Archive of Our Own ^beta

Skating had always been your dream ever since you were three. Sure there were years that you forgot, but then again, who doesn’t when you rarely see a skating rink, much less snow? Nearing the brink of craziness, you lay on your bed, wondering what you would do this searing-hot summer, and it was then that you decided to revisit your timeline and find your old dream: ice skating.

That was when you plead for freedom from your mum to go to the nearby skating rink, and here you were, looking at the people who were skating around. From excited little kids to relaxing adults, from those who were just starting to practicing routines, you looked on as they skated over the icy floor.

You weren’t exactly dressed to the nines—just a thin sweats and jeans—as you leant over the railing, peering through the protective plastic window to watch the people have fun. But, like some people, you wanted to watch only one show.

So that was when a young man in black caught your interest. He glided along the ice as if it were nothing, graceful as a swan over water, perfect as the prince in the ballet’s you’ve watched. Unlike some others, he didn’t have a headset on nor did he have someone following him with a speaker set, so he must just either be practicing by count, or practicing his moves at random, or just plain skating just for fun. Said boy smiled at nearly everyone he passed, unless he was speeding by, and helped many of the girls and the kids that fell, teaching them a little before moving on his way, checking on them every once in a while. You sighed, puffing your cheeks slightly. You wished you were that girl in a yellow sweater, who’d just taken a bad fall, and he was holding her up by the arms and teaching her how to skate while her friends looked on.

Where were your friends, you wonder? They were either finishing up on their finals or out of town for the week. And it sucked, going here just to watch others skate and do nothing.

You sighed. You’d never in a million years be as perfect as the boy in black. With this thought, you pushed off the railing and trudged off.

Three loud raps on the plastic behind you made you turn around, and your cheeks tingled upon recognizing who it was.

It was the boy in black.

He beckoned you to him, and you pointed to yourself. He nodded, smiling widely, and, head tilted in curiosity, you stepped closer, until your hands were back on the black rail. He held up a finger, telling you to wait, and pulled out his phone. You frowned; you considered it rude to text in front of someone you were talking to—even if you weren’t talking to this jerk—until he held the screen up to you. You squinted against the scratched window to see the stark black font against a yellow Post-It.

‘Won’t you skate?’

Oh. Your frown faded. So he just wanted to talk to you. You pulled out your phone as well, and typed in your own message.

‘I don’t know how.’

‘I can teach you.’

You chuckled, not knowing what to say as you flushed pink. He smiled at you as well, and that was when you noticed—although you didn’t know what you noticed first—his beautiful smile and the freckles speckling his face across his nose and cheeks. And then you said:

‘Hey, why the hell not?’

He grinned, and you grinned as well. It was nice that you had money for skating that day, and you watched him skate away and thought, ‘Hmm I’d tap dat.’ You giggled girlishly; silly you.

You paid for the skates, and put them on, your excitement overpowering your anger over the stupid skate laces. You headed for the little opening that separated the rough floor to the ice, and you gripped the door as you tested the waters. And boy, were those waters slippery.

As you made your way deeper into the rink, albeit along the walls, you gripped the railing tighter and tighter in fear as your feet tried slipping out from under you.

“Whoa...whoa-oah!”

Your feet finally gave way, and you squeaked loudly, your voice echoing around the large rink. The nearest heads turned to you in surprise. But your ass never hit the ice. Instead, you felt pressure on your arms, and you tilted your head up so your [e/c] eyes met milk chocolate brown. You chuckled, cheeks tingling. Man was he even better up close.

"Heh. Need a little help?"

You grinned as he did, and he helped right you on your skates.

"How about we go somewhere less...crowded?" You nodded; the kids and the rest of the novices liked sticking to the doorway for security. You blindly trusted this guy as he held your hands in his as he skated backward. "Just follow my feet first," he said as you stared down at your shoes. You nodded, and followed the motions of his feet.

He set you close to the wall on the other side of the rink, close enough for  comfort. "Okay, the first thing is to walk."

"Hey, hold on," you said, holding onto his wrist with a death grip. "I don't even know you."

He laughed.  "I'm Marco. Marco Bodt."

You blinked. What a curious last name. Musta been German.

"Marco," you repeated, almost as if you were tasting the name. "I'm [First]. [First] [Last]."

"Well [First], before a bird can fly, it walks. Open up your arms to balance as you walk." He opened his arms like wings, and started walking, taking a flat step on the ice and digging his blades into the ice. You copied him, spreading your arms wide, and started to walk.

"If you feel like falling, bend over your knees but look up. Okay?" You nodded, and he skated alongside you as you walked.

But as the enthusiastic and excited teen as you were, you took your strides too wide, and almost fell on your face had Marco not caught your arm. You slid to your knees instead.

"Whoa, slow down," he said, eyes glittering with amusement as you stood in embarrassment. "Take baby steps." He moved to your front, and gently took your hand in his. "Okay?" You nodded, reassured by his strong grip, and you started again. But no matter how many times you tried, you ended up sliding either on your knees or falling back on your arse. It wasn't only getting tiresome, it was embarrassing as well.

"Maybe," you gasped as your butt throbbed, "maybe I'm not cut out for this."

"Nonsense!" He tugged you up to your feet, and you wobbled on your skates. “Nobody’s not cut out for this. You just need time to learn.”

You gazed helplessly into his smiling, enthusiastic brown eyes and you sighed. “But how am I supposed to learn...whatever it was you were doing when I can’t even find my balance on the ice?”

“Easy,” he said, and pulled you onward slightly. “Baby steps.”

You were still skeptical about that, but he looked endlessly hopeful that you would still agree to skate. You sighed again, your breath now coming out in clouds, to which you were amazed. “Alright.”

His smile widened. “You’ll do it?”

“I’ll do it,” you repeated, and started ‘walking’, your hands having a tight grip on his as you moved.

You laughed in glee. “I...I’m doing it!”

“You are!” he replied. “You’re doing it!”

You squealed as you skated faster and faster, moving out of your comfort zone and...flying.

It felt...it felt like flying. I couldn’t believe it. After all this time...

...I’m flying.

“Wha—WHOA!”

You spoke too soon as your feet slid out from under you, and you landed on your tailbone. You groaned as you sat yourself up, as you heard the slice of blades on the ice right next to you and the pouf of cloth on it as he sat beside you.

“Well,” he said beside you, “you did good.”

You laughed as you rested back on your hands. You just decided to just go with it. “Fine, so I did.” You leaned forward to hug your knees to yourself as you smiled at him. “Thanks.”

He smiled as well—but then again he’s been smiling all morning—and you watched him stand up and extend his hand to you. Giggling, you took it, and he helped you up. You groaned again, much to your dismay.

He laughed instead. “Why don’t we go rest for a while? Your fingers are cold.” You grinned, and skated alongside him towards the door.

And that was just about how you met Marco Bodt. From idiot bookworm-nerd-techie with her hair in a messy bun and glasses to graceful figure skater with fabulous hair and contacts, he helped in your training. It wasn’t long before you spent more and more time in that rink, more and more money on texts and calls, and it wasn’t long before you were hanging out with Marco even outside the rink. You didn’t have problems with him going with your set of friends; heck, you even got your bestie [B/F/N] to go with Marco’s best friend Jean! On and off the ice, you felt like you were on cloud nine, like nothing was going to stop you.

But, like the laws of physics, what goes up, must come down.

First was your parents.

“[First], your grades are falling!” your mother snapped. “You have to stop your skating!”

“But Mom!” you whined. “Please! Please don’t take away my skating time!”

“But your skating time is taking away your studying time,” your father said sternly. “This is us taking away your skating time to make way for study time.”

“But Dad!” But there was no arguing with your father, and you stormed up to your bedroom.

And then it was Marco.

At long last, the boy answered his home phone.

“H-hey, Marco?”

“Hey, [First]!” he greeted. “What’s up?”

“I...I can’t go skating anymore.”

“W-what?” You swallowed thickly; his voice had cracked. “But we have—“

“I know we have a compe’ in two weeks, but I—“

“You know how much this means,” he said, hesitating at the end, and somehow you knew he was going to say, ‘to me’. “I mean, we’ve been working so hard—“

“I know we’ve been working to hard!” You couldn’t take it anymore; he was being selfish already. You were being selfish already. You sighed. “I need a break from this, Marco. Please.”

“But what am I supposed to do? Revoke the registration? Back out?”

“I don’t know!” you snapped, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried reining your sobs in. “I don’t know, okay? I just...I just need to.” You couldn’t tell him you were failing algebra and physics when he was an A+ student.

He laughed, almost haughtily. “So you’re backing out? Just like that?” His breath caused static in your receiver. “Two weeks, [First]! It’s two weeks away.”

“I know, just...—“

But he’d already hung up. And that was the worst.

And now, here you were, in the middle of the rink at the local mall in the morning, wearing nothing but rentals, jeans and old sweats. It was summer at last. Your grades had come out and were as good as ever, and the first thing you wanted to do when your parents let you go for the first time in seven months was to just...feel. No music, no noise. Just you.

Every breath, every flow of the arm, every figure you knew...just doing it. No solutions, no numbers, and no papers. Just...flying.

You crossed the ring along its length, and leapt, eyes closed, twirling in the air in a lovely triple axle, flowing to a layback and finishing in a scratch spin and traveling with a spread eagle. You breathed deeply. Boy, was it good to be back in the game.

Finally feeling free, you skated some more, even with and while people filled the rink, kids and adults alike, dodging with the grace of a swan on water and a smile of an angel and in the back of your mind you wondered, ‘Was this how he felt when I met him all those years ago?’ But you shook it off and away; he didn’t matter to you now.

But you knew there was someone watching you outside the rink, his features unknown to you save for a natural tan and a head of black locks. It was a blur as you skated, but you had the urge to show off. And show off you did. Spread eagles, axles, and spins, you did each one of them perfectly, beautifully. By then you had a group of admirers, but admirers didn’t get to you.

You wanted something more.

That was kind of when you approached the protective glass, scratching the ice to stop. Your smile faded; it was Marco.

He wasn’t smiling, either, just leaning on the railing in a black turtleneck.

You pulled out your phone, making as if you were texting, and you caught him frowning. You knew he knew you didn’t like it when someone texted in front of you, but you showed him the screen.

‘Won’t you skate?’

His lips stretched in a smile, and you smiled as well. He pulled out his phone as well, and ‘texted’ as well.

‘Hey, why the hell not?’

You grinned as he did, and soon he was out in the open, skating in old blue and red rentals, making his way towards you, expertly weaving through the people there to the open space you were in.

He skated around before stopping before you. He reached for your fingers, and you threaded them between his.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered as he pulled close. “I-I didn’t mean—“

“Shh.” You glanced up, a knee-jerk reaction, and you wondered how and why you ever forgot what his brown eyes looked like up close. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You swallowed thickly. “You missed the competition because of me. It was your chance to win. Your chance to go to regionals.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But it’s not skating without you.”

You bit your lip, eyes glassy as he smiled down at you. You choked on a sob, and he pulled you close.

“How can you ever forgive me?” you whispered as you cried.

“Easy.” He brushed away the tears with his thumbs as he cupped your face, and his fingers traveled down, laced through yours. “With baby steps.”

You smiled, sniffling, and he led you slowly around the rink as you held onto his arm, snuggling against his arm.