Work Text:
SATURDAY
DECEMBER 14
19:34
ICE SKATING RINK
Zoë sighs, watching Senne and Robbe skate and chat across the rink, leaning backward against the rail to steady herself, staying as still as she possibly can. Milan skates past, grinning wildly and twirling in front of her before cutting across the center of the rink to glide into Robbe, the two of them slipping and skating around before they regain their balance. A brief flicker of a smile lights up Robbe’s face as Senne and Milan tease him, clapping his shoulders and gently bumping into him as they skate, but it disappears just as quickly, and Zoë’s heart clenches.
Her eyes find Senne, then, at ease on his skates like he’s been doing it since he was born, hands shoved in his coat pockets, the hood of his light grey sweatshirt bundled up under his ears. He says something and smiles when Milan laughs and Robbe’s mouth twitches up, and, again, Zoë’s heart clenches.
What is happening with them?
It had been Milan’s idea to go ice skating, get all of them together but out of the apartment, somewhere unfamiliar, without any talk of the trial, or Sander, or even who’s fault it was that the dishes were piling up in the sink (it was Milan’s, but Zoë was so tired of bickering and arguing). Zoë was glad to do so, to know Senne isn’t off drinking and that Robbe isn’t sitting around wallowing, but watching them—him—is harder than she wants to admit.
They turn a corner, Zoë in the path of their trajectory, and Milan catches her eyes first, tilts his head with a small smile, and paces backwards to glide between Senne and Robbe, hitch his arm around Robbe’s shoulders. Zoë can’t read lips, but she’s sure Milan says something like, “Go talk to her,” and pulls Robbe off.
Senne looks at her then, slowing down with apprehensive eyes and his jaw set, and Zoë might cry.
After a moment, she turns away, watching Milan skating circles around Robbe’s slow procession down the rink, and the harsh sound of Senne’s skates against the ice reaches her ears. He settles against the rail next to her, leaning his side into it rather than his back like she is, and exhales. “Why aren’t you skating?”
“Ah, you know me,” she starts, suddenly unsure and uncertain. What is going to happen now? She won’t fight with him in public, she’ll leave, go home alone before she lets that happen. Rather than continuing to watch Milan and Robbe, she shifts her eyes to a pinpoint across the rink from her, and feels the burn of Senne’s gaze against her face. “I can’t skate to save my life.” After an expectant beat passes, she shrugs. “I just thought doing something together would be fun.”
“Alright,” Senne says, nodding once and shifting out on the ice in front of her and into her line of sight. Another pause, then he reaches out with both hands, tucks his fingers under her arms and slides his hands down until he pulls hers out of her pockets, eyes on hers the entire time, waiting for one cue or another. Zoë lets him, heart rate steadily rising and a shiver building along her spine, and says nothing. “Then I’ll teach you.”
He studies her and, once she nods, pulls her off the rail toward him, skating backward until there’s a half meter or so between her and the edge of the rink. She clutches his hands harder than she should, pressing her lips together under his gaze.
“Go ahead, then.”
“Okay.” He nods, giving her a half-smile as she bites her lip, and the flutter in her chest isn’t helping her nerves. “Bend your knees a little, good, good, push forward and—”
They skate for a while around the rink, Senne’s hands constant in hers, him quipping at her and laughing when she criticizes his teaching methods, keeping her steady when she loses her balance, and smiling the whole time. Three laps later and Zoë can skate with him at her side rather than him tugging her along, and twines her arm around his, tucking it into the front of her shoulder as they skate along, silence fallen between them.
“How’s Robbe?” Senne asks after several quiet seconds pass. She catches the smile he sends her, then keeps her eyes on the ice in front of her, appreciating their slower pace as Milan speeds past. Robbe’s tucked into one corner of the rink, phone pressed to his ear, something almost like a smile playing around his mouth. “He wasn’t great when I saw him earlier.”
Zoë notes how Senne doesn’t mention their own icy encounter, chooses her words carefully. “He seemed alright while we decorated the tree—his mom’s doing better—and he was napping or pretending to when I tried to talk to him later. Milan told me about Sander, though, and I’m a little worried.”
“Yeah, we talked about that earlier.” Senne readjusts his grip on her hand, squeezing it once. “I think it’s gonna work out alright, whatever happens.”
“I hope so.”
Zoë leans into his shoulder, slowing their pace even more and saying nothing as he skates them to the rail.
“Here, c’mon—” he helps her settle back against the wall and links their arms once more, placing his chin atop her head when she leans into him again. “Listen, I’m sorry about the other day.”
Closing her eyes, she listens as he speaks, their huddled position makes his his words vibrate gently through her skull, and the deep timber of his voice spirals through her brain. “I know how stressful exams are and how stressful this trial has been for you. I shouldn’t have pushed you to not reschedule, I know how busy you are, and I’m sorry.”
“Mm,” she draws her other arm around his waist, curls her fingers around his ribs. “Thank you.”
“I just want that fucking asshole to get what’s coming for him,” Senne says, voice still low and soft and comforting. “And I want that for you, I want it to help you.”
“I know.” She leans back and opens her eyes, looking up at him. The scariest thought about the trial passes through her mind, and as Senne presses his lips to her forehead, something settles in her chest. “It might not, though.”
Something strangled and distressed rumbles in his chest. “Mm, I know. I just—I want this to be better, I want you to be happy.”
Zoë pulls back even farther, brushes his hair out of his eyes. “I am.”
It’s not all fixed, but Senne’s smile is wide and he kisses her softly, then pulls her back out onto the rink as she shrieks about losing her balance, tripping, falling over, “Senne, you’re such an asshole—”
And he laughs, attempting to spin with her, and cushions her as they slip and crash to the ice.
Later, while Robbe and Milan stand in line to get hot chocolate from a stand outside the skate rink, Zoë tucks her arms inside Senne’s coat, puts her cold hands up the back of his shirt against his mild protests, and rests her head on his chest. They watch Milan and Robbe bicker about something or another, and Senne slips his hands into the back pockets of her jeans (she decided against her long coat, tonight, figured it would make her more prone to falling) and tugs her closer. His heartbeat is steady under her ear, comforting. “Do you think we’ll actually get hot chocolate, or that they’ll get too fed up to wait for it?”
“Mm, I don’t know, but—” she stops, watches Robbe pull his phone from his pocket with a determined look on his face, press something and hold it up to his ear, raising a challenging eyebrow at Milan. “It’s all gonna work out alright, whatever happens.”
A heartbeat passes and Senne shrugs. “But does that include us getting hot chocolate or not?”
Robbe answers, face now tinged with panic, and Zoë bites her lip. She still can’t read lips, but her heart wants whatever Robbe’s saying to be “Sander,” and she thinks she might be right. “Shut up about the hot chocolate—look—”