-the first time matteo notices him, notices the boy, he’s sitting at the top of bleachers throwing his keys back and forth between his hands as he’s waiting for the hockey team to clear off the ice. they’re supposed to be coming off by now, and matteo had finished the rest of the chores he had to do besides the zamboni at this point. it was a smaller rink after all, and the cleanup everywhere else had been quick enough today. alright, boys, the coach yelled and blew his whistle, that’s it. the hockey players came tumbling off the ice one by one, and matteo took the time to go bounding down the stairs, whistling to himself and throwing his keys up and down, up and down, when he finally saw him, the boy. he was pulling off his helmet and shaking his head as he ran his fingers through his hair. he laughed and clapped one of his teammates on the back with his stick, and matteo couldn’t help but stop and stare for a moment, looking at this boy he had never seen before with a smile that made matteo feel something in the back of his throat, something like a butterfly trying to fly it’s way out of his mouth, just by watching this boy set his stick against the rink wall and laugh like he hadn’t a care in the world.
-matteo started ice skating when he was four. he and his mother would visit his aunt up in norway every holiday season by a lake that would freeze solid by the end of november all the way until february. he wasn’t sure how he got started on the ice. it had to be his mother. she must have taken him out there, try to give him something to do during the day so he wasn’t coped up in the house all the time during their visit. he doesn’t really know, never really asked. all he knows is that he’s been skating for as long as he can remember.
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