Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The rink seemed alive, each slap of the puck and scrape of skates part of its heartbeat

The cold air cut through the lungs, carrying the metallic sound of blades slicing the ice, causing a light dust of frost to rise. The impact of bodies against the boards made the panels tremble, the puck snapped violently as it was launched from one end to the other. The white lights above reflected on the ice until they blinded the eyes, turning everything into a blur of motion and shine.

The open rink was all about speed, strength, and collision. The stands murmured restlessly, rising and falling with each attack on the goal, even though there were yet far fewer people than the actual game. Every near-mistake made the spectators hold their breath just a little longer, captivated by the practice training.

Not far from the ice, at the edge of all that violent chaos, a man stood still.

He remained by the side of the rink, posture straight, hands hidden in his coat pockets, as if he were the only immovable thing in the middle of those beasts of the game that didn’t know how to stop. His hair was jet black, falling softly over his forehead. He was in his mid-thirties but remarkably attractive. His eyes were like peach blossom shape, slightly gray irises as cold as the ice itself, analyzing the players with a sharp gaze.

With a simple gesture, he raised his pale hand close to his masculine face. He held a pack of cigarettes, tapping his finger so that one popped out. His lips curved slightly around it, even though he knew smoking was forbidden on the rink. No one would dare tell him otherwise. How could they? Xie Qingcheng, former star of Chinese hockey and coach of the Hangzhou Dragons, was idolized and admired even by the security staff of the stadium.

He brought the cigarette to his lips, ready to light it. But when a player approached the side of the rink at high speed on his skates, Xie Qingcheng did not step back. Instead, one of the young player’s thick-gloved hands snatched the cigarette midair, breaking it in half. The older man’s serious gaze lifted toward the young face he knew all too well. Cold eyes meet red irises, almond-shaped eyes that held no innocence.

"What do you think you’re doing?" The older man asked, his tone sharp. He sighs, looking almost annoyed at his cigarette, which had been crushed.

The one who had destroyed his cigarette was none other than He Yu, one of the youngest hockey stars and also Xie Qingcheng’s captain and prized player. He Yu’s light brown, slightly wavy hair was plastered with sweat even under his helmet and his red lips parted, releasing a misty, cold breath. He lets out a low gasp, and says in an arrogant tone:

"You know I hate it when you smoke."

And with just that sentence, he skated away, nose slightly raised, a youthful, beautiful face. Xie Qingcheng muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes, familiar with how this brat always liked to boss him around. But the relationship between him and He Yu was far more complicated than that and it all began more than five years ago…

Xie Qingcheng became the personal coach of He Yu’s team, the Hangzhou Dragons, when that arrogant kid was only fourteen. Sometimes, as he watched the players train, he still wondered exactly when his life had taken this path. Some people said that after retiring as an athlete, becoming a coach was a dream job, a way to stay on the ice without further injury. For Xie Qingcheng, however, it never felt that way and all that talk was bullshit. Being a coach wasn’t a dream, it was a consequence, a place he had been pushed to after losing everything he truly wanted.

It wasn’t that he hated his work, but for someone who had always dreamed of playing until an advanced age, retiring young felt like a punch to the gut. Honestly, a really hard one.

He had been a famous athlete, a name echoing through packed arenas, a legend in the making of Chinese hockey who had pushed the sport to international levels. He was the type of player that sponsors fought over, children imitated his moves on the rink, and the country took great pride in him.

Xie Qingcheng remembered walking through corridors, hearing people tapping on the plastic glass, throwing flowers at him, shouting his name in endless synchrony. Young boys were inspired by him, even adult men from other teams dreamed of competing against him.

Then came the accident, abrupt enough that he barely had time to understand what was happening, and with it, the end arrived. It wasn’t just a fall or a typical game collision. In an especially violent match, Xie Qingcheng pushed his body beyond its limits, ignoring the pain that had been accumulating for weeks. In the middle of a struggle near the boards, his body was pressed the wrong way, the impact sharp and brutal.

His right leg gave way instantly. It wasn’t a simple fracture, it was an open, complex fracture with severe ligament damage. The impact damaged nerves and his joint stability, making even trying to stand for a long time a difficult task. He left the ice on a stretcher, a gnawing feeling in his stomach that perhaps this was the last time he would play.

He remembered the worried face of his younger sister in the stands, watching. Her eyes, which had shone with admiration, suddenly widened in terror at the blood splattered across the ice. Xie Qingcheng couldn’t even comfort her, because the pain was so intense it left a bitter taste in his throat as if he might vomit. He could only focus on not crying, and pray that it was a complication that could be fix.

After that came surgeries. Plates, screws, months in the hospital, followed by long, grueling physical therapy. He relearned how to walk before thinking about running, and running before even considering returning to the ice. But his body didn’t respond as before, and his leg never regained full strength, his knee mobility was limited, and the pain persisted as a constant reminder that he had destroyed his dream.

The doctors were clear, extremely direct for someone still clinging to even the smallest hope. Xie Qingcheng went from the top to this, a job that supported him and his sister. How could they tell him to live a normal life?

Yes, he could walk, work, maybe even train others, but the thrill, the adrenaline, the explosion of the game could never happen again. Returning to competitive ice hockey carried a real risk of permanent disability. This reality stunned him, but he was not one to give up easily. He continued physical therapy, pushing his body to limits he knew were dangerous.

He only stopped when Xie Xue could no longer pretend everything was fine.

That night, Xie Qingcheng returned from another futile training attempt. His body felt like glass, each movement sending dull pain across muscles and bones. He barely made it to his room before collapsing onto the bed, still dressed, coat thrown aside, right leg throbbing, almost pulsating, making him feel feverish and sweaty. The ceiling spun slowly above as he breathed deeply, trying to convince his body to endure just a little longer… just one more day, and he could return to the ice.

Outside, small footsteps approached.

Xie Xue was too young to understand all the complex words doctors used, but not too young to recognize pain on her brother’s face. She pushed the door open slightly, peeking in, and found her older brother in a state he never wanted her to see, exactly because he didn’t think she was home.

"Gege…?" Her voice was weak, uncertain. Just that sound made Xie Qingcheng force himself to sit upright or at least try. He tried to smile, as always, but the effort caused an involuntary groan he couldn’t hide. That was enough for Xie Xue to rush onto the bed without asking, her small hands clutching his shirt as if afraid he would disappear if she let go. The crying came suddenly, loud, uncontrollable, shaking her tiny body.

Their eyes were similar, but Xie Xue’s peach-blossom eyes were softer, distant from the hardness of Xie Qingcheng’s.

"Stop… please, stop…" She sobbed, burying her face in his chest, smelling the sweat on his worn body. "I don’t want you to get hurt anymore. I don’t want to see you like this!"

Xie Qingcheng froze.

He lifted his hand carefully, fingers trembling as they touched her soft, warm hair slipping through his thin fingers. His heart tightened in a way no physical pain ever had, and he hadn’t expected this reaction.

"Xie Xue... Stop crying." He murmured, his voice hoarse. Hearing his sister cry made his chest feel numb, a headache hitting him along with all the body aches he was already feeling. "Gege is fine. Just tired."

"You're not!" She lifted her face, red and swollen eyes, her small expression full of determination that didn’t match her age. She never went against her brother, respecting him above all else, but this time there was no chance she would listen. "You always say that, but you always come back hurt."

Her hands gripped the fabric of his shirt even tighter, knuckles white as if she could tear the cloth.

"You don’t have to go back on the ice..." She said between sobs. "Even if you never play again… you’re still my hero. Always will be."

The words hit Xie Qingcheng harder than any impact on the rink. He pulled his sister closer, holding her gently. "I’m sorry…" he whispered, closing his eyes. He didn’t know if he was apologizing for getting hurt, for insisting, or for not being strong enough to continue. Perhaps for all of it.

Xie Xue just shook her head, still crying, curling against him as if that hug could fix everything. That night, for the first time since the accident, Xie Qingcheng didn’t think about returning to the ice. He stayed there, holding his sister, listening to her breathing slowly calm, understanding that some battles weren’t worth fighting.

And so, after all the physical therapy, even after trying to deny the diagnosis, Xie Qingcheng understood there was no turning back. The ice that had once been his home had become forbidden territory, and he couldn’t insist to the point of making his little sister cry in his lap like that.

Long before losing the ice, Xie Qingcheng had learned what it meant to survive. His parents died young, and working was never an option, it was an obligation. He started with part-time shifts at a hockey stadium, taking any task he could: cleaning the stands after games, carrying heavy equipment, organizing locker rooms, always with his eyes on what really mattered. While working, he watched other children train, youngsters with proper equipment, coaches beside them, families waiting in the stands. He wanted to learn too, to be there, to feel the ice beneath his feet, but money never covered lessons or official training.

So he learned on his own. He waited for everyone to leave, entered the ice with what little he had. He never received formal instructions, never had a coach correcting his posture or movements. He just observed, memorized, and repeated. Fell, got up, adjusted, tried again, again and again. The cold bit his skin, his muscles burned, but he persisted, night after night, because it was the only thing that made sense.

That’s how Qin Ciyan saw him. A former famous player, someone who had once been at the top, standing in the arena on a day when the stadium should have been empty. Xie Qingcheng didn’t know he was being watched, just kept doing what he always did, practicing endlessly, repeating imperfect movements with near-desperate obstinacy. When Qin Ciyan approached, it wasn’t to expel him, though he initially scared the young Xiao Xie. This man, whom he didn’t recognize at first, asked who had trained him. Xie Qingcheng answered honestly: No one, he had just observed others.

The surprise on the man’s face remained vivid in his memory. Qin Ciyan was deeply impressed, and he changed everything. He was the one who made Xie Qingcheng an official student, who spoke of sponsorships, opportunities, a better future. A life in which he wouldn’t have to choose between the ice and putting food on the table, a life where he could take care of himself, and one day, of Xie Xue, without fear of tomorrow. Where he wouldn't have to find a regular job, where he could finally follow his dream.

And now, years later, there he was, standing at the edge of the rink, watching He Yu dominate the ice with the same hunger that once burned inside him, thinking how cruelly ironic fate could be. His dream had passed on to He Yu, who now had the chance to continue in the sport.

He Yu’s father was one of the biggest hockey sponsors in China, someone whose decisions could literally make or break a player’s career overnight. When he discovered Xie Qingcheng was thinking of stepping away, he didn’t hesitate to intervene. He didn’t even want to hear about early retirement for the former athlete. On the contrary, he wanted him to take the coaching role, especially for his son’s team. A group of young, promising talents, some true nepo babies, children of major figures in the sport, used to opportunities others could only dream of.

"Xie Qingcheng, you can’t just quit." Said the patriarch of the He family, firm voice, but with the shine of someone accustomed to getting what he wants. He Jiwei did not accept a "no" for an answer. For him, quitting was not an option, especially in business matters. Though the truth was slightly more complex, that was a family matter.

For weeks, he tried every form of contact with Xie Qingcheng. Phone calls almost every day, each ending in refusal or silence. Emails went unanswered, text messages ignored. Every refusal only strengthened He Jiwei’s determination and he hated being ignored. He knew Xie Qingcheng’s value, not just as a former athlete, but as a mentor capable of shaping raw talent into stars and He Yu needed someone like that.

One cold autumn day, He Jiwei discovered where the coach usually went to pick up old team equipment, organizing his things, quietly dealing with the frustration of what he had lost. There he was, alone, carrying bags, adjusting skates and sticks, suffering from resentment over memories of the past victories. He Jiwei approached him, observing without interrupting, noticing the rigid posture and restrained aura of the ex-athlete. He knew it wouldn’t be easy and Xie Qingcheng wouldn’t be convinced by empty words. Saying something like "you can continue living your dream" was definitely the wrong approach.

But he had a concrete proposal, something that only required him to listen before refusing again. He stood beside the coach, explained the team and He Yu’s situation, talked about the opportunity to mold a group of promising young players.

The offer was directed at him, and He Jiwei invited him to watch one of He Yu’s games. If he declined, then he would not insist further. Xie Qingcheng crossed his arms, gaze fixed on the ground, avoiding eye contact.

It was a very difficult time for him. Xie Qingcheng had never ignored sponsors in such a way, but for now, he was avoiding anything that reminded him of that pain. He thought about starting an ordinary job, using the game money to fund his sister’s studies. Investing the money he still had from games in something safe, making sure Xie Xue had a worry-free future, and the rest for whichever college she might want. When this proposal arrived, being a mentor was definitely something he had no desire for.

He Jiwei wasn’t the only one looking for him, and every call from those sponsors brought back the memory of the accident, the lost career, the weight of being responsible for someone beyond himself.

"I’m not interested. I’ve had my time on the ice. Now, my place is elsewhere."

He said it firmly, hoping the refusal would be enough to end the conversation. But something about He Jiwei’s determination, the way he had presented He Yu’s situation, lingered in his mind even after the discussion ended. That was when he decided, out of pure curiosity, to go watch, accepting the invitation. Even if it was just to watch. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could make sure that boy wouldn’t get lost, that his passion for the ice wouldn’t be wasted like his had been. Give a few tips and then go your own way. It was just a small idea, one that wouldn’t risk his tired heart, and Xie Qingcheng moved like a ghost through the dimly lit spaces.

Those wild eyes now seemed like hollow glass, foggy and dirty. It was hard to see any joy when it came to hockey even walking the streets looking at magazines and advertisements seemed to hurt more than help. The news about him was the worst, and every time he got home, the search for a new job also seemed discouraging. When would this devastating feeling pass?

Xie Qingcheng arrived at the arena just before the scheduled time. The place was still quiet, the smell of ice and the metal of sticks mixed with a biting cold filling the air. He carried a light bag, only a few old notes and a water bottle, and walked slowly to the edge of the rink.

He chose one of the observation chairs, rigid plastic, set against the edge. He sat, adjusting his coat over his shoulders, hands folded in his lap, maintaining an upright posture. It wasn’t the first time he had seen He Jiwei’s son, he had crossed paths with him at some promotional dinners. When He Yu was still a child, always impeccable, polite, almost too shy for his age, it was a facade that all wealthy kids usually carried.

When he finally looked at him on the ice, Xie Qingcheng didn’t expect much. The boy was delicate, with almost feminine features and despite being tall and agile, his body seemed more fragile than most fourteen-old boys he had seen in the sport. For a moment, he thought perhaps hockey wasn’t meant for someone like him, maybe figure skating would be more appropriate. With that cute face, He Yu would be a huge success.

They had never exchanged a word, but Xie Qingcheng knew or at least had heard that He Yu was a huge hockey fan. Which wasn't a surprise, considering his father was known for being a sponsor of stars. He couldn’t remember if He Jiwei had told him or if he had overheard at one of the dinners, but it didn’t matter, as his thoughts were interrupted when He Yu began to move.

The first glide across the ice was light but firm. The boy seemed to float, balancing speed and control naturally, though imperfectly, passing his rivals on the ice. He was clearly terrible at teamwork, but each change of direction, each curve, each quick stride showed determination. It wasn’t just skill there was hunger, desire. And for some reason, it made Xie Qingcheng’s heart race, unaware of his chest thumping, the sensation running through his entire body.

He watched how He Yu pushed his body forward, arms opening and closing in rhythm with the motion. There was no perfection and there were errors, subtle stumbles, a certain ferocity that such a delicate face displayed on the field like a small beast.

In him, there was willpower, persistence, a dream beating so clearly that Xie Qingcheng found himself holding his breath without realizing it.

It was like watching a game from another time, as if he himself were on the bench, once the one being observed. And for the first time since the accident, he felt like his own mentor, recognizing in that boy the same flame that had driven him years ago.

He barely noticed when He Yu’s father sat down next to him. The man was silent, watching as well, but Xie Qingcheng didn’t care. Nothing mattered beyond the boy on the ice, the determination radiating from every gesture, and the bittersweet, painful memory of everything he himself had been.

In that moment, Xie Qingcheng knew, without words, that the decision to merely "observe" would be harder than he had imagined. Because he already felt, disturbingly, that he wanted more than just to watch. He wanted to guide, to teach, to mentor and he wanted to see that boy turn his passion into something greater, and, in a way, he wanted to redeem himself through him.

He Yu’s fire thawed the ice in his eyes, igniting a flame in his chest he never imagined could burn again.

"He’s good,, isn’t he?" Said He Yu’s father, leaning on his knees to finally break the silence between them. "But there’s so much he still needs to learn..."

"Only you can train him, Xie Qingcheng."

Xie Qingcheng looked away for a moment, heart tight. He glanced to one side, only to return his gaze to that youthful face.

He had never been one to follow orders, much less accept long-term contracts, but something about that boy stirred him in a way he couldn’t ignore. Xie Qingcheng ended up signing the contract. A seven-year contract. A contract he knew, deep down, might be cursed: seven years bound to that team, to that boy, to that destiny.

At the same time, as he looked at that young man with the wild eyes he once had, he felt that it would be worth it and now, five years had already passed…

Xie Qingcheng watched the ice, motionless at the side of the rink, and couldn’t help but smile bitterly. It was impossible not to notice He Yu’s transformation. The boy he had met at fourteen, with that almost childlike, delicate and a feminine face, was still there and nothing had changed in his features except that his body had grown more muscular and his height had surpassed Xie Qingcheng’s. He Yu’s lips remained soft and reddish, his light brown eyes, almond-shaped always curious and the perfect contours that could draw compliments even from those who rarely praised, long beautiful lashes making girls and even boys wishing only for a chance and through it all, that sweetness stayed intact, deceptively so.

But on the ice, He Yu was something completely different. At eighteen, already an adult, his presence was pure menace to anyone around. Every movement reminded Xie Qingcheng of a perfectly calibrated machine of destruction. He surged across the rink with brutal speed, shoulders firm, legs propelling every stride with force, the stick cutting through the air. There was no hesitation, no fear, only an insatiable hunger to win, and those beautiful almond-shaped eyes, now so red, almost like crimson, seemed to drip blood.

Opponents who came close were knocked down like pieces on a board. A violent collision here, a body slammed against the boards there, and He Yu moved on, impassive, relentless. Xie Qingcheng barely blinked, watching every turn, every hit, every sprint. The boy who once drank warm milk and ate fries in the locker room now obliterated any rival who dared approach, with near-inhuman physical strength.

"How funny…" Xie Qingcheng muttered under his breath, almost to himself. "That sweet face… has become a fucking bloodthirsty beast on the ice."

He continued watching, fascinated and proud at the same time. Every time He Yu attacked, every time he carried the puck with force, Xie Qingcheng saw the perfection of a professional, the confidence and instinct of someone born for this. The same boy he once wanted to protect now dominated the ice like no one else.

Xie Ge felt proud, of course.

A pride he did not need to put into words after all, that had never been his strength. Still, it pleased him to see that at least that bestial violence inside He Yu had found a place to exist outside the young man’s head.

On the ice, it became something concrete, something that could be seen, measured, controlled if guided correctly by someone. If He Yu had a coach who did not care about him or about the other players, that machine of violence on the field would be a danger not only to others, but to himself. That bird’s wings needed trimming, and surprisingly, He Yu could be very good at following orders when they came from Xie Qingcheng.

That way, all the pent-up emotions did not remain trapped inside the boy’s body, fermenting in the dark, turning into something no one could reach in time. On the rink, fury had rules. It had a whistle that cut it off when it went too far. To Xie Qingcheng, that always seemed better than letting that energy rot inside someone so young.

Those peach-blossom eyes watched He Yu crash into rivals, shove bodies larger than his own against the boards, advance without hesitation and he understood that this was not merely athletic aggressiveness, not even just ambition or the desire to win. It was a necessity and the truth, the one that took time to fully reveal itself, was that He Jiwei had never sought him out merely to fill the position of coach.

From the beginning, there was something strange about the insistence, about the excessive care with which the father spoke of his son, especially because, once living alongside He Yu, Xie Qingcheng noticed that the He family did not care about their eldest son at all. He was almost always alone, spending most of his time training himself to exhaustion.

Little by little, through fragmented conversations, bits of information, meetings that dragged on longer than necessary, Xie Qingcheng began to understand the scale of it. In his family’s eyes, He Yu was sick. Not in a simple way, not something that could be solved with simple medication or ordinary doctors. It was deeper, more confused and something born within the core itself.

He Yu’s anger had no clear target. It emerged without warning, far too intense for a boy still learning how to be an adult. At home, he restrained himself to the limit, swallowed words, repressed impulses. And when he could no longer hold everything in, He Yu turned that violence against his own body.

Xie Qingcheng never heard it directly, never received an explicit confession, but the signs were there: long sleeves out of season, excessive training until exhaustion, injuries that did not match what had happened on the ice, an emotional fatigue that did not suit his age.

He Jiwei knew this, and in some way, that was why he had called Xie Qingcheng. He wanted to push that responsibility onto someone other than himself. Now, the new coach was bound to a boy who not only hurt himself, but those around him as well. It was no longer their responsibility, but rather Xie Qingcheng's, who was being paid.

Fortunately for He Yu, all he needed was someone who understood violence from the inside, someone who had lived through pressure, frustration, obsession, and loss. Someone who could look at He Yu not only as an athlete, but as a person. A guardian disguised as a coach. Someone who understood him on a much deeper level…

And Xie Qingcheng understood. He understood with his whole heart. When he looked into those young almond-shaped eyes, filled with fury for the first time so impetuously, clearly respecting no one, he somehow saw his own younger self.

At first, He Yu wanted none of it.

He made that clear the very first time Xie Qingcheng appeared at the rink to observe him. He did not want extra training, he did not want guidance or much less he did not want a coach standing at the sidelines telling him what he should or should not do. He was free. He knew perfectly well how to handle himself on the ice and had never needed anyone’s help. Not his absent mother. Not his younger brother, the favored one. Not his father, who was always hounding him about "victories." He knew exactly what he was doing.

The He family had already paid countless trainers before Xie Qingcheng, experienced men, renowned technicians, foreign specialists and almost all of them had left the same way: ignored, worn down, or injured not only in body, but in pride. He Yu never made things easy, and never had.

To him, at that moment, Xie Qingcheng was just another famous name from the past. A fallen star, and nothing that truly mattered.

"I don’t need a coach." He said once, yanking off his gloves roughly, his eyes far too cold for someone so young. "I know how to play on my own."

Xie Qingcheng did not answer. He merely observed. What would he gain from arguing with a fourteen-year-old boy? He stepped back as if unwilling to engage, but his presence remained constant. He was always at dinners. Gradually, he moved into the He family mansion, staying closer to He Yu than the boy would have liked.

The decisive moment between them did not happen during an ordinary argument. It happened one night in a dark corridor of that empty mansion, where only a child lived with a stranger named Xie Qingcheng. Neither He Yu’s mother nor father lived there, they were always traveling on business. In a way, the older man felt a certain pity for how He Yu was treated in that place. He didn't force a conversation with the boy, but work was work.

That night, far from everyone’s eyes, Xie Qingcheng was leaving his room when he noticed too much movement and he wanted to get some fresh air and smoke outside the mansion. He paused, wondering if it might be one of the staff, then decided to investigate. When he took a few steps back, that was when he saw it.

He Yu was leaning against the wall, head lowered, body rigid and trembling. At the time, his hair was a little longer, his bangs falling over his eyes, where the irises seemed to ripple with a kind of crazed ecstasy. One sleeve of his pajamas had been hastily pulled down, the other hand trying to hide something. When he realized he was not alone, the boy turned quickly, his gaze alert, almost aggressive.

Xie Qingcheng assessed the situation. It was clear: several drops of blood were already beginning to drip onto the floor. The fabric of the long shirt was soaked through by a deep cut, and this was the first time he had caught He Yu in the act. He looked like a small dog barking to protect itself, his voice coming out even rougher:

"It’s nothing. What are you doing here? You’re not even welcome here to begin with."

But Xie Qingcheng had already seen enough and besides, that brat was not the one paying his contract. He sighed, a heavy sigh, lifting one hand to press against his temple and then finally he approached slowly.

There was no anger in his eyes, no exaggerated shock. Only that contained coldness that frightened the small animal that was He Yu even more. The razor slipped from the boy’s hand and hit the floor with a dull sound as he tried to back away.

"Show me." Xie Qingcheng said quietly.

He Yu hesitated. For the first time, he did not respond with sarcasm or passive aggression. He tried to pull his arm back, but Xie Qingcheng was faster, he knew that boy never obeyed. He gripped his wrist firmly enough not to cause further harm, but without leaving room for escape. The boy let out a short, surprised whimper partly from pain.

The sleeve slid down, revealing the pale skin of He Yu’s wrist, split open. It was as if his flesh were wax, opened so deeply that the white tissue beneath was visible, blood flowing without stopping. The cuts were deep, swollen, their edges throbbing, clearly painful. He Yu felt ashamed at being exposed, at how Xie Qingcheng held him there, preventing escape. He wanted to fight back. He wanted to hit him, to attack with his claws, but he was so tired, and the shock of being caught made his heart race even faster.

It was the first time he'd been caught in the act, and the feeling was so terrifying that his stomach churned.

Xie Qingcheng tore a piece of his own shirt without thinking. The sound of ripping fabric echoed through the empty corridor. With surprising care for someone so rigid, he began wrapping the improvised cloth around He Yu’s wrist, his fingers firm and precise.

"Doesn’t it hurt, little devil?"

The question landed like a blow.

He Yu froze. His entire body seemed to lock up. No one had ever asked him that before, they didn't even care whether it hurt or not. He swallowed hard, lips parted, unable to answer right away. His red eyes were wide open, with tears that refused to fall.

Xie Qingcheng felt the impact like a shattered mirror.

It was the same question. The same damn question Qin Ciyan had asked years ago, when he had found him forcing his injured leg on the ice, pretending he felt nothing.

"Doesn’t it hurt?"

Back then, someone had stopped to listen. Someone had said he was still a great player, even if he never returned to the ice. That he still had value beyond the ice. Xie Qingcheng tightened the cloth a little more around He Yu’s wrist, making sure the bleeding stopped. The boy’s breathing was uneven now, his gaze lowered, tension slipping through the cracks. Those almond-shaped eyes, red as carmine, were so inflamed that now his small tears began to slide down his soft cheek.

"You don’t have to do this, He Yu. You don’t have to hurt yourself just to avoid hurting others."

He Yu slowly lifted his gaze, confused, exposed.

"Use that anger inside you on the ice. On the puck. On your opponents. On the game. That’s the only place where this violence can give you freedom."

He looked straight at He Yu, cold eyes carrying a deeper meaning. In the gaze they shared, Xie Qingcheng told him to fight, that he did not need to suppress himself as so many had told him. He could be who he was, in the right place.

"If you accept it… I will guide you. Not like the others. But you will have to listen to me and stop that shit."

Silence stretched between them.

He Yu did not answer right away. But he did not pull his arm back either. And to Xie Qingcheng, that was already answer enough, in a certain way, Xie Qingcheng stroked him with his thumb.

A great deal of time had passed, but the young man who once never listened to him was now somewhat obedient yet when things became so…

"Mister Xie?"

The voice pulled him back to reality, not allowing Xie Qingcheng to finish his train of thought. He blinked once, shifting his gaze away from the ice, where He Yu was still moving like an untamed force. He turned his face with the practiced ease of someone who had gone through dozens of interviews before.

The journalist held the microphone firmly, a professional smile on her face, the camera already in position.

"Could we ask you a few quick questions before the actual game starts?"

Xie Qingcheng nodded, subtly adjusting his posture in the chair. He Yu’s team practice was already coming to an end, and the match between them and their opponents would begin soon. With cold eyes fixed on the camera, his expression settled into that impeccable control he had worn since his days as a player.

"Of course."

"He Yu has been the most talked-about name this season. Many say his performance changed drastically after you began working more closely with him. What is your assessment as his mentor?"

Xie Qingcheng did not hesitate. He was used to answering questions like that, and the answer itself was nothing new, this was far from the first time he had been asked.

"He Yu has always had talent." He replied, his voice steady, without excess emotion. "What changed was focus. He learned how to channel his energy, how to read the game more precisely. He’s still young, but he has enough discipline to play at a high level."

"You seem to have a very close relationship…" The interviewer continued, tilting her head slightly. Xie Qingcheng looked at her face and the question that followed did not surprise him.

"Considering that you have a direct contract with the He family, what is it like to live with someone so… intense?"

The word was chosen carefully, but Xie Qingcheng caught the subtext. Intense was a polite way of saying violent, unpredictable, dangerous.

"Professionalism is essential." He answered without hesitation, without a second’s delay. "My contract establishes clear boundaries. On the ice, I’m responsible for his technical and mental development. Off the ice, I respect the athlete’s personal space."

The camera caught the slight, polite smile he offered, but inwardly, he was thinking about his own words.

"Off the ice...."

He repeated it mentally, almost with irony, because off the ice, He Yu was something else entirely, even if that side was shown exclusively to Xie Qingcheng. Their star captain was not someone who made friends, quite the opposite. He followed a rigid routine and kept even his own team at a distance most of the time. The only person he spent significant time with was not even his age and that same brat often called Xie Qingcheng boring.

How could he not be? Xie Qingcheng didn’t go to parties, and spent almost all of his time studying or in important meetings and despite saying so, neither did He Yu go to parties. Still, the one who always pushed others away seemed increasingly determined to draw closer to Xie Qingcheng.

Xie Qingcheng remembered the boy showing up at his apartment far too early, still before dawn, claiming there was "leftover food" and leaving carefully packed containers in the kitchen. He remembered He Yu asking, with an almost absurd seriousness, which dishes he liked the least so he would never cook them again or order, honestly He Yu couldn't cook for his life.

The discreet gifts books Xie Qingcheng had mentioned only once, imported teas because someone had commented that he had trouble sleeping, new gloves left on the table without explanation. Or even ointments and medications for his leg pain.

Xie Qingcheng also remembered the constant unease: too many messages, too many questions, that persistent sensation of always being watched. He Yu knew his schedule even though Xie Qingcheng no longer lived at the He mansion. Sometimes he appeared at the rink "by chance," other times he showed up in unlikely places with poorly constructed excuses. The boy seemed a little obsessed with his only friend, that was what Xie Qingcheng thought before.

And yet… It was a strange feeling, one that warmed his chest, this attention that had never been asked for. He Yu always lowered his voice when speaking to him. Always walked one step behind. Always asked if he was tired, if he had eaten, if he needed anything.

"Do you believe He Yu reached this level through training alone?" The journalist pressed. "Or is there something more personal in this dynamic?"

Xie Qingcheng held the camera’s gaze for a second longer than necessary.

"Every athlete carries something personal onto the ice."

It was the perfect simple answer. Although his gaze wavered, the camera couldn’t capture his thoughts, they were too chaotic. The interview ended shortly after, with expressions of thanks and promises of swift edits for the broadcast. When the crew stepped away, the sounds of the ice rushed back into his ears.

Xie Qingcheng took a deep breath. On the ice, He Yu collided with an opponent, using his large frame, his face still as beautiful as it had been at fourteen, soft lines and almost delicate features now smeared with sweat and predatory focus. A beast wearing the face of an angel and Xie Qingcheng felt his heart accelerate without realizing it.

He had always believed he was merely taking care of someone dangerous, someone who shared the same dream as him. But in that moment, he wondered if perhaps… it was He Yu who had been taking care of him all along. Xie Qingcheng hated the feeling of being cared for, hated the sense of uselessness that came with it. Why did He Yu need to give him so much attention? Fuck it. Was it pity for his injured leg? He didn’t need pity, but he knew that wasn’t the right answer.

He raised a hand, pressing it to his own face, sighing as memories brushed against his mind. He Yu could be attentive, but that little angel was a demon most of the time and Xie Qingcheng truly did not want to go deeper into that thought, forcing himself to focus on what really mattered: the game…

At the center faceoff, the referee dropped the puck and the players collided immediately. Chen Man was quick, recovering the puck and advancing firmly, shielding it with his body while two players tried to pressure him.

He had presence, he had control, and he even found time to cast a glance toward Xie Qingcheng. Even being on the rival team, even knowing that He Yu hated him because of their intense rivalry, Chen Man slightly raised his stick in greeting. There was respect there, and a smile curved across the young man’s face as sweat ran down his chin. Chen Man, who had earned that nickname for being extremely hectic on the ice was the younger brother of an old teammate of Xie Qingcheng from years ago, and since then he had admired him.

Chen Man was a good boy and Xie Qingcheng remembered his older brother bringing him to team practices when he was little. They knew each other even before He Yu and Xie Qingcheng's relationship. But on that ice there was no friendship, only competition. Soon the focus of the two captains collided, and He Yu seemed even more aggressive toward Chen Man.

Xie Qingcheng also noticed the way He Yu bumped shoulders with his rival. He Yu was like a storm, gliding in from behind and slotting his stick with precision to steal the puck in a clean move.

The crowd reacted instantly. He accelerated, legs driving hard, sharp cuts leaving pulverized ice behind and Chen Man couldn't keep up with him. A defender tried to close in from the right and He Yu twisted his body, keeping the puck glued to his stick as if tied by an invisible thread.

Another came from the front and he faked the shot, shifting his weight, making the goalie drop too early. Instead of finishing, he curved around the side of the net, almost behind the goal. For a second that felt far too long, he lifted his eyes and found Xie Ge’s gaze in the middle of the crowd. There was no doubt there; he moved his lips as if saying something. Then he pulled the puck forward and it lifted, entering the opposite top corner, grazing the post before kissing the net.

The metallic sound echoed and for a moment there was absolute silence, followed by a deafening explosion when the scoreboard changed to 4–3 with only a few seconds left.

His teammates swarmed the ice around He Yu, pushing him against the glass, pounding on his helmet, shouting the captain’s name.

"He Yu! He Yu!"

The entire bench was on its feet, even the coach who had doubted before celebrated as if he had never hesitated. On the other side, Chen Man removed his helmet and ran a hand through his damp hair, casting one last defeated glance toward Xie Qingcheng.

Xie Qingcheng knew He Yu, knew that competitive fire burning inside him, but that day his mind was somewhere else. The words He Yu had whispered to him made Xie Qingcheng’s brows knit together, leaving faint lines on his forehead in a mixture of shock and stress.

He Yu freed himself from the pile of players and skated straight toward him, stopping abruptly and spraying a fine mist of ice around. He removed his helmet, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, eyes shining in an almost youthful way in those beautiful almond-shaped eyes. He smiled, his voice filled with raw happiness.

"Xie ge. I won." Before any response could come, a teammate appeared from behind and slapped him hard on the back, laughing loudly.

"You mean ‘we,’ right, captain?"

The laughter blended with the crowd’s cheers, but He Yu laughed without truly shifting his focus. His eyes remained locked on Xie Ge, as if all the noise around them was irrelevant, as if the only confirmation that mattered was still there, waiting to be spoken.

"Good job."

For a few seconds that felt far too long, Xie Qingcheng reciprocated. He couldn’t deny it... All his control slipped from his grasp. Their mouths collided with a wet sound, their tongues moving against each other in a way so vulgar it made the hairs on the older man’s body stand on end. It was only when He Yu slid his hand down to Xie Qingcheng’s ass, squeezing hard with his fingers, that his awareness snapped back like a shock.

He pulled away abruptly, their lips still far too close.

"Have you lost your mind?" Xie Qingcheng whispered, his voice hoarse. The corridor outside still carried distant noises. It was a public place, and dangerous for the two of them to be doing that.

Without giving him time to respond, he grabbed He Yu’s wrist and firmly pulled him into one of the narrow bathrooms attached to the locker room. The door shut with a sharp click. If they were going to do anything, it had to be away from people’s eyes.And yet, Xie Qingcheng felt his choices had only worsened, when he could have simply walked away from He Yu.

The space was far too cramped for two bodies standing so close.

Xie Qingcheng had chosen this, he couldn’t even deny it. As if reconsidering, he leaned back against the door, taking a deep breath, his heart racing faster than it should. He Yu stood only inches away, his gaze unwavering, still locked on him.

"Were you getting hard watching me play? Every time I caught your gaze… Gege…"

Xie Qingcheng pressed his fingers harder against the door, until his knuckles turned pale, the urge to disappear growing stronger. He Yu's warm breath made Xie Qingcheng's body react as if he were just a helpless animal. He hated that feeling, he hated feeling powerless.

"Don't try to run away from me, Xie ge." He Yu's voice brushed against his ear, bringing his lips closer and giving a soft bite. Slowly, He Yu lightly touched Xie Qingcheng’s chin, tilting his face closer and pressing his body against him, guiding him away from the door.

"I know what you want… I know how you feel. I'm going to fuck you now, gege." The voice of that teenager who once spoke words stupidly nonsense to him was now bathed in lust. Their mouths brushed again, mixing their saliva in a breathless kiss.

Xie Qingcheng wanted to protest, to pull away, but every word, every gesture from He Yu seemed to break all his barriers, and his body could only feel an extreme heat. He felt this heat from He Yu's body drawing even closer, the scent of sweat dominating the air. It was masculine, so overwhelming that it made the older man's senses feel threatened.

The heated kiss moved to Xie Qingcheng’s neck, hidden beneath his collar, over the purple hickeys left by the same boy who was kissing him. He Yu's fingers deftly unbuttoned the dress shirt, pressing against every part of Xie Qingcheng's body as he tried to keep his voice low. He Yu's touch was firm yet skillful, exploring, provoking.

"You drive me crazy, gege… I can’t stop thinking about you, wanting you like this… my cock is already so hard…"

He Yu smiled, and little by little those words and kisses against Xie Qingcheng’s skin made him melt even more at the touch. His body instinctively moved forward, rubbing his hard cock against He Yu’s bulge. The young man pulled back just a little to look at Xie Qingcheng’s face.

Xie Qingcheng’s hair was disheveled, a few white strands falling bler his eyes, usually so cold, now seemingly softened with pleasure. His beautiful peach-blossom eyes were glistening, and his lips were already swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

This disheveled figure was unusual, yet a blessing for He Yu, the only one who could see him like this... So unabashed, so raw. Sweat dripped down He Yu’s body, his shirt clinging to his muscles, annoying him. He wanted to take everything off, and along with his own clothes, remove Xie Qingcheng's as well.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back, brushing the bangs from his eyes, and refocusing on his lover’s body. He leaned in and kissed Xie Qingcheng's collarbone, which was now visible since He Yu took off his shirt.

Xie Qingcheng felt the world spin as that mouth descended. When he finally realized it, Xie Qingcheng was already pulling He Yu by the shoulders, digging his nails into his back as the young man slid down onto his knees.

He Yu had a mischievous and eager smile on his face, looking at Xie Qingcheng's fully visible erection in his dress pants. He didn't mind this submissive position, kneeling before the man he was obsessed with. He closed his mouth around it, sucking on the fabric and leaving a wet mark with his saliva. Xie Qingcheng removed his hands from He Yu's shoulders and went to the dark strands of hair, pulling them between his fingers.

He Yu eyes they were intense, fiery eyes shot upwards, daring and defiant. Unsatisfied with merely rubbing the tip of his nose and mouth against that hard cock, he wanted more from Xie Qingcheng.

Without further ado, he unzipped the pants with his teeth and pulled the fabric down to the man's ankles. The pale body beneath the pants, the underwear that had been practically forced down, revealed to the younger man's eyes a hard, pink dick.

Xie Qingcheng's cock had a red head dripping fluid, and its size was considerably big. Veins pulsed along it, and the dark hair on his abdomen and pubic area was neatly trimmed, a stark contrast to He Yu's rebellious nature. Xie Qingcheng's scent, which had once bothered him, was now his favorite aroma.

He Yu rubbed his nose against the man's pubic hair, his mouth beginning to kiss around it with wet kisses. That’s when Xie Qingcheng gripped the younger man's hair even tighter, his voice low and husky:

"Stop teasing me, brat."

The younger man smiled and placed his warm, wet hand on Xie Qingcheng's cock, moving it up and down.

"What's wrong, Xie ge? If you want help, you have to ask… you always tell me to…"

"Shut the fuck up."

He Yu chuckled, deciding to actually stop talking. He used his own mouth to kiss the head of Xie Qingcheng's dick, sliding his lips around it to take that length inside. It was the best way to remain silent, right? And little by little, his lips pressed against the cock.

He began to suck Xie Qingcheng, not taking his eyes off the man’s reactions, who threw his head back, trying to hold back his own moans. Xie Qingcheng bit his own lips so hard and the sensation of pleasure spreading through his abdomen was overwhelming.

Heat burned his face, leaving it flushed, and his chest heaved as his heart pounded. Sweat gathered at the corners of his face, sliding down to his chin, dripping softly, while his fingers gripped He Yu’s brown hair even tighter. He Yu was proud of his skills... How many times had he sucked that cock?

Countless and he always wanted more.

Hungry and thirsty for Xie Qingcheng, he slid his mouth down until his nose touched the man’s pubic hair. Sucking with his mouth, sliding with a faster rhythm, giving Xie Qingcheng the sensation of his tongue playing with the tip of his cock.

He Yu’s fingers, which had been gripping the older man’s thighs, now trembled with pleasure as they moved toward his buttocks. He Yu squeezed the fat area, even caressing the hole that hadn’t been getting attention. His index finger pressed against the wrinkled skin, teasing the hole.

He Yu could feel his own desire throbbing as much as he wanted to focus on Xie Qingcheng’s pleasure, he also wanted to feel something for himself. Without thinking, he pressed his hard cock against Xie Qingcheng’s feet. He begins to rub against him, like a dog begging for attention, mounting his master.

Xie Qingcheng tensed, but his hips moved with He Yu's motions. The orgasm was coming quickly, increasing the tension in his abdomen. His foot also begins to move against He Yu's erection, pressing with his leather shoe.

He Yu felt Xie Qingcheng’s cock pulsing in his mouth and went at it harder, sucking and licking until he drained every ounce of his pleasure.

When Xie Qingcheng came, the rush of pleasure made him let out a rough, almost vulgar groan. He couldn’t control it, the sensation was so intense that he shoved He Yu’s head forward, making him gag on his cock.

When his cock slipped out of He Yu’s mouth with a wet 'plop,' He Yu’s tongue stayed curved, semen dripping. He swallowed without a trace of disgust, making Xie Qingcheng’s panting gaze burn even hotter.

With both hands sliding down to Xie Qingcheng’s feet, he rubbed his cock against the leather shoes again, as if to say: "My turn."

That boy… He Yu was his downfall.