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"I don't know about this…"
Owen smiles gently, holding his hands out, feet steady on the ice rink. Across from him, holding onto the edge, is Ilan, wrapped in a sweater the colour of evergreens. No coat, no gloves, just a single layer between him and the frigid air. "C'mon, there's no way you haven't skated before, Ilan…"
Ilan swallows, leaning against the arena edge, still refusing to take Owen's hands. "I have."
"Yeah? Then explain this."
There's a moment of silence between Ilan answers. "… I don't go out much." He takes a hesitant step forward, knees bending slightly.
Owen tilts his head. "So, you've forgotten how?"
"Guess so."
"Well, that's alright," Owen lets his arms drop, finally. He skates backward, a fluid motion, eyes fixed on Ilan. "We have plenty of time."
Ilan looks up at the large clock at the end of the arena. "We have an hour."
"Yup. Plenty of time."
"… Stop showing off." Ilan takes another step, a bit too large, and his hands end up on Owen's forearms, curled into thick flannel. He clears his throat, straightening back up. "It's… rude."
"Uh— How am I showing off?"
Ilan glares. "You're skating backwards."
Owen stares blankly at Ilan, before chuckling. "Ilan, I've been skating since... well, the 1870s."
"So have I."
"Consistently?"
Ilan only grumbles in response. "No one invites me to these things."
"No, no, don't lie." Owen taps Ilan on the nose, playfully scolding. "You get invited all the time, you just don't show up."
"… Don't like people."
"And that's alright. You still attend the conferences, so…" Owen says, tone gentle as he shifts to skate beside Ilan once more. Although, it's less like skating and more so standing, because Ilan isn't doing much moving at all.
Ilan pauses, looking at Owen properly now. "I'm legally obligated to attend those."
"Legally obligated, eh? What, would you get arrested for not showing up?"
"Oliver would try that."
"Yeah, probably…"
Owen laughs. Ilan attempts a smile.
"Maybe we could make this a routine thing, hm?" Owen suggests after a few seconds of quiet. On the other side of the rink, Ralph collides with the edge.
Ilan looks horrified at first, wide eyed and brows furrowed. "Skating. With everyone."
"No! Gosh, no! I don't think any of us has the time to get together that often," Owen shakes his head, grinning, "Just you and me, once a week throughout winter."
"… Sure."
"Really?"
"Mhm." Ilan pushes himself from the barrier of the rink, arms out for balance as he actually glides on the ice instead of walking upon it. "… Holy shit."
"See? It's not so hard." Owen says, moving to skate backwards again. "At this rate, you'll be doing better than Ralph."
Ilan looks up. Ten feet away, Ralph is skating crossovers in front of Victoria, smug expression gracing his face. Victoria looks just short of unimpressed. "I don't know how to do a crossover."
"Yeah, well, Ralph's been skating as long as I have and still doesn't know how to stop properly."
"… What."
"Yup. He kind of just… skates into the wall."
A huff of laughter comes from Ilan. "Effective."
"Yeah, and he thinks he's the best at skating out of all of us…" Owen shakes his head, fond.
Ilan glances at him. "Who would you say is?"
"Oh, well, I don't think you can just be 'good at skating,' there's categories, y'know."
"… Categories."
Owen gives an enthusiastic nod, eyes bright. "Yeah! There's figure skating, speed skating, hockey… which, if you're talking hockey, there's defense, forwards…"
Ilan skates forward, a bit shaky. Owen follows. "Right… who's best at figure skating, then."
"Oh, well…" Owen trails off, biting his lip in thought. "I'd have to say Vic or Oliver. They're both able to perform Axels, which even just watching looks hard to do… and I know basically nothing about figure skating."
"Mh… hockey?"
"Ralph and Anne both make good forwards… Ben and Jean are good at defense, but don't let Jean know I said that; he thinks he's suited for every position. Joel's pretty good at being goalie. Fast reflexes."
Ilan reaches out, holding onto to Owens' arm to stop himself. "And you?"
Owen tilts his head again, soft blond strands shifting with the slight movement. "Hm? What about me?"
Ilan restrains himself from giving a deadpan look. "… What are you good at."
"Oh! Uhm," Owen looks ahead, brows furrowed. He gives a shrug. "I dunno. Ralph always says I make a good goalie as well, but I think that's just cause I take up half the net… he said I function as a wall. Unmovable object or whatever."
For a couple beats, both are silent, the sound of blades scraping against ice filling the air between them. Owen wrings his hands awkwardly.
"I think you're good at forwards," Ilan says, finally. He breathes in, deeply, as if preparing himself to continue, "I also think you need to stop listening to Ralph."
"Ilan, I'm sure he didn't mean it like that…"
"Might be worse," Ilan mutters. "Always been like that, hasn't he."
Owen turns a bit to face him. "What, not thinking before he speaks? Uh, yeah. It's practically his motto."
Ilan brings one hand up to scratch at the nape of his neck, about to say something, then immediately trips. Owen catches him, giggling, hands bracing Ilan's sides. "Gosh, it'd be funny seeing you in figure skates."
"No."
"No, it wouldn't? Or…"
"No, it wouldn't, and no, it's never happening."
Owen simply hums a laugh.
Minutes pass. The two of them skate, slowly, hand in hand. At one point, Ralph rushes up to them, grin on his face. "How's Ilan comin' along? Still wobblin' like Bambi?"
Ilan scowls at him. Owen rolls his eyes. "He's doing better then you were when you first started."
Ralph gasps dramatically. "Hey! I took to skating like a fish in water."
"You ate shit."
"I—"
"Five times."
"I did not!"
"In under a hour."
"Hey, at least one of those times was your fault," Ralph retorts, playfully flicking Owen's forehead. "You shoved me to the ground."
Owen scoffs. "Uh, yeah, because you grabbed onto my pigtails!"
"Not my fault you were such a pussy!"
"It hurt!"
Ilan looks concernedly between the two, then clears his throat. Ralph shifts his attention to him. "… Uh, shouldn't you be wearing a helmet?"
"Are you?"
"Uh.. no."
"There's your answer."
Ralph snickers, swerving backwards in sharp, quick turns, blades cutting up the ice below. "Right. Get back to me on that after you've cracked your head open, eh?"
Owen leans over to whisper something in Ilan's ear, then grins at Ralph. "Hey, Ralph, who do you think skates faster, me or you?"
"Me, duh."
Owen lunges. Ralph screams, and the two of them are soaring down the rink, strides wide and hurried.
Ilan stares after them, stance awkward. How the fuck was he supposed to get off the ice now?
Later, Ilan's resting his hands against the steering wheel of his beat up vehicle, Owen curled up in the passenger seat next to him, paper cup of hot chocolate in hand, steam rising in languid whisps.
"Sooo," Owen begins, face flushed red from the lingering cold in the car. "How'd you think that went?"
Ilan shrugs. "Good. Didn't eat shit, so."
"Progress?"
"Progress."
Owen hums, content, watching Ilan stick the key in the ignition. "Wanna watch a movie when we when we get home?"
"Yeah." Ilan looks over his shoulder as he backs out of the parking space. By the entrance of the building, Jean and Ralph are smoking together.
"The Polar Express?"
Ilan's mouth twitches. A smile, maybe. "You always suggest that movie."
"It's— It's a good movie, okay! Pumpkin likes it too…"
Ilan glances over, gaze softer than usual. "Mh, I'm sure Pumpkin and her three legs have quite the opinion."
"Oh, she does," Owen says, leaning his head against the window. Outside, snow fell slowly in lazy twirls. "She does."
The radio plays. Something about a snowstorm early in the morning tomorrow. Owen yawns, stretching his legs in the little space he has. "Wanna do this again tomorrow?"
Ilan only winces.