DISCLAIMER: All of the characters in this story belong to Disney and are inspired by the work of Hans Christian Andersen. No profit is being made from this story. It only serves to (hopefully) entertain.

Rated M for language, substance use, and sexual situations. Trigger warnings: Emotional abuse/recovery for sure. Story may or may not end up including mentions of cutting, attempted suicide, and sexual abuse.

Chapter 1: The Interview

-Kristoff-

Hair matted with sweat and face reddened, Kristoff Bjorgman left the locker room and trudged down the black and gold corridor toward the stairs. He hadn't even bothered changing out of his practice gear, stopping only to toss his helmet in his bag and replace his skates with sneakers. He just wanted to get this ordeal over with.

Kristoff knew he should have considered himself lucky. A year had gone by since being drafted by Boston, yet aside from the conclusion of his very first home game, he'd miraculously avoided doing any interviews or press conferences. Win or lose, he was always one of the first to leave the ice and head for the locker room in an attempt to dodge reporters and sportscasters all clamoring to ask the same bullshit questions game after game. He even managed to escape excited interrogation after his hat trick against Calgary in March. It was just as well, seeing as he had several teammates who loved the attention and glory and were more than happy to deliver answers into the microphones. Kristoff, however, had never been in it for that; he was there to play the game, plain and simple.

But with the new season rapidly approaching, his lucky streak had come to a bitter close when Fan Relations requested an interview with him. They were putting together the program that would be sold at home games and needed to sit down with a few members of the team. Kristoff, to his dismay, had been one of the three players selected by none other than Adgar Arendelle himself, and it was for this very reason denying the interview request was impossible no matter how much he wanted to.

Arendelle was the team owner, and a man Kristoff very much admired and respected. So many team owners sat idly by, raking in revenue and showing up only when something was wrong. Some of them weren't even people, but corporations or conglomerates instead. The Bruins, however, were one of the few teams still owned by a family, and Arendelle was very much a hands-on owner. He was at the stadium regularly, watched the team practice, and conversed with both the coaches and players. He was a friendly and humble man, and had turned his ownership into a true family affair: Arendelle's wife ran a team charity and his eldest daughter was learning the ropes of team management in preparation to take over one day.

Kristoff eventually reached the concourse that circled the arena. It was an eerie place to walk through while it was closed. There were no pretzels spinning in their glass cases at the concession stands, no popcorn being popped, no sodas or beers being spilled by chatty patrons. The mobile merchandise booths were locked up and tucked into corners. The floors were clean and the rubbish bins were empty. Kristoff nodded at the lone custodian he encountered; he appeared to be fixing the neon lighting around one of the glass-encased posters. Kristoff scowled as he saw his own face on a team banner, blown up to the size of a damn mountain.

He eventually reached the door leading to a small cluster of administrative offices. As the arena was closed to the public, the door to the hallway was left ajar, so Kristoff stepped in. He passed payroll and accounting before arriving at a door labeled Fan Relations. He didn't bother knocking before stepping into the room.

Kristoff did not expect what he saw. He figured it would be a stuffy man in a business suit waiting for him, or a middle-aged woman with gaudy jewelry and thick-rimmed glasses. Instead, he saw a young woman sitting at one of five desks; she looked to be his age, if not younger. She was staring at her computer screen rather than her fingers as she typed something very quickly.

"Um, hello."

She looked away from her screen, still punching words in.

"Mr. Bjorgman!" she chirped, yanking her hands from the keyboard so fast she almost fell backward. "You must be Mr. Bjorgman!"

The woman rose from her chair and stepped around her desk. As she got closer, Kristoff recognized her. He'd seen her face on the jumbotron a few times during breaks in play while on the ice. She usually wore a jersey or Bruins jacket. That day, she was dressed in very plain, albeit professional, attire: black pumps with small heels, black pencil skirt that fell to her knees, and a black blazer over a white shirt. Her fiery red hair was tied back in a simple bun. If Kristoff had to sum up her appearance in a word, his first instinct would have been to say prudish although he knew that was a bit rude.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," she said, extending a hand to him.

"No problem," he lied, accepting her handshake. He watched her nose wrinkle for a brief moment when her hand touched his. He felt guilty for a second; he could have at least put in the effort to take a quick shower and change out of his gear before heading up there. He must have reeked. "Sorry. I just got off of practice, and-"

"Oh, please, don't worry. I understand you're on a tight schedule. Have a seat, Mr. Bjorgman. Can I get you some water?"

"No, thank you. And please, call me Kristoff, Miss...?"

"Oh, sorry!" she exclaimed, plopping back into her chair. "It's Anna. My name's Anna. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You as well."

"So," Anna began, flipping to a blank page on a notepad and grabbing a pen from a bright pink cup on her desk, "I'm assuming you know why you've been asked to come here?"

"For the season program, I'm guessing?"

"Yes, and for the season ticketholders' newsletter. There's also the youth hockey program to discuss, if time permits."

"Wait, wait," he interrupted. "What youth hockey program?"

"Every January, the team hosts an event here at the arena for a few lucky youth hockey players," Anna explained. "It's a workshop of sorts, but a ton of fun! The kids love it. They get to spend time with their favorite players, take pictures, maybe get a puck or poster signed, things like that. Fan Relations tries to get a few members of the team to volunteer for the event, and seeing as your coaches have spoken so highly of you, I thought you and I could talk about it later."

She said all of this very fast and with so much enthusiasm that Kristoff's head began to spin. He thought he was just there to answer a few dumb questions and have his picture taken for the program. But now she was asking for actual interaction. Kids? Workshop? What?

"I apologize," Anna said, seemingly sensing his discomfort. "I did not mean to overwhelm you. It's just such a wonderful event – one of my favorites of the whole season, actually – so if there's time-"

"I understand," he huffed rudely. He wasn't in the mood for small talk, especially not after that. All he had on his mind was a shower and avoiding this Anna person forever as soon as he finished the interview. "So how about those questions you have for me?"

"Oh! Right!" Anna shuffled through some papers and cleared her throat. "How long have you been playing hockey, Kristoff?"

"Since I was six. So... about eighteen years."

"Did you play in college?"

"Didn't go to college."

"How about in high school?"

"Yes."

"Did you play right wing then as well?"

"Left, actually."

"Do you want to do this another day?"

"I... wait, what?"

Anna sighed. "I can tell you aren't really interested in this. Perhaps we can finish this another day when you haven't just practiced for two hours."

"Three," he corrected. "And to be perfectly honest, interviews aren't really my thing. I mean, of course I'll do it, but I'm not sure you'll get the types of answers out of me that you're looking for. Sorry."

"That's okay," she conceded. "Another day, then?"

He wanted to roll his eyes. He'd hoped that last comment would've gotten him out of it, that it would have convinced Anna to tell Mr. Arendelle they'd tried but it didn't work out.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah, another day's fine."

"Excellent," she said with a smile. Anna reached over to a short stack of what looked like white index cards, grabbed the top one, and began writing on it. "I'm going to give you my card. It has my office number and e-mail address on it. I'm writing my cell phone number on the back so you can text me if you prefer to do that. Just contact me at your earliest convenience and we can arrange a more appropriate time for this meeting. Here."

Kristoff grabbed the card and tucked it into his pocket without even glancing at it.

"Thank you," he muttered as he stood up. Anna stood, too. "I'll be in touch."

"Again, I very much appreciate your time," Anna said. "It was lovely to meet you, Kristoff. It's a shame I haven't met you until now. I don't know many of your teammates, actually. I'm kept pretty busy during the actual games. I'd love to get down there more often."

"Right," Kristoff said. "Nice meeting you. Have a good day."

"You as well."

As Kristoff left, he caught a glimpse of Anna's face. She looked discouraged, and almost sad, for just a moment before sitting back down and returning to work. He couldn't be bothered to care what she was upset about, if anything at all. He was part of the team to score goals and win games, not to satiate nosy people through interviews.

"Ah! Kristoff!"

Mr. Arendelle was making his way down the corridor. It was always strange to see him in jeans and a t-shirt instead of his typical suit and tie, but it was an off day and he was more than entitled to dress down.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Arendelle."

"Kristoff, for goodness sake, call me Adgar. You and the other guys make me feel ancient! Were you here for your program interview?"

"Yes. We rescheduled, though."

"I can see why," Mr. Arendelle laughed. "Hit the shower, Bjorgman. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

Kristoff turned to wave to the owner before leaving the administrative hall, only to see that Anna had stepped out of her office. She and Mr. Arendelle shared a brief embrace, the latter giving the other a kiss on her forehead.

This was strange to him, as it made no sense for Mr. Arendelle to show such affection to a random employee, until something clicked once Kristoff was halfway back around the concourse. The Arendelles had two daughters. The eldest, Elsa, he'd met a handful of times, for she often trained closely alongside her father. Kristoff had always assumed the youngest had wanted to pursue something outside the family business because no one had ever seen her around. Unless...

He tugged the card Anna had given to him out of his pocket, which was now creased due to the force he'd used to shove it in there. Kristoff held it up to his eyes and read the tiny print beside the Bruins logo:

Anna Arendelle
Boston Bruins Fan Relations
100 Legends Way, Unit #509
Boston, Massachusetts, 02114
Telephone: (617) 555-5555, ext. 2446
E-mail: *address here*

Kristoff leaned back against the wall of the concourse. He'd essentially just blown off an interview that not only his team owner wanted him to do, but was being conducted by the owner's youngest daughter. Not to mention how unpleasant he'd been. And smelly. And unprofessional.

And she was currently talking to Mr. Arendelle himself.

"Fuck," he muttered.

Author's Note: So... I'm dabbling in modern AU! I never thought I'd do it, much less actually wanted to, but this idea would not go away. I might continue it. I might not. I haven't decided yet. :p If I do, though, each chapter will be told from a different character's perspective. It will likely alternate between Kristoff and Anna, but I may throw Elsa or someone else in from time to time. And I WILL still be writing installments of my Kristanna canonverse collection.

Forgive the lack of e-mail on the business card. FFnet rules. Ugh.

Also, yes, I'm biased. As a Bruins fan myself, I couldn't allow Kristoff to play for anyone but Boston.

Thanks for reading! :)