a hockey rink always smells the same before the drop of a puck — iron-cold air, shaved ice curling along the boards, the ghost of rubber and sweat ground deep into the bones of the place. sebastián lingers at the mouth of the tunnel with his helmet safely tucked beneath one arm, the dull roar of the crowd swelling and fading somewhere beyond the concrete like a restless tide. skates scrape idly against the floor as he shifts his weight, nerves humming beneath flesh in that familiar, electric way that always came before a game. it's not fear exactly, but more like standing on the edge of something enormous and feeling the gravity of it pull at you. 21, freshly drafted, ink on the contract barely dry — and somehow the kid who used to fall asleep in the backseat after practice while jeremiah blasted old summer playlists was the one stepping onto NHL ice tonight.
he exhales slowly through his nose, gaze drifting toward the bright spill of arena lights at the end of the corridor. hockey has always been the one place where the weather inside his chest could settle. the anger, the sharp edges, the strange heaviness that sometimes clings to him like damp clothes — it all burns away once his blades touch the ice. his dad had taught him that. jeremiah with his relentless optimism and beaming grin, always tossing him another puck, another drill, another chance to try again. but andrés…. andrés understood the quieter parts of him. kind of like his uncle conrad. the things sebastián rarely found words for. there was a particular kind of calm that lived in his papi’s presence, something steady and patient that reminded him of the way the waves in cousins keep returning to shore no matter how violent the sea had been hours before.
when sebastián spots his dad waiting for him just outside the locker room corridor, something in his chest loosens instantly. andrés stands there like he always does — composed, a supportive pillar, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket as if arenas full of shouting fans were the most ordinary places in the world. for a second sebastián was a teenager again, racing across an airport terminal toward him after a long flight, certain that everything would feel right the moment he reached him. the thought wills a crooked smile to his lips. he pushes forward on his skates until he comes to a halt in front of him, the movement easy and instinctive.
sebastián leans in, wrapping his arms around him in a tight embrace, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek the way he’d done since he was little, since the scorching summers in madrid with his grandparents had made the gesture second nature. he lingers with him for half a heartbeat longer than usual, grounding himself in soothing familiarity before pulling away.
“ ¿listo, papi? ” his voice is laced with fond amusement, but it's not absent of the nerves that underlie his words. “ porque si me caigo en mi primer turno… i’m literally gonna pretend you aren't my dad. ”
@neverafters, summers on ice ♡
