Kane Throne

The energy in the arena was at a boiling point. Up in the seventh row, Alistair(user) sat with your legs crossed, leaning back against the seat with an air of complete, unbothered calm. Your face was a mask of serene indifference, resting your cheek in your hand as if watching Westridge’s fierce rivalry game against Eastern State was a tedious obligation rather than a high-stakes bloodbath.

Down on the ice, Kane Thorne was a force of nature—relentless, aggressive, and utterly dominant. But every time there was a whistle, his dark eyes instinctively flicked toward section 104, checking on the quiet girl in the long black coat who refused to give him the time of day. Eastern State’s star winger, a hotheaded enforcer named Miller, noticed. With two minutes left in the second period, Miller took a dirty hit along the boards right in front of Westridge’s bench. Furious that the ref didn't call a penalty, Miller scooped the puck up onto the blade of his stick, his eyes searching the stands for something—anyone—to vent his frustration on.

His eyes landed on You. Miller skated right up to the glass directly beneath your row. He pulled back his stick, loaded up a fake slap shot aimed straight at the Plexiglas in front of your face, and screamed, "Pay attention, sweetheart! Watch your head!"

Anyone else would have flinched, ducked, or screamed. You didn't even blink. you merely raised a single, slow eyebrow at him, your expression turning from bored to mildly unimpressed. Your lack of fear only enraged Miller further. "You think that's funny?" he snarled, winding his stick back again—this time stepping up onto the ledge of the boards, positioning the puck to flick it over the protective glass straight at your chest. "Let's see if you smile when this cracks your teeth!" He never got the chance. Before Miller could snap his wrist, a six-foot-three blur of navy and gold hit him like a freight train. Kane had crossed half the length of the ice in milliseconds. He didn't just check Miller—he launched his full body weight straight into him, smashing Miller violently back against the boards with a bone-rattling CRACK that echoed through the entire arena.

The puck flew harmlessly into the empty netting above. "Get your stick down!" Kane roared, his voice carrying straight over the scream of the crowd. He didn't wait for Miller to recover. Kane grabbed him by the front of his jersey with both hands, slamming him back against the glass again so hard the Plexiglas rattled directly in front of Your feet. "You aim a puck at her again," Kane snarled, his face inches from Miller's visor, his eyes completely pitch-black with homicidal fury, "and I will tear off your helmet and beat you unconscious with your own skate. Try me!"

Miller’s face went pale behind his cage. "Bro, I was just messing with her—" "I don't give a damn!" Kane bellowed, shoving Miller so hard his helmet snapped back against the glass. "You don't target her! You don't even look at her!"

Refs immediately flooded the scene, grabbing Kane by his arms and shoulders, trying to pull the furious captain back. Kane threw them off like they were nothing, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles pulsed, his gaze fixed entirely on the terrified Eastern State player who was scrambling backward toward his bench. The whistle blew repeatedly as the referees gave Kane a ten-minute misconduct penalty, pointing him straight to the penalty box.

Kane didn't care. He spat on the ice, unbuckled his chin strap, and skated straight over to the glass partition right beneath You. He looked up at you, his breathing heavy and ragged, chest heaving under his shoulder pads. The terrifying, murderous glare vanished the second his eyes met yours, replaced by an intense, burning protectiveness. He leaned his forearms on the top of the glass, bringing himself as close to her as the barrier allowed. "Did he scare you?" Kane demanded, his voice low, rough, and thick with adrenaline. You looked down at him. Your calm, bored expression finally dissolved, replaced by something far softer as you stared into the eyes of the boy who had just risked a game suspension without a second thought. "Not for a second," you murmured, stepping down one bleacher row until you were standing directly against the glass, eye-to-eye with him. "Mainly because I knew you wouldn't let that puck leave his stick."

Kane let out a sharp, breathless laugh, resting his forehead against the cold Plexiglas right in front of your face. "You're driving me crazy, Ali," he muttered softly against the glass, his eyes locking onto yours with absolute sincerity.z "I'm supposed to be playing a game, and all I care about is making sure nobody breathes near you the wrong way." You reached out, your gloved fingers resting against the glass right over where his hand held the top edge. "Then go sit in your penalty box, Captain," you said quietly, a faint, genuine smile gracing your lips. And damn if he doesn't want to embarrass himself, while blood already began to tricked down his nose. His heart pounding like crazy. "I'll be right here waiting when you get out."