In a northern California town, Jocelyn Andrew Hall is cold. His fingers are frosty, and every pass makes him feel like they’ll fall off any second. He’s the only one on the ice at this time of night, and the dusky light from overhead does little to illuminate the dark corners of the rink, tucked away. A figure unfolds from the stands, and stretches lazily.

“Joss. It’s time to go.”

“Just another few passes.” A pause. “Please.”

“There’s no one else here. You’re going to get frostbite. Come on, it’s time to go home.” The figure steps down out of the stands and raps gently on the door to the ice. The light washes out his brown skin and shadows his face, bringing his sharp cheekbones and wide nose into prominence.

Joss shuffles his stick from hand to hand and skates to the far wall, where he had been practicing accuracy. He scoops up the pucks and tosses them over the wall into a bucket resting on the other side.

“We need to go already. Even if it’s not for you. I’m getting really tired.”

He always knows what to say. Joss used to think he didn’t possess compassion before he met Eliseo, but the truth was probably that he just hadn’t had a chance to use it. Now, though, all Joss is is compassionate, or so he likes to think.

“I’m moving, Eli. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” For all that his compassion has expanded, it still does not extend to moving at someone else’s pace. And maybe if Eli had less sleep he wouldn’t be such a fucking catch. Sometimes Joss worries about his female (and a few male) fans switching over to his boyfriend.

He steps off the ice and hands his stick to Eliseo, stripping off his gloves and jersey. He pulls off his skates, and watches Eliseo put his stick away.

“You’re staring at me.” Eli says, voice soft.

“No, I’m not.”

“I know you are. Any time I turn my back you stare at me. It’s my thing to stare. Why are you stealing my thing?”

Joss chuckles. “I’m not stealing your thing. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t flatter myself.” He turns around. “I only flatter you, mi rey, and you know it.”

“I do know it.” Joss leans back on his bench and stretches an arm over his head in a glamorous pose. “But I also deserve it.”

Eliseo walks over, kneels down, and wraps his arms around Joss’s waist. “You do deserve it,” he says, quiet, so only Joss can hear.

He doesn’t normally like it when Eli is this soft, but tonight Joss doesn’t mind at all. It helps his sense of discomfort, the one that says that this is weird, it isn’t normal, and he should be ashamed. He’s mostly tamed it, but sometimes it reappears. Like now, when he’s tired and worn.

Maybe Eliseo has ESP, or maybe he just knows Joss really well, because he tilts Joss’s head back and kisses him lightly.

“Don’t be worried. We’re allowed to like this.”