God, the conference suite —
Ryujin cleared her throat and tried to redirect her brain to anything else.
To literally anything else.
“You know,” Riley piped up from beside her, tone too casual, “it’s almost worse watching you pretend like nothing happened.”
“Worse for whom?” Ryujin muttered.
“For us!” Winter exclaimed. “We’re suffering.”
“I’m being normal.”
“You’re being weird.”
“You’re being in love,” Chaeryeong added, which made Ryujin freeze mid-cut.
“I am not—”
But she did not get to finish.
Because across the room, Yeji turned.
And this time, she did not just glance.
She held Ryujin’s gaze. She eyed her like she already knew every single thing being said at that table.
Ryujin’s heart stuttered. Her hand tightened faintly around her knife. And when Yeji tilted her head, subtle, like a question, Ryujin’s breath caught in her throat.
She mouthed something. Ryujin could not quite catch it.
But she felt it. In her chest. Like a dare.
“Okay,” Chaeryeong said, watching her. “What did she just say?”
Ryujin blinked slowly.
“…I think she just told me to chew properly.”
“ Chew properly? ” Winter laughed, nearly choking on her wine. “You two just spent half the program eye-fucking across ten feet of linen and now she’s reminding you to chew properly?”
Ryujin, flustered but deeply amused, tried very hard not to smile. “She’s just—she likes multitasking. And apparently micro-managing.”
“Oh my god,” Riley groaned. “How are you still alive.”
“I’m not,” Ryujin said, finally letting out a laugh. “This is me dead. This is my ghost. Congratulations on attending my posthumous dinner.”
“She gave you an award and you gave her emotional whiplash,” Chaeryeong pointed out, cutting into her food. “Honestly, I support it.”
“She gave me an award in public ,” Ryujin corrected, her voice lowering slightly. “With cameras. And then shook my hand like we didn’t almost commit a federal offense in th—.”
“What?” Winter leaned over dramatically.
“—What?”
Winter narrowed her eyes, grinning now. “No, no. Don’t backtrack. A federal offense where?”
“Nowhere,” Ryujin said quickly, reaching for her glass. “I was being dramatic.”
“You are dramatic. Start from the beginning.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Was it a misdemeanor or a felony,” Riley asked casually from beside her, without even looking up from her plate. “Just so I know how much bail I’m covering.”
Ryujin groaned, but it came out more like a laugh as she buried her face in one hand. “You’re all so nosy.”
“Federal offense,” Winter repeated, “That’s at least a hallway. Minimum.”
“I am not answering any more questions,” Ryujin said, muffled through her fingers. “My lawyer isn’t present.”
“Your lawyer is literally sitting two tables away in a skin-tight dress,” Riley quipped, still focused on slicing into her duck. “And by the looks of it, very capable of examining you.”
That earned a short, sharp snort from Winter.
Ryujin peeked up between her fingers just in time to see Yeji laughing softly at something Lia had said. Her head tilted, her smile real. For a moment, the room felt louder, messier, warmer.
And none of it mattered.
“Okay,” Winter whispered conspiratorially, turning fully toward her now, “was it at least a consensual felony?”
Ryujin did not answer.
But the smirk that pulled at her lips said everything.
“Will you shut up—” Ryujin hissed, her hand darting out to swat Winter’s arm over the table.
Winter leaned back with a smug grin, clearly relishing the unraveling. “You’re glowing like someone who got away with a crime and then immediately re-offended.”
“Technically, we stopp —”
“Oh my god,” both Winter and Riley said at the same time.
“I’m so dead,” Ryujin groaned and blindly reached for her water. “I hate all of you.”
Riley grinned, barely managing to keep her voice low. “You really thought you could sneak back in here looking like that and not have us notice?”
“I was subtle,” Ryujin muttered, taking a long sip.
“You were gone for thirty minutes,” Winter said.
“Hair slightly mussed,” Riley added.
“Lip gloss gone,” Chaeryeong chimed.
Ryujin narrowed her eyes. “You guys need hobbies.”
Riley leaned forward, squinting just a little as she tilted her head toward the other table. “Now that her lip gloss is pointed out,” she said slowly, “I think they are wearing the same lipstick.”
Ryujin did not even look up from her plate. “Coincidence.”
Winter and Riley answered in unison. “Liar.”
Karina, seated beside Ryujin, reached for her wine, eyes flicking to Ryujin as she leaned forward.
She narrowed her eyes. “That is so not yours.”
“…What isn’t?”
Karina did not even blink. “The lipstick.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ryujin’s tone was flat, the picture of composure.
If composure looked a lot like someone trying very hard not to smirk.
Riley’s brows lifted. “So you just happened to enter the ballroom wearing a completely different shade than when you left?”
Ryujin raised her glass without meeting their eyes. “Maybe the lighting changed.”
Karina smiled without warmth. “You’re sitting next to the woman who shops with Yeji. She has been buying that exact shade since last summer. You think I wouldn’t notice?”
Ryujin just exhaled a quiet, guilty breath through her nose and muttered, “I left my clutch...”
Karina gave her a look that could only be described as unimpressed admiration. “You went out there to make out with her without your clutch and came back wearing her lipstick?”
“I wasn’t planning on reapplying,” Ryujin whispered, trying to defend herself. “But I looked like a war crime. I wasn’t going to come back in here looking like I’d been tackled behind a curtain.”
Winter gasped, scandalized. “Ryujin! You minx.”
“And instead you walked back in wearing her shade like a souvenir,” Karina deadpanned. “ Subtle .”
“I’m going to defect to Team Canada,” Ryujin muttered into her glass.
But her mouth, softly stained in a shade that very clearly matched the captain seated across the room, curved upward again.
That stupid, quiet, victorious smirk that said everything.
Winter narrowed her eyes. “You know what’s crazy?”
Riley blinked. “That she’s walking around with the captain’s lipstick and acting like it’s her natural lip color?”
“No,” Winter said, leaning in dramatically. “That she thinks we wouldn’t notice. As if we haven’t been forced to sit through media schedules for over a month where Yeji swears by exactly one lipstick brand, shade, and finish.”
Ryujin finally looked up, deadpan. “I blacked out during all the PR briefings.”
Winter gave her a pitying look. “You also blacked out somewhere outside the ballroom, apparently.”
Ryujin opened her mouth, paused, then shut it again.
Across the table, Chaeryeong sipped her drink with a grin. “Honestly? Power move. Wearing your girlfriend’s lipstick to the banquet while sitting ten feet away from her and pretending you didn’t make out?”
“Criminal,” Winter said.
Karina shook her head slowly, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You two are going to be the death of our PR team.”
“Tell that to the seating committee,” Ryujin muttered, stealing another glance across the room.
Karina sighed. “Next time, just bring your clutch.”
Ryujin pressed the cool rim of her glass to her lips to hide her smile, but it was no use. Her cheeks were already pink, and Winter was pointing that out too, gesturing wildly while the rest of the table tried to pretend they were not eavesdropping.
Meanwhile, at table four, Yeji watched Ryujin laugh at something Chaeryeong had said, her shoulders shaking gently as she leaned into the candlelit warmth of her own table. Her mouth curled easily, casually.
Yeji tried not to stare.
But her eyes kept drifting back to her lips.
It was unfair, really, how Ryujin could still wear her lipstick better than she did. The same exact shade, borrowed minutes earlier in the hallway after they had nearly ruined each other in the dark, pressed breathlessly against the door of the conference suite.
Somewhere between trying to tie her waistcoat and reapply eyeliner with a shaky hand, they had ended up sharing a tube of lipstick.
Because Yeji was the only one who brought her clutch to “ make out in a hallway ,” apparently.
Yeji blinked, dragging herself back to the present, only to find Ryujin dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin, faintly smudging the color they now shared.
It was ridiculous how that made Yeji’s pulse skip.
She looked away quickly, grabbing her glass of water like it would cool her down, and tried very hard not to think about how her perfectly composed lips were currently mirrored on Ryujin’s mouth across the room.
And how, if Ryujin smiled like that again, she might just lose all her composure for good.
She had barely finished cutting into her entrée before Lia, who had spent the past fifteen minutes trying to not watch her captain, said dryly, “You’re so in love with her.”
Yuna nodded. “Textbook.”
“Shut up," Yeji said, but even she was smiling now.
“So how was the hallway?”
Yeji did not even pause. “I will push you off this chair.”
“I’ll land gracefully,” Lia said with a shrug. “Unlike how you came back from your little field trip.”
Yuna, seated to Yeji’s right, leaned in without missing a beat. “Ryujin’s staring. Want me to wave for you?”
“She is not—” Yeji glanced up, made the mistake of looking directly at Ryujin, and immediately regretted it.
Because Ryujin winked.
A full, slow, unapologetic wink.
Yeji’s knife paused mid-cut. “I’m going to lose my mind.”
Lia patted her arm. “At least you’ll look good doing it.”
“I am never going to hear the end of this,” Yeji muttered.
Yuna smirked. “Nope. And you deserve it.”
Yeji looked up again, perhaps out of instinct, or timing or something stranger and more precise. Her eyes found Ryujin instantly.
It was just a glance.
But that glance undid something all over again. One look and it slipped loose again. Heat flickering behind her sternum and heart giving an inconvenient stutter.
Ryujin held her gaze for half a second longer than she should have. And then quickly dropped her eyes back to her glass.
“Should I ask what that look was about?” Lia’s voice was low, cutting through the lull in conversation.
Yeji, still half-turned toward the general direction of table three, barely flinched. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, eyes narrowing ever so slightly like she was preparing to deflect.
“Don’t,” she said coolly, lifting her glass.
But Yuna was already leaning forward, fork poised mid-air. “Wait, is that the look ? Kinda like, the I-know-what-your-backless-waistcoat-feels-like look?”
Yeji almost choked on her wine.
Lia blinked. “You know what a backless waistcoat feels like?”
Yuna corrected. “ Yeji knows what a backless waistcoat feels like.”
“I am surrounded by vultures,” Yeji muttered, setting down her glass before she could actually spill it. “And none of you are allowed to talk again.”
Lia just hummed, clearly unbothered. “That’s funny. Because I bet you weren’t exactly doing a lot of talking earlier either.”
Yeji bit her lip hard, too hard , to stop the immediate retort from slipping out.
Because she had been doing a lot of talking earlier.
Just not the kind she could explain without fully blacking out.
Yeji turned her head slowly, the way a captain might when preparing to issue a suspension. “I will tell the coaching staff you’re all medically unfit for playoffs.”
“Do not punish us for your crimes, Yeji,” Yuna said dramatically.
“I have no cri—”
Yeji cut herself off.
Because across the room, Ryujin was now turning to say something to Riley, and the motion made her waistcoat shift just slightly, revealing the familiar dip of fabric and skin on her back that Yeji absolutely remembered.
The moment flashed across her memory like heat: her hand on that very spot, palm pressed flush against Ryujin’s back, mouth somewhere near her collarbone, Ryujin’s fingers curled tight in her dress, the low sound she made when Yeji—
She blinked.
Hard .
Yuna raised a brow. “You’re not exactly helping your case.”
“I—” Yeji cleared her throat, straightened her knife beside the plate just for something to do. “I’m fine.”
“Sure,” Lia said, chewing slowly, “and I’m allergic to gossip.”
Yeji did not respond. Mostly because Ryujin had just settled back in her chair again, expression infuriatingly smug, like she knew she just detonated a landmine with a two-second stretch.
While Yeji was trying to remember how to chew without biting her own tongue.
[Yeji]
You did that on purpose.
Ryujin bit down a smile.
She had sat through most of the night like she was drowning.
That black dress.
That speech.
That voice.
Yeji at the front of the room like she owned it, like she had not kissed Ryujin breathless behind locked doors just minutes before.
It was almost too much. For a while, it was too much. But eventually, Ryujin steadied. The storm in Ryujin’s chest finally settled just enough to stop choking on every glance Yeji threw her way.
She had become dangerously bold.
Annoyingly brazen, even.
It was not the nervous kind of bold.
Not the reckless, pulse-sprinting, high-stakes kind that came from barely holding herself together.
No.
It was the kind of bold that came with knowing exactly who she was.
The kind that wore a backless cropped waistcoat to a national banquet without blinking.
The kind that smiled through a storm of flashbulbs and leaned back in her chair like the whole room would shift around her if she asked.
It was the usual confidence of the New York Cyclones’ winger.
The player who thrived in overtime, who baited defenders for fun, who razored through the crease like the puck belonged to her.
The one who made chaos look like choreography.
Then, when she remembered how Yeji sounded against her mouth, how her hands felt in the dark, how her smirk faltered when Ryujin stared too long, she stopped fighting it.
She stopped hiding it.
And worse, she started playing with it.
So now, she looked.
She stared.
She smirked when Yeji caught her doing it.
She leaned into conversations with just the right amount of performative charm. She let her fingers toy idly with the stem of her glass, eyes never really leaving the person she knew she was driving insane.
Because that was the thing about Ryujin.
Once she had enough control to stop combusting in her seat, she had the power to turn it outward.
Into teasing.
Into showmanship.
Into slow-burn sabotage.
And Yeji — the composed, unflinching Yeji — was so close to dragging her out of the ballroom again.
Which, honestly, might have been the goal all along.
And Yeji felt it now.
Not on the ice, not in front of roaring fans, but here, in the way Ryujin tilted her head with effortless calm, eyes scanning Yeji like she was lining up a shot she had already scored in her head.
It was maddening.
And entirely unfair.
Yeji had watched that version of Ryujin before. From across the bench, from inside film rooms, from her own crease after a goal she could not stop.
She just had not expected to be on the receiving end of it while wearing heels and a dress, cornered by candlelight and slow smirks instead of slapshots.
It was driving Yeji absolutely insane.
[Ryujin]
which part captain?
Yeji stared at her screen, one hand delicately curled around the base of her wine glass, the other hovering just above her phone like it might burn her if she touched it again too soon.
Across the room, Ryujin was still angled slightly in her chair, elbow resting on the back of Riley’s seat, looking like she belonged in a magazine spread and not at the center of Yeji’s current spiral. The smirk on her face had not moved in minutes.
It was infuriating .
Yeji bit the inside of her cheek.
[Yeji]
Acting all innocent now?
[Ryujin]
maybe next time sit beside me and supervise directly
[Yeji]
Keep testing me, superstar.
[Ryujin]
i already did baby
and you liked what happened
Yeji had felt that last one in her spine.
She took a slow breath, forced her shoulders to stay level, and calmly picked up her fork like she had not just short-circuited in public.
Her teammates were not helping.
Yuna was practically vibrating with secondhand chaos.
Lia had taken to narrating under her breath like it was a sports broadcast.
Karina, sitting beside Ryujin on the next table, glanced over and mouthed: You’re losing .
Yeji did not deny it.
Because she was.
She could feel it in her pulse, in the tautness of her spine, in the way Ryujin — her smug, aggravating, annoyingly confident girlfriend — was calmly taking victory lap after victory lap without even moving from her seat.
[Yeji]
Bold.
Want to be dragged out again?
Ryujin choked slightly on her water.
She had read the text three times.
Once in shock.
Once in wonder.
And once just to feel the effect it had on her all over again.
The grin that stretched across her face was immediate and impossible to hide. She sat back slightly in her chair, phone still in hand, eyes lifting from the screen to where Yeji sat just a table away, still flawlessly composed on the outside.
Her expression was neutral.
But Ryujin could see the truth behind it, the flicker in her gaze, the slight tension in her jaw, the edge of a smirk threatening the corners of her mouth.
She had meant the message.
That was clear.
And that was exactly why Ryujin looked at her again.
She let her eyes sweep down the line of Yeji’s profile, lingering where she knew she should not.
At the collarbone framed perfectly by that halter dress. At the faint sheen of her gloss catching the light. At the subtle flush high on her cheeks, which had nothing to do with the wine.
Ryujin’s fingers hesitated over her screen. Then she looked up again.
And this time, Yeji was looking back. Ryujin tilted her head slightly and held the stare, then smirked.
Yeji did not even blink. But Ryujin caught the way her fingers curled a little tighter around the stem of her glass. Her spine straightened by a fraction.
She knew.
She felt it.
Ryujin leaned back in her chair with satisfaction, tapping her phone screen again to reread the threat like it was a prize she had earned.
She really was testing her.
And Yeji was letting her.
“Okay, now what?” Chaeryeong asked immediately, seeing her expression change.
“…She’s threatening me.”
Winter grinned. “Why do you look so thrilled about it?”
Ryujin did not deny it.
A quiet hum settled over the room. People shifted in their seats, some leaned back in preparation for the long stretch ahead. Others, like Ryujin, were already fiddling with their phones under the table.
She tilted her head back just slightly, exhaled once, then thumbed out a message.
[Ryujin]
five more minutes and i’m moving to your table.
assigned seating be damned.
Across the room, Yeji did not even glance down to check the sender, as if she had been waiting for it.
She did not try to hide her reaction, the small scoff under her breath, the way her leg crossed over the other beneath the table like she was grounding herself.
Her hand dipped below the tablecloth and her reply arrived a moment later.
[Yeji]
Five minutes?
You’ll last three.
Yeji just pressed send and sipped her water like she had not issued a direct challenge.
Across the room, Ryujin’s brows lifted. She checked the time, then grinned slowly, wickedly, like a dare had just been accepted.
Like every rule that had kept them apart that evening had just started to crumble.
[Ryujin]
i’ve made you unravel faster than that before
Yeji exhaled sharply through her nose, the kind of sound that could pass for either amusement or warning. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, then paused. A quick glance at the cameras, then back at her screen.
[Yeji]
You forget we’re in formalwear.
I don’t come undone that easily tonight.
[Ryujin]
you sure?
because every time you cross your legs, your dress shifts half an inch
and i swear it’s gonna kill me before dessert
[Yeji]
Then maybe stop looking there, perv.
Or is self-control not part of your training, superstar?
[Ryujin]
bit hard to do when you keep shifting like that
you know what you’re doing
[Yeji]
I’m literally just sitting here.
Ryujin smirked at her screen, ignoring the amused side-eye Riley sent her way. She tapped her reply out with maddening leisure, as if she was not already sitting forward in her seat like she was seconds from standing.
[Ryujin]
i’ll stop looking
once you stop tempting
can’t really help it when the view’s this distracting
Across the room, Yeji shifted in her seat subtly. She uncrossed her legs and fixed the hem of her dress, smoothing the fabric with a practiced hand, just enough to make a point.
The way Ryujin’s gaze flicked downward, caught on the movement, lingered just a second too long before dragging back up, meeting her eyes with the kind of defiance that only thinly showed want.
Yeji’s mouth curved.
She reached for her glass without breaking eye contact, sipping slowly, like she had not just claimed control without saying a word.
[Yeji]
Better?
[Ryujin]
not even a little
[Yeji]
You’re not even trying to be subtle anymore
[Ryujin]
oh believe me
i tried
i’ve just accepted my fate
[Yeji]
We’re still trying to be civilized.
[Ryujin]
civilized is a stretch
you threatened to drag me out of the ballroom a second ago
[Yeji]
I’m still considering it.
Ryujin scoffed.
Three minutes, then.
She leaned back in her chair, smug satisfaction blooming behind her grin. She had made her point. Her legs were stretched out beneath the table, thumb lazily tapping at her phone.
One minute passed.
Two .
Ryujin was still seated.
Then three .
When three minutes passed, three exact minutes, Yeji’s fingers moved again.
[Yeji]
What?
All bark and no bite tonight, superstar?
Ryujin did not reply right away.
Instead, she lingered beside her table, letting the last of the music fade under the soft murmur of the resumed program. Her gaze never left Yeji, her expression infuriatingly composed.
Then, finally, her phone buzzed again.
[Ryujin]
do i get a medal?
or do you admit you want me there already?
[Yeji]
If you’re scared, just say so.
[Ryujin]
what’s the fun in chasing you
if i know you’ll come to me first?
Yeji clenched her jaw, hiding the flicker of heat in her chest with a slow inhale. Ryujin was still seated a table over, casually toying with the stem of her empty glass, looking far too pleased with herself for someone who had just lost a bet.
[Yeji]
You’re so full of yourself
[Ryujin]
and you like it
don’t pretend
[Yeji]
And if I do like it?
[Ryujin]
then i’ll do it more
just to see how much you can take
[Yeji]
Cocky.
[Ryujin]
confident
theres a difference
Yeji did not respond. Not to her.
Instead, she opened her conversation with Karina, who was seated beside Ryujin, too busy laughing at something Winter had said to notice the storm coming.
Yeji tapped her phone once and sent a message.
[Yeji]
Switch seats with me.
[Karina]
…
Loser
[Yeji]
Whatever.
Karina turned her head, looked over her shoulder at Yeji, then at Ryujin, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Winter’s brows shot up. “Where are you going?”
“Captain‘s orders,” Karina muttered, brushing imaginary lint from her dress as she stepped back from the table. She moved smoothly and gracefully, making her way toward table four without a glance back.
She murmured a soft, amused, “I don’t even wanna know.” as she passed Yeji.
Yeji said nothing. She simply rose, calm and precise, straightened the skirt of her dress, and strode forward.
Karina had reclaimed Yeji’s old chair without ceremony. Yuna raised an eyebrow. “She finally gave in?”
Karina shook her head. “Gave in? She summoned me.”
Yuna chuckled. “They’re gonna get kicked out.”
“Or suspended,” Lia muttered.
Back at table three, Ryujin turned just in time to catch the last few steps of Karina’s retreat. Yeji’s old seat was vacant. The napkin she had folded with that irritating neatness now draped over the empty plate. Her entire presence vanished from the far side of the room like a ghost.
A flicker of confusion crossed her face.
She heard the quiet pull of the empty chair beside her.
And then—
“Looking for me?”
The voice was low and smug.
Closer than it had any right to be.
Ryujin turned her head, and Yeji was there, sliding into the now-vacant seat beside her, like she had been assigned there all along.
Her heart stuttering once, Yeji was flawless as ever, dark eyes steady, lips curved in that maddening way that always spelled trouble.
Trouble she would never, ever avoid.
Ryujin just stared. She did not move. She did not smirk.
Not yet.
Yeji’s perfume was faint but familiar, the kind that settled into Ryujin’s bones without warning. The kind that made her feel like they were the only two people in the room.
“You have something to say, or are you going to keep staring like that?”
As Yeji settled, just barely brushing shoulders with her, Ryujin leaned in, voice low and smug.
“Told you,” she murmured, gaze still fixed on the stage ahead. “You always come to me.”
Yeji did not say anything right away, only offered a nod of acknowledgment to the rest of the table, chin slightly tilted in that composed, captain-like way. Her clutch was tucked neatly under her arm, her posture precise, and yet there was a light in her eyes Ryujin immediately clocked.
Yeji turned to the nearest waiter with a soft, polite voice. “Excuse me. May I request a fresh set of cutlery, please?”
The server nodded immediately and stepped away.
Ryujin just watched.
Watched Yeji cross her legs smoothly, the hem of her dress shifting again just enough to make her look twice.
Watched as Yeji reached for her water, took a slow sip, and set it down like she had not just left a lipstick mark that matched the one on Ryujin’s mouth.
Watched her quietly claim the space beside her like it was hers to begin with.
Ryujin reached behind her chair slowly, pulled her blazer from where it had been draped, and casually laid it over Yeji’s lap.
Yeji blinked, caught off guard for only a second. She looked down at the velvet blazer covering her thighs, unmistakably Ryujin’s, then back at Ryujin, who did not offer an explanation.
The gesture was effortless and far too telling.
Yeji huffed under her breath, the edge of a smile playing at her lips. “Subtle,” she murmured.
“You’re welcome.” Ryujin was still looking at her. “If you wanna thank me properly, do it after dessert.”
When the waiter returned with the fresh cutlery, Yeji murmured a thank you and adjusted her napkin on top of Ryujin’s blazer.
Ryujin, chin resting in her hand, eyes half-lidded, was watching her every move.
“You good?” Yeji asked casually, finally turning toward her.
Ryujin blinked once, lips tugging into a smirk. “Didn’t think you’d actually move here.”
“I got tired of your staring,” Yeji said, “Figured I might as well give you a better angle.”
Ryujin leaned back slightly in her chair, smile deepening. “Mission accomplished.”
Yeji reached for Ryujin’s wine. “You had your chance to switch. I got tired of waiting.”
Ryujin stared at her.
Yeji sipped slowly, then set the glass down with maddening elegance. “So I made the switch for you.”
“Captain of everything, huh?” Ryujin muttered.
“Yeah.” Yeji leaned in just slightly, voice quiet enough for only her to hear. “Especially yours ,”
Ryujin smiled at that, “Then by all means… captain me.”
Yeji did not flinch. If anything, her expression grew even more smug.
“Gladly,”
And just like that, Ryujin forgot every plan she had for the rest of the night.
Dessert arrived quietly, in the lull between applause as the program began again. Plates of delicate chocolate torte, berry glaze, and miniature vanilla bean cheesecakes were placed before them by swift-moving staff, the silverware clinking softly over fresh napkins and half-finished wine.
Yeji barely looked at hers.
She was too aware of the warmth beside her, the silent tension that had not faded even now, seated shoulder to shoulder.
Ryujin, for once, was not teasing. She was not saying a word at all. Just slowly tracing the edge of her dessert fork with her thumb, like she was thinking too much about something and trying not to.
On stage, the emcee introduced the next honoree. The room dimmed again.
Yeji murmured, “Eat your torte.”
“Bossy.” Ryujin scoffed quietly and leaned back in her seat, “You always this assertive at banquets?”
Yeji did not look at her. “Just when my forward gets distracted.”
“Mmm. And what do you do then, captain?”
Yeji finally turned her head, gaze steady. “I supervise her. Personally.”
Ryujin raised a brow. “Is that what this is?”
“You’ll find out,” Yeji said simply, then lifted her fork with delicate grace. “Now stop staring and eat your dessert.”
Ryujin chuckled under her breath, letting the words settle. “You know, if I’d known a little misbehavior got me this kind of attention, I would’ve acted out sooner.”
Yeji sipped her water, unbothered. “You always act out.”
Ryujin reached under the table and tapped her ankle against Yeji’s. Lightly. Just once.
“Because I like it when you take charge,” she said under her breath.
Yeji did not rise to the bait this time. She took a small bite of her dessert, swallowed, and said calmly, “I know.”
The sudden burst of polite clapping gave them cover, a veil of sound that hummed just loud enough to mask the shift in air between them.
Ryujin exhaled slowly, letting her hand fall back to her lap, watching Yeji chew like she was not setting fire to Ryujin’s nervous system with nothing but a straight back and steady tone.
“You’re dangerous,” Ryujin murmured.
Yeji dabbed her lips with her napkin, eyes never leaving the stage. “You’re dramatic.”
Ryujin grinned. “And yet here you are. Supervising.”
“I said I supervise ,” Yeji replied, lifting her glass again. “Didn’t say I intervene every time.”
Ryujin leaned in, voice low, teasing, “So what makes you step in?”
Yeji paused, turned her head slowly, and met her gaze fully for the first time in minutes. Her voice was soft, but deliberate.
“When I feel like reminding you where you belong.”
Ryujin blinked.
The applause ended.
Yeji turned back to the stage like she had not just undone Ryujin’s entire existence in nine words.
Ryujin did not move. Could not, really.
She sat there, trying to gather the sharp scatter of her thoughts while Yeji tilted her head slightly at the next speaker onstage.
Like she had not just said that.
Like Ryujin was not trying very hard not to melt into her seat.
Across the table, Chaeryeong side-eyed them both. “You good?”
“Peachy,” Ryujin muttered, sitting straighter than she had all night. She cleared her throat and reached for her water.
It was that or combust.
Yeji did not glance at her.
She just rested her elbow on the table, chin against her hand, eyes focused forward like she had not left Ryujin in a state of slow internal collapse.
“You’re flushed,” Winter whispered to Ryujin with a smirk.
“It’s warm in here,” Ryujin said flatly.
“You’re blushing,” Chaeryeong added, amused.
“I’m not.”
“You definitely are.”
Instead of answering, she just casually reached and took Yeji’s fork. She sliced a torte from Yeji’s plate, lifted it to her lips, and took it without comment.
Yeji blinked. “You—”
“You said eat my torte,” Ryujin said smoothly.
“Yes. Your torte.”
Ryujin just chewed slowly, shrugging with theatrical innocence. “You gave a direct order. I followed it.”
“You stole my fork,” Yeji said, voice low.
“I borrowed it,” Ryujin corrected. “Big difference. Intent matters, captain.”
Yeji’s eyes narrowed. “Give it back, then.”
Ryujin smirked and set the fork down neatly beside her own plate. “You want it back after I used it?”
Yeji looked at her incredulously, then scoffed. “You think sharing forks is where I draw the line?”
Ryujin raised a brow, “You’re right. That would be wildly inconsistent of you… considering everything .”
“Everything?”
Ryujin leaned forward slightly, the smirk never leaving her lips. “Conference suite. Hallway. Your lipstick on my lips.” She tilted her head, voice soft but loaded. “Need me to keep going?”
Yeji clinked her water glass down a little harder than necessary. “You’re lucky the dessert was good.”
Ryujin grinned. “I know. You tasted like it.”
Yeji inhaled sharply through her nose, straightened her spine, and picked up her fork this time. “If you say one more word—”
Ryujin did not flinch. She tilted her head, eyes dancing. “You’ll what?” she whispered. “Captain me in front of everyone?”
Yeji leveled her a glare, but the blush threatening her cheeks betrayed her. She took a slow bite of her dessert, chewed deliberately, and set her fork down with calm precision.
Then, without looking at her, she murmured, “Keep talking and I’ll make sure you don’t make it through the final course.”
Ryujin blinked. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
Yeji did not even look at her. “Eat your dessert, Ryujin.”
“I am.”
Yeji rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips betrayed her. Her gaze was fixed ahead, pretending not to notice the way Ryujin was watching her like a dare.
Riley arched a brow. “You two good over there?”
“Perfect,” Yeji said smoothly, setting her fork down.
“Suspiciously perfect,” Winter muttered under her breath, leaning into Chaeryeong like she already knew too much.
Ryujin, unfazed, reached for her water like it was just another night. “What, a girl can’t enjoy her dessert in peace?”
Chaeryeong snorted. “Yeji hasn’t even been here for long. Didn’t she move like ten minutes ago?”
Jeongyeon chimed in without looking up from her dessert, “Honestly, I’m surprised it took her this long.”
“Assigned seating is a suggestion, anyway,” Ryujin said, cool and easy as ever.
“It was a laminated chart,” Riley said flatly. “With names. And arrows.”
Winter did not even bother to hide the smirk tugging at her lips. “She’s the captain. She can do whatever she wants.”
Yeji did not miss a beat. “I only moved because someone couldn’t stop staring across the room.”
Winter perked up. “Like how?”
Yeji sipped Ryujin’s wine, cool and slow. “Like she was planning something.”
Riley blinked. “Planning what?”
Before Yeji could answer, Chaeryeong muttered under her breath, “A crime of passion.”
Ryujin chuckled. “That’s slander!”
“No,” Yeji murmured, lips barely moving, “it’s a generous euphemism.”
Winter gasped. “What does that mean?”
“Don’t ask,” Yeji and Chaeryeong said at the same time.
The program rolled on under dimmed lights and soft applause, each speech punctuated by polite claps and the occasional quiet laugh from nearby tables, but the real entertainment was happening at the players’ tables.
Winter poked at her crème brûlée, eyebrows furrowed. “I swear mine doesn’t crack. Did I get a defective one?”
“You just don’t have the right technique,” Riley said, leaning over dramatically. “Let me show you how it’s done—”
She cracked Winter’s dessert with the back of her spoon so hard the dish slid a full inch across the table.
Chaeryeong reached out instinctively to steady it. “ Jesus , Riley.”
“That’s theatrical flair,” Riley declared, flipping her spoon like a mic.
“Yeah, well, your flair almost launched my crème brûlée into Ryujin’s lap,” Winter muttered.
Ryujin did not even look up. “Let it try. I’m bulletproof in these trousers.”
Jules pointed her fork. “That’s actually couture armor. Can’t penetrate.”
“Her tailor deserves an award,” Jeongyeon added, nodding solemnly. “No crumbs. No wrinkles.”
“I’m so glad we trained for weeks to talk about formalwear resilience,” Chaeryeong deadpanned.
“Better than talking about drills,” Winter said, slouched in her seat with her blazer unbuttoned. “Or worse—team bonding games.”
Everyone groaned.
“Oh my god, not the human knot,” Ryujin muttered. “My shoulder’s still not okay.”
“Whose idea even was that?” Riley asked, turning to look around suspiciously.
“Coach Harper,” Yeji muttered like it was a secret code name.
“Traitor,” Winter said flatly. “She said it was ‘good for trust.’ I’ve never trusted anyone less than when Jules had my entire weight on one foot.”
“I told you I don’t skip leg day,” Jules defended.
“Tell that to my ankle!”
Laughter rippled across the table just as another tray of dessert was brought out.
The server barely set the last slice down before half the table had already reached for their forks again, conversation barely missing a beat.
“Hockey players, man,” Riley muttered, eyeing the disappearing slices with mock dismay. “Bottomless pits in sequins.”
Ryujin nudged her. “Says the girl who ate two entrées.”
“Carb-loading is a lifestyle,” Winter deadpanned, already halfway through hers.
Chaeryeong just pointed at Ryujin’s plate. “You’re not finishing that?”
Ryujin raised a brow. “Didn’t you say something earlier about respecting personal boundaries?”
Chaeryeong shrugged. “I meant emotionally . Dessert’s fair game.”
The lights dimmed more as the final segment of the program began, but most of table three was still half-focused on their desserts and each other’s nonsense.
Yeji, ever composed, cut into her plated dessert with precision and took a quiet bite as the rest of the table devolved into another round of guessing which teammate had a secret burner account.
“Definitely Ryujin,” Jules said confidently. “Her ‘mysterious’ tweets are not as vague as she thinks.”
“They’re lyrics!” Ryujin hissed, indignant.
“And yet somehow always about someone at 2 a.m.,” Winter added.
“You people are impossible,” Ryujin muttered, reaching for her glass.
Ryujin had just reached for her water when she glanced over and promptly stalled. Her eyes caught on the smudge of frosting at the corner of her Yeji’s mouth. Just a tiny streak of pale sweetness, glinting under the warm lights. It clung stubbornly to her lower lip, unnoticed.
“You’ve got something,” Ryujin said under her breath, nodding subtly toward Yeji’s mouth.
Yeji blinked. “What?”
Ryujin leaned in with a quiet, “Hold still.”
Before Yeji could ask why, Ryujin was already reaching over, thumb lifting gently toward the corner of her mouth. The touch was feather-light, unexpectedly careful, brushing at the smudge of frosting Yeji had not realized was there.
Yeji blinked, startled, and then froze.
So did Ryujin.
Because it hit them at the same time: they were not alone.
There were cameras.
There were teammates.
There was dessert and assigned seating and at least three people were already watching too closely.
“Oh my god,” Winter whispered from across the table.
“Ryujin—”
Then Ryujin, very calmly , grabbed the napkin off Yeji’s lap and gently draped it over her girlfriend’s face.
“You’re so annoying.” Yeji mumbled under the fabric.
The napkin slid down a second later, revealing a slow-building scowl beneath perfectly winged eyeliner. Ryujin caught the napkin while trying to look not guilty.
“I hate you,” she muttered.
Ryujin bit back a laugh. “You had frosting.”
“I was handling it.”
“You weren’t.”
“Give me that,” Yeji snatched the napkin from Ryujin’s hand and wiped her own lips.
Table three was trying and failing to stifle their collective snickering.
“I’m going to pretend none of this happened,” Yeji muttered.
“Oh,” Ryujin said, grinning as she leaned back in her seat, “but you’ll remember it.”
Yeji elbowed her.
Gently.
Probably .
“Now that you’re sitting beside each other,” Winter said, squinting dramatically across the table, “the matching lipstick is even more obvious.”
Yeji did not even flinch. She kept her expression smooth, just calmly sliced through her dessert with clinical precision.
“Shut up,” Ryujin said casually, licking a bit of frosting from her spoon.
“Sneaking out in the hallway and coming back wearing your girlfriend’s lipstick. That’s crazy.” Chaeryeong said.
Ryujin, without hesitation, replied, “I never said it was in the hallw—”
She choked mid-word, her smirk faltering for a half-second when Yeji’s heel made swift, silent contact with her shin under the table. Her eyes darted toward Yeji in mock betrayal.
Chaeryeong blinked. “What?”
“Nothing,” Ryujin coughed. “Just… clearing my throat.”
Winter, across the table, grinned. “Sounded like you were about to incriminate yourself again .”
“Who, me?” Ryujin asked innocently, placing a hand over her chest like she had not just been physically silenced by her girlfriend. “ Never .”
Beside her, Yeji muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Ryujin to hear, “ Again ?”
Ryujin’s spine straightened half an inch. “It’s nothing!” she said a little too quickly, a little too brightly, hands folded neatly in front of her like she had not just been seconds away from incriminating herself with a slip of the tongue.
Yeji tilted her head, amused. “Your nothing sounds suspiciously like guilt.”
“Incorrect,” Ryujin said, voice calm but eyes darting to the side. “It’s the sound of… decorum .”
Winter raised a brow. “Decorum..?”
“Yup,” Ryujin said, nodding solemnly. “Decorum. Class. Restraint.”
Yeji hummed, “You’re allergic to all three.”
The conversation around table three rolled on, dipping into league gossip and next season’s schedule. Laughter sparked between forks and clinks of dessert spoons, stories volleyed back and forth without rhythm.
The lights dimmed without warning, casting the entire ballroom in darkness save for the soft glow of phones being quickly tucked away.
A hush fell across the tables before the projector at the far end of the stage flickered to life.
And in that brief cover of darkness, Ryujin’s hand moved.
It was swift, instinctive, fingertips brushing against the fabric of her blazer on Yeji’s lap, then settling lightly on Yeji’s thigh under the table.
Yeji stiffened just barely, her fork pausing midair.
Ryujin did not look at her. She kept her gaze forward, as if nothing had changed. But her thumb moved slightly, brushing with a quiet sort of purpose.
The gesture was not loud. It was not reckless.
It was just a small claim in the dark.
Yeji exhaled slowly through her nose. She did not flinch nor push Ryujin away.
Instead, she let her hand drift under the tablecloth too, fingers finding Ryujin’s and lacing through them. She gave it a gentle squeeze.
Like a wordless okay .
The video began with a soft swell of music and a flickering montage frozen in time. Applause rippled gently through the room.
Yeji let out a barely audible breath, then released Ryujin’s hand beneath the table.
Without a word, both of them brought their hands back up in near-perfect sync. Yeji adjusted the edge of her plate. Ryujin reached for her glass. Neither looked at the other.
But the shift lingered.
Something small and electric was hanging in the air between them. A quiet hum beneath the polished silverware and the careful clinking of glasses. They sat side by side, watching the screen, their expressions calm, composed.
Yet underneath the tablecloth and beneath the surface, everything buzzed.
Yeji’s hand rested near the water glass, fingers idle against the base. Ryujin’s hand was just a breath away, unmoving, careful.
Close, but not quite touching.
Yeji did not look at her.
Just a slow glance from beneath her lashes, eyes soft, posture relaxed in a way that betrayed how much effort she was not putting into holding herself back.
Ryujin caught the glance.
Then, quietly, low enough to be missed by everyone still watching the montage, she murmured, “You tired?”
Yeji shook her head once. “Not really.”
A beat.
“You?”
Ryujin shrugged, elbow propping on the table, cheek in her hand. “Little bit.”
Yeji let that hang in the air, watching the light flicker across Ryujin’s jaw. Then, just loud enough for her to hear, “You get weird when you’re tired.”
Ryujin smirked. “Weird like affectionate, or weird like a criminal?”
“Somehow both,” Yeji replied.
“I’m talented like that,” she said, eyes flicking down to Yeji’s lips and then back up like she had not.
“Ryujin.”
Ryujin tilted her head slightly, her smirk deepening at the warning in Yeji’s voice.
She blinked, all mock innocence. “What?”
Yeji did not say anything right away. She faced the stage again, still keeping her body language composed, but Ryujin could feel the heat of her attention like a wire pulled taut between them.
Another pause.
Ryujin leaned in again, just a fraction, her voice dipping into something private. “Still want to sneak out after this?”
Yeji kept her gaze forward, eyes on the screen, lashes casting soft shadows across her cheeks in the dim light.
“You asking,” she murmured, “or waiting for me to tell you?”
Ryujin smirked, tilting her head just slightly, so close her shoulder almost brushed Yeji’s. “Depends. You giving me orders again, captain?”
Yeji finally turned slowly. Her voice was calm, quiet enough to be swallowed by the applause that followed a clip.
“Depends,” she echoed. “You following them?”
Ryujin’s grin widened dangerously, the kind that made it obvious she was considering something reckless. “Since when do I ever follow your orders?”
Yeji arched a brow. “You followed them earlier.”
Ryujin leaned in, her mouth nearly brushing Yeji’s ear now. “That wasn’t following,” she said, voice low and smooth. “That was me deciding it was worth the trouble.”
Yeji exhaled a quiet laugh, one hand drifting down to smooth the hem of her dress beneath the blazer, as if to ground herself. “You’re a menace.”
“And you like it,” Ryujin said, smug.
Yeji did not deny it.
Instead, her knee nudged against Ryujin’s under the table again.
A nudge, not a warning.
A signal.
“After the group photos,” she murmured.
Ryujin’s pulse quickened, her eyes catching the screen again, only half-following the reel now, the rest of her already counting down the minutes.
“Copy that,” she whispered. “ captain .”
Under the dim light of the ongoing montage, Ryujin shifted in her seat, not obviously, not enough to draw attention, but just enough to close the space between their chairs. Her knee brushed Yeji’s under the table, a soft bump that lingered just a second longer than necessary.
Yeji was still watching the screen, expression smooth and composed. To anyone else, she looked perfectly focused.
Ryujin could feel the way Yeji’s attention had narrowed, how her fingers twitched every time Ryujin moved even a little.
She could not stop fidgeting under the table.
She could not help it. She was restless. The buzz in her chest had not gone away. She kept tapping lightly on her knee, then curling her fingers into the napkin on her lap, then brushing the fabric of her trousers like she could smooth her thoughts back into place.
Nothing dramatic, but enough for Yeji to notice especially with how close they were sitting now.
Without taking her eyes off the stage, Yeji reached beneath the table. Her hand found Ryujin’s again with a familiarity that calmed everything on contact.
She threaded their fingers together, quiet and sure, like it was instinct.
Ryujin’s hand stilled instantly.
Yeji turned their hands over gently and held it between both of hers, resting it on her lap like it belonged there. Her thumbs brushed along Ryujin’s palm, then over her knuckles. She traced the lines like she was memorizing them, smoothing over calluses and joints from years of hockey.
Like she knew exactly how hard those hands could hit
And how softly they could hold her.
Yeji leaned in slightly, lips near Ryujin’s ear.
“You’re fidgeting baby,” she murmured, low enough for only her to hear.
Ryujin let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. Her eyes stayed forward, but her fingers curled slightly in Yeji’s hold.
“How can I not?” she whispered back, voice just as soft. “You’re right there.”
Her thumb traced over Yeji’s wrist now, slow and absentminded. “You look like that, you’re sitting this close, and I’m supposed to pretend I hate you with my entire being?”
“Yes,” she said, squeezing Ryujin’s hand once. “And we’re being patient.”
“Is that what this is?” Ryujin murmured.
Yeji finally turned to glance at her, gaze steady, expression unreadable in the flickering light. “That,” she said quietly, “or restraint.”
Ryujin exhaled again, her shoulder brushing Yeji’s. “Restraint is killing me.”
Yeji smiled, “You’ll live.”
But her hands did not let go.
Ryujin looked at her then and tried not to show how fast her heart was racing.
She did not breathe for a moment. Her heart was thudding too loud for the quiet of the room, the silence between applause segments and narrations, the whispers of cutlery being tucked away. The warmth of Yeji’s hands was steady and Ryujin could not bring herself to pull away.
As the stage lights returned to full brightness, casting a warm glow across the ballroom once more, both of them shifted ever so slightly.
Ryujin was the first to move.
Not far, just a quiet adjustment in her seat, fingers slowly slipping from Yeji’s with a reluctance she did not bother hiding. Yeji followed suit, her hands retreating to her lap, composed again, but her thumb still brushed faintly over her palm like the memory lingered.
They did not look at each other right away. The soft hum of polite applause filled the room again as the final stretch of the ceremony continued. Glasses clinked, chairs adjusted, and for anyone watching, nothing had changed.
But Ryujin could still feel the ghost of Yeji’s touch on her hand.
And Yeji could still feel her pulse in her throat.
Onstage, the host stepped forward again, and the final stretch of the program began to unfold.
One by one, the closing speeches resumed as the room gradually settled into its full attention again.
The final speeches wrapped to a round of standing applause, camera flashes blinking like fireflies across the room.
The program was officially over.
Around the ballroom, Team USA began rising from their tables, a swarm of black suits, dresses, laughter, and shifting heels. Coordinators waved clipboards. Photographers gestured toward the designated backdrop.
“Group photos by the podium, let’s move!” someone called out.
Athletes peeled away from dessert plates and half-finished glasses. Jules looped an arm around Riley’s shoulders. Yuna was already weaving toward the front with Chaeryeong in tow, her phone still in hand.
Yeji stood, adjusting the hem of her dress. She caught Ryujin’s eye briefly, just a flicker of recognition, a shared breath amid the bustle, before turning away with practiced calm.
As the team slowly gathered, Yuna opened her clutch and pulled out a velvet pouch. “Are we doing medals or not?”
“Hell yes, we’re doing medals,” Jules grinned, already fishing hers out of her coat pocket like it had been waiting all night.
Within seconds, the rest of them followed. Pouches unzipped, chains unfurled, glinting gold flashing under the lights as every single member of Team USA fastened their championship medals around their necks.
Lia laughed. “We’re gonna look like a formal Nike ad.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Seulgi smirked, adjusting hers carefully over her suit.
Ryujin tugged hers over her head without much ceremony, letting it settle with a familiar weight against her sternum.
Yeji paused, holding the medal in her hands for a breath longer. Her fingers grazed the etched surface, polished from so many post-game interviews and podium photos, and now, one last keepsake shot.
“Let’s get it over with,” she muttered to Karina, who smirked knowingly.
“Photos or pretending not to stand next to your girlfriend?” Karina asked.
Yeji did not answer. Just moved toward the crowd, spine straight, expression unreadable.
Behind her, Ryujin was lingering at the edge of the group, one hand tucked into her pocket, the other adjusting the lapel of her blazer, which she had finally put back on.
Winter tapped her on the back as she passed, leaning in just enough to murmur something low and smug into her ear.
Ryujin rolled her eyes, but the faint grin tugging at her mouth gave her away.
She followed a beat later, falling into step just as the photographers called them forward.
“Center row, medals out!” someone barked.
Yeji had taken her usual place at the end of the front row; tall, poised, every inch the composed captain, flanked by Lia and Jules. Her dress was crisp, her medal perfectly centered, her expression calm beneath the lights.
Ryujin, on the other hand, had drifted to the back, left side, somewhere between Riley and Chaeryeong, her stance relaxed, smile crooked. She had not even looked Yeji’s way, at least not obviously.
It had been on purpose.
No unneeded attention.
No fueling the fire.
But the media had other plans.
“Can we get one with the golden pair next to each other?” one photographer called out.
Then another chimed in, “Ryujin and Yeji in the middle, please!”
There was a pause. Barely a second.
But Ryujin’s grin grew.
Yeji’s jaw flexed.
Lia smothered a laugh.
“Come on,” Yuna teased, nudging Yeji lightly with her elbow. “Give the people what they want.”
With a quiet sigh, Yeji stepped aside, allowing Lia to move into her spot. Her heels clicked softly across the stage floor as she crossed to the center again. This time beside Ryujin, who was already there, waiting, hands tucked casually into her pockets, like she had predicted this all along.
“Don’t say it,” Yeji murmured under her breath as she approached.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Ryujin replied, voice low. “I was just standing here. Minding my business.”
Yeji arched a brow.
“But,” Ryujin added with a smirk, “you did come to me. Again.”
Yeji exhaled through her nose and turned forward just as the camera flashed.
“Closer, please!” a voice from the crowd called. “Arms around each other!”
Ryujin raised her brows. “Permission, captain?”
Yeji scoffed as if the request was absurd, as if Ryujin had not already touched most of her skin tonight with far less permission and far more nerve.
But her silence gave her away anyway.
Ryujin tilted her head, grin deepening. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Before Yeji could retort, Ryujin’s arm slipped easily around her waist, fingers resting light and familiar at the curve of her back like they had done it a thousand times before.
Because they had.
Just not where anyone could see.
“Closer!” another photographer called. “A little more… Yes, perfect!”
Ryujin leaned in, voice low and warm against Yeji’s ear. “If I get tackled by your PR team, I want it on record this was sanctioned.”
The next click of the shutter captured Yeji with a faint smile she did not mean to show and Ryujin looking like she had just won gold all over again.
The flash came again, and again, as they stood together.
From a distance, it was just a picture.
Up close, there was quiet tension in the space between breaths. The ghost of a smile tugging at Ryujin’s lips. The faintest lean of Yeji’s shoulder toward hers.
Then came the photobooth.
Set up near the far end of the ballroom, tucked beside a sponsor’s LED display, the booth was an afterthought, fun for guests, mostly. But the second Ryujin spotted it, she leaned slightly toward Yeji and tilted her head.
Yeji did not need more than a look.
“Cover for us?” Ryujin asked Winter, voice low.
Winter blinked once, then huffed. “You’re lucky I’m a romantic.”
Riley overheard and turned to Yuna with a grin. “Operation: Cover the Hockey Lesbians is a go.”
Yuna snorted. “Go. We got you.”
Ryujin and Yeji slipped out as the rest of the team crowded toward the center again, posing for media photos with sponsors and executives.
Lia “ accidentally ” blocked a wandering camera crew by taking over the mic for an impromptu thank-you speech. Riley staged a group selfie with half the roster. Chaeryeong bumped into a tray of drinks.
All incredibly distracting.
No one noticed the two stars of the team disappear behind the thick curtain of the photobooth.
Lia’s impromptu speech quickly turned theatrical.
“I just think it’s really beautiful,” she said into the mic, one hand pressed dramatically to her chest, “how we’ve all grown not just as athletes, but as people. As sisters. As warriors of the ice.”
Jeongyeon choked on her drink. “What the fuck is she saying?”
Karina leaned in, whispering, “Stalling. Let her cook.”
Behind them, Riley had thrown her arm around Seulgi and Jinni, tugging them close for a loud, exaggerated selfie, deliberately blocking one of the team photographers from scanning the room. “Say ‘media training is fake! ’”
“Media training is fake!” Jinni yelled, a beat too loud.
Sydney, catching on, immediately dragged Casey and Madison into a spontaneous game of rock-paper-scissors with high-stakes dramatics. “Loser has to photobomb every shot for the next ten minutes.”
“Why are we doing this?” Madison asked, laughing.
“Because love is real and our captain is sneaky,” Sydney replied simply.
At the side, Chaeyoung had positioned herself beside the head of PR, nodding along to whatever was being said while discreetly angling her body to block any view toward the far corner of the ballroom.
Yuna, meanwhile, was circling like a well-dressed shark. She casually bumped into a roaming photographer, flashing a blinding grin. “Oops! Sorry—hey, can I see that last shot? I think I blinked.”
“…You’re not even in the photo,” he said, confused.
“…Exactly!” she replied, taking the camera anyway.
Winter was sipping water like it was wine, eyes narrowed at the distant booth where Ryujin and Yeji had slipped into the shadows. “If they don’t send me a framed copy of whatever goes down in there, I swear—”
Riley leaned in. “We should start charging them. Emotional labor isn’t free.”
Lia finished her speech with an unnecessary bow, the entire table erupting into polite applause that quickly dissolved into barely-stifled laughter.
“Think they got the shot?” Karina asked quietly, tapping her phone.
“They better,” Yuna muttered. “We just pulled off a full media blackout.”
“And no one even suspects,” Winter added smugly.
Across the room, the flash of the photo booth finally lit up behind the sponsor display.
“Showtime,” Chaeryeong murmured, raising her glass. “Long live the cover-up.”
Inside, it was dim and quiet.
Only the soft light, a screen blinking with countdown numbers, a little printed reminder to “ smile and pose !”
Yeji sat first, tugging Ryujin in beside her.
The curtain fell shut.
“What are we doing?” Ryujin asked, grinning.
“Creating evidence,” Yeji said, straightening her posture. “For your burner account.”
Ryujin laughed, but the sound softened when she turned to Yeji just as the countdown began.
3…
Ryujin leaned in.
2…
Yeji blinked. “What are y—”
1…
Click
Too late. Ryujin pressed a quick, exaggerated kiss to her cheek just as the camera snapped, leaving a perfect lipstick imprint on Yeji’s skin.
Yeji’s right eye squeezed shut on instinct, caught between surprise and helpless laughter, her hand instinctively reaching up too late to stop it.
Ryujin turned toward the camera, grinning like she had just won something. One hand slid up to cup Yeji’s cheek, tilting her face just enough to make the lipstick mark on her skin visible.
Yeji scowled, caught mid-protest, but Ryujin’s grip was gentle and unrelenting.
Click .
The photo froze them like that: Ryujin smug and radiant, flashing her grin like a victory flag, while Yeji, lip curled and arms crossed, looked every bit the reluctant accomplice to the crime on her face.
Ryujin leaned back with a smug smile, tapping the lipstick mark on Yeji’s cheek in mock innocence. “Souvenir. Now everyone will know.”
But Yeji only squinted at her for a second before grabbing her by the collar.
She launched herself toward Ryujin, fingers curled tightly into the lapel of her blazer. The sudden movement made Ryujin instinctively lean back a little, her laugh still barely fading against Yeji’s mouth.
Ryujin’s hands had risen in reflex, now cupping Yeji’s face as if steadying her, thumbs brushing along her jaw. Her head was tilted just slightly, mouth parted, eyes fluttering shut in the fraction of a second before the countdown ended.
Click.
The third photo caught them mid-kiss.
Yeji’s hand was tangled in the collar of Ryujin’s blazer, fingers crumpling the fabric like she could not quite pull her close enough. Her posture still held a fraction of control, but her lips betrayed her, curved into something between a sigh and a smile.
Ryujin kissed her like she meant it. Both hands cradled Yeji’s face, thumbs brushing over the high points of her cheekbones, holding her with the kind of reverence that made time irrelevant.
They pulled apart, breathless and laughing. Ryujin’s head was tilted back slightly, her whisker dimples on full display, blazer rumpled from Yeji’s grip.
Yeji was facing her fully now, hands still resting against Ryujin’s chest like she had not even noticed she was still touching her.
Her smile was wide.
It was rare and real.
It was the kind that made her subtle dimple appear, the one Ryujin always said she liked best. Her lashes were curled upward as she looked at Ryujin, cheeks flushed and still slightly smudged with the mark Ryujin had left.
Their foreheads nearly touched.
Neither of them looked at the camera.
Click.
The final frame froze them mid-laughter.
Ryujin leaning back slightly, eyes crinkled, her whisker dimples fully out in a way that only ever surfaced when she was not trying to be cool.
Yeji, head tilted ever so slightly toward her, wore a smile that cracked through all her usual composure, wide, unguarded, and soft.
That rare, subtle dimple on her left cheek had made an appearance, the kind that only showed when she truly forgot herself.
They were not even posing anymore.
Just caught in the middle of being happy.
In the middle of being in love .
Their hands still brushed between them, knees touching, the faint smudge of Ryujin’s lipstick still on Yeji’s cheek.
No teasing.
No masks.
Just them, framed in dim booth lighting and the soft buzz of joy.
Pictures they would not show the world.
But the kind of picture that made it obvious they were seconds away from falling for each other all over again.
Outside, the team kept watch, fielding questions and nudging the photographer away from the booth.
When Yeji and Ryujin emerged a few minutes later, breath steadied, fingers cleanly separated, the team greeted them with nothing but smug, knowing smiles.
Winter held up a hand as they rejoined the crowd.
“Don’t worry,” she said, voice sweet. “We made sure no one noticed.”
“Appreciate it,” Ryujin muttered, smoothing her hair back.
Chaeryeong squinted at Yeji. “Uh… captain?”
Yeji turned slightly, brows raised. “Yeah?”
“You’ve got something—” Chaeryeong pointed vaguely at her own cheek, “—right there. Lipstick, maybe?”
Ryujin’s head snapped toward Yeji in an instant. “Shit—” she hissed, and before Yeji could react, Ryujin reached out and quickly wiped the mark off with the pad of her thumb, the motion practiced, almost too smooth.
Yeji sighed. “Subtle.”
Chaeryeong snorted as she walked off. “You two are ridiculous.”
Yeji just looked at Ryujin, then at the team, one brow lifting. “The prints?”
Yuna handed Yeji the photo strip without a word.
Four tiny moments frozen in time, just for them.
Yeji took it carefully. The print was glossy and warm from the machine. Each one a flash of chaos and something unspoken.
Four clicks of privacy in a night full of cameras.
She stared at them for a moment, then passed the strip to Ryujin.
“We look ridiculous,” she muttered.
Ryujin took it with both hands, smiling faintly as her gaze drifted over each frame like she was memorizing them. Her thumb brushed lightly over the final photo, the one where Yeji was laughing, her barely-there dimple showing, and Ryujin’s whisker dimples were out in full force.
“We look happy.”
“What the fuck,” Winter blinked, squinted, then made a noise like she had just seen something scandalous. “I cannot believe how insanely attractive you both look together. It’s— offensive .”
Yeji groaned, tipping her head back. “Were you spying?”
“We were covering for you,” Lia said, appearing behind Winter with her arms crossed. “Which, by the way, was risky. We deserve medals.”
“I already have one,” Ryujin deadpanned, flicking the edge of her gold medal.
“Oh my god,” Jules chimed in, “is this what you two are like in private?”
“Can you blame them?” Chaeryeong added, poking her head in too. “Look at these two. It’s like a rom-com poster just printed itself.”
Yeji tried to snatch the photo back. “Okay, that’s enough.”
Winter made a noise like she was physically attacked. “Okay. Nope. I am not emotionally equipped for this. Give me the photo. I’m framing it.”
“No,” Ryujin said instantly, snatching the photo, “Mine.”
“Wow,” Yuna said, walking up behind them with a half-eaten macaron. “Possession is nine-tenths of the relationship, huh?”
“Law,” Karina corrected, snagging a cookie from the dessert tray without missing a beat. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law .”
“I know what I said,” Yuna said.
Lia crossed her arms again. “You know, Chaeryeong staged an actual collision. I gave a speech.”
“A long one,” Jeongyeon added. “You almost cried.”
“I commit to the bit,” Lia said proudly.
Yeji rolled her eyes. “Noted. We’ll send you a thank-you card.”
“Send us two,” Winter said, peeking again at the photos in Ryujin’s hand. “With the third pic… Wait no, the fourth one.”
Yeji groaned again. “I cannot stand any of you.”
“Love you too, captain,” Chaeryeong chimed in from a few steps away, clearly eavesdropping the whole time.
Lia raised an eyebrow. “You two done being secret girlfriends or should we keep stalling for time?”
Yeji shot Ryujin a glance, just a flash of amusement and affection hidden behind a practiced glare. Ryujin grinned like it was not the first time she had been looked at that way, and like she hoped it would not be the last.
“We’re good,” Ryujin said finally.
“But thanks for the cover,” Yeji added. “Really.”
Ryujin, entirely unbothered, leaned into Yeji’s side. “At least now there’s evidence.”
After a moment, Yeji took the photo strip from Ryujin and quietly tucked it into the inside pocket of Ryujin’s blazer, right over her heart.
“Don’t lose it,” she murmured.
Ryujin smiled wider. “Not a chance.”
Team USA slowly scattered across the ballroom. Some were lingering for last-minute selfies. The official program was done, but the energy had not faded.
If anything, it had shifted into something looser, buzzing with post-ceremony adrenaline.
“We’re doing something, right?” Riley asked, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Please don’t tell me we’re just going back to our rooms like we’re eighty.”
Winter snorted. “Speak for yourself. I’ve seen the way you nap in ice tubs.”
“Shut up,” Riley grinned. “But seriously. We have an after party?”
“We do,” Karina confirmed, pulling up the message thread on her phone. “They said it earlier. We have a private room on the tenth floor. The entertainment suite.”
Yuna gasped. “I knew I liked this team for a reason.”
“Wait, we’re allowed?” Jules asked, a little too excited. “Like—no curfew allowed?”
“No curfew,” Lia repeated, eyes wide with mock reverence. “God bless.”
The ballroom was already beginning to thin out, the sound of clinking glasses and soft chatter rising beneath the chandeliers as the official dinner wound down. Gold medals flashed under the low, golden lights, draped around elegant necklines and suit lapels.
Several players had already loosened their ties or slipped off their heels, the sharp edge of formal celebration slowly softening into something more familiar, more real.
Then came the unmistakable call from the far end of the room.
“All Team USA players to the front, please! Final round of photos before the media wrap-up!”
The announcement came from a tall man with a camera slung over both shoulders, flanked by a few media assistants holding clipboards and light reflectors. Behind him stood a backdrop featuring the IIHF crest and rows of federation and sponsor logos. Photographers were already lining up again, adjusting flashes, barking quiet directions to assistants while checking their shots.
There was a collective groan and some laughter from the tables, but the team moved. One by one, players rose from their seats, grabbing jackets, fixing lipstick, adjusting the ribbons on their medals. Chaeryeong helped Yuna smooth out the back of her dress. Jeongyeon clinked her glass against Seulgi’s before sauntering toward the backdrop. Lia handed her clutch to Winter with a mock-serious, “Do not drop this.”
Yeji and Ryujin were still seated near the edge of the room, lingering just outside the main cluster of tables. Ryujin had been turned slightly toward Yeji, their conversation quiet and hard to overhear beneath the background noise.
Her fingers had been absently rolling the edge of her medal ribbon. Yeji’s gloves were off, her elbows resting lightly on the table as she looked at Ryujin with the kind of half-smile that only her teammates would recognize as fondness.
“Yeji. Ryujin.” Lia’s voice came from behind them, light but pointed. “They’re waiting.”
Yeji blinked once and stood. Ryujin followed with a stretch and a lazy exhale. She reached to adjust her collar, and Yeji, without thinking, reached out to fix the slight crook.
It was done in a second.
They made their way to the front with the rest of the team, Ryujin nodding briefly to the media coordinator as she stepped into frame. Yeji moved to stand with the veterans at the center, her posture regal and composed, while Ryujin fell into place near the front row, slightly off to one side.
The team grouped up quickly. Arms were slung around shoulders, elbows nudged for space, medals lifted high.
The first round of photos was standard: two rows, all facing forward, some serious and composed. Then came the fun shots, medals raised triumphantly, fists in the air, a few players laughing outright as someone cracked a joke in the back.
At one point, Riley shouted, “Smile like you just ruined IIHF teams’ sleep schedule!” and the whole room erupted in laughter.
“Perfect! Hold it—three, two, one!”
Flashes went off in sequence, capturing the golden glow of the champions under lights designed to immortalize moments.
For a few seconds, everything paused.
Team USA in full, frozen in time.
Then the cameras lowered. The flashes ceased.
“That’s a wrap on official photos!” one of the organizers called. “You’re free to go!”
Almost immediately, the group began to scatter.
The kind of relief that only comes at the end of something monumental.
But somewhere between the sound of medals settling against fabric and teammates beginning to migrate toward the elevators or bar, Yeji and Ryujin were gone.
Not together.
Not noticeably.
They simply melted out of the room like breath escaping glass, as if they had never stood there to begin with.
A few players noticed.
Some exchanged glances.
It was Karina who finally spoke up, smirking. “Ryujin and Yeji vanished again. What is that now, their fourth magic trick of the night?”
Winter snorted. “They better show up at the after-party or I’m calling it an elopement.”
Chaeryeong, who had been quiet through most of it, just hummed as she stepped out of the way of a passing server. “Let’s drop by the entertainment suite, scope it out.”
“Great,” Winter said. “We check it out, then we go change. So no one disappears for three hours and comes back in pajamas.”
“Who are you looking at?” Karina asked, squinting.
“ Everyone ,” Winter said.
They all laughed, the weight of the night finally beginning to lift. Slowly, they began peeling off toward the elevators in groups, heels clicking, laughter trailing behind them like confetti.
Down the hall of the tenth floor, a discreet sign on the wall marked the room.
Entertainment Room – Reserved
Jules was the first to push open the double doors, poking her head in with a slow whistle. “Oh, they spoiled us.”
The lights were dimmed just enough to feel intimate, but the room itself was wide and polished: dark panel walls, velvet curtains half-drawn over tinted windows, and a long walnut bar already manned by a bartender behind gleaming glass bottles.
On one side, three billiards tables sat under their own low-hanging light, cue sticks lined neatly on the rack.
Opposite that, a massive flatscreen with karaoke setup flickered through its idle screensaver. Two plush couches formed a corner near the mic stand.
“No press?” Yuna asked, stepping in behind her.
“Locked down,” Seulgi confirmed, glancing behind them. “I checked with security. Just us tonight.”
Winter wandered in and immediately made a beeline for the karaoke remote. “This is dangerous,” she said reverently, flipping through the song queue. “We’re gonna cause problems in here.”
Madison leaned against the bar and raised an eyebrow at the full spread of labeled bottles. “And the drinks are covered?”
“All night,” s aid Karina, reading the small sign tucked near the register. “Private sponsor. We’re good.”
Chaeryeong let out a low whistle. “We really earned this, huh?”
Lia grinned as she stepped up beside them, slipping off her heels with a relieved sigh. “Gold medal, banquet, open bar, and karaoke? We’re practically national treasures.”
Winter reached over the counter to grab a lime wedge. “Correction: we are national treasures. And I fully plan on drinking like one.”
Lia leaned over, scanning the crowd. “Still no Yeji and Ryujin?”
“Might be in a stairwell somewhere,” Karina said idly, sipping from a glass of soda. “You know how they are.”
“I still can’t believe they’re actually together,” Seulgi muttered.
“Please. The rest of us had to endure years of rivalry-flavored foreplay,” Winter deadpanned. “Let them kiss in peace.”
Seulgi choked on her sip. “God. That’s— graphic .”
Winter answered, expression flat but amused. “So were their mic’d-up moments. Did you hear the ‘try not to miss me too much ’ line? That wasn’t chirping. That was flirting with audience participation.”
“Then still pretend to be rivals on camera now.”
“They can pretend all they want. But they’ve been circling each other since Minnesota. Now they’re just finally letting themselves kiss in peace.”
And then, just as the team had started to wonder more about their whereabouts, like clockwork, Ryujin and Yeji appeared.
All heads turned, the room falling into an instinctive hush.
The suite door creaked open just as the last of the team had finished their unofficial inspection of the venue. Most were gathered near the billiard tables, others poking around the untouched bar and karaoke room, making mental notes of what songs to queue and what drinks to mix later tonight.
The chatter had started to quiet down, attention drifting back toward the entrance in expectation.
She walked with her usual quiet poise, heels silent against the smooth flooring, but something about her was distinctly different: less polished, more unguarded.
Her sleek black dress still clung to her frame in elegant lines, but the statement detail was unmistakable: a dark velvet blazer, clearly not hers, draped over her shoulders.
The sleeves were too long, the fabric hanging lower on her arms, and the shoulders a little wide for her trim frame.
Everyone in the room knew whose blazer was on her.
The blazer was open, but pulled close enough around her front to cover where her dress dipped along her collarbone.
It looked deliberate.
Protective.
Like she had shrugged it on in a hurry but then decided to keep it.
Not for warmth, but for cover .
A second later, Ryujin followed.
Her blazer was gone now— obviously —and so was the lipstick she had reapplied earlier in the night. Not a trace of it remained.
She had not bothered to fix it this time, had not touched up anything at all. Her hair, which had been in a bun for most of the evening, was now completely loose, falling in slightly tousled waves past her collarbones. One side was tucked behind her ear in a last-minute fix. The other still curled against her cheek, soft and warm and totally unstyled.
The flush on her skin was impossible to ignore.
They walked in close, Yeji just a step ahead, Ryujin trailing with her hands tucked into her pockets, eyes flicking around the suite with casual disinterest.
But no matter how natural they tried to look, the silence in the room gave them away.
Conversations faltered. A couple of the girls exchanged long looks.
Karina froze mid-sentence.
Chaeryeong arched a single, knowing brow from where she leaned against the bar.
Riley did not even try to hide her grin.
Winter smirked, looking between them. “Did you two find some magical hallway that turns rivals to lovers or…?”
Yeji did not respond. Ryujin just smiled faintly and said, “We took a walk.”
“In circles?” Yuna asked, grinning.
“In a straight line,” Ryujin replied, eyes flicking toward Yeji. “ Eventually .”
Jinni let out a low whistle. “Huh. Borrowed clothes now?”
“Somebody had a very productive walk,” Jules whispered under her breath to Sydney, who elbowed her.
Jeongyeon raised a glass slightly in a mock-toast. “Nice jacket, Yeji.”
Yeji, to her credit, did not flinch. She only glanced around the room with cool ease, adjusting the blazer slightly with one hand and replying, “It was chilly.”
“Right,” Karina muttered. “ Indoors .”
Riley leaned in toward Winter, voice low but clearly meant to be heard. “So how long do we think that mark’s gonna last?”
Winter tilted her head. “Depends. Was it a collarbone kiss or a neck one?”
Yeji narrowed her eyes at both of them, but not seriously. There was no heat in it, only the kind of look that said I could have you doing sprints if I wanted to , which, considering she was still captain, might have been a valid threat.
That earned a few snorts and muffled laughs. No one pressed further.
“Captain! I’m getting you drunk tonight. It’s overdue,” Yuna declared.
Yeji scanned the space with a raised brow. “You know I can hold my—”
“Exactly why it’s a challenge,” Yuna cut in with a grin, already tossing her clutch onto one of the couches like they owned the place.
“Fine,” Yeji said eventually, her lips twitching as she surveyed the bar. “One song, two shots, and I’m choosing my billiards partner.”
“Three songs,” Winter countered from behind her, examining the bottle labels like a seasoned scout.
“Five shots.”
“We’ll see.” Yeji said as she glanced around the room. At the clean floors, the open space, the inviting chaos, and then tugged lightly at the hem of her dress.
Madison nudged a glass toward the bartender, eyes scanning the shelf with interest. “Tequila to start?”
Karina turned to Yeji. “Captain’s call. First round?”
Yeji raised a brow. “I haven’t even changed yet.”
“None of us have changed,” Ryujin said from the couch, toned muscles peeking through the cropped waistcoat, arms draped across the backrest. “This round’s a preview.”
Yeji sighed, but the amused curve of her mouth betrayed her. “Fine. One round.”
Riley strolled in, “What are we toasting to?”
“To gold,” Karina said, lifting her glass.
“To Team USA,” Yuna chimed in with a grin.
“To the night we’re about to regret in the best way possible,”
Ryujin raised hers last, her gaze sweeping over the room, over their post-banquet hair and undone zippers and heels already kicked aside.
“And to the night we’ll definitely remember, but only just barely.”
Glasses clinked.
The first round burned warm in their chests.
Lia checked her watch. “Alright, now that we’ve confirmed the suite exists and is worthy of a celebration, let’s head back, get changed, and regroup in thirty?”
“Oh, thank god,” Jinni said, already pulling the pins out of her hair. “I was about to rip this zipper off.”
Riley said, backing toward the door. “Meet back here in twenty?”
“Make it thirty,” Yujin said. “Some of us still need to remove ten pounds of setting spray.”
“Ryujin! Yeji! Thirty minutes on the dot!”
Yeji sighed, amused.
Ryujin just laughed, “You heard the girl, captain. Don’t be late.”
Yeji rolled her eyes but did not hide the smile.
The team began trickling back out with easy chatter and playful chirps, leaving the suite untouched, for now.
But the energy had shifted.
They had seen what they needed to see.
The venue was perfect.
And everyone knew: when they returned, the real celebration would begin.
Chapter Text
The Team USA players had endured cameras, toasts, and polite mingling with sponsors and staff for hours, but beneath the polished smiles, an undercurrent of restless energy was building. The moment the final toast ended and the banquet lights softened, the players rose from their seats, voices tumbling into laughter as the formality of the evening gave way to anticipation.
Now, with the entertainment lounge booked for the after-party and the official part of the evening behind them, Team USA scattered like sparks in every direction.
The plan was clear: regroup in thirty minutes. Enough time to ditch the dresses and jackets, shake off the polish, and come back down as themselves.
Sneakers for heels.
Laughter instead of formal conversations.
Music instead of speeches.
The ride up to the ninth floor was crowded and lively, the chatter spilling over as doors slid open.
Winter skipped down the hallway in her socks.
Karina had her heels swinging from one hand.
Yuna giggled beside her, digging through her bag for the makeup wipes she swore she had packed.
Jinni announced she was changing in ten minutes flat, just to prove she could.
One by one, players peeled off toward their solo rooms, keycards flashing green, doors opening and shutting in quick succession. Jackets were tossed onto chairs, and the muffled thrum of music testing from someone’s phone leaked faintly through the walls.
Soon, the hallway quieted. The team had scattered to prepare for the after party, each retreating into their own space.
And then came the group chat.
Puck Around and Find Out
[Chaeryeong]
30 minutes, people.
Countdown started.
[Karina]
If Yeji and Ryujin are late again, they’re cut off from the aux.
[Winter]
no vanishing act this time pls
we know you’re dating
we support you
but we will drag you out by your coordinated outfits if needed
[Yuna]
Not to snitch, but I will check the hallway.
[Riley]
theyre probably in the same room already
just saying
Inside her room, Ryujin was barefoot, already halfway changed, her waistcoat slung across the back of a chair. Her phone buzzed again, this time with a gif of someone banging on a door. She smiled affectionately. Weirdos , she thought.
Ryujin pulled her cropped grey sweater over her head, tugging the hem straight with one hand as she scanned herself in the mirror. It was soft at the seams, lived-in without looking sloppy, and just cropped enough to meet the top of her high-waisted black pants — the kind that pooled slightly at her ankles, grazing the edges of her white sneakers like they were made to be worn this way.
She tilted her head to the side, studying the navy collar stitched neatly into the neckline of the sweater. It gave the illusion of layering without the effort, polished without being uptight, which was exactly the kind of balance she liked.
She reached for her hair tie on the countertop, winding it between her fingers for a moment before sweeping her dark hair up into a loose ponytail. It took two quick loops and a tug to secure it. Her bangs stayed loose around her face, softening the sharper lines of her jaw. She tilted her head once in the mirror, then again, watching how the strands settled.
Not perfect. But it did not need to be.
Comfortable, clean, just enough effort to look effortless. Her makeup was light now, most of the banquet shimmer wiped away, only a smudge of color left on her lips. She slipped on her sneakers, grabbed her phone, and finally exhaled.
The after-party was minutes away. The group chat had already declared war over the playlist, Riley was issuing countdown threats, and someone, probably Yuna, had sent a selfie with the caption “fit check or fight check?”
Ryujin should have headed straight to the elevator.
But her feet stayed planted at the door, and her thumb hovered over Yeji’s name in her messages.
[Ryujin]
captain
you ready?
whats your room?
Delivered.
No reply.
Her brow furrowed. A minute or two passed. She refreshed the chat, no new Yeji messages there either.
Ryujin cracked open her door and stepped into the hallway. It was calmer than before. Most of the team had not finished changing or were either already downstairs or headed that way. The patterned carpet muffled her steps as she wandered past identical doors, phone still in hand, gaze flicking toward each number like one might magically give her an answer.
No knock.
No real plan.
Just a quiet pull in her chest that made her keep walking.
She reached the end of the hallway, paused, checked her phone again.
Still no reply.
Then, a door clicked. Hinges creaked.
Before Ryujin could turn fully, a hand shot out, grabbed the front of her sweater.
“Wha—?” she barely had time to get the word out before she was pulled inside.
The door closed behind them with a firm click, and Ryujin stumbled into the warm glow of Yeji’s room, blinking as she caught her balance.
“Cap—” she started, breathless.
Yeji pressed her hand firmly over Ryujin’s mouth.
Ryujin froze, mid-word, eyes wide in surprise as Yeji leaned in, not a hair out of place, calm despite the abruptness of it all.
“Yeah, I’m still here.” Yeji said into the phone, her voice smooth, barely above a murmur.
Oh.
The captain was on her phone.
Still in her banquet dress, Yeji held her cellphone to her ear with the other hand, her posture steady, her expression the same as ever despite dragging someone bodily into her room.
“The ballroom’s cleared, press has left, and the staff confirmed the sponsor display’s been packed.”
Ryujin’s eyes blinked slowly, lips still covered, staring up at her with a mix of confusion and amusement. The corners of her mouth twitched beneath Yeji’s palm.
Yeji did not even look at her. Her hand stayed steady.
“I’ll check the lounge in twenty, just to make sure the music setup’s working,” she added, nodding slightly to whoever was on the other end of the call. “Everything else is wrapped.”
Yeji’s eyes were still fixed ahead, tone composed, voice as calm as if she were not holding Ryujin hostage with one hand and coordinating the remainder of a post-banquet breakdown with the other.
“No, that’s fine,” Yeji continued calmly. “It’s been cleared. The AV crew already signed out.”
Ryujin reached up slowly. Her fingers wrapped around Yeji’s wrist, and with a gentle touch, she pulled her hand away from her mouth.
Yeji did not stop her. She simply kept talking, her voice even and steady, though her eyes flicked briefly to Ryujin with a warning that held no heat.
Ryujin did not speak.
She just leaned in slowly, letting her breath ghost over Yeji’s shoulder before she tilted her head and pressed a kiss to the base of her neck.
Yeji stiffened just slightly, mid-sentence.
Another kiss, softer this time, just below her jaw. Ryujin’s lips brushed the skin like a secret. Her hand settled lightly on Yeji’s waist, grounding but unintrusive.
“Yes,” Yeji said into the phone again, but her voice was quieter now, a bit distracted. “No, it’s— It’s all under control.”
Ryujin smiled against her skin, lips curving as she kissed the edge of her jaw once more, slow and patient, like she had all the time in the world.
Yeji could hear the smile in Ryujin’s breath now. It was barely audible, but she knew it, knew the way it curled against her skin like a secret only they shared.
“Can you—” Yeji swallowed hard. “Can you hold on a moment?”
She pulled the phone slightly away from her ear, palm covering the speaker as she turned just enough to shoot Ryujin a glare.
It had no bite, only warning.
Ryujin smiled against her shoulder and said nothing. Just mouthed, What? I’m being gentle.
Yeji turned back to the call, forcing her voice into full control again. She straightened her posture and cleared her throat.
“Sorry. Where were we? Oh, yes that works. Confirm the time, and I’ll double-check it downstairs.”
Ryujin did not stop. She just kissed her again, right below the jaw this time, slow and maddeningly soft.
Yeji’s eyes narrowed. She exhaled through her nose and shifted her weight, still holding the phone in place. Her free hand came up, found Ryujin’s chest, and pressed against it flat and firm.
“Okay. Send it to me when it’s ready.”
Ryujin only smirked, eyes heavy-lidded with mischief, staying close enough that Yeji could feel the warmth of her breath along her neck.
“No, the schedule for tomorrow hasn’t changed. 2:30 lobby call, full team.”
Still speaking, she began guiding Ryujin back.
Yeji did not break the rhythm.
One step, then another.
Ryujin did not resist. Her brows rose slightly, amused now, lips curling into a silent grin.
Yeji walked her backward, her eyes never leaving the floor in front of her, her voice cool and composed against the phone.
“We’ll handle it tomorrow morning.” she said, tone as steady as if she were not currently steering her girlfriend back.
Ryujin’s calves bumped the edge of the bed.
Yeji did not pause.
Her hand stayed firm against Ryujin’s chest, and with one last gentle push, Ryujin let herself sink down onto the mattress, catching her weight with both hands behind her. She leaned back on them, head tilted in exaggerated innocence as she gazed up at Yeji with that same maddening smirk.
A low, helpless laugh escaped her lips, the sound rich with surrender and delight.
Yeji turned away, completely unbothered, pacing a few feet back toward the dresser.
“Yes,” she said. “Let me know if you hear anything else. Otherwise, we’re clear.”
Her tone remained smooth and clipped, steady in the way only Yeji could manage under pressure, or in this case, under Ryujin.
Behind her, Ryujin rolled her shoulders slightly, still leaning back on her hands, watching every inch of Yeji’s movement with an amused hum under her breath.
A short pause followed. Then,
“All right. Have a good night.”
She hung up a moment later, setting the phone down on the dresser.
“You manhandled me while confirming security logistics,” Ryujin said slowly, eyes fixed on Yeji with something between disbelief and admiration.
Her eyes tracked Yeji’s every movement, as if still processing how she had been wordlessly wrestled into submission mid-kiss without even derailing a conversation about briefing documents.
“I was multitasking,” Yeji replied without turning, reaching for the dresser drawer and tugging it open, already scanning for the top she had set aside earlier.
“And terrifying,” Ryujin added. “In a hot way.”
“You’re the worst,” Yeji murmured, eyes still fixed ahead.
“I was being quiet,” Ryujin said, a smile on her voice. “You’re just really bad at pretending I’m not touching you.”
Still leaning back on her hands at the edge of the bed, Ryujin looked effortlessly smug.
Yeji, back still turned, exhaled through her nose and shook her head once. Not at the words, but at the truth in them. Then, just barely, her lips twitched. It did not reach her eyes, but Ryujin saw it anyway through the mirror.
“That’s the second time tonight you put your hand on my mouth,” Ryujin said. There was no accusation in it, just that teasing murmur she always used when Yeji had the upper hand: fond, flirtatious, defiant. Her head tilted slightly to the side, eyes sharp with open mischief.
Yeji turned slowly, arms folding across her chest in a way that looked effortless but carried the sharp edge of warning.
“You were about to say something that would’ve made me hang up,” she replied evenly.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,”
Ryujin grinned. “So what now? You gonna press mute next time I open my mouth?”
Yeji did not answer right away. She just turned back toward the dresser calmly and quietly.
Then, over her shoulder, without looking back, she said, “Not if you behave.”
Ryujin let the words settle. They rang out louder in her head than they did in the room, laced with layered meaning she could not pretend to ignore. She blinked once slowly, and tilted her head. A quiet laugh worked its way up from her chest. Not loud enough to interrupt. Just enough to be known.
“You didn’t even let me speak.” she said, feigning offense, though the amusement in her voice betrayed her.
“I’ve heard enough from you to predict the rest.”
Ryujin let out a soft laugh, unbothered and too pleased with herself to care. She tilted her head, gaze flicking down to the mesh covering Yeji’s abdomen, then back up to her eyes.
“You know,” she drawled, “some people say thank you when their girlfriend shows up looking hot and interested.”
Yeji took a step closer. The air seemed to narrow between them.
“Some girlfriends,” she said coolly, “don’t try to seduce their captain during a logistics call.”
Ryujin just smiled, easy and shameless, the smirk never leaving her face. She shrugged once, casual as anything, “Not my fault you look better giving orders than anyone has a right to.”
Yeji did not argue.
Instead, she turned back toward the dresser, the muscles of her back shifting beneath the dress. Her voice came quieter now, but not unsure. It was more like a warning made in passing, without urgency, because she already knew how this would end.
“Keep talking like that and there will be a third time tonight.”
Ryujin’s smirk deepened as she leaned back further on her hands, one brow arching with theatrical interest. Her voice dropped, deliberately teasing. The game between them had always danced on the edge of provocation and restraint, and tonight, neither one seemed too interested in holding back.
“Third time covering my mouth… or… ?” she asked, letting the end of the sentence hang in the air between them like smoke, suggestive and just a little too pleased with itself.
Yeji’s silence was brief. She did not look at her. She only reached for a folded top from the drawer, letting the soft cotton unfurl in her hands.
She merely shrugged as she turned back to the dresser. Her hair shifted slightly with the movement, catching the lamplight in soft waves. She pulled open the next drawer, utterly silent, like the question had not even been worth a response.
But Ryujin saw the way Yeji’s mouth twitched. The barest pull at the corner. Enough to confirm that she had heard every word. And that she was not denying either option.
So she just sat there, already planning exactly what she would say to earn it.
“Why were you even wandering outside?” Yeji asked instead, tone sharp with curiosity but laced with something warmer. The kind of question she already knew the answer to but asked anyway, just to hear it said aloud.
Ryujin shifted her weight slightly, gaze never leaving her.
“I was looking for you,” she said, like it was obvious. “You weren’t answering your phone.”
“I was busy.”
“You pulled me in like a criminal.”
“You were standing right outside my door.”
Ryujin blinked, still catching up to the moment. Her sweater was slightly wrinkled from where Yeji had grabbed her earlier, her mouth still tingling faintly from the pressure of that unexpected silence command.
“I didn’t even know this was your room,” she said, almost defensively.
Yeji turned at that slowly. One eyebrow lifted, just slightly. Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet as she stepped forward.
“You wandered down the hall and just happened to stop here?”
Ryujin opened her mouth, paused, and then gave a slight shrug. “I texted you. Twice .”
Yeji leaned back against the edge of her dresser, half-sitting, arms resting on either side as if she had been standing for hours.
The low lamplight caught in the angles of her bob, dark strands tucked neatly behind one ear. Her dress was still flawless: zipper closed, neckline in place, hem brushing mid-thigh like she had not moved at all since the banquet.
“I was clearly on the phone.”
Ryujin’s voice came low, almost cautious. “You didn’t tell me you were still working.”
Yeji gave a faint shake of her head. “I wasn’t supposed to be. Just last-minute stuff.”
Ryujin nodded, then glanced down at the fabric between them, brushing her thumb gently along the side seam of Yeji’s dress. “You haven’t even changed yet.”
“I was going to.” Yeji’s voice had softened too. “Just… couldn’t reach. Ribs.” she added simply as she pushed herself off the dresser.
There was an undertone, layered with something that twisted gently in Ryujin’s chest.
Her hand gestured vaguely over her shoulder, toward the short zipper beneath the collar of her halter. “Upper back. And the other one’s at the bottom.”
The room seemed smaller all of a sudden.
For a moment, Ryujin did not move. She just watched her with something unreadable in her eyes.
Ryujin then pushed off the bed, the mattress shifting behind her as she rose. She crossed the carpet slowly and came to a stop just behind Yeji, gaze tracing the black fabric of the dress, the way it folded so perfectly against her body.
Her fingers hovered for a beat, unsure whether to move or breathe.
Yeji stood still, waiting.
“Well,” Ryujin murmured, her warm breath brushing just beneath Yeji’s ear. Her tone was light but her voice low, “if you needed help, all you had to do was say so.”
She reached up carefully, brushing her knuckles against the back of Yeji’s shoulder by accident before finding the zipper’s small metal tab. She pinched it lightly and began to draw it down.
The sound was soft, a quiet whir of teeth separating, slow and deliberate.
The dress gave way inch by inch, revealing warm skin beneath cool fabric. Ryujin’s breath hitched, just barely, and she swallowed hard, forcing her hand to stay steady.
“You shouldn’t strain,” she murmured. “You’re still recovering.”
Yeji gave a small hum in response, but did not argue.
Ryujin stepped back a half-step. “The other one?”
Yeji nodded, moving her arm to indicate the hidden zip near her lower back. “It’s tight. I couldn’t twist enough.”
Ryujin’s hand slid to the fabric at Yeji’s waist. She found the zipper and began tugging it down with care, mindful not to jostle or pull. The dress loosened around Yeji’s hips in response.
Yeji turned around slowly once both zippers were undone, her hand still holding the front of her dress in place. She met Ryujin’s gaze head-on, and there was something in her eyes that softened.
Ryujin did not step back. Her hands stayed at her sides, but her eyes roamed, not over the dress, but over Yeji herself, the quiet defiance in her stance, the stubborn pride mixed with something else.
Something tender .
A smile crept across Ryujin’s face, slow and knowing.
“You didn’t really need my help, did you?” she asked quietly, voice laced with amusement.
Yeji’s lips twitched, the smallest hint of a smirk. “I said I couldn’t reach.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” Yeji said, calm as ever, eyes steady. “It’s not.”
Ryujin sat back down on the edge of the bed, hands behind her again as she leaned back slightly, gaze still fixed on Yeji with open interest, far too entertained.
The soft lamplight caught the curve of her grin, the gleam in her eyes never wavering as Yeji started to undress.
She paused.
Her hand hovered over the loose dress, but her gaze drifted up, right to where Ryujin sat, comfortably leaned back, utterly unbothered.
Yeji exhaled once through her nose. “Turn around.”
Ryujin blinked, caught off guard by the calm authority in those two words. She hesitated for a moment.
“I said,” Yeji repeated, softer this time, “turn around.”
Ryujin raised a brow, chin tilted like she was considering it. “Why? I was helpful.”
Yeji gave her a look. No bite, just dry disbelief.
“Eyes closed, then,” she said.
Ryujin grinned wider but obeyed, lids falling shut as she leaned back more fully on her hands. “Good thing I’m a very trustworthy girlfriend.” she murmured.
Ryujin closed her eyes obediently… for all of three seconds.
Then, with the smallest tilt of her head and lashes still lowered just enough to feign innocence, she cracked one eye open.
A sliver.
Barely a peek.
But it was enough to see.
Yeji was already looking at her.
“Took you exactly three seconds, Shin Ryujin.”
Ryujin’s eye snapped shut again.
Too late.
“I said eyes closed,” Yeji said, not cold, but knowing.
“ They were!” Ryujin grinned, still lounging on the bed with her eyes now tightly shut. “Mostly.”
“Fine,” she muttered, turning around. “ I’ll turn around, then.”
And from the bed, Ryujin, still smiling, whispered under her breath, “Worth it.”
Yeji gave her a look, equal parts fond and exasperated, then started undressing.
The room was quiet for a beat.
Then two.
And Ryujin peeked again.
Of course she did.
But this time, Yeji did not say anything. She did not turn around, did not scold.
She unfastened the last part of the dress. Her back was bare, the faint shadows of bruising still visible along her ribs where the compression had pressed too tight earlier.
The zipper slipped the rest of the way down, and she exhaled slowly as if the relief was immediate.
Ryujin’s smirk faltered.
She watched quietly, not leering, not grinning now. Her gaze tracing the familiar slope of Yeji’s shoulders, the disciplined lines of her posture even in stillness. The moment was not loud. It was not heated.
It was reverent.
The black banquet dress slipped down in a graceful whisper, pooling at her feet in a shimmer of fabric. She stepped out of it quietly, calm as ever, utterly unfazed by the weight of Ryujin’s gaze.
Now in nothing but simple black underwear and her rib compression, Yeji stood like it was the most natural thing in the world. She was unguarded yet unaffected.
There was no hesitation in her movements. She still had quiet control, the same kind she carried on the ice. She reached for her jeans and began to pull them on, smooth and practiced, sliding the denim up her legs before buttoning them at her waist.
From the bed, Ryujin watched without saying a word. She had not moved from her spot. Her eyes followed every motion, but her expression was softened now, lips parted slightly in something like awe, something quieter than the usual smirk.
She took it all in without teasing, without words.
Just presence.
Just her.
As Yeji reached for the top folded neatly on the dresser, her fingers brushing the soft cotton, she heard the faint rustle of movement behind her.
Ryujin sat up slowly, eyes never leaving her.
Without a word, she slid off the edge of the bed, her movements fluid and quiet, until she stood directly behind Yeji.
Her hands found their place with the kind of ease that only came from knowing. Her fingertips brushed Yeji’s waist before flattening against her skin, arms curling around her with the gentlest pull.
Yeji paused, her hand still hovering over the folded shirt.
But she did not resist.
Ryujin leaned in, resting her forehead against Yeji’s bare shoulder, breath soft and steady against her skin. One hand rose, thumb grazing the curve of her still faintly bruised ribcage. The other stayed low, palm warm against Yeji’s waist, anchoring her with quiet insistence.
“You’re warm,” Ryujin murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Yeji let out a soft breath, something between a sigh and a laugh, and let herself be pulled.
She allowed Ryujin to guide her down to the bed, her legs folding beneath her without resistance as Ryujin shifted back on the bed, making space, arms already open.
Ryujin curled into her side, her hand resting lightly over the waistband of Yeji’s jeans, thumb brushing idle circles there. She tucked her face into the curve of Yeji’s shoulder with a sigh so deep, it felt like it had been building all night, something unsaid finally given room to breathe.
Yeji said nothing.
She only let her arms settle around Ryujin’s frame, steady and sure, her chin resting gently on top of Ryujin’s head.
Wrapped up in each other, the sounds of the hallway faded into silence.
The after-party could wait.
Yeji let her eyes fall shut for a moment, breathing in slowly through her nose. Ryujin’s hand was still warm against her side, gentle as it hovered just over the compression wrap beneath her bra, her touch tender and careful, like the slightest pressure might bruise her all over again.
The silence between them had settled deep, but it was not heavy.
The light was low, the air between them warm and still, but her touch was delicate. She traced the faint outline of Yeji’s ribs, just under the curve where muscle met bone, where the bruising had once bloomed dark and stubborn after the tournament.
Her thumb paused, brushing over the compression wrap Yeji still wore beneath her clothes. Barely visible under the stretch of fabric, but there.
Ryujin’s voice came quietly, close to a whisper. “How’s your ribs?”
Yeji did not answer right away. Her breathing had slowed, but now she exhaled a little deeper, as if she had been expecting the question.
“They’re fine,” she said, calm and even. “Healing.”
Ryujin’s fingers did not move, just rested there for a moment longer. “Still wearing the wrap.”
“Only for a few more days. PT says it’s just precaution now.”
Ryujin shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss just beneath Yeji’s shoulder. “You didn’t tell me it still hurt.”
Yeji reached for Ryujin’s wrist, fingers curling softly around it. She did not push her away. She did not move her hand. She just held it there, anchoring her.
“I’m fine,” she said, voice low and steady. “I promise.”
Ryujin did not answer at first, just rested her forehead against Yeji’s bare shoulder, her breath brushing the skin just above the compression wrap. She stayed still, quiet in that way she rarely was.
Yeji shifted slightly, turning her face enough to press her lips against the top of Ryujin’s head. “The pain’s gone. Mostly. Just a little stiff sometimes. My mobility’s back. Strength’s coming back too.”
Ryujin’s hand twitched gently under hers.
“I wouldn’t lie to you about this,” Yeji added, even softer now. “You know that.”
“I know,” Ryujin said finally, barely audible.
Silence lingered for a while after that.
The kind that did not ask to be filled. It just sat there between them, steady and full.
There was nothing urgent about the way they lay together now. Only the soft, steady hum of closeness, like a song neither of them wanted to end.
Time blurred.
Then Ryujin shifted slightly, the bed dipping with the motion.
“Please don’t tell me you fell asleep,” Ryujin murmured, her voice warm and low as she shifted slightly on the bed beside Yeji.
Yeji did not answer right away. Her breathing was steady, eyes half-lidded where she sat, legs still tucked under her. She blinked slowly.
Ryujin turned her head, squinting at her. “Yeji.”
“Am not,” came the sluggish reply, muffled in Ryujin’s hair.
Ryujin narrowed her eyes. “You’re so old.”
Without warning, Yeji gave her one firm shove.
Ryujin yelped as she tumbled off the edge of the bed with all the grace of a sack of laundry. She landed on the carpet in a tangle of limbs and pride, the air puffing out of her lungs with a soft thud.
She lay sprawled on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling. “I think I saw my life flash before my eyes.”
From the bed, Yeji did not even look over. “Serves you right.”
“ God ,” Ryujin muttered, “I’m being reminded that I’m dating the league’s top defenseman. Who apparently never turns it off.”
Yeji leaned just enough to peer over the edge of the mattress. Her bob shifted as she tilted her head, expression neutral. “You called me old.”
“You body-checked me off the bed.”
Yeji shrugged, “You bounced.”
“I relived every hit you’ve ever thrown me into the boards.”
Yeji arched a brow, unbothered. “You got up every time.”
“And fell in love a little more each time,” Ryujin sighed dramatically, rolling to her feet. “I hate you.”
“You don’t.”
Ryujin smiled as she crossed the room. “No, I don’t.”
Yeji stood by the mirror, calmly threading a silver chain around her neck, the pendant catching faint reflections from the overhead light. Her black cropped top hugged her frame with clean, sculpted lines, just enough to remind Ryujin how little room there was for distraction. Paired with light-washed denim that clung at the waist.
The look was quite effortless.
Over it all, she wore a loose black jacket with subtle detailing at the sleeves, falling just past her wrists. It shifted gently as she moved, shaping her outline with quiet confidence.
Her makeup was lived-in but still lethal. It was sharp where it needed to be, smudged at the edges, smoke curling from the corners of her eyes. A faint shimmer lit the inner corners, playing off the flushed warmth still lingering on her cheekbones.
Her bob, slightly tousled from the evening’s chaos, curled around her jaw in soft, disobedient waves.
Somehow, the mess made it worse.
Or better.
So much better.
Chapter Text
The entertainment lounge was already alive when Yeji and Ryujin stepped in.
Soft neon traced the ceiling, casting a glow over the space that balanced elegance with the loosened formality of a team finally allowed to breathe.
“Whoa!” Riley stood up on the couch and pointed dramatically. “Stop the clock. Someone write this down. They’re on time .”
Winter nearly choked on her soda. “No freaking way. Did they get lost and accidentally arrive early?”
From the corner, Karina raised her brow in mock surprise. “What happened? You two finally decide to show up on time?”
Ryujin laughed, not the least bit offended. She strolled in with her usual confidence, hands tucked in the pockets of her pants, expression bright with mischief. “See, this is the thanks we get for being responsible .”
Yeji, ever composed, walked beside her without missing a moment, jacket neat and sleeves rolled just enough to show her watch. “We were always on time. You all were just chronically early.”
Jinni leaned back in her seat and sighed dramatically. “I miss when they were always late. At least then I could roast them for being predictable. This? This is confusing. Character development?”
“Red flag behavior,” Seulgi murmured.
“Actually dangerous,” Casey added. “What if they’re early next time? What happens then? The universe resets?”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Jules muttered.
Yeji turned toward the group with her usual calm, arms crossed and expression just cool enough to earn her dramatic effect. “We’re just trying to set a good example.”
“Since when ?” came the collective reply.
Ryujin threw her head back in laughter, then bumped her shoulder into Yeji’s lightly. “See? They miss us when we’re late. We keep the energy up.”
The room dissolved into laughter, a few pillows getting thrown, someone booing half-heartedly from the billiard tables.
But underneath the teasing, it was all easy familiarity, the kind that came from late nights, shared flights, hard wins, and harder practices.
Everyone in the room had come to expect the same thing: that no matter how late they were, or how often they vanished, Ryujin and Yeji would always return together.
Ryujin leaned casually against the counter. She raised an eyebrow at Yuna, who was staring down the menu like it was a scouting report.
“Just pick one,” Ryujin teased, already sipping something dark and strong. Winter snorted, ordered two rum and cokes without hesitation, and shoved one into Yuna’s hand before she could overthink it.
Yeji arrived a little slower, her presence alone enough to hush the bar for half a second. She did not need to raise her voice; the bartender simply turned toward her first.
“Lemon drop,” she said calmly, her tone even, but there was a faint curve in her lips as she glanced sideways at her teammates. She let them press around her, their laughter louder in her orbit, and accepted her glass.
It was Riley who raised the idea, slamming a shot glass down with too much enthusiasm. “Alright, no hiding. If we’re going to drink, we’re going to do it together.”
Jinni chimed in instantly, “Team toast, or it doesn’t count!”
Within seconds, everyone had scrambled for a glass, cocktails, beers, neat pours, soda for the few who opted out.
They spilled away from the counter, forming a loose circle around the lounge, glasses lifted high. The music, already pulsing from the speakers, carried underneath their voices, some retro pop beat filling the spaces between their words.
The circle tightened, twenty glasses raised into the glow of the lounge lights, the music pulsing steady beneath them.
A few voices tried to start the toast, but it was Riley, predictably loud, already flushed from the first round, who broke through.
“To Team USA 2025!” she shouted.
Ryujin, mischief in her grin, tipped the whole thing over. She raised her glass a little higher and declared, “And to the night we’ll surely regret once we’re hungover on the plane!”
Drinks went down in a wave and the warmth spread instantly. Some grimaced, some laughed, a few slammed glasses back on the counter with exaggerated flair.
But the echo of the toast lingered in the room. Every laugh seemed a little looser, every shoulder a little lighter, and the knowledge hung unspoken: tomorrow’s flight would be brutal, but tonight belonged only to them.
The circle dissolved as quickly as it had formed, laughter trailing behind as players drifted toward the corners of the lounge.
The toast had done its work: glasses emptied, nerves loosened, and the roster now spilling into groups, each pocket of energy distinct yet tethered to the same heartbeat.
To the left, a small stage with a screen stood ready for karaoke, and a few brave voices were already warming it up, teammates laughing and clapping along.
Closer to the center were three billiard tables, their green felt surfaces lined with freshly racked balls. Already, a couple of players had gathered cues in hand, chalking tips and setting up playful bets on who would sink their first shot.
The space had been carefully chosen: big enough to let the roster scatter into groups, but close enough that no one felt isolated.
The lounge was theirs alone.
No cameras, no press, no staff.
Just the twenty players who had carried Team USA through the tournament and into the spotlight. The absence of media was palpable: no flashes, no stiff postures, no need to watch every word. For the first time in hours, they could let their guard down and laugh without worrying how it might be clipped or spun outside these walls.
The space reflected that freedom.
At the karaoke stage, Riley already had a mic in hand, voice cracking spectacularly on the chorus while Jinni danced behind her as if they were putting on a concert. Their teammates roared with laughter, Winter collapsing into Chaeryeong’s shoulder as Yuna gleefully queued up another song.
Near the billiards tables, Karina was chalking her cue with the precision of a sniper, glaring at Madison who was very obviously trying to shark her way into easy wins. Casey and Jules leaned against the rails, heckling from the sidelines and calling out mock commentary with each shot.
The bar was no quieter.
Jeongyeon and Seulgi had posted up there early, swapping stories while pouring generous shots that were quickly claimed by anyone passing through. Lia, always careful but not wanting to be left out, nursed a single cocktail while fielding nonstop attempts from Yujin and Sydney to get her to take another.
Yeji’s gaze swept over the room in a quick, instinctive scan, the same way she checked the ice before a shift. She registered who was where, which groups were forming, and how the team’s energy was unfolding. Her captain’s mind never truly switched off, but there was an ease in her shoulders now.
Ryujin, however, leaned forward slightly, eyes drawn to the chaos at the karaoke stage. Her grin was immediate, the temptation written all over her.
The Cyclones’ pre–game ritual had made her notorious for singing, and the mere sight of a mic stand seemed to light a fuse in her. She nudged Yeji lightly with her shoulder, lowering her voice so only she could hear. “Bet you five bucks they’ll try to drag me up there within ten minutes.”
Yeji’s lips curved into the faintest smirk, her voice calm but teasing. “Only five? You are underestimating them.”
“Captain, come settle this!” Karina called from the billiard tables, one hand gripping her cue while the other gestured toward Madison, who was mid–argument over a scratch. Her tone carried mock desperation, but beneath it was the instinctive deference to Yeji’s presence, even off the ice.
The others at the table laughed and chimed in, “Yeah, Yeji. Only fair if you’re the judge!”
Yeji gave Ryujin a brief glance, “Duty calls.”
She let herself be drawn toward the green felt tables, posture straight but expression warmer than it had been all evening.
Ryujin, meanwhile, was pounced on almost immediately by Yuna, who looped an arm through hers and tugged her toward the karaoke stage.
“You cannot escape tonight. Mic’s waiting,” Yuna insisted, her grin mischievous.
“Ryujin!” Riley shouted from the stage, voice hoarse from her last song, “You’re up. Karaoke machine. Right now.”
Ryujin blinked, gummy worm hanging from her lips. “I didn’t sign up for—”
“Nope. No excuses.” Winter had appeared behind her like a wraith, hands already on her shoulders. “You owe us a performance. Live. Unfiltered. No backing out.”
Ryujin laughed, mock–protesting, but her eyes were already sparkling at the thought. She let herself be pulled, shrugging off any attempt to resist, because in truth she loved this part.
Chaeryeong leaned over from the couch, grinning. “Pick anything from the 2000s. Bonus points if you make Yuna cry.”
“Why am I always the emotional barometer?” Yuna whined.
A cue of recognition rippled through the room. This was the ritual carried from her club, but now it belonged to Team USA for the night.
Across the lounge, Yeji leaned on the edge of the billiard table, watching Karina line up her shot while Madison gestured dramatically about rules. Her voice cut in, calm but firm, and within moments both players were back to laughing, the game reset under her unspoken authority.
She was no longer the captain in front of cameras or press, but she still carried that role here, settling the dispute without breaking stride.
Meanwhile, Ryujin’s laugh rang out as she finally grabbed the mic, Yuna clapping like a proud conspirator at her side. The first notes of a pop anthem spilled from the speakers, and instantly the room filled with noise, some players singing along, others cheering her on.
Though split at opposite ends of the lounge, there was an unspoken awareness between them. Yeji’s eyes flicked over briefly when Ryujin’s voice rose above the crowd, and Ryujin, catching sight of Yeji steady at the billiards table, sent a quick grin her way before plunging back into the chorus.
The lounge had barely begun to settle from the previous round of dancing when the unmistakable synth riff of an ABBA song echoed through the speakers
A collective gasp swept across the room like a wave.
“No way,” Winter whispered, eyes wide.
“Who queued this?” Riley called out from the snack table, voice tinged with anticipation and fear. “Was it you again, Chaeryeong?”
Chaeryeong raised both hands. “Not me this time. I swear.”
But all heads turned at once when they heard the clink of a glass on the bar.
Ryujin had just downed her fourth shot, something clear and biting, chased only with a lazy smirk, and her eyes lit up like someone had flipped a switch in her chest.
Her sweater sleeves were shoved up to her elbows now, her cheeks pink from a combination of alcohol, laughter, and the lingering adrenaline of her earlier performance.
The song blasted through the speakers, bright and familiar. Ryujin’s head snapped toward the karaoke setup with pure delight.
Half of Team USA instantly lost their minds.
Someone screamed. Several arms shot into the air. Chaeryeong nearly tripped over a barstool trying to get to the front. Winter was already singing by the time the first lyric hit.
Without hesitation, they broke into song, arms flailing and voices off-key.
Then from the back, loud, incredulous, and completely serious, came Riley’s voice:
“GIMME A MAN?! AREN’T WE ALL GAY?!”
Ryujin doubled over on stage, clutching the mic. “IT’S THE LYRICS,” she shouted between gasps.
“FOR WHAT?!” Riley yelled. “HETERO REGRESSION?!”
Yeji, from her seat at the bar, did not flinch. She took a long sip of her drink and muttered under her breath, “This team is ungovernable.”
By the time the next song started, the night had fully shifted.
The playlist had officially gone off the rails. No one even remembered who had control of the queue anymore. What mattered was that every song had become a cue for a new kind of chaos.
What started as a carefully curated background mix: low-key pop, chill beats, a few throwback tracks, had devolved into full-blown party mode somewhere between the ABBA performance and Karina rage-quitting her third billiards match of the night.
Now, the speakers blasted club songs at an absolutely inappropriate volume for a hotel entertainment lounge at probably midnight, but no one cared. The furniture had been pushed to the edges of the room, snack bags abandoned mid-bite, drinks sweating on tabletops.
And in the middle of it all, Team USA was dancing like the world was ending tomorrow.
Riley was leading the charge, arms flailing with joyful recklessness, hair flying as she attempted body rolls that clearly were not in the warmup manual.
Jules and Lia were halfway through an aggressive interpretive dance to a 2000s club remix.
Chaeryeong, with years of dance training under her belt, had joined in only to match Riley’s chaos on purpose, her moves too clean, too sharp, exaggerated just enough to mock the mess unfolding around her.
Yuna and Winter were spinning each other dramatically, hands clasped like ballroom dancers in a fever dream, crashing into bean bags and narrowly avoiding the karaoke mic stand every time they dipped.
“Please… someone stop them,” Jeongyeon wheezed from the corner, doubled over with laughter.
“Absolutely not,” Seulgi said flatly, phone up to record the moment for future blackmail.
Ryujin, now five-and-a-half shots deep, was front and center again. This time not holding a mic, just vibing with her whole chest. She was headbanging to the beat, mouthing the lyrics like she had trained for this instead of hockey, that even Jeongyeon had to step back with a “Ma’am, this is a national team.”
Then the vibe shifted again.
The opening beat of “Stayin’ Alive” pulsed through the lounge speakers, all high-hat shimmer and funky bassline.
A collective “ Ooohhh —” rippled across the room as a few teammates recognized the track and instinctively began to bob their heads.
Winter snapped her fingers in rhythm. Chaeryeong rolled her shoulders like she had just stepped into a dance battle.
Riley, naturally, yelled, “DISCO!,” and began attempting the John Travolta finger-point move in increasingly chaotic circles.
But none of them held the room quite like Ryujin.
She slid into the center of the lounge like she had been waiting for this song her whole life. There was no fanfare, no shout for attention, just an unbothered kind of cool that settled into her body as she started to move.
Sunglasses, stolen from who knows where, perched on her nose, sweater sleeves pushed to her elbows, a band of flush still lingering from the last dance session. She rolled her shoulders to the beat, one slow sway at a time, letting her body groove into the rhythm like it was part of her blood.
Then she popped her collar.
Snapped her fingers.
And locked into the beat so cleanly that the room stopped yelling and started watching.
“ Holy shit ,” Jinni whispered, somewhere behind the couch.
“She’s so cool for no reason,” Yuna hissed.
“Jesus Christ,” Winter muttered. “She’s the literal definition of a woman’s man.”
The others danced around her, with her, feeding off her energy. Their laughter blurred into the music, arms flailing, steps offbeat, the kind of chaos that only happens when everyone was tipsy and free and happy to be ridiculous together.
She did not miss a beat.
Did not laugh.
Did not break character.
Just kept dancing with the kind of confidence that made everyone else feel like backup dancers in her music video.
And from the bar, Yeji watched.
She stood there, one elbow resting on the counter, fingers curled loosely around a shot glass, and her gaze did not drift for even a second.
She was not watching the group.
She was only watching Ryujin.
She took her shot slowly, the tequila sliding down her throat with barely a wince, and kept her eyes on Ryujin the entire time.
There was something magnetic about her in this moment, not loud or messy like she usually was when she was five shots deep.
This was Ryujin in control.
Cool, fluid, rhythmic.
Every move was sharp but relaxed, like she did not care if anyone was watching even though everyone was.
That was another thing about Ryujin.
She never chased attention. She never really performed for it. She never needed to.
She walked into a room and the atmosphere shifted, like gravity had quietly tilted in her direction.
Just Ryujin, shoulders loose, hands in her pockets, head tilted with that easy, unreadable grin, and suddenly, the room noticed.
Not because she asked to be seen.
But because it was impossible not to.
Yeji’s lips parted slightly, and she leaned back against the bar like she was watching something she did not want to interrupt.
Lia slid in beside her quietly . “You’re staring.”
Yeji did not look away. “She’s dancing.”
“You mean she’s killing it,” Lia murmured, watching Ryujin hit the beat with a turn and hip pop so casual it made Winter yell in defeat.
Yeji finally spoke again, voice low. “I know.”
And across the room, Ryujin caught her watching.
She did not break rhythm. She did not even smirk. She just lifted her sunglasses, met Yeji’s eyes across the crowded lounge, and winked.
Yeji raised her next shot.
A toast, maybe. Or a challenge.
Either way, she drank.
And Ryujin kept dancing.
The lounge continued to pulse around her, voices echoing, feet stomping, laughter spilling over the music.
But in that moment, it was just the two of them: one dancing like she owned the floor, the other drinking like she was trying to keep herself still.
The music never really stopped that night—it only morphed from one anthem to the next, carrying everyone along with it in waves of movement and sound. Somewhere between the spilled drinks, the echo of shouted lyrics, and the pulse of the lights, time lost its shape.
Somewhere between Chaeryeong trying to harmonize with Riley and chaotic group rendition of “ Defying Gravity ”, Winter realized something.
Then, without another word, she took off, weaving through drunk teammates and abandoned snacks, tripping over a rogue beanbag, ready to salvage their duties because drunk or not, the internet needed their daily Ryujin update.
The video began with Winter stumbling into frame, clearly tipsy, her hair slightly tousled and her laugh barely held together. The caption, typed in shaky caps, read:
“Cyclones’ Daily Ryujin Update: What song reminds you of Ryujin? (Team USA Afterparty Edition)”
She panned the camera wildly around the entertainment lounge. Loud music blaring in the background, snacks and shoes scattered across the carpet, half the team collapsed on couches and bean bags, red cups in hand.
Winter flipped the camera to herself, cheeks flushed, eyes shining.
“Okay! Question of the night: What song… reminds you of Ryujin. Go!”
She swung the camera first to Riley, who was lying upside down on the couch, legs over the backrest.
Riley raised her cup. “ ’Boss Bitch’ by Doja.”
The camera whipped to Jules, who was braiding Yuna’s hair with absolutely no coordination.
“ ’Gasolina’ by Daddy Yankee,” she slurred. “Don’t ask why.”
Ryujin, off to the side, blinked. “…I feel like I should be worried.”
Winter shrieked with laughter and spun to Lia, who had already taken off her shoes and was cross-legged on the floor with her second mimosa.
“ SexyBack’ by JT!!” she screamed.
Cut to Chaeryeong, who did not look up from stacking empty cups into a pyramid.
“ ‘3D’ This isn’t a joke.”
Off-camera, Ryujin called out, “Classic. You all just think I walk into rooms in slow motion.”
“Because you do,” someone muttered.
“Jinni?”
Jinni, curled up in a blanket like a wise oracle, took a slow sip from her wine glass.
“ Dark Horse , man.”
Winter cackled, swinging the camera to Yuna, who was trying to hold still while Jules yanked on her braid.
“ Bitch Better Have My Money!’ ” she yelled. “I will not elaborate.”
From the background, Ryujin added, “She means snacks. She always means snacks.”
Finally, the camera turned, a little shaky now, to where Yeji stood at the mini bar. Another shot glass in one hand, her other hand steadying herself lightly on the counter.
She looked over her shoulder slowly. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, her gaze sharp despite it, like the world had slowed down just for her answer.
The room quieted just enough.
Yeji smirked.
“ ’That’s What I Like’ by Bruno Mars.”
The silence broke into gasps, someone screamed, and Winter dropped the phone from sheer shock.
The video continued, now filming the ceiling while chaos erupted.
“OH MY GOD—”
“She’s right.”
“Wait no because that is so Ryujin-coded.”
“SHE’S DRUNK AND HONEST—”
From off-camera, Ryujin’s voice rang out, smug and amused, definitely drunk:
“Is it because I have a condo in Manhattan!?”
The video cut right as someone tripped over the couch and another chorus of “SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS!” took over.
“Okay but seriously,” Winter said, waving her phone in the air, “ ‘That’s What I Like’ is such a Ryujin song.”
Riley nodded immediately. “The beat? The confidence? The lowkey flex? That’s her .”
“Listen to the lyrics. Chill, spoiled, confident, hot. That’s Ryujin!”
“It’s the way she walks,” Lia added. “You hear that bridge and it’s like… yep, Ryujin chewing on her mouthguard.”
Even Seulgi nodded, “She’s the humanification of that track. No notes.”
“She is the vibe,” Chaeryeong muttered, sipping her drink.
Ryujin grinned, tipping her glass. “Bruno wishes he had my attitude.”
No one disagreed.
The laughter drifted into a lull, softened by the hum of the speakers and the haze of too many drinks. Conversations splintered into smaller corners of the room: someone refilling shots at the bar, another group rewatching the chaotic TikTok on loop.
The warmth lingered in the air like static, that rare kind of magic where everyone felt a little too much and cared a little too little.
And just when it seemed the night might slow down, might ease into a gentler rhythm, a familiar intro crackled to life from the karaoke machine.
Someone, probably Jules, judging by the off-key confidence, started singing “ Come and Get Your Love ” on the karaoke machine, the energy in the lounge had reached a kind of beautiful, drunken fever pitch. The floor was not a dance floor, not technically, just a patch of carpet cleared of furniture and littered with the aftermath of snacks, jackets, and people’s dignity.
But no one cared.
Not now.
Ryujin was about seven shots in, her steps loose, her grin effortless. The disco lights someone had set up as a joke flickered lazily over the room, casting colored streaks across her flushed face.
Her hair was sticking to her temple from all the dancing, her sweater unbuttoned, and there was glitter on her cheek, probably from Riley, who had thrown it in the air during Dancing Queen .
She was swaying already, head bobbing to the beat without needing a reason. But this time, she was not dancing for the crowd. She was moving with purpose.
Her eyes found Yeji.
Still at the bar, still perched on the edge of a stool like she had been all night. Yeji had slowed down on the drinks, nursing something simple now, her eyes sharper than the rest.
But she had not stopped watching Ryujin.
Not once.
And Ryujin felt it.
Every single time.
She made her way across the room slowly, slipping past Winter and Karina doing some ridiculous paired dance move that made everyone groan. Riley tried to pull her into a spin, but Ryujin waved her off with a lazy flick of her fingers, all eyes locked on the bar.
She had finally reached Yeji.
She just held out her hand with that slow, sly grin, head tilted like a dare.
An invitation.
Come and get your love.
Yeji did not hesitate. Not even for a second.
She set her drink down with quiet finality, the glass clinking softly against the bar. Her gaze never wavered as she slipped her hand into Ryujin’s, slowly sliding off the stool, and letting herself be pulled gently forward, out of the shadows and into the mess of light and sound and warmth.
The music filled the space, smooth and playful, and Yeji let herself be led, hand in Ryujin’s, onto the makeshift dance floor.
Ryujin’s fingers tightened around hers, just enough. She leaned in close.
“ ’Cause you’re fine …” she mouthed, syncing perfectly with the lyrics, her lips curling into a grin as she stepped back.
“ …and you’re mine… ”
She spun Yeji gently and when Yeji came back into her space, Ryujin pulled her in just enough to sway with the beat. Her hands rested lightly on Yeji’s waist, her grin softening into something more intimate.
“ …and you look so divine. ”
Yeji exhaled, steady but quieter now, her hands finding Ryujin’s shoulders like it was muscle memory.
They danced, not dramatically, but closely. Casually. Like the music was just for them now.
“Seven shots in,” Yeji murmured under her breath. “And you still remember the lyrics.”
Ryujin smirked, her breath warm against Yeji’s cheek. “Hard to forget when the person I’m singing about is right in front of me.”
Yeji did not answer.
Not with words.
Just a slow lean into the space between them, her forehead almost touching Ryujin’s as the song floated around them.
The lounge kept dancing. The karaoke machine blinked to the next verse. Jules butchered another line, and someone in the background groaned dramatically.
But Ryujin and Yeji were locked in their own rhythm.
And in the middle of chaos, it felt like the quietest part of the night.
Eventually, the spell gave way to motion again. Someone yelled for the next song. Another slipped trying to moonwalk in socks.
Ryujin let her fingers linger on Yeji’s waist for just a beat longer before stepping back, her grin lazy, as if to say later .
The music thumped on, but in the corner of the room, a different kind of energy took hold.
The soft click of billiard balls echoed through the lounge, muffled beneath the hum of background music and the fading laughter from the karaoke corner.
Yeji shrugged off her jacket with a quiet, practiced motion, revealing the fitted cropped top beneath as she approached the billiards table.
The room was loud.
Karaoke was still in full swing, teammates laughing near the bar, but the moment felt like it moved in slow motion for Ryujin.
The jacket slipped down Yeji’s arms, catching briefly at her elbows before she tossed it onto the nearby couch. It was casual, unbothered.
But to Ryujin, it might as well have been a cinematic event.
Her eyes followed the motion, first the curve of Yeji’s shoulder, then the smooth stretch of skin along her back as she leaned over the table, cue stick in hand. Her top rode just slightly higher when she bent at the waist, enough to reveal a sliver of toned midriff, her posture solid, athletic, and graceful all at once.
Ryujin leaned back in her seat, her cocktail forgotten.
There were a lot of things Yeji was good at: commanding a locker room, shutting down elite forwards, making reporters sweat with one-liners.
But there was something almost lethal about watching her here, completely relaxed, completely in control, playing billiards.
And maybe Yeji knew it too.
Because just as she lined up her shot and glanced briefly over her shoulder, Ryujin caught the subtle smirk forming at the edge of her lips.
Not dramatic, not arrogant, but just enough to say Yeah, I know you’re watching.
Because somehow, Yeji made geometry and angles look like something out of a slow-motion music video.
She was in her element again.
But this time, not on the ice.
And Ryujin, from where she watched, was absolutely riveted .
She walked towards the edge of the billiards table, drink in hand. The lounge buzzed behind her: music, laughter, the occasional burst of karaoke, but her focus was steady.
The lights above cast a warm glow over the green felt, highlighting the calm precision of her stance.
A small crowd lingered around her, half-invested in the game, half there for the atmosphere.
Yeji’s attention was locked in, eyes tracking the angle as she pulled the stick, exhaled, and sent the cue ball sliding cleanly across the table.
The 8 ball rolled, kissed the corner pocket, and disappeared with a satisfying clunk.
Cheers went up around her. Jinni groaned. Karina threw her hands up. Jeongyeon clapped once, then muttered something about needing a rematch.
Yeji straightened with a smirk tugging at her lips, casually twirling the cue stick in one hand like she had done it a hundred times before. She barely acknowledged the win, just turned toward where Ryujin stood a few feet away, nursing her drink and leaning casually against the table.
But Yeji could feel it before she saw it.
That look .
Ryujin’s gaze swept down Yeji’s frame with an unhurried intensity, lingering unapologetically on the curve of her waist, the rise and fall of her chest, the slight sheen of sweat on her collarbone from the game. The cropped top clung in all the right places, and the way Yeji casually gripped the cue stick like it belonged there.
It was criminal.
Ryujin tilted her head, lips twitching into a smirk that barely passed for innocent.
She did not even try to be subtle.
She had seen Yeji focused before, on the ice, in team meetings, during press conferences, but this was different. This was Yeji, quiet and composed, cool and completely in control.
It was that mix of appreciation and mischief. The kind of gaze that made Yeji’s skin feel warmer than it should. Her stance did not change, but her eyebrow arched immediately.
“Don’t,” she warned, already knowing what was coming.
Ryujin blinked innocently, a smile curling at the corners.
“What? I didn’t say anything.” she said, sipping her drink like she had not just mentally undressed her girlfriend in front of half the team.
“You’re thinking it,” Yeji said flatly, taking a step closer to put the cue away.
“And I’m allowed,” Ryujin said, grinning now. “You’re my girlfriend.”
Yeji stopped in front of her, the barest tilt of her head betraying the heat rising to her ears. Her voice dropped, dry as ever. “I think you just undressed me with a single look.”
Ryujin leaned in slightly, tone mock-thoughtful. “Not really my fault.”
Yeji’s eyes narrowed, but she did not move away. “We’re at a team party.”
Ryujin smirked. “So? Let them take notes.”
That teasing smile tugged at Ryujin’s lips, all mischief and charm. She picked up the cue stick Yeji had left resting, then looked up at her through her lashes.
Yeji stepped forward once, until there was hardly more than a breath between them, her smirk back in full force. “Do you want to play a round or stand there and flirt with the cue stick all night?”
Ryujin grinned, resting the stick against her shoulder. “Can’t I do both?”
From the couch, Yuna’s voice rang out: “Someone please separate them before this becomes rated R!”
But neither of them moved.
And neither of them looked away.
They played a round.
Then another.
And another after that.
Each time, Ryujin chalked her cue with the swagger of someone about to dominate: shoulders loose, grin lazy, eyes sharp with anticipation.
And each time, Yeji sank the last shot with maddening ease, barely breaking a sweat.
“Again,” Ryujin muttered after her second loss, already resetting the balls.
Yeji tilted her head. “You sure? That’s three–zero.”
Ryujin flashed her a grin, cocky and stubborn. “Fourth time’s the charm.”
But it was not.
Yeji did not gloat but the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips every time Ryujin missed an easy shot said everything.
She moved around the table with effortless control, calm and focused, her jacket long abandoned and her cropped top riding just enough to mess with Ryujin’s attention span.
Ryujin lined up a shot, exhaled, and promptly sent the cue ball skidding straight past its target.
“Distraction,” she muttered.
Yeji, leaning casually against the table with a bottle of beer in hand, raised a brow. “Blaming me?”
Ryujin straightened, pointing her cue stick at her like it was an accusation. “Yes. Entirely .”
Yeji took a sip, completely unfazed. “Maybe stop staring at my abs while you aim.”
“No promises.”
Winter’s voice rang out from the couches, half-draped over Karina and nursing the dregs of her drink like it held the answers to life.
“How is it fair,” she slurred dramatically, pointing her straw like a gavel, “that whenever Ryujin loses, she still gets a kiss?”
A few heads turned, laughter rippling through the lounge.
Ryujin, who had just lost her fourth straight game, barely looked up from where Yeji had her pinned lightly against the edge of the table, one hand braced beside her, the other still holding a beer.
“Because I’m charming,” Ryujin deadpanned, lips curved smugly.
“Because she pouts ,” Yeji corrected, dry and unbothered, before tilting her head to press another kiss to Ryujin’s cheek, slow and intentional.
Winter let out a strangled noise of protest. “Unfair! Biased ref!”
Yuna yelled from across the room, “Captain’s rules!”
“Blatant favoritism,” Jules added, fake-scandalized.
But no one actually objected.
Because despite the teasing and mock outrage, everyone knew, if Ryujin was losing, she was losing beautifully.
And somehow, always winning something else entirely.
“I’m starting to think she’s losing on purpose,” Chaeryeong muttered, eyes narrowed as she watched Ryujin line up another sloppy shot, only to miss the pocket by an embarrassing margin. Again .
She did not even look surprised.
From where Yeji stood beside her, casually sipping her beer and waiting for her turn, Ryujin just glanced up with that same lazy grin. “Maybe I just like how she celebrates.”
Yeji rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the slight flush in her cheeks or the way her hand found its way to Ryujin’s waist again, pulling her close without a second thought.
“I knew it,” Chaeryeong whispered, scandalized but thoroughly amused. “She’s throwing for affection. That’s not even pool.”
Winter, who had made her way back to the edge of the billiards table, gasped loudly and shouted toward the room, “She’s weaponizing her losses! Somebody stop her!”
But Ryujin had already turned, leaning into Yeji’s ear with a grin, voice low and smug. “One more round?”
Yeji did not hesitate. “Only if you try this time.”
It took five rounds, two missed corner pockets, and an entire audience of teammates loudly questioning her competitive integrity, but Ryujin finally won.
The room erupted the moment the 8-ball sank with a clean, decisive clack into the side pocket. Even those who had wandered off mid-game turned back at the sound of it, followed by the smug, drawn-out “Yesssssss” that left Ryujin’s mouth like she had just scored a hat trick in Game 7.
“Finally!” Karina shouted, throwing her arms in the air. “National defense budgets have folded faster than Ryujin in billiards.”
Winter let out a theatrical gasp. “Are we in an alternate timeline? Did she bribe the cue ball?”
Yeji stood at the edge of the table, arms crossed, one brow lifted. She said nothing, just waited as Ryujin rounded the table, cue stick spinning loosely in one hand and that trademark swagger back in full force.
“Told you I could do it,” Ryujin said, voice low, eyes gleaming.
Yeji took one slow step forward, lips twitching. “Congratulations. You’re… one for five.”
Ryujin shrugged. “One is all I need.”
She leaned in, her grin deepening. “And don’t think I’m not collecting the same prize.”
Yeji shook her head, exasperated, charmed, a little doomed, and let Ryujin pull her in for a kiss.
The room hooted obnoxiously in the background, someone yelling “Get a room!” but neither of them broke away.
Because for once, Ryujin had actually won.
And she planned to celebrate like hell.
Then, like a ripple through water, the energy of the lounge shifted again.
The party still swelled around them, unbothered by time or volume limits. Every table was a mess of red plastic cups and snack bags, someone’s glittery jacket hung off the corner of the karaoke screen, and the air pulsed with a messy, joyful kind of tension. Laughter overlapped with off-key singing. Half the team was crowded near the speaker system, arguing over who got aux next.
The party had swelled into its chaotic peak: snacks half-eaten on tables, the air thick with laughter and the ever-present hum of too many overlapping voices. Someone had abandoned their jacket over the karaoke table. Riley and Winter were locked in a screaming match about who got to queue the next song.
Near the bar, Ryujin sat on a stool, legs parted casually, posture relaxed. One hand holding the remnants of a slowly melting cocktail, the other draped around Yeji’s waist like it belonged there.
Yeji stood between her legs, her third bottle of beer in hand, wearing her jacket again but slipped slightly off one shoulder. Her elbows rested on Ryujin’s thighs, body leaning back into Ryujin’s chest.
Ryujin’s fingers brushed lightly against the sliver of skin exposed at Yeji’s waist, thumb tracing slow, absent circles just above the waistband of her joggers. Her chin hovered near Yeji’s shoulder, close enough that her breath stirred the edge of Yeji’s hair every now and then.
Yeji was not looking at her.
Her gaze drifted over the lounge, eyes tracking the half-hearted karaoke attempts, the billiards no one was taking seriously, the pile of jackets on the couch someone would inevitably sleep under.
She sipped from her beer lazily, head tilted in thought, the quiet curve of her mouth betraying just a hint of contentment.
Ryujin’s eyes were not on the room, though.
They were on her.
From the way Yeji’s fingers lightly tapped the glass bottle, to the way her ribs moved with each slow breath, to the faint warmth of her skin beneath the cropped hem. Every detail pulled Ryujin in deeper, until she forgot what song was playing, what time it was, who else was still awake.
Yeji spoke first, without looking.
“Stop staring.”
Ryujin smiled into her shoulder, voice low and amused. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Yeji murmured, sipping again. “You’ve barely blinked in two minutes.”
“I’m just… appreciating the view.”
They were not paying attention to anyone else. Not until a teammate passed by with a smirk and a loud, teasing:
“Nice mark, Captain.”
Yeji did not even flinch, just rolled her eyes and took another sip of her beer.
But Ryujin, unfazed and beaming, raised her cocktail in a mock toast and called out cheerfully, “Thanks!”
Laughter erupted from the nearby group, and Yeji groaned, head tilting back against Ryujin’s shoulder with a quiet, “You’re unbelievable.”
Ryujin just grinned and took another sip, very pleased with herself.
Yeji turned slightly in Ryujin’s hold, narrowing her eyes. “You’re lucky I’m tipsy. ”
“No,” Ryujin grinned, hands tightening just a little around Yeji’s waist. “I’m lucky you’re mine.”
There was a moment of silence, just the muted thrum of music, glass clinks, and far-off laughter.
And then Yeji finally, finally , cracked a smile.
She adjusted her jacket absently, fingers brushing the fabric back over her shoulder until her thumb grazed the edge of the mark just above her collarbone.
Her gaze dipped, enough to glance down at her shoulder where her jacket had slipped just low enough. The mark was there. It was faint, but visible now that the concealer had worn off.
A soft reddish bloom at the base of her neck.
Ryujin was already watching her, one brow lifted, her smile unbothered as she swirled the last bit of her cocktail.
She sighed through her nose, quietly resigned. “I told you to be careful.”
Ryujin just hummed, smug and unrepentant. “You didn’t sound like you wanted careful at the time.”
Yeji narrowed her eyes.
“Hey, you could’ve stopped me.” Ryujin just shrugged, lips twitching. “But you didn’t.”
A pause.
Then Yeji raised the beer bottle to her lips, taking a long sip before muttering, without looking at her, “…Shut up.”
Yeji bit back a smile, fighting the way it tugged at her lips. Not because Ryujin was wrong, she was definitely right , but because she had already lost that battle hours ago.
Yeji leaned her head back slightly against Ryujin’s shoulder, gaze flicking across the chaotic lounge. Winter was dancing barefoot on a chair, Riley holding court in the middle of the room, Seulgi and Karina tangled in an intense but giggly arm-wrestling match.
Then softly, almost like a secret she had not meant to say out loud, she murmured,
“Is it weird that I already miss skating?”
Ryujin glanced down at her, the teasing edge in her expression softening.
“No,” she said, after a beat. “Not weird at all.”
“Why would it be weird?”
Yeji hesitated, the noise of the room fading just a little around the edges. Her grip on the beer bottle shifted.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Everyone’s letting loose. Laughing. Dancing. I should be too, right? Not… thinking about the ice.”
Ryujin tilted her head, eyes never leaving her. “You spent your whole life chasing it. You don’t just turn that off because the music’s loud.”
She leaned in, slow and easy, until her chin came to rest on Yeji’s shoulder. It was a casual touch, barely noticeable to anyone else, but it grounded her like nothing else.
From this angle, she could see the curve of Yeji’s jaw, the delicate shift of her throat as she took another sip from her beer.
Then Yeji exhaled, the scent of alcohol faint but sharp in the space between them.
And Ryujin… paused.
She did not know if it was the shots she had taken earlier, or if it was this… the closeness, the quiet hum of bass through the floor, the heat of Yeji’s skin against her cheek.
But suddenly, everything tilted just a little.
Maybe she was already drunk.
Or maybe she was getting drunk again, just from breathing Yeji in.
Either way, she was not moving.
Not when Yeji leaned back slightly into her.
Not when the world around them kept spinning, laughing, singing.
Here, like this, Ryujin could stay forever.
Then they heard it.
A single note. A synthy, bouncing guitar.
Her stomach dropped before the lyrics even hit.
Yeji’s head snapped toward the speaker. “Oh God,” she muttered under her breath.
Ryujin, still perched lazily on the stool, perked up instantly. “No way.”
Jinni was already waving her arms, motioning to the mic stand. “Let’s go, Captain! You’re up!”
“Me?” Yeji straightened slightly, as if she could physically back away from the situation by sheer posture alone. “No. Absolutely not.”
But her teammates were having none of it.
“Oh, come on!” Karina called out. “It’s Ryujin’s favorite song!”
Yuna chimed in, fake-pleading. “For the culture!”
“You have to sing it,” Riley declared, already queuing the lyrics. “It’s romantic! It’s poetic! It’s—” she paused dramatically, “—literally in your contract as Ryujin’s girlfriend.”
Yeji’s jaw tightened.
Ryujin, of course, was no help. She was grinning like the devil as she leaned into Yeji’s ear. “Your public demands it,” she muttered, eyes gleaming. “Don’t let them down.”
Yeji turned to glare at her.
Murderous, betrayed, and just barely holding back a smile.
“I hate you,” she muttered.
Ryujin only sipped her drink, unbothered. “You love me.”
Yeji did not reply because the moment the opening line scrolled up the screen, her eyes were locked.
It was Ryujin’s favorite song.
About a million people already knew that.
But what they did not know… what none of them had ever asked, was why .
Why this song.
Why this Taylor Swift track when there were dozens more anthemic, dramatic, hype-worthy options.
Yeji swallowed hard because she knew exactly why.
“Yeji?” Lia called from the couch, holding the mic out with both hands, like she was offering a crown. “Your moment, Captain.”
Yeji looked around at all of them, her teammates, her friends, her found family in every way that mattered, and then back to Ryujin, who just looked at her with this maddening, soft confidence.
Like she knew she would say yes.
And Yeji, because she could never say no when it came to Ryujin, muttered “Fine.”
She groaned, running a hand through her hair as she pushed herself off Ryujin.
The room erupted into drunken cheers and exaggerated wolf-whistles, half of them already off-key singing the first line before the instrumental even began.
She took the mic and none of them knew that the words were not just lyrics.
They were hers.
And Ryujin’s.
And nobody else’s.
Because they did not know about the diner.
Did not know about the booth with flickering lights, the pancakes, the hot chocolate, and the strawberry milkshake.
Did not know the reason Ryujin loved the song was her .
Did not know the look on Yeji’s face when she finally let herself feel everything she usually buried under strategy and structure and game tape.
And now here they were, more than a month later, Yeji standing in front with a mic, about to sing that song in front of everyone, cheeks red, arms crossed, even as her voice betrayed the weight behind them.
No one knew.
But Ryujin did.
The mic felt awkward in Yeji’s hand. Too light, too exposed. She was not exactly nervous, but as the first verse kicked in and the lyrics glowed onto the karaoke screen, her stomach curled in a way she had not felt in years.
The way she felt right before stepping into her first real hockey game.
The way she felt when someone looked at her like they saw her .
Behind her, the room was still buzzing. Winter was yelling about someone spilling soda on her sneakers. Jules was doing exaggerated dance moves on the couch. Chaeryeong whispered to Yuna with a gleam of mischief in her eyes.
And Ryujin, sitting back on the barstool, elbows resting on the counter, just watching like she knew what this moment really was.
The first line hovered and Yeji took a breath.
“I feel so high school every time I look at you…”
Ryujin felt her breath catch, not in the dramatic, theatrical way people write about in books, but in the real, aching way where something you never expected to matter suddenly does.
She had always loved that line from the moment Yeji had mumbled it over a plate of pancakes, hoodie slipping off her shoulder, voice just a little shy for once.
I finally understood what Taylor Swift meant.
It was just one second.
One sentence
A blink.
A moment after a win.
A bite of greasy cheeseburger and a sip of strawberry milkshake past midnight.
And it had stayed with Ryujin like a bruise she did not want to heal.
And from that moment on, So High School was not just a song to her anymore.
It was the song.
And now Yeji was saying it again, with a mic, under bright lights, in front of all of Team USA, and Ryujin was not sure she could handle it.
Yeji kept singing like she was finally saying something she had only ever whispered once before, in the dark corner of a diner with half-finished food on the table and nowhere to run.
Ryujin held her gaze like she knew exactly the power she held being the person who made Yeji feel something so loud it cracked her composure.
So loud it demanded to be sung.
Like spring break.
Like everything at once.
It was heavy.
Because Ryujin knew what it meant for someone like Yeji, someone who led with precision, who curated her every move, who played like her body was made of glass and steel, to feel something that loud.
To be so composed, so meticulously calm, and still say,
You make me feel like a teenager again.
You make me feel messy.
You make me feel.
There is a particular kind of ache that comes with feeling so high school.
It was not about age, or time, or any locker-lined hallway nostalgia. It was not about football games or dance floors or the blur of passing periods.
It was about how much you feel, and how fast .
It was about looking at someone and suddenly everything inside you is too loud: the racing pulse, the stomach doing reckless flips, the breath that forgets how to be steady.
It was about the way a single glance can disarm you completely, leaving you giddy and tongue-tied, like you are sixteen again and in over your head.
Being so high school meant smiling at the text before you even opened it. It meant memorizing the sound of their laughter like a song stuck in your head. It meant wanting to sit next to them even if there was nothing to say, just because the silence felt better with them in it.
It was blushing when they teased you.
It was looking away too fast when they looked at you.
It was the rush of touching their hand and realizing you want to stay right there forever.
It was the thrill.
The uncertainty.
The stupid, beautiful simplicity of being undone by something as soft as want .
And when it happens to someone who never lets the world see them flinch, someone who carries control like a second skin, when they say, “I feel so high school when I look at you,”
That is not regression.
That is proof that even the strongest, calmest people are still capable of being shaken to their core.
That love, real love , makes fools of all of us.
And Ryujin just sat there, reeling, not from the weight of the words, but from the gravity of being the one to pull all of those out of her.
The team was clapping, laughing, some half-singing along.
But the energy shifted subtly.
The mic trembled slightly in her hand. Ryujin’s expression changed, her smirk dropping into something far more fragile. She did not move, visibly caught off guard.
She was the only person in the room not moving or teasing or clapping.
Just… listening.
Because Yeji was singing to her like she meant every word.
Like Yeji also remembered that night .
Winter paused whatever she was doing. Riley stopped whispering to Lia. One by one, the teasing started to waver into something closer to realization.
The way Ryujin had looked at Yeji like she was made of light.
And Yeji returned the look in front of everyone, and not caring anymore who saw.
Ryujin’s jaw clenched, her hands were now gripping her chair. She was still smiling, but it was the kind that trembled at the edges. The kind that meant you were trying not to fall apart.
And the team started piecing it together.
The way Ryujin was not filming.
The way Yeji’s voice had softened.
Yeji was confessing .
The room quieted, just slightly, like even the speakers knew this was no longer karaoke.
It was something intimate .
A moment so bare, so piercing, that even those who had seen them win gold, who had seen Ryujin’s celebrations and Yeji’s ice-cold postgame interviews, still had never seen this.
Not like this.
Because Yeji was the captain.
Because Yeji did not do grand gestures.
Because Yeji kept everything close to the chest.
But now she was standing in front of all of them, and she was singing Ryujin’s favorite song to her.
Ryujin had always known Yeji as untouchable.
Not just in the way she played, the cold steel on the blue line and eyes like a lockbox no one could crack, but in the way she was: composed, quiet, maddeningly unreadable.
A walking fortress in the locker room and in life in general.
Coaches trusted her. Teammates looked up to her. Reporters could not get a single uncalculated answer out of her, even after overtime wins. She was all sharp lines and perfectly measured restraint.
But Ryujin had seen the other version. The one behind the door, when the cameras were off and the lights went low.
The one who whispered I hate how you get under my skin in the hallway after games.
The one who let her fingers linger longer than they should in a crowded room.
The one who drank hot chocolates at 2 a.m. in a booth in Montréal and, after a moment of silence, said,
“I feel so high school every time I look at you.”
Ryujin had not breathed right for a full minute after that.
Because Yeji never said things like that.
Not out loud.
Not even to herself.
That kind of confession did not come from impulse; it came from something deeper, something Yeji could not deny anymore. Something she had felt so strongly that it broke through every filter, every internal checkpoint, and just spilled out into the air between them like it had been waiting there all along.
And it had been because of Ryujin.
She had been the one to pull that feeling out of her.
It hit Ryujin in moments like this, watching Yeji on the karaoke mic, singing So High School with mock annoyance and a half-smile curling at the corners of her mouth.
Watching the ever-collected captain lose herself for just a second in the ridiculousness of the moment, cheeks pink, laughter escaping before she could stop it.
Ryujin did not know how she did it, exactly.
She just knew that around her, Yeji let go.
And for someone like Yeji, someone so self-contained, so impossibly careful, to feel dizzy, breathless, stupid with affection?
That meant everything.
The final note drifted out of the speakers like mist, trailing after Yeji’s voice as if even the song itself was reluctant to leave.
The weight of the moment pressed gently against all of them, asking for stillness. Even Winter and Riley, who usually could not let a silence hang for more than a heartbeat, had gone quiet.
Yeji stood center stage, mic at her side, chest rising and falling as if the lyrics had cost her more than just breath. Her jaw was set, but her eyes flickered
She had done it.
She sang the song, basically told the truth, and laid it bare for everyone to see.
But the only thing that mattered was Ryujin.
When Yeji looked at her, she saw it immediately.
She had stayed frozen on the barstool, back straight, hands clenched tight on the edge of the seat like she needed to anchor herself. Her legs were still parted where Yeji had once stood between them. Her drink sat untouched. The usual cocky tilt to her mouth had vanished.
But her eyes…
Her eyes looked like she had been knocked out breathless.
The moment hung in the air, untouched.
Then Ryujin stood.
No words. No smirk. No swagger.
Just something raw and sure, her steps steady as she crossed the short space between them. She did not hesitate. She did not glance around to see if anyone was watching, because they surely were, and it did not matter.
And when she reached Yeji, she did not speak.
She just cupped her face with tender hands, shaking just slightly, and kissed her.
The mic clattered gently onto the carpet beneath them.
Yeji leaned forward into her, arms slipping around Ryujin’s waist like the only natural response was to fall into her.
And in that moment, Ryujin did not know what was louder: her heartbeat, the silence or the quiet rush of everything she had ever hoped Yeji might one day feel for her, now blooming right in front of her like it had always been meant to.
She pulled Yeji in again just to hold her.
Her arms wrapped around Yeji’s shoulders and her forehead buried in the crook of her neck.
And Yeji — strong, composed, so rarely undone — melted into her without hesitation. Her hands slid around Ryujin’s waist, holding her just as tightly.
The room remained still, a few teammates exchanging quiet looks.
Because for all the golds, all the wins, all the moments that made them legends, this was something else entirely.
Something sacred.
Two girls.
A song.
And the kind of love that makes even the calmest person in the room feel sixteen all over again.
There was a long pause after the embrace. Ryujin stayed tucked into Yeji’s arms, fingers trailing softly along the back of Yeji’s neck.
Neither of them moved to speak.
Neither needed to.
And then, from somewhere on the couch, Chaeryeong said barely above a whisper, “I think I just witnessed Ryujin falling for Yeji all over again.”
Winter let out a breath, one hand pressed dramatically to her heart. “Dude. Same.”
Lia smiled from behind her drink, her voice gentler. “No, I think that was Yeji doing the falling this time.”
“Falling?” Yuna whispered, eyes wide. “She jumped .”
The teasing was soft, affectionate, rooted not in mockery, but in awe. Because everyone had seen it.
The way Ryujin had looked at Yeji like the entire world had disappeared.
The way she had held her, not with heat or tension, but with something far more terrifying: tenderness .
Winter leaned over to Yuna and muttered under her breath, “That wasn’t a karaoke performance. That was a confession scene in a drama finale.”
Yuna nodded solemnly. “Ten out of ten. I’d rewatch.”
The group fell into easy laughter again, some returning to the snack table, others already hounding Riley to hand over the karaoke mic.
And at the center of it all, still pressed together under the low lights, Ryujin whispered against Yeji’s neck, “I think I just did fall for you again.”
Yeji pulled back just enough to look at her. “You’re such a sap,” she murmured, but her smile was soft.
“And you’re still standing here,” Ryujin said, her thumb brushing gently along Yeji’s cheekbone. “Which means I’m doing something right.”
Yeji laughed, “Yeah,” she whispered. “You really are.”
There was something quietly earth-shattering about watching someone like Yeji come undone, even just a little.
Not in the way people unraveled under pressure.
Ryujin had seen that before.
She had seen players break down in locker rooms, seen opponents fall apart on the ice, seen friends stretch themselves thin until their nerves frayed. That kind of unraveling was familiar.
But this… this was different .
This was Yeji unraveling because of want .
Because of feeling .
Yeji, who carried herself with the stillness of a drawn bowstring; taut, controlled, every word measured, every move intentional.
Yeji did not stumble over emotions.
She did not do soft.
She did not do messy.
And she sure as hell did not do singing Taylor Swift at a team party, voice full of unspoken confessions and eyes locked on the one person who could pull it all out of her.
And yet here she was, breathing a little too fast, gaze a little too direct.
Because Ryujin made her feel things too big for her chest, too fast for her brain.
And God, what a dangerous kind of love that was.
Ryujin would never take that lightly.
Because to be the reason Yeji felt too much — to be the person who made her break her own rules, who made her laugh too hard, love too openly, sing too honestly — was not just a victory.
It was an honor .
And maybe that is the point: to feel so high school again.
Not because she was reliving the past, but because for once, she was not thinking at all.
To let go of logic.
To move without thinking.
To choose someone without needing a reason beyond the fact that they made your heart feel like it was skipping rope and sprinting at the same time.
And there was nothing more honest than that.
She was going to remember this moment, this version of Yeji, for the rest of her life.
Not the medals.
Not the goals.
Not the interviews.
Just the captain of Team USA standing under bright lounge lighting, eyes wide, singing like no one else existed.
Just the person looking at her like Ryujin was the first decision she ever made with her heart instead of her head.
And Ryujin, stunned and breathless and so in love she could barely stand it, knew one thing for certain:
She would gladly spend the rest of her life earning that look.
Chapter Text
The morning light filtered through the hotel curtains in long, lazy stripes, too gentle to be cruel but too persistent to ignore.
Ryujin groaned as consciousness dragged her upward from a swamp of sleep and nausea. Her head throbbed with every faint sound in the room, the hum of the air conditioner, the muffled footsteps in the hallway outside. She groaned and pulled the blanket up to shield her face, only to realize her arm was draped lazily across someone warm.
It was the scent that grounded her first, something she always associated with peace.
It took her foggy mind a few seconds to register who it was.
Yeji .
And sure enough, there she was.
Of course, it was Yeji.
As Ryujin blinked through the morning haze, she saw her girlfriend curled beside her, still sound asleep. She had a hand loosely tucked near Ryujin’s ribcage like it had ended up there in the middle of the night.
Her steady breathing, the faintest crease of calm at her brow, the softness in her features when sleep finally let her guard down. Ryujin blinked at her, half dazed, half disbelieving, and then let her head fall back against the pillow. Her heart was thudding despite the pounding in her skull.
Yeji’s jacket had been tossed to the foot of the bed, and her cropped top had been traded for a loose cotton tee. Her hair, usually styled to perfection, was now gently tousled across her face.
Ryujin swallowed, throat dry and rough.
Her own clothes were gone.
Well… not gone .
Just… replaced .
She was not… disappointed… or something.
The clothes she wore last night were folded neatly on the chair across the room, which obviously meant she was no longer wearing it.
She looked down and saw she was now in one of Yeji’s shirts.
Not just any shirt.
The faded, soft Minnesota tee Yeji always reached for after away games. It hung loose on Ryujin, the neckline slipping over one shoulder, the hem brushing the top of her thighs.
It was warm, comfortable, and smelled like the space she never wanted to leave.
She closed her eyes again and tried to piece together the night. Her headache pulsed harder when she tried to remember how the hell they ended up here.
The after party.
The open bar.
She remembered thinking Yeji was beautiful.
The last thing she recalled with any clarity was Yeji singing So High School to her .
Then promptly lost her damn mind.
Ryujin had felt too much causing her to drink too much. She had chugged whatever was in her glass.
Then someone handed her another.
Then Lia dared her to finish it if she ‘wanted to keep the captain’. She did not remember if she ever responded.
She just drank.
Again.
And again .
After that, the night blurred at the edges, noise, heat, flashbulbs, Winter shouting something about karaoke, Chaeryeong stealing her shoes, Riley trying to get a group photo while standing on a chair.
What happened next was a haze.
She remembered sitting in a hallway.
Yeji’s hand brushing hers. Maybe her head on Yeji’s shoulder.
There had been a laugh… Yeji’s low one, the kind that never made it to interviews.
Something about needing water. Or fries. Or both.
And then… that moment.
Ryujin remembered leaning in close near the elevator, heart pounding against her ribs, Yeji’s hand steady at her back. The taste of vodka was still on her lips and her words slurred but still remained honest:
“Your room or mine?”
And Yeji had smirked at her.
“Whichever’s closer, baby.”
After that, everything fell away.
She could not remember getting through the hotel elevator. Could not remember who pressed the button or who opened the door to the room.
Maybe Yeji had tugged off her shoes while Ryujin flopped face-down into the mattress.
Whatever happened, it had led her here.
Probably in Yeji’s room.
Probably in Yeji’s bed.
Definitely in Yeji’s shirt.
Ryujin blinked slowly, her own body still heavy with sleep, mouth dry, headache threatening to split her temples. She swallowed around the sandpaper in her throat and forced herself upright, careful not to wake Yeji, even as the movement made her vision tilt.
The hotel room was unfamiliar, which did not help.
But Yeji’s bag was on the chair by the window. That ugly forest green hoodie Ryujin always pretended not to like was draped across the armrest.
So this was Yeji’s room.
Most likely.
She squinted at the bedside table. Her phone was plugged in. That definitely was not her doing.
Yeji shifted slightly beside her, sighing softly but not waking. Her bob had fallen across her face in waves. Ryujin reached out with hesitant fingers and brushed a strand behind her ear, then paused mid-motion when her hand trembled.
She did not remember much. But she knew two things for sure:
One, Yeji sang to her like she meant it.
Two, Yeji brought her back and made sure she was okay.
Even if the rest of the night dissolved into the fog of too many drinks and adrenaline, the warmth of that stayed. Ryujin swallowed, head still pounding and heart full of things she could not name yet.
“Oh God, did I cry?”
Yeji stirred at that, just barely, brow twitching faintly at the sound of her voice.
Ryujin froze.
Then, in a sleepy murmur that made Ryujin’s heart stop cold, Yeji whispered back, voice thick with sleep,
“You did cry.”
Ryujin stared.
Yeji did not open her eyes. But the corners of her lips turned up just enough to betray her.
Ryujin groaned, dragging the blanket over her head. “No. No I did not. I’m breaking up with you.”
Yeji yawned softly and turned toward her under the blanket, pressing a sleepy kiss to Ryujin’s forehead. “Good luck with that,” she mumbled. “You’re in my shirt.”
Ryujin peeked out from beneath her arm, gaze locking with Yeji’s. “Did we…?”
Yeji hummed. “No. You were too drunk. I changed your top because you said sweaters ‘make your soul itchy .’”
Ryujin buried her burning face in Yeji’s shoulder as the captain laughed softly against her.
Somewhere between Ryujin shifting to sit up and the soft laugh Yeji gave after teasing her about crying last night, Yeji had fallen back asleep. One minute she was curled into Ryujin’s side, eyelids fluttering but lips curled in a lazy smirk; the next, she was out cold again, hair fanned across the pillow, face half-buried in arm like the room no longer concerned her.
Ryujin exhaled slowly, smiling to herself.
She rubbed at her temples, trying to push back the headache, then reached for her phone from the bedside table. Her battery was full. She checked the time and then immediately sat straighter, blinking hard.
6:04 AM
Technically, they were still supposed to be asleep.
After the banquet, after the drinks, after the dancing, no one would have blamed them for staying in bed and sleeping off the haze.
But the reservation was already in place.
One call.
One favor.
A small, quiet hour window before sunrise.
Just them.
She stared down at Yeji. She was still wrapped in the sheets, legs tangled, mouth parted slightly, breathing even.
Blissfully unaware.
Ryujin hesitated. Then leaned in.
“Captain.”
No response.
“Yeji.”
A twitch of the brow. Nothing more.
“Yeji.”
A sleepy inhale. Still dead to the world.
“Cap.”
Yeji groaned faintly, turning her head deeper into the pillow. “Hmm? What?”
Ryujin pushed the comforter down slightly, nudging her shoulder. “Did you bring your skates?”
Yeji did not move for a moment. Then, voice muffled and gravelly, she grumbled, “Why would I bring my skates to the banquet, baby?”
Ryujin blinked. “Because you’re you.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Yeji sighed deeply. “…Yes. Fine. I did.”
Ryujin’s smile widened.
“Get up.”
Yeji cracked one eye open. “Now?”
“Now.”
Another groan.
Another roll of the sheets.
But Ryujin was already halfway out of bed, tugging the oversized tee over her bare shoulder and wobbling slightly as her headache protested. She pulled Yeji’s hoodie off the chair and tossed it at her head.
She stood there in the pre-dawn dark, already bundled up in a mismatched mess of Yeji’s clothes: a hoodie layered under Yeji’s thick navy jacket, a beanie pulled down over her unbrushed hair, black joggers that were slightly too long, and the same white sneakers she wore to the banquet, now scuffed and loosely tied.
She smelled faintly of leftover perfume, tequila, and detergent.
“Come on,” she said, grinning despite the desert in her throat. “I booked us the lake.”
Yeji, face half-buried in the pillow, muttered, “You what .”
“Skating. Now. It’s just us.” Ryujin bounced on her heels for emphasis, the movement slightly uneven.
“Ryujin,” Yeji mumbled, voice scratchy and half-muffled, “it’s—” she groped for her phone, peeked at it through squinted eyes, “—it’s six-something. In the morning .”
Ryujin just shrugged, grinning wider. “That’s the point.”
Yeji narrowed her eyes. Her brain was still scrambled, her muscles sore, and the inside of her mouth tasted like bad decisions and beer. “Are you still drunk?”
Ryujin snorted, already halfway toward handing her a hoodie. “No. Maybe. A little.” She paused, then grinned again. “But that’s not the point either.”
Yeji stared at her.
Ryujin gave her her best innocent eyes. “Come skate with me.”
Yeji groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “You’re literally insane.”
“You’re not wrong.”
Yeji pulled the blanket over her head. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Ryujin glanced down at herself, tucking her hands into the too-long sleeves of Yeji’s hoodie. “I borrowed what I could find.” She looked over at the chair where her own folded clothes sat untouched. “Yours are warm.”
A muffled scoff came from beneath the covers.
Yeji sighed, but she was smiling now too. “God, you’re lucky I love skating.”
“I’m lucky you love me ,” Ryujin said.
Yeji muttered something under her breath but smiled despite herself, slipping into her clothes with the grace of someone used to doing everything half-awake.
Because Ryujin, hungover and glowing with mischief, had somehow managed to make even six a.m. feel like magic.
And Yeji, against all logic, kind of wanted to see what sunrise on a frozen lake looked like with her.
The path had been quiet. Just the crunch of gravel underfoot, the occasional huff of breath as they walked side by side in the cold, their fingers loosely intertwined in the space between them.
Neither of them had said much since leaving the hotel. Words felt unnecessary. Everything that needed to be said was already there in the hush of dawn, in the way their arms brushed with every step, in the skates slung over their shoulders by worn laces.
Yeji followed, their breath misting in the cold air. The wind was barely a whisper, just enough to nip at their cheeks, to make Yeji tug her scarf a little higher.
Ahead of them, the lake came into view: Broadmoor’s frozen jewel, perfectly still, undisturbed, and framed by trees that looked like they had been dusted with powdered sugar.
Yeji slowed to a stop.
She exhaled, her breath a soft cloud in the air. “You really did rent the entire lake,” she murmured.
Ryujin nodded, shifting her skates on her shoulder. “I’d rent the moon if it meant skating with you alone.”
They stood there for a moment in the silence, taking it all in. Yeji’s eyes scanned the length of the lake, the way the trees framed it like a quiet secret, the soft gold beginning to spread along the edges of the world.
The lake looked untouched, a blank canvas.
“You booked a lake,” she said again, quieter this time. There was no disbelief in her voice now, only something warm, something fond, something heavier than amusement. “While hungover.”
Ryujin’s grin was soft, unbothered. “Technically I booked it last night. While drunk. Huge difference.”
Yeji looked over, one brow lifted. “And you remembered?”
Ryujin turned to face her fully, the light just barely touching the curve of her cheek. “Like I’d forget.” She reached out, tugging gently on the sleeve of Yeji’s hoodie. “I may have forgotten 60% of the after party, but I’d never forget that you told me you missed skating. I listened.”
Yeji blinked at her, lips parting slightly. Her skates slipped from her shoulder to her hand, but she did not move to sit, not yet.
Ryujin sat on the bench near the edge of the lake, brushing snow off the wooden slats and gesturing for Yeji to sit beside her. “Come on. Before the sun gets too high.”
“Are you sure this is allowed?” Yeji asked, eyeing the perfectly smooth surface of the ice.
Ryujin grinned, not looking up as she laced one skate. “Technically? No.”
Yeji raised an eyebrow.
“But we have the whole place alone,” Ryujin added, tying the knot tightly. “Signed waiver and everything. If we die, it’s on us.”
Yeji let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she finally sat to lace her own skates.
They sat side by side on the bench, shoulders brushing, the frozen lake stretching out in front of them like a secret. Their breath fogged the morning air. Light from the early sun glinted off the ice, painting everything in soft gold and silver.
Yeji’s fingers worked quickly, tightening the last loop on her skate and tugging the laces into a perfect bow. She leaned back with a small smirk, satisfied. “Done.”
Ryujin did not even look up. “Are you?”
Yeji raised a brow, just as she felt a tug at her ankle.
“Ryu—” she started, but too late.
Ryujin had already leaned over, tugged one lace free, and casually unraveled Yeji’s perfectly tied knot with all the grace of someone stealing candy.
“Whoops,” she said with a grin that said she absolutely meant it.
Yeji stared at her, scandalized.
“You’re such a child.”
But Ryujin was already ducking her head, finishing her own laces with record speed, fingers moving in a blur.
She yanked the final knot tight, stood up in a rush, and, without even glancing back, bolted down the dock, skates clinking until they hit the ice with a clean, confident glide.
“See you out there, captain!” she called, already halfway across the surface.
“SHIN RYUJIN!”
Ryujin stumbled mid-glide, her laugh carrying behind her like a guilty gust of wind. She did not stop, though. Just turned her head slightly, the world’s most smug smile stretching across her face.
“Worth it!” she yelled back.
Yeji looked down at her untied skate. Then back up at Ryujin’s retreating figure.
“I am going to kill her,” she muttered, reaching down to redo the knot… again .
But her hands were already moving faster.
Because she was not about to let Ryujin win.
Not even on a frozen lake.
Yeji was already up, skates cutting the ice with crisp determination as she chased after her. The early sun gleamed off her shoulders, her breath visible in little bursts of disbelief and adrenaline.
“You better keep skating!” she called out, picking up speed. “Because if I catch you—”
“You’ll thank me?” Ryujin shouted over her shoulder, arms outstretched like she was inviting divine punishment.
“ I’m going to bodycheck you into next week. ”
And still, Ryujin only laughed.
Because it was Yeji chasing her.
On ice.
At sunrise.
Hungover and half-frozen and alive in every way that mattered.
This was going to be the best morning of her life.
Yeji let out a sound that was very un-captain-like, then kicked into a burst of speed.
“ WE’RE BOTH NO CONTACT SKATERS! ” Ryujin shouted dramatically, skating backward in retreat.
Yeji did not slow down. “That’s not going to save you.”
“It should!” Ryujin yelped, barely avoiding a patch of uneven ice as she spun out of reach. “Respect the rules, captain!”
Yeji was laughing now, breath fogging up in the cold, but the glint in her eyes said this was not over.
“Oh, I’ll respect them, after I tackle you into a snowbank.”
“That’s literally contact! ” Ryujin shrieked, swerving again.
“You started it,” Yeji called.
Yeji did not wait for another excuse.
She kicked off hard, slicing across the lake with clean, practiced strokes, one sharp curve and she was already ahead of Ryujin’s escape path. Ryujin barely had time to blink before Yeji cut in front of her like a blade.
“Oh, shit— ” Ryujin started, her eyes widening. “Wait. Wait! Yeji—”
Too late.
Yeji collided with her, not rough, but firm, arms wrapping around her mid-twist, and the momentum sent them both sliding down the ice.
It was not really a full tackle.
More like a controlled fall, like Yeji knew exactly how to take her down without hurting her.
They landed in a heap, laughing, breathless, tangled limbs and cold air.
“Still think we’re no-contact?” Yeji grinned, flushed and triumphant above her.
“Hey, your ribs!” Ryujin gasped, half-laughing, half-worried as she looked up at Yeji hovering above her.
Yeji stayed where she was, arms braced on either side of Ryujin, her breath warm in the cold air. “You broke my fall,” she said simply, a crooked little smirk forming despite the sting in her side.
Ryujin’s hands immediately flew to Yeji’s waist, feeling for stability, for any sign of pain. “You’re actually insane.”
Yeji rolled her eyes. “And you left me on the bench.”
“You tackled me!”
“You ran away!”
“You landed on me!”
Yeji arched a brow. “You’re fine.”
Ryujin huffed a breathless laugh. “Only because I’m literally being crushed by the hottest defenseman in the world.”
Yeji leaned in just enough to kiss her softly on the cheek, then whispered, “Then stay down and take the penalty.”
Ryujin blinked, startled at how fast her heart jumped. “That's five minutes, minimum.”
Yeji did not move, still straddling her, their limbs still tangled together across the ice.
Her voice dropped just enough for Ryujin to hear over the wind. “Then I guess I’m staying right here.”
Ryujin looked up at the morning sky behind Yeji’s head. It was soft, grey-blue, lit only by the first stretch of daylight. The lake around them was empty.
Quiet.
Just them, the gentle creak of the ice, and the rhythmic sound of their own breathing.
Then, a gust of wind blew over them, and Ryujin shivered under her hoodie. “Okay,” she muttered, still breathless. “You’re cute, but I’m freezing. Get off me.”
Yeji laughed and finally rolled off, careful not to crush Ryujin’s hands in the process.
“Baby,” she teased, “you’re the one who booked a lake at sunrise .”
Ryujin sat up, brushing snow off her back. “I didn’t think you’d tackle me within five minutes.”
Yeji extended a hand to help her up, a smile tugging at her lips. “You untied my skates.”
Ryujin grabbed her hand and let herself be pulled up. “Worth it.”
They stood face to face again, still holding hands. Their skates drifted slightly under them, tips touching. Yeji squeezed her fingers once.
Ryujin looked down at their laces. “Still loose.”
Yeji deadpanned, “You fix it, then.”
Ryujin only smiled and crouched down.
But she tugged at the laces again, undoing them entirely this time with a laugh, and then stood, grinning like a menace.
Yeji looked down. “Ryujin. Don’t you—”
But Ryujin was already grinning like a menace, skating backward across the lake and running entirely on impulse and affection.
Her arms tucked into the sleeves of her jacket and her laughter rang out, wild and shameless, echoing across the frost-bitten silence of the morning.
“I LOVE YOU!” she shouted.
Yeji blinked.
Stared.
Then tilted her head as her lips slowly twitched upward. “You’re an idiot.”
Ryujin spun once, nearly falling, but caught herself. “An idiot in love!” she called back.
Yeji sighed, crouched down again, and began fixing her laces for the third time. Her fingers moved with practiced speed, but her smile lingered, soft and involuntary.
She let the cold air sting her cheeks, let the echo of Ryujin’s voice settle somewhere deep beneath her ribs.
Because yeah, she was an idiot.
But she was hers .
Yeji glided toward her again with quiet precision, long strides cutting across the smooth ice like it was second nature, because for her, it was.
She was steady, composed, a contrast to Ryujin’s chaotic zigzags and near-falls.
Ryujin kept skating backward, laughing harder as Yeji gained ground.
“You’re gonna fall!” Ryujin called out, still teasing. “Those laces are dangerously compromised, captain!”
Yeji did not answer. Just narrowed her eyes, completely focused. Ryujin realized a second too late that she had run out of space.
She tried to pivot.
“Oh no—”
And then Yeji caught her.
Again.
Her hands were around Ryujin’s waist, pulling her in with practiced ease. Their skates clacked gently beneath them as momentum slowed and they settled into balance.
Ryujin clung to Yeji’s arms, “Okay, that was hot.”
Yeji gave a satisfied hum. “Are you done terrorizing my skates now?”
Ryujin batted her lashes innocently. “Depends.”
Yeji deadpanned, “Tie it properly.”
“Bossy,” Ryujin muttered, but obeyed, shuffling them both toward the bench at the lake’s edge.
Yeji sat down first, foot extended, expectant. Ryujin followed and dropped to a crouch in front of her, finally serious. Her gloved fingers fumbled at first, then found rhythm as she retied the loosened skate.
Yeji watched her, watched the way Ryujin’s expression softened, the way her brow creased in concentration, her head bowed, hair slipping from beneath the beanie.
“There,” Ryujin said after a moment, tightening the final knot with a small tug and a nod of approval. “Secure. Elegant. Structurally sound.”
Yeji lifted her foot, tested the tension with a slow flex. “Hm. Acceptable.”
Ryujin looked up at her with a grin. “High praise from the captain.”
And just like that, they pushed off the bench again, this time side by side. Ryujin’s hand found Yeji’s again, and their skates slid in unison over the quiet lake.
They moved together, just shadows on frozen water. The sun did not need to fully rise yet.
The moment had already lit itself.
Their blades carved gentle lines into the untouched surface of the frozen lake, each stroke a whisper against the silence. The world around them was still half-asleep. There was only the faint rustling of wind through the trees and the steady rhythm of their skates moving together.
They drifted side by side, close but not clinging. The quiet between them felt full like it had been waiting for them to find it.
Ryujin let out a slow breath, watching it curl into the cold air.
“I didn’t think I’d remember,” she admitted softly, eyes focused on the horizon where the first hint of gold was blooming across the ice. “I really thought I’d wake up and forget the reservation. Or sleep through it. Or puke .”
Yeji glanced over at her, lips tugging into a faint smile. “You still might puke.”
“Wow. Comforting.” Ryujin bumped her gently with her shoulder.
Yeji glanced over, arching a brow as they skated slowly along the edge of the frozen lake, the crisp morning air still carrying hints of yesterday’s cold. “Okay, but seriously. How did you even book this?”
“Drunk determination.” Ryujin exhaled, breath visible in the pale light. Her shoulders rose with the laugh she barely held in. “And, apparently , a very patient concierge.”
Yeji looked at her like she was waiting for a punchline.
“I’m serious,” Ryujin went on, grinning. “I vaguely remember stumbling over to the front desk sometime after you sang and ruined my life — thanks, by the way — and asking if it was possible to reserve the lake.”
“You talked to the concierge drunk .”
Ryujin nodded solemnly. “Had a whole heart-to-heart, apparently. Told her my girlfriend was ‘stupid good at skating’ and that she missed skating and deserved ‘like, an experience.’ ”
Yeji’s lips twitched. “You’re making this up.”
“I wish I was,” Ryujin said, skating backward now, hands tucked into the sleeves of Yeji’s jacket. “I found the reservation confirmation in my email this morning. It’s real. It happened. Her name was Debbie. She gave me a complimentary thermos of hot cocoa too, which I think I left in my room.”
Yeji tried her best not to laugh. “You had a drunk emotional conversation with Debbie at the Broadmoor front desk and somehow walked away with a private sunrise skate session?”
“She even called me at 5:45 to remind me,” Ryujin said proudly. “Wasn’t able to answer so she texted me and said she didn’t trust me to be awake, but I looked ‘very determined for a girl who was slurring.’ ”
Yeji snorted, finally letting the laugh escape. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m a woman of vision,” Ryujin replied, turning again to glide ahead. “Drunken vision. But vision, nonetheless.”
Yeji watched her move, pale sunlight catching on the ice as Ryujin stretched her arms wide and let herself coast. And despite everything, despite the hangover and the lack of sleep and the ache deep in her legs from standing too long last night, Yeji smiled.
“When I said I wanted to skate somewhere quiet, I didn’t mean right after drinking half the bar.”
Ryujin smiled, glancing at her sideways. “Yeah, well. You should know by now I take things literally when I’m in love.”
Yeji snorted, but the corners of her mouth curved upward. “Since when?”
“Since you sang to me,” Ryujin said, not even trying to play it off. Her voice softened. “Since before that, really. But that kind of broke me.”
Yeji did not respond right away. She watched Ryujin’s silhouette glide just ahead of her, shoulders hunched slightly in the borrowed jacket, hair peeking out beneath her beanie, every movement familiar and known.
Then Yeji called out gently, “Thank you.”
Ryujin glanced back. “For what?”
Yeji skated closer until they were shoulder to shoulder again. “For this. For remembering what I said. For doing something about it.”
She looked at Ryujin, and for a moment there was nothing else.
Only the cold, the open sky, and this girl who always managed to listen even when she pretended not to.
“I needed this more than I realized,” Yeji said quietly. “So… thank you.”
Ryujin’s smile faltered, just slightly softening. She did not speak. She held out her hand again, palm open, fingers waiting.
Yeji took it.
And together, they pushed off again into the quiet morning, skates gliding in tandem.
Their blades slowed together, gliding to a gentle stop near the heart of the lake, where the ice gleamed untouched beneath the rising sun. The mist had thinned now, rising like steam around them before fading into the air, and the silence wrapped around their bodies like a blanket.
They stood there on the ice, skates gently rocking beneath them, hands still clasped like neither had any intention of letting go. The cold kissed their cheeks, but neither flinched. The silence around them felt sacred, like the lake itself was holding its breath.
Yeji’s gaze was steady, dark eyes rimmed with sleep but clear now, focused only on her.
“Hey,” Ryujin said softly.
“Hmm?”
Ryujin’s exhale turned to mist in the narrow space between them, her lashes lowered, her voice barely more than a breath. “I meant it, you know. When I yelled it.”
Yeji tilted her head slightly, eyes searching hers. “Which one?”
“I love you.” Ryujin said it again, quieter this time. There was no laughter behind it now, only her heart gently offered.
Yeji leaned in.
Ryujin met her halfway, eyes fluttering shut.
Their lips touched like everything else that morning: slow, careful, and full of all they had not been able to say during the whirlwind of gold medal celebrations and after parties.
The kiss was warm against the cold, steady despite the skates beneath them, hands still joined between their bodies.
Ryujin leaned into it, breath catching in her chest, her free hand rising to gently hold Yeji’s jacket.
Yeji kissed her like she had time, like she had always had time for her. The kind of kiss that felt like a promise made long before it was spoken aloud.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads lingered close.
Yeji squeezed her hand.
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
They stayed like that for a while.
Two champions, medals tucked away somewhere out of sight.
Titles stripped down to nothing out here.
Two fools in love, in the middle of a frozen lake at sunrise.
The world could wait.
Because here, on a frozen lake in the gentle blue of sunrise, wrapped in the hush of everything unspoken, they had everything.
The moment.
The kind of love that did not need to be loud to be lasting.
The kind of love that stayed.
And the two girls from Minnesota who had once learned to skate on frozen lakes, who had circled each other for years, chasing rivalry, chasing greatness, and somehow, quietly chasing each other.
Long before stadium lights and televised rivalries, before press conferences, gold medals, and viral mic’d-up clips, Ryujin and Yeji grew up under the quiet gray skies of Minnesota.
Not together.
But close enough.
In different towns and different neighborhoods, they learned how to lace up their skates with numb fingers and red cheeks, how to check the thickness of the ice by instinct, and how to find rhythm in silence.
Minnesota winters had a way of shaping people. Ryujin remembered the sound of her blades against the lake behind her grandmother’s cabin.
She had learned to skate like she lived: fast, reckless, constantly daring the edge of control. Her dad used to yell at her to slow down, but she never listened.
Yeji, meanwhile, had grown up skating on a lake behind their house, the kind that froze clean enough to reflect the clouds. She stayed long past dusk, alone sometimes, tracing patterns into the glassy surface with calm precision.
Where Ryujin was fire, Yeji was still water.
They would not meet until their teens — on opposing high school teams, different jerseys, same icy fire in their eyes.
But even then, something familiar pulsed beneath the rivalry. Something unspoken.
Because long before they learned how to battle each other in rinks surrounded by screaming crowds, they had both fallen in love with ice in the quiet.
Frozen lakes.
Frostbitten fingers.
Skates that cut through silence instead of noise.
That was where it started for both of them.
Not under spotlights.
But beneath gray skies, where no one was watching.
And maybe that was why, years later, Ryujin had booked that lake even when she was drunk into oblivion.
Maybe that was why Yeji laced up without hesitation, even after barely three hours of sleep and a hangover dulling the edges of her thoughts.
Because no matter how far they had come, no matter how brightly the world burned around them now, this was where they remembered who they were.
Two girls from Minnesota.
Skating into the cold over a frozen lake.
Trying to say “I love you” with and without words.
They did not talk much after they left the lake. Their hands remained loosely linked even as they walked back into the resort, cheeks pink from the cold, breath visible in the crisp morning air.
The silence between them was warm. Yeji let Ryujin trail beside her in socks through the quiet hallway, wet skates slung over one shoulder, a soft smile playing on her lips.
Yeji unlocked her room. The door clicked shut behind them.
Neither of them said anything when Ryujin dropped her skates by the wall and peeled off her jacket. She moved slower now, the high from the cold and the moment giving way to the weight in her limbs. Her hair was slightly damp from snowflakes, lashes fluttering heavier with each blink.
Yeji watched her with half a smile. “You’re gonna crash.”
“I’m not,” Ryujin mumbled, already swaying.
Yeji tilted her head. “Ryu.”
Ryujin flopped face-first onto the bed with a faint groan.
“Okay,” she said into the comforter. “Maybe I’m crashing.”
Yeji did not answer. She walked over, pulled the blanket out from underneath her, and tucked it gently over Ryujin’s sprawled form. Ryujin shifted onto her side, eyes finally opening to find Yeji standing above her, hands on her hips like some exasperated angel.
“You’re warm,” Ryujin murmured.
Yeji raised an eyebrow. “I’m not even under the covers.”
“You’re still warm.”
Yeji huffed, and then gave in. She peeled off her hoodie, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed beside her.
Ryujin immediately turned toward her, cheek brushing against Yeji’s shoulder.
There was a moment’s pause.
Then—
“Thanks,” Ryujin whispered.
“For what?”
“For last night. For taking care of me. For this .” A breath. “For letting me sleep here.”
Yeji reached under the covers, found Ryujin’s hand, and squeezed it once.
“Where else would you go?”
The room settled into a hush in the fragile hours before morning, when the world held its breath and the city outside had not yet stirred.
Ryujin pressed her face a little closer, nose brushing the fabric of Yeji’s shirt, faintly carrying her scent beneath the trace of hotel soap and the lingering edge of whatever alcohol she had drank last night.
She breathed in.
“You okay?” Yeji asked after a while, her voice barely more than a murmur in the dark.
Ryujin nodded, forehead brushing against her collarbone. “I think so.”
Yeji did not press.
“You scared me a little last night,” she said instead, soft, almost sheepish. “You were all over the place.”
Ryujin let out a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Yeah… Did I really cry at some point?”
“You definitely did.”
“ Jesus .” Ryujin buried her face fully into Yeji’s shoulder now. “How bad?”
Yeji smiled faintly, her voice still sleepy. “You told the housekeeper we passed by on our way back here that I was your entire world and that I ‘skated like poetry.’ ”
Ryujin whined into her shoulder. “Please shut up.”
“I’m kidding, mon cœur. ”
“Thank God.”
“But you did cry a bit.”
“ Fuck. ”
Ryujin stayed quiet after that, her breath evening out against the curve of Yeji’s shoulder. The heaviness in her chest did not go away exactly, but it softened.
Yeji did not move. She lay there, wide awake now, staring at the ceiling, one arm wrapped securely around Ryujin’s waist. Her other hand stayed linked with Ryujin’s beneath the covers, palm to palm, fingers twined like they always found each other in the dark.
She could still smell the faint trace of tequila on Ryujin’s skin and underneath that, the familiar warmth that had always drawn her in. It had never been about the lights or the cameras or the games, not really.
Not when it came to this.
Not when it came to her .
Ryujin shifted slightly, nose nudging closer, a half-asleep hum leaving her lips as she murmured something Yeji did not quite catch.
“What?” Yeji whispered.
Another murmur. This time Yeji leaned in.
“‘S nice,” Ryujin slurred, already halfway back to sleep. “You. Here.”
Yeji closed her eyes at that, pressing her lips gently to Ryujin’s forehead, the kiss feather-light. She stayed there for a moment, cheek resting against Ryujin’s temple.
“Sleep, baby,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”
The hum Ryujin gave in return was soft and barely audible, but her fingers squeezed Yeji’s hand again.
And slowly, with the sound of distant pipes clanking through hotel walls, the rise and fall of Yeji’s breathing, and the weight of warmth beneath the blankets, Ryujin drifted.
The world outside could wait.
For now, in this quiet room tucked into the folds of the mountains, in this sliver of time suspended between yesterday’s chaos and today’s leaving, this was enough.
Then, a knock came just after nine.
It was too purposeful to be a housekeeping check, too chaotic to be anything good.
Yeji stirred, groggy and disoriented, brow furrowing as she blinked against the dull morning light pooling in from behind the curtains. Her body was heavy with sleep, limbs still warm and tangled with Ryujin’s beside her.
The second knock came harder.
She sighed, carefully slipping out from under the blankets, Ryujin letting out a sleepy murmur and burrowing further into the mattress, face half-squished into the pillow.
“Coming,” she called, voice raspy from sleep.
She grabbed the jacket draped over the foot of the bed and padded to the door barefoot. She cracked it open, expecting maybe a teammate with a breakfast plan or a staff member with a clipboard.
Instead, she found Winter, Riley, and Chaeryeong standing in the hallway, all in varying states of mild panic.
“Uh,” Winter started. “Is Ryujin here?”
Yeji blinked. “Yeah. She’s sleeping.”
All three of them sagged in unison.
“She’s here,” Chaeryeong muttered, like she was checking something off a list. “Okay. Thank God.”
“She wasn’t in her room,” Riley added, hushed but frantic. “We thought she got lost or kidnapped or passed out in a hallway or something.”
“We checked her room this morning and she wasn’t answering and no one saw her leave the party and she was… she was crying , Yeji. And drunk. And dramatic. And then just gone.”
Yeji stepped aside slightly, lowering her voice. “She’s fine now.”
Winter said slowly, then squinted past Yeji into the dimly lit room. “She’s here? Like, here here?”
Yeji crossed her arms. “She’s asleep. And I’d really like to keep it that way before she remembers more of last night and starts spiraling.”
There was a long pause. Then Chaeryeong muttered, “She told the bartender she wanted to marry you and then disappeared. So yeah. That tracks.”
Yeji sighed and rubbed her temple. “She came back here. With me.”
Winter stared at her for a long moment. “Of course she did.”
“She’s okay,” Yeji repeated. “I think she’s a little hungover. Or still drunk. Quite unclear .”
Chaeryeong tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Did she cry again? Like, after the crying?”
“I think that’s private,” Yeji deadpanned.
Riley held up both hands in surrender. “No judgment. Just making sure she didn’t sleep in a bush.”
They hovered a second longer, clearly tempted to ask more but ultimately deciding against it. As they walked away, Yeji heard Riley mutter, “God, they’re so married already,” and Chaeryeong say something about needing a nap from the stress.
Yeji shut the door with a soft click and turned.
From the bed, Ryujin’s voice came out rough and muffled. “Was that for me?”
Yeji walked back toward her, lips quirking. “Congratulations. You triggered a full-blown search party.”
Ryujin groaned and flopped onto her back. “I hate it here.”
Yeji smirked, crawling back under the covers beside her. “If you only knew the stuff you did last night, you’d know you brought this on yourself.”
Ryujin let out a long, pained sound. “Kill me.”
“Later,” Yeji said gently. “You need breakfast first.”
The dining hall was alive with the soft clatter of utensils and the low murmur of tired voices. Team USA had gathered in waves, some players nursing cups of black coffee like lifelines, others hunched over their food in sweatpants and bed hair.
The aftermath of the night clung to the room like fog, lingering glitter on someone’s cheekbone, the faint scent of perfume on a borrowed hoodie, the slight wince every time someone moved too quickly.
Ryujin walked in the hall beside Yeji, dressed in mismatched clothes that clearly were not hers, gray sweats that drooped slightly on her hips and a forest green zip-up hoodie that smelled faintly like Yeji’s detergent.
Her hair was damp from a rushed shower, her face washed but still sleep-wrinkled, and her eyes hidden behind oversized tinted glasses that did nothing to hide the quiet regret of a hangover.
Yeji, composed as ever in a fresh black pullover and jeans, calmly took a tray from the stack and began assembling breakfast precisely. Her expression remained unreadable save for the faintest tug of her mouth when she glanced over at Ryujin, who was very much trying to disappear behind her tinted glasses and a plate of toast.
Winter was the first to spot them. She did not bother hiding her smirk.
“Holy shit,” Winter blurted from her seat, eyes wide and dramatically offended. “You survived.”
Across the table, Riley choked on her juice. “We thought you were dead.”
“You disappeared last night,” Jules added, eyes narrowing at Ryujin.
“And you were so drunk,” Yuna muttered, peering over her coffee like it physically pained her to be awake.
Ryujin squinted at all of them. “Is this an intervention?”
“So…” Yuna tilted her head. “You were in Yeji’s room all night.”
Ryujin blinked behind her tinted glasses. “Is that a question or a statement?”
Yuna raised her mug. “Depends on the answer.”
Across the table, Winter leaned in with a grin that was all teeth. “Because from what we saw, you disappeared after Yeji sang to you and never came back.”
Jules chimed in, gesturing pointedly. “We thought you’d gotten kidnapped or crawled into a laundry chute or something.”
“Or died of emotional overload,” Riley added. “I mean, Yeji did sing So High School directly to you, and you chugged like, three drinks right after.”
Ryujin exhaled slowly and dropped her tray on the table. “Okay, wow. You guys took notes.”
“We were concerned ,” Yuna said, though her expression looked far more entertained than alarmed.
“She fell asleep on a couch at the after party,” Yeji explained as she settled beside Ryujin, her tone matter-of-fact as she placed a mug of coffee in front of her. “So I brought her to my room.”
The table fell into a stunned sort of silence, just long enough for every player’s eyes to flick toward one another.
Winter was the first to speak. “Wait—you carried her?”
“She walked,” Yeji replied dryly, not even glancing up as she reached for a napkin. “ Mostly . I had to steer.”
Ryujin made a soft groaning sound, head dropping to the table again.
“She was already asleep when I got her to my room,” Yeji continued, as if she were recounting a weather report. “Didn’t even get under the covers. Just collapsed on top like someone had unplugged her.”
“I tried,” Ryujin muttered. “I think .”
“She passed out halfway through pulling the blanket up,” Yeji said, amusement just barely curling at the edge of her voice.
The table erupted with half-stifled laughter. Ryujin buried her face in her hands again.
“She fell asleep standing in the elevator, too,” Yeji added casually, reaching for her fork.
Ryujin groaned. “Don’t remember that.”
“You shouldn’t,” Yeji said, tone dry. “You were talking to a potted plant and then passed out mid-sentence.”
Yuna choked on her coffee.
Winter had to cover her mouth.
Even Chaeryeong was wheezing.
Ryujin, face still in her hands, mumbled, “I was in love and drunk, let me live.”
Yeji smiled faintly and nudged her coffee closer. “You’re still in love and mildly hungover.”
“That’s worse ,” Ryujin muttered.
“Maybe,” Yeji said, finally glancing sideways. “But you were also very sweet. The plant and I both agree.”
That earned another round of laughter, louder this time, but Ryujin did not try to argue anymore.
She just sipped her coffee in silence and let the warmth of it, and the girl beside her, do what it could to save her.
Ryujin had her forehead resting on the table now, arms folded beneath her like a pillow. Her voice came out muffled.
“I don’t want to be conscious.”
“ You weren’t for most of the night,” Yeji murmured.
“I brought her a glass of water in the lounge once,” Lia chimed in from further down the table, tone light with barely-contained laughter. “She told me I looked like a dream and went back to sleep.”
“Seriously?”
“I swear,” Lia said, grinning. “Didn’t even drink the water.”
“I stand by it,” Ryujin muttered, lifting one hand to wave weakly in the air.
Yeji just shook her head, lips pressed together to hide her smile as she peeled a clementine in precise spirals. “You were completely gone.”
“And yet somehow,” Winter said, leaning forward, “you still managed to disappear into Yeji’s room like a myth.”
“I did not disappear ,” Ryujin mumbled. “I relocated with supervision.”
“She really stayed with you?” Jules asked, clearly fascinated.
Yeji nodded. “Didn’t even change. Just curled up on top of the covers and knocked out.”
“She didn’t even shower?” Riley asked, eyes wide. “She was covered in glitter.”
“I don’t think she knew where she was,” Yeji replied.
“Okay, but it’s kind of sweet,” Chaeryeong said. “You could’ve left her knocked out cold in the hallway. We would’ve still found her there by morning.”
“She was dozing off on a couch near the bar,” Yeji said. “I figured if I didn’t move her, she’d either end up on the floor or wake up with a shoe in her face.”
“And instead,” Winter said, grinning, “she woke up in your room wearing your clothes.”
The table broke into laughter again.
“She looked exhausted,” Yeji replied. “And… I didn’t mind.”
Ryujin made a noise that was either a hum or a whimper and finally lifted her head just enough to squint at her teammates.
“Am I being bullied?” she asked faintly.
“Affectionately,” Lia assured her.
Riley raised her brows, grinning. “Pretty sure you declared your undying love before disappearing.”
Ryujin gave her a suspicious look. “That’s not how I remember it.”
“You don’t remember anything,” Yuna muttered into her cup.
“She’s right,” Winter said. “You were halfway to the floor when we last saw you. And then poof —gone. Not even a text.”
“Did you cry?” Riley asked, grinning. “You looked like you were about to cry. I told everyone, ‘She’s gonna cry.’ ”
“I might’ve,” Ryujin admitted, sitting down slowly, like even gravity was too loud. “But who’s to say?”
“I am,” Yeji said, finally speaking up from beside her, voice even and calm as she stirred her coffee. “She cried.”
“So,” Riley leaned in, resting her elbows on the table, “just to recap: you cried, flirted with a houseplant, complimented Lia, and then vanished.”
Ryujin groaned again, but her hand found Yeji’s under the table, giving it a light squeeze.
“I blacked out with style ,” she said finally, lifting her head just enough to sip from her coffee.
The aftershocks of the night still clung to all of them, but in the haze of caffeine, teasing, and soft recovery, it felt lighter.
Ryujin leaned against Yeji’s shoulder for just a moment longer, and for once, nobody said anything.
The teasing eventually thinned out, everyone turning back to their eggs and toast, but Yeji barely touched her plate. Beside her, Ryujin had gone quiet again, not out of sleep this time, but that heavy, post-humiliation silence where her mind seemed to be catching up to the damage her mouth had done last night.
Yeji watched her from the corner of her eye. The hoodie swallowed Ryujin’s frame, sleeves half covering her hands as she wrapped them around her mug. Her knuckles were pale against the ceramic.
There was still a hint of pink in her cheeks.
When the conversation at the table drifted away, toward flight schedules and returning to club routines, Yeji leaned closer, voice low.
“Do you remember anything you said last night?”
Ryujin groaned softly. “Please don’t quiz me.”
“I’m not,” Yeji said gently. “Just wondering.”
Ryujin risked a glance at her. “Did I do something embarrassing?”
Yeji hesitated, eyes steady on her. “You… looked at me. At one point. Just sat there on that couch, barely keeping your eyes open, and said…”
She trailed off, lips parting like she was not sure if she wanted to finish the sentence.
Ryujin frowned. “What?”
Yeji’s gaze dropped to the coffee in her hands, then back to Ryujin’s face. She spoke softly.
“You said, ‘You know I’d follow you anywhere, right?’ ”
The words sat there between them. No one else at the table heard, the others were too busy trading stories about who danced on which table and who cried during the night.
But Ryujin stilled completely, her breath catching just slightly.
Her voice, when she finally spoke, was hoarse. “I did?”
Yeji nodded, still watching her. “Yeah.”
Ryujin looked down, suddenly very interested in the rim of her cup. “…Was I crying?”
“Not yet .”
A beat of silence passed, and then Ryujin muttered, “Well. That explains the dream I had where I was your horse.”
Yeji snorted, quietly and unexpectedly, before she leaned back just enough to let the moment settle again.
But the look she gave Ryujin lingered.
And Ryujin felt it.
Even through her pounding head and still-slightly-spinning vision, she felt the weight of it. That she had said something, without meaning to, that had landed in Yeji like an anchor.
And Yeji had kept it.
Held onto it.
There was something terrifying about that.
And something safe, too.
Ryujin reached for her mug again, hands warm now from the steam.
“I think I meant it,” she said softly.
Yeji did not smile. But she looked at her for a long time.
“I know.”
Ryujin sat slouched in her chair, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over her hands, forehead resting on the edge of the table. Her voice came out low and hoarse. “How am I more hungover now than I was at six a.m.?”
Yeji gave a small hum, fingers curled around her mug. “You were suspiciously functional on the ice. I think adrenaline delayed the crash. That, or you were still drunk then.”
Ryujin groaned. “It betrayed me.”
Yeji shook her head, lips tugging into the faintest grin. “You were chirping me like you were completely fine two hours ago.”
“I was running on vibes,” Ryujin said weakly.
“And the alcohol still in your bloodstream.”
Ryujin sat up with great effort, then slumped sideways against Yeji’s shoulder, groaning softly. “If I die, tell people I went out brave.”
Yeji nudged her gently with her elbow. “If you die, I’m not carrying you again. Once per tournament, max.”
“You said I was light!”
“ You said you were ‘basically air ,’” Yeji corrected. “And then you almost took both of us down when you missed the elevator button.”
“Still got us upstairs, didn’t I?”
“Barely,” Yeji said, though her voice had softened.
Ryujin did not argue. She just reached across the table, her fingers finding Yeji’s and curling around them without a word. Her movements were slow, like even the act of reaching required all the energy she had left, but her hand was steady.
Yeji glanced at her, surprised at the quiet gesture, but she did not pull away. Instead, she turned her palm up to hold Ryujin’s properly, thumb brushing over her knuckles once, absent but deliberate.
And even with her cheek pressed sleepily to Yeji’s shoulder, Ryujin smiled. Her eyes slipped shut again, lips curving faintly as though the warmth of Yeji’s hand had soothed something still stirring inside her.
Around them, the dining hall buzzed with the usual morning haze: cutlery clinking, chairs scraping, bursts of laughter and sleepy complaints echoing off the walls.
But somehow, none of it touched them.
Not in that moment.
Their hands stayed laced between the half-empty plates and coffee mugs, unnoticed by most, unbothered by all.
The chaos of last night, the ache of the hangover, the teasing that waited for Ryujin the second she lifted her head again — all of it could wait.
Right now, there was just this.
The warmth of skin against skin, the quiet weight of leaning in, and the soft, dizzying realization of love that had been there long before either of them had dared to name it.
The sun had climbed high by the time Ryujin returned to her own room, the frozen lake already a memory, the magic of the early morning tucked somewhere quiet between them, and the teasing over breakfast was long forgotten.
The Broadmoor had come alive: valets outside, staff bustling in the halls, the distant clink of brunchware from the main dining room.
Their rooms, once cocooned in soft silence, were now filled with the rustle of zippers and the low hum of suitcases rolling across the carpet.
Ryujin sat at the foot of the bed, tying her shoes with slow fingers. She was now wearing a dark gray Cyclones quarter-zip, her duffel packed and propped against the door. Her skate bag was already zipped shut.
Yeji moved around the other room with practiced ease. She folded the last of her things into a travel bag, her bob tucked behind her ears, eyes focused. She wore her team hoodie, black with the sharp silver “B” stitched near the collarbone.
Their time together, however fleeting, had been full.
It was stuffed with too-loud laughter and tangled blankets, with sunrise secrets on frozen lakes and stolen moments in crowded hallways.
It had been short, yes, but it had mattered.
By 2:30, the Broadmoor lobby was quiet save for the hum of distant conversations and the soft shuffle of luggage wheels on polished floors. Afternoon light poured through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the tiles as Ryujin and Yeji made their way downstairs.
Yeji checked her watch, the simple flick of her wrist precise as always, then looked over at Ryujin, who was now standing just ahead of her, adjusting the strap of her dark gray duffel bag across one shoulder.
“Your ride’s downstairs?” Yeji asked, voice low, unreadable.
Ryujin glanced back at her, lips parted like she might say something more than just yes.
But in the end, she only nodded.
“Yeah. They said ten minutes, but he’s early.” Her voice was steady, but there was something restrained in it, an ache tucked carefully beneath the surface.
“You?”
“Fifteen.” Yeji stepped closer. “Charter bus.”
Ryujin smirked. “Luxury.”
Yeji rolled her eyes lightly. “Traffic.”
They stood like that for a moment, mirroring each other in their colors, their crests, the faint scent of hotel soap still lingering in the air.
The lake was behind them now.
So was the kiss.
The laughter.
The skate.
The quiet.
Now it was back to real life. To schedules. To playbooks. To games.
Ryujin slung the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. “You gonna miss me?”
Yeji stepped closer, her voice low but certain. “Every single day, Ryujin.”
Ryujin swallowed the grin that threatened to spill and nodded once, more serious now. “Don’t let anyone touch you out there.”
“They can try,” Yeji replied. Then, softly, playfully but edged with challenge, she said:
“Play well, superstar. I’ll see you in the finals.”
Ryujin’s eyes flickered, something lighting behind them.
“You better,” she whispered.
And with that, she stepped back, offered a wink, and turned toward the door.
It closed softly behind her.
Yeji stood there for a moment, eyes lingering on the space she had left, before pulling her bag upright.
Because the countdown had started.
And the next time they met on the ice, they would not be holding hands.
Ryujin was already reaching for the door when Yeji spoke.
“Wait.”
Her voice was quiet, softer than it had been all morning, but firm enough to make Ryujin pause, her hand still hovering near the handle.
She turned, brow raised. “Yeah?”
Yeji did not answer right away.
Instead, she glanced around the room.
Once, twice.
The lobby was still mostly empty, the hotel staff busy behind the front desk, no teammates in sight, no media hovering by the windows.
Just polished marble, afternoon light, and the weight of something unspoken hanging between them.
It was instinctual; captain-level caution.
No more staff walking past. No open windows.
Only then did Yeji let herself move in.
Two strides, careful and deliberate, until she was in front of Ryujin. Close enough to touch. Close enough to breathe the same quiet air they had shared on the ice just hours ago.
Ryujin tilted her head. “You checking for snipers?”
Yeji did not rise to the bait. She just looked at her for a moment, eyes calm but serious, then lifted her hand to the side of Ryujin’s face, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen from her ponytail.
“You’re leaving,” she murmured.
Ryujin softened. “Yeah.”
“And you didn’t kiss me goodbye.”
Ryujin blinked. “I—”
But Yeji was already leaning in.
Her hand stayed at Ryujin’s cheek as their lips met, quiet and full, like a secret meant only for two.
It was gentler than the kiss on the lake. Less breathless. Less ice underfoot.
But heavier, somehow.
Like it was grounding them both before everything ahead.
Ryujin melted into it, eyes closing. Her hand reached out to grip Yeji’s sleeve.
When they finally parted, Yeji stayed close, their foreheads brushing. “There,” she said softly. “Now you can go.”
Ryujin breathed out a quiet laugh. “You really are the worst at pretending you’re not soft.”
Yeji stepped back, the ghost of a smile at her lips. “Don’t be late to boarding.”
Ryujin looked at her like she wanted to kiss her all over again.
“See you soon, my captain.”
Yeji nodded once.
“Count on it, superstar.”
And this time, when Ryujin opened the door and walked out, she did not look back.
Because she knew Yeji would be there, waiting for her at the end of the playoffs.
Yeji leaned against the side of the charter bus window, forehead pressed to the glass as the Broadmoor disappeared behind them.
There were rooftops and treetops now, fading into distance. Her earbuds were in, but no music played yet. Her phone rested face down in her lap. She just needed the illusion of distraction, of silence filled on her own terms.
Outside, the frost still clung to the roadsides, a soft blur of white and gold stretching toward the highway. Inside, the bus was quiet. Some of her ridemates were asleep already.
Others scrolled through photos from the night before, laughter low and tired.
Yeji did not speak. She just watched the winter roll by.
In the soft, empty space of morning, her thoughts drifted, not to the banquet or the medals or the dozens of interviews they had both given or even the after party, but to the lake.
To Ryujin.
To the way she had tugged her hoodie on, laughing through the hangover, skates bouncing against her hip as she whispered, “Come with me.”
And Yeji had followed.
Because somewhere deep in her bones, she had known what was waiting.
That frozen lake.
That quiet.
That kiss.
Minnesota was still in her, years later, teams later, fame later.
It lived in the way she laced her skates. The way she moved across ice like it belonged to her. The way she had always loved best when no one was watching.
And Ryujin…
Ryujin had always been loud, wild, a burst of fire. But that morning, on that frozen lake, she had been something else. Soft. Still. Home .
Yeji closed her eyes against the glass.
She wondered if Ryujin was thinking about the same thing right now, maybe boarding her flight back to New York, skates still damp in her bag, a smile she was trying not to show to her teammates.
They had grown up just hours apart, skating on frozen lakes in separate towns.
And yet, somehow, all roads had led them back to the same ice.
Not as strangers.
Not as rivals.
But as something else now.
Something real.
Yeji exhaled quietly, lips barely moving.
See you soon, Ryujin.
Not goodbye.
Just
Soon .
Pages Navigation
gab198 on Chapter 1 Sat 15 Mar 2025 09:42PM UTC
Comment Actions
hyjsrj5 on Chapter 1 Sat 15 Mar 2025 10:11PM UTC
Comment Actions
gab198 on Chapter 1 Sun 16 Mar 2025 09:41PM UTC
Comment Actions
hyjsrj5 on Chapter 1 Mon 17 Mar 2025 03:32AM UTC
Comment Actions
gab198 on Chapter 1 Mon 24 Mar 2025 05:44PM UTC
Comment Actions
Gangsta_Yunjin (Guest) on Chapter 5 Sun 07 Sep 2025 11:25PM UTC
Comment Actions
aras (Guest) on Chapter 6 Sun 02 Mar 2025 08:48AM UTC
Comment Actions
hyjsrj5 on Chapter 6 Sun 02 Mar 2025 09:52PM UTC
Comment Actions
Chosenfew16 on Chapter 7 Sun 02 Mar 2025 11:14PM UTC
Comment Actions
Bloodwine (Guest) on Chapter 7 Mon 03 Mar 2025 03:45AM UTC
Comment Actions
Bloodwine (Guest) on Chapter 7 Mon 03 Mar 2025 03:46AM UTC
Comment Actions
Jinmher13 on Chapter 7 Sat 08 Mar 2025 03:24AM UTC
Comment Actions
Jhs (Guest) on Chapter 8 Sat 15 Mar 2025 08:12AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kira2010 on Chapter 8 Sun 16 Mar 2025 03:20AM UTC
Comment Actions
lialovestea on Chapter 9 Sun 16 Mar 2025 07:13PM UTC
Comment Actions
all_in_us (Guest) on Chapter 9 Mon 17 Mar 2025 12:55AM UTC
Comment Actions
Bloodwine (Guest) on Chapter 9 Mon 17 Mar 2025 01:52AM UTC
Comment Actions
Ryejifan (Guest) on Chapter 9 Mon 17 Mar 2025 03:26AM UTC
Comment Actions
kharen (Guest) on Chapter 9 Mon 17 Mar 2025 02:56PM UTC
Comment Actions
MOAHS on Chapter 9 Mon 14 Apr 2025 09:31AM UTC
Comment Actions
all_in_us (Guest) on Chapter 9 Wed 07 May 2025 12:53PM UTC
Comment Actions
AndYourPoint on Chapter 10 Fri 30 May 2025 11:14AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kira2010 on Chapter 10 Fri 30 May 2025 03:01PM UTC
Comment Actions
esspeagee on Chapter 10 Sat 31 May 2025 05:31AM UTC
Comment Actions
aintshak on Chapter 10 Tue 29 Jul 2025 05:40AM UTC
Comment Actions
lialovestea on Chapter 11 Sat 31 May 2025 08:29AM UTC
Comment Actions
bjh_rnb on Chapter 11 Sat 31 May 2025 11:29AM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation