the devil skates on thin ice ∙ myg ✓

3 ↝ the ice princess

The scream that falls from her lips, the speed at which she hyperventilates, is wholly inhumane.

He rocks her like an infant in their mother's arms; clutched to his chest, hands curled tight around her quivering frame. The moonlight spills onto the gruesome scene in an ugly sheen of bone white, accentuating the clammy texture of her frosted skin and that of her blown pupils, like marbles of obsidian. He does not look down. He refuses to acknowledge the sight—has never felt so sickened by the fresh powder of snow until it has sunk through his jeans, soaked in scarlet.

"Shh– Baby, shh, it's going to be okay." His tears fall onto her cheeks, gliding down to her chin. He swears he is not trying to convince himself of his words just as much. "Stay with me; look at me– Hey, you're fine. You're okay. They're coming, they'll be here soon."

His hands hold earthquakes, shaking as he hushes her with his fingertips against her skin. He brushes away the sticky strands of hair that have tangled with her eyelashes, and are slick against her parted, gasping lips. Softly, she whimpers, hardly audible over the nearing wail of sirens that flash red and blue—the only colour that paints the black swathes of midnight.

The surface of the frozen lake continues to crepitate, itching in his ears. He wishes he could press his palms against them—to be rid of the sole sound that continuously reminds him of the moment her expression splintered into one of sheer fear. Like a dark smudge on a frame of a looping film reel.

Nothing but dread swallows his whole being. It weighs him down like the fists of a giant. This is his fault. He should have never done this. He should have never thought to suggest it for his own selfish desire to see her smile because he swears that, once this horrible moment passes, he may never descry such a spectacular sight again.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers against her forehead. The chilly breeze strikes his damp cheeks, and he pulls her closer on instinct. But this only serves to encourage his heart to slide further into his stomach, for she hoarsely cries out at the jostle of her limbs. "Fuck, I'm– I didn't mean– Oh god–" Panic wells in his chest and bleeds into his voice as he screams– "Hurry the fuck up! Where the fuck are they?! Please, stop her pain! Please..."

When his glassy eyes retreat from their glare at the emotionless stars to look down at her, it is to find her lips twisting. Gruesomely attempting to shape words around the agony that courses through her entity.

Yoongi.

But that is not it. No. There is something else forming on the tip of her tongue, and he almost fears that he does not want to hear it. Resentment is evident in the sudden tensing of her jaw. Malice glistens between her teeth.

Yoongi!

The sirens are too close, muting the silk of her voice as it sounds—a cadence that he would traverse the world to hear whisper nothing more than his name. Her face continues to manipulate, animating with a newfound take at life. But her features do not attain the fond, loving quality that he is used to. It is a ferocious anger that contorts the furrow of her brow and twists her lip into a snarl, and then–

"Fuck, Yoongi, look out!"

A force slams into his chest. A skyscraper collapsing onto his skeleton, or a car plummeting into his ribcage, for all he knows. What he is certain of is that it knocks him completely off his feet. He falls through the air until his padded back slams against a surface that gradually freezes its way through to his skin.

Ah, the ice—the enemy that he loathes to adore.

Curses and urgent calls fly through the air. The fine, slicing sound of blades carving the cold approach until three heads are looming in Yoongi's dazed vision, distorted by the caged face of his helmet. Kim Namjoon, the ice hockey coach, crouches down, and only then is his anxious expression of dimpled cheeks and raised eyebrows made clear. His large hand cautiously caresses Yoongi's right shoulder.