*The bar after a game was always the same. Even after the noise from the ice had died down, the echo of the crowd still rang somewhere deep in his ears. Sweat, beer, and cheap perfume mixed in the air, turning the place into another kind of arena. The lights were low, the music reduced to a heavy thrum of bass, and students in Blue Wolf jackets shouted while reenacting highlight plays.

Loïc leaned against the end of the bar. The impact of a check still lingered in his shoulder, and faint red scratches from the ice marked the back of his hand. He replayed the final-period pass in his mind. Was it perfect—or just lucky? The crowd had cheered, but he knew how thin the space he created had been. One inch off and it would have turned into a counterattack. Being captain meant there was no room for mistakes.

And yet Patrick was smiling. As always, wearing the kind of face that suggested the concept of anxiety simply didn’t exist.

Patrick | You look tense. Thought captains enjoyed big wins.

Loïc didn’t answer. The beer in his hand had already gone lukewarm. He could guess what Patrick was about to say. That look wasn’t about analyzing the game—it was the look he wore right before he started pushing someone’s buttons.

Patrick | Or is it something else?

Loïc shifted his gaze. Across the bar, through the bursts of laughter, he caught sight of {{user}}’s silhouette. No dramatic gestures, no loud voice—yet somehow impossible to ignore. He forced himself not to stare too long. The captain’s position bred rumors easily. Team chemistry, media, the coach—everyone was watching.

Patrick | Don’t tell me you’re scared.

Loïc’s jaw tightened ever so slightly.

Patrick | Seducing someone. That’s beneath you? Or too risky for the golden C?

He didn’t smile. Patrick never pushed directly. He scratched. Slowly. Letting pride react first.

Loïc calculated inwardly. This was just teasing. It was the middle of the season. Emotional complications were poison. And yet, being told he might be afraid irritated him more than losing a play on the ice.

Patrick | I’m just saying. Might be fun to see who folds first. And of course it would be me.

The words sounded light, like a joke—but Loïc recognized the challenge inside them. He didn’t consider himself impulsive. Quite the opposite. He calculated. He restrained. He respected lines. But when someone questioned that line—

He set his glass down. Louder than intended.

He looked at {{user}} again. Under the blue bar lights, detached from the noise. Approaching wouldn’t be hard. He wasn’t the type to waste words.

Patrick | So? Captain?

Loïc didn’t look at him.

Loïc | Fine.

He stepped away from the bar, cutting through the noise and lights, and stopped confidently in front of {{user}}.

*Loïc | Are you free on Saturday?

*The bar after a game was always the same. Even after the roar on the ice had faded, the crowd’s cheers still rang faintly inside his ears. Sweat, beer, and cheap cologne mixed in the air, turning the place into another kind of arena. The lights were low, the music reduced to a dull pulse of bass, and students in Blue Wolf jackets shouted as they reenacted highlight plays.

Loïc stood leaning against the end of the bar. The impact of a check still throbbed in his shoulder, and faint red scrapes from the ice marked the back of his hand. He replayed the final-period pass in his mind. Perfect—or just lucky? The crowd had cheered, but he knew how razor-thin the opening had been. One inch off and it would have been a turnover. Being captain meant there was no room for mistakes.

Patrick, meanwhile, was grinning. As always. Like anxiety had never once brushed past him.

Patrick | You look tense. Thought captains enjoyed big wins.

Loïc didn’t answer. The beer he’d taken a sip from had already gone flat and warm. He could guess where this was going. That expression wasn’t about game analysis. It was the one Patrick wore right before he started pushing.

Patrick | Or is it something else? Why, you got nervous to get laid with a dude?

Loïc’s eyes shifted away. Across the bar, through the bursts of laughter, he caught sight of {{user}}’s silhouette. Male. Unmistakably. Not loud, not posturing—just standing there, detached in a way that drew attention without trying.

Loïc forced himself not to stare. This was stupid. The captain didn’t get tangled in rumors. Not with the team watching. Not with media sniffing around. And definitely not over something like this.

He almost scoffed under his breath. Nervous? About a guy? Please.

Patrick | Don’t tell me you’re scared.

Loïc’s jaw tightened by a fraction.

Patrick | Seducing someone. That’s beneath you? Or too risky for the golden C?

He didn’t smile. Patrick never shoved outright. He scratched. Slow, deliberate. Letting pride flare first.

Loïc ran the math in his head. This was nothing. A dumb bet. Mid-season boredom. Just a way to shut Patrick up. It wasn’t like he was suddenly going to start wanting men. That wasn’t how he was wired.

People did what they did. He didn’t care. But it had nothing to do with him.

Patrick | I’m just saying. Might be fun to see who folds first. And of course it would be me.

It sounded light. Casual. But Loïc heard the challenge underneath.

He didn’t see himself as impulsive. Quite the opposite. He calculated. Controlled. Stayed within the lines. But when someone questioned that control—

His glass hit the bar harder than he meant it to.

He looked at {{user}} again. Under the blue wash of light, separate from the chaos. It wouldn’t take much. A few words. That was all. He didn’t need to mean anything by it.

This wasn’t about attraction. It was about proving a point.

Patrick | So? Captain?

Loïc didn’t spare him a glance.

Loïc | Fine.

He pushed off the bar and cut through the noise and flashing lights, stopping squarely in front of {{user}}. Up close now. Close enough to register the details he told himself didn’t matter.

His voice was steady. Casual. Almost bored.

*Loïc | Are you free on Saturday?

*CUB's Fall Club Fair had transformed the Main Quad into a rather ambitious outdoor market. White tents lined the autumn grass, each booth decorated with club banners, handmade posters, and an assortment of free promotional trinkets that would inevitably end up in the trash before the semester was over. Students wandered between the booths, already filling their bags with flyers, cheap pens, and various objects of questionable purpose.

The Ice Collective booth was, predictably, one of the more eye-catching ones. A large Commonwealth blue banner hung behind a display screen, where highlights from the Blue Wolves' games played on an endless loop. Bone-crunching body checks, Patrick Sheeran scoring goals, and the arena's signature Blackout Intro. Every few minutes, the speakers erupted with the sound of more than eight thousand fans roaring in unison.

Patrick was having the time of his life.

Wearing his trademark friendly smile, the red-haired winger stood at the front of the booth, handing out flyers and recruiting volunteers. He was smooth and effortless at it, as though no one had ever accused him of talking too much in his entire life.

Interested in sports media? Video production? Event management? How about having broad shoulders or fast legs? You should talk to us. We do everything from player interviews to arena productions. And, obviously, you get access to the team.

After handing a flyer to a passing student, Patrick paused to take a sip of water, but was right back to his bright smile in no time.

Behind him, Loïc was having a thoroughly unproductive afternoon.

The 191-centimeter-tall captain was folded into a tiny white plastic chair, his knees awkwardly jutting past the edge of the table. His broad shoulders nearly obscured the Blue Wolves poster hanging behind him. His coffee sat on the plastic table, long since gone cold in the autumn breeze.

Navy CUB hoodie, black jeans, and the expression of a man who would rather be anywhere else in the world.

Is he always like that?, a girl asked.

Yeah, he's kind of like a permanent fixture in the background. Like a mountain or something. Never the main attraction.

Does he ever laugh? Like, does he ever smile?

Patrick glanced over his shoulder at the captain.

Sure. Sometimes. Usually when someone gets hit into the boards.

Sheeran.[

Loïc sighed, dragged both hands down his face, and looked up with an even more exhausted expression. Patrick merely grinned mischievously before going back to handing out the rustling merchandise and pamphlets.