". . . maybe i want your love forever, is that so bad to say . . ."
— the stars,
chelsea cutler
»»————- ❅ ————-««
"Do something pretty."
She's practicing a Beillmann spin when Nathan's voice cuts through the air. He's leaning against one of the boards, arms crossed against his chest. The red fabric of his fleece sweater is pulled tight around his biceps, straining.
It's half-past nine. The rink closed thirty minutes ago, but Mr. Taylor had printed an extra key for her when she was fifteen so that Sang could practice without all the crowds. She likes him—he owns a diner near the highway, and he calls her his little Olympian whenever she stops by.
Sang slows down, letting go of her foot. It eases to the ground behind her, and then she pushes off, sliding across the ice. "What, this isn't good enough for you?"
"Shut up." He's laughing now, his smile blinding. "You know what I mean. One of those... spinning, jumping things."
"A loop?"
"Yeah. That one."
"You can't just crash my practice and demand a show." She's still skating in meticulous circles, but not fast enough to lead into a jump. "People pay to watch this."
If Coach Korba knew that Nathan was here, he would kill her. He's got very little tolerance for distractions in general, but this isn't just another season. In eight weeks, she's going to Worlds. It changes things—could change everything.
It doesn't leave much time for boyfriends, but Nathan makes it.
He's up at five in the morning every day to drive her to the rink. Comes back at eight to pick her up for school. Then they're in classes, and he's texting her the whole time; pictures of Kota as he mulls over a math problem, lines from Romeo and Juliet that remind him of her, little emojis when she's been quiet for too long. He'll go to practice, and then stay at the rink with her until eleven, even on the days where he looks exhausted.
It works. Somehow. Even though she's at a competition practically every week, and he's training his hardest for when all of the scouts come out, there's more love than there is distance.
Nathan pushes himself off of the board. His skates are a dark colour, chunkier than hers, but he moves with such a direct precision that it almost takes her aback. No matter how often he tells her about it, Sang still sometimes forgets that hockey isn't just body checks and slapshots.
He slides to a stop in front of her, and Sang just barely avoids knocking into him. He's grinning down at her, blue eyes flitting across her face.
"I've got a five in my pocket."
Sang scoffs, rolling her eyes, and moves to skate past him. "I'm pretty sure I'm worth a little more than five bucks."
Nathan's hand shoots out, grasping at her hip. The warmth of his skin cuts through the thin fabric of her leggings and his thumb, callused and gentle, just barely slips beneath the hem of her shirt.
"I'll give you a kiss."
She smiles a little; a break in her exterior. "I want two." He's starting to grin. "And the five bucks."
His head dips down, and now his nose is brushing hers, and even after two years together sometimes when he's this close it feels like she can't breathe.
"You drive a hard bargain, Peanut."
The first kiss is gentle. Fleeting. He presses his lips against hers and they're warm and soft and taste like that cinnamon hot chocolate that Mr. Taylor makes and then he's pulling away, a sheet of warmth still lingering on her lips. Her head is spinning.
Sang clears her throat, but her voice still comes out a little breathy. "That was only one."
She doesn't even have the time to blink before he's kissing her again. Grip on her waist, her hips, the heart that beats in her chest to the tune of his name. Her fingers find his hair, that short-cropped auburn at the base of his neck. It reminds her of fall, even in the middle of a snowstorm.
It reminds her that there are only better things to come.
Below them, she hears the sharp click of his blade catching on one of her toe pics. There's a moment—stretched thin, extended in mid-air—where his arms wrap around her waist. Pull her against his chest. Cushion her fall as they come crashing onto the ice.
Her elbow knocks against the surface. Pain blooms up her arm, and she hears Nathan groan. He's still smiling.
(Sometimes, she considers the idea that he might be a masochist—dating a girl that never has time for him, getting beat up every time he's on the ice and calling it a sport.)
"Careful," Sang says. She shifts so her legs are on either side of his hips, hands bracing themselves beside his head. The cold bites against her palms. Their noses are inches away, and from here she can see his eyes—sea-storm blue, glowing like the sun. "Those are NHL bones you're gonna break."
Nathan rolls his eyes. "What can I say? It's a small sacrifice to ensure the safety of an Olympian."
She makes a face, scrunching up her nose. "Not an Olympian yet."
She's been having these thoughts lately. Skating is the only thing that she's ever been sure of. There's never been any question in her mind about if she's good or not—but now she's starting to wonder if she's good enough.
Sang doesn't say these things out loud, not to anyone. It's like if she speaks it, they'll take form right in front of her eyes.
"If anyone's gonna go pro, it's you." He says this so confidently that it almost feels like she has no choice but to believe it. "Trust me."
She sits up straight, grinning. "Yeah, me and my spinney-jumpy things are gonna make it big."
"Speaking of," Nathan says, tapping at her waist, "go do one. I want to see."
Just to be difficult, she says, "You've seen me do it a million times."
"And I'd be real happy to watch you do it a million more. Go."
"Yes sir," Sang mumbles, and she hears him laugh behind her.
She skates a few circles, half to kill time and half to build up momentum. Her legs are still a little bit shaky from the kiss. She can still smell him—cypress and leather and a little bit of chlorine.
Like home, or whatever she has left of it.
Sang braces her right leg, and on her last turn, she takes off with the outer edge of her skate. The rest of it is second-nature—her arms come to her chest, her body starts to spin. For a second, she's weightless. Flying. Everything else fades away. It's just her, the air, and the cold.
This feeling—this is what she's sure of. The only thing that she'll always be able to come back to.
She does a triple before landing, using her other skate to slow down. Her arms are still tight against her chest, rising and falling with each breath.
And Nathan is smiling at her like she's the most wonderful thing he's ever seen.
"Do it again."
(Sometimes she wonders if she's good enough. For Nationals. For the Olympics.
For him.
But when he looks at her like that, none of it seems to matter anymore.)
»»————- ❅ ————-««
". . . maybe i we're meant to be together, if god had his way . . ."
— the stars
chelsea cutler
»»————- ❅ ————-««
author's note.
annnnd i'm back. just in time for the winter!
yes i am one of those freaks that starts acting like its winter once september hits. yes i am aware that there is a definitive point where the season starts and ends. none of that is any of my business xoxo
if you couldn't tell i know nothing about skating. literally learning these things as i write them. please close your eyes if something doesn't make sense.
let me know what you guys think!
[unedited.]