NHL 18

As Joeon explained to help him, Dylan nodded his head.

“Then there’s a pair of skates that are small so I only wore them a few times, those should be good.”

Then he stood up again and diligently searched through the lockers. He took out a square box, opened the lid, and pulled out the skates that were neatly tucked inside a pouch. Then he sat down in front of Joeon again and, as if he were a clerk at a shoe store, put on the shin guards and helped him put on the skates.

“I’ll do it myself.”

“It’s okay. I’ll do it for you since it’s your first time. Leave it to me.”

Joeon fidgeted with his fingertips inside his fist every time Dylan’s firm grip swept down his calf and enveloped the sole of his foot. The warmth of his body temperature, which he had been conscious of for a while now, was strangely tickling the fine nerves distributed under his skin, making him feel hot.

Even though he knew the touch had no suspicious intentions, the reason his thoughts were straying in an unhealthy direction was that Dylan had been showing signs of having changed somehow since the day he gave him the puck as a gift. Like the occasional subtle and blatant gazes that met his.

Dylan, who had been focused on putting on the skates, suddenly started to undo the knot he had just tied. When Joeon tilted his head and looked at his face, Dylan, with a troubled expression, looked up.

“Come to think of it, it will be uncomfortable to do this in these clothes. Your ankles will hurt, so I’ll give you some thick socks. You should wear those. How about changing into some athletic clothes as well?”

“Pardon? No…”

There was no way Joeon, who hadn’t planned on staying long at Maya’s house, would have any athletic clothes. Dylan, who keenly noticed his hesitation, dashed out into the hallway like a child and soon returned with some comfortable-looking winter athletic wear.

“Here. They’re my clothes. Change into these. They’ll be much better than what you’re wearing now.”

Joeon looked back and forth between the clothes in his hand and Dylan standing by the door.

“Ah! Sorry. Call me when you’re done changing. I’ll help you.”

Realizing the unspoken request belatedly, he quickly left the room and closed the door. Someone could have peeked at Joeon through the window without curtains, but since no strangers could enter the backyard, which was McClain family’s private property, Joeon undressed without any sense of crisis.

Dylan’s athletic clothes, which seemed at least two sizes larger than the clothes he usually wore, smelled cozy, as if they had just been washed and dried in the spring sun.

After folding the sleeves and tidying his appearance, Joeon looked around the quiet surroundings and cautiously approached the doorway, grabbing the doorknob. For some reason, the weight transmitted to the palm of his hand as he gripped and pulled down the doorknob felt heavy. Before he could even identify the shadow that filled the widening gap in the door, Joeon intuitively realized that Dylan had been standing there the whole time.

“Dylan?”

The windowless hallway was incomparably dark compared to the drawing room. It was difficult to even make out what kind of expression the other person was making.

“Are you done changing?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll help you put on the protective gear.”

Joeon hesitated and stopped Dylan.

“It’s okay. I’ll do it myself. You showed me once, so I remember.”

As if realizing his mistake for a moment, a look of disappointment flashed across Dylan’s handsome face. Joeon picked up the protective gear lying on the floor and sat on the bench. Then, recalling the order Dylan had followed earlier, he diligently put on the shin guards.

Dylan, now lacking an excuse to touch Joeon’s body, took out his own skates and sat down next to Joeon, carefully watching what he was doing. He seemed ready to snatch what was in Joeon’s hands and insist on doing it himself at the first sign of clumsy hand movements. The gaze, as if wishing he would make a mistake, was very burdensome.

Joeon slowly turned his head, looking slightly annoyed. Their eyes met in mid-air. Perhaps realizing that his ulterior motives were being read, Dylan lowered the corners of his eyes and showed a brilliant smile to hide his inner thoughts.

“Um, Dylan.”

“Yes, Joeon.”

Joeon, who had been lost in thought for a short moment, lightly wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and then made an awkward request.

“It’s not just about me changing clothes… I’d like to see you in your uniform too, like when you play hockey.”

It was a plan Joeon had managed to come up with. He had a premonition that if he didn’t divert his attention, Dylan might just rush over and strip off everything clinging to his legs.

However, whether it was the right answer or the wrong one, Dylan, whose eyes had widened, soon lifted one corner of his mouth and bit his lip to hold back a laugh. The reaction was puzzling.

“Why are you laughing? I’m just curious. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s not that.”

“I was just saying.”

“I get it. I know what you’re up to.”

“Pardon?”

As Joeon looked bewildered by the somewhat off-track answer, Dylan, who had stood up from his seat, muttered.

“…Anything you want.”

Then, in front of the locker where his most recent uniform was hanging, he started to pull off his shirt. His body, so tightly woven with muscle that it looked like it wouldn’t break, was revealed. From his shoulders and back to his abs, there wasn’t a single spot without well-defined muscle. Even Joeon hadn’t expected such a body to be hidden under the loose uniform.

“What are you doing?”

Joeon asked, his face set firmly, and Dylan, with a nonchalant expression, shrugged with a smooth tone.

“You said you wanted to see me in my uniform.”

“…Should I, should I go outside?”

“Is there really a need for that?”

Then he pulled down his training pants as well. Joeon overcame his curiosity and turned his head away. It was ridiculous for men to be shy around each other, but once he became conscious of his relationship with Dylan, it wasn’t easy to act as if nothing was wrong.

“What are you so shy about?”

Dylan, who had suddenly approached Joeon, stood there pulling the blue uniform down over his bare body, which was clad only in a shoulder pad and elbow pads.

“We’re both men, anyway.”

On his lower half, over the shin guards, he was wearing loose boxer-like pants. With his thick gloves and hockey stick tucked under his arm, he stood crookedly, looking down at Joeon.

“Satisfied?”

“…”

Dylan was the type of man who knew very well how his appearance was perceived by others. With a confidence bordering on arrogance, and the cleverness to purposefully lift his uniform slightly while pretending to adjust his clothes for sex appeal.

“Shall we go?”

He took Joeon’s hand and pulled him up. With the shoulder pads on his already large frame, it felt like facing a giant, an enormous sense of pressure. Even though he knew it was just protective gear, he became tense with every movement, as if each one carried immense power.

“Why? Want to touch it?”

“Pardon? What…”

When Joeon pulled his hand back, Dylan let go willingly and replied in a light tone.

“Your shoulder. You were staring at it.”

“Ah…”

“What were you thinking? Dirty thoughts?”

“Of course not.”

At the playful voice, Joeon sharply turned his head and grabbed the gloves and stick that Dylan had taken out earlier.

“Let’s go quickly. We go out that way, right?”

Joeon, without even knowing the way, headed straight for a small door that seemed to lead to the backyard. His guess must have been correct, because when he opened the inner door, an entrance leading directly outside appeared.

When he opened one more door, there was a straight path where he could walk even with skates on. At its end was the ice rink he had looked down on from the drawing room.

Joeon waddled along, wearing thick gloves that made it hard to even move his fingers and clumsily holding a stick. Behind him, Dylan followed, holding the helmet, gloves, and stick that Joeon was supposed to use, suppressing a smile between his lips.

His dark green eyes had become fixated on one spot. Beneath the loose-fitting hoodie that had slipped down due to the wrong size, his straight, white neckline was exposed.

“Just a moment. I think I need to resurface the ice.”

Dylan, standing in front of the gate leading to the rink, looked at the condition of the ice and then grabbed Joeon’s shoulder to turn him around. It was toward a bench set up on the side of the rink.

“Sit here and wait for a little bit.”

Then, he handed the stick and gloves to Joeon and strode back toward the mansion. A short while later, Dylan reappeared, a key and a jacket in his hands.

“Wear this.”

Judging by the unfamiliar design, the jacket was clearly Dylan’s, not Joeon’s. If he was going to bring one, it would have been nice if it were his own, which was hanging by the entrance. However, the cold was so bone-chilling that Joeon silently put on Dylan’s jacket and watched as the garage door opened automatically.

After the automatic door had fully opened, Joeon let out a shriek.

“You have a Zamboni at home?”

As if he had expected the reaction, Dylan laughed loudly and reached a hand out toward Joeon.

“Want to ride it?”

The driver’s seat of the Zamboni was high and narrow. There was only one seat, so it was big enough for just one person to sit. Joeon approached Dylan, who was getting out of the driver’s seat, and then looked down at his own feet, which were in skates.

“Do you want to change into slippers?”

Dylan took off the slippers he seemed to have changed into in the garage and offered them to him.

“No, it’s fine. Your feet will get cold, Dylan. And it’s a hassle to take them off and put them on again. I’ll just watch, so hurry up and show me how it works.”

Dylan was a professional player who could put on and take off skates with his eyes closed, but Joeon was not. He didn’t feel up to repeating that tedious and cumbersome process several times, so he decided to decline the offer to ride the Zamboni.

Perhaps it came across as unintentionally drawing a line, but the excited expression Dylan had when he appeared on the Zamboni cooled to a lukewarm one as he got back on it.

Then, he silently glided across the small ice rink, which didn’t even seem to be half the size of a regular hockey rink, and smoothed the surface of the ice. The ice resurfacing took less than 10 minutes.

After finishing the resurfacing and lifting the blade that smoothed the surface, the Zamboni looked not much different from a car with a strangely shaped front. Its bumpy wheels slowly rolled over the ice and went into the garage. After putting the Zamboni back in its place and finishing some simple maintenance, Dylan came out with a goal net in one hand and a bucket full of pucks in the other.