That night, I accidentally fell asleep on the couch inside and when I awoke, Wynter was asleep on the floor below me—I didn’t even know when he got there. I watched every rise and fall of his breath, wondering why he did what he did, and dealt with the fact that I’d never know.
17
Cruel Reminders
It was practice day, a cool Sunday afternoon.
The rink was a mix of gliding figures, laughter, and the occasional shout as skaters stumbled. The glass walls let in the late afternoon light, casting a golden glow over the ice. I adjusted my skates, glancing over at Wynter, who was weaving around effortlessly in that frustratingly composed way of his. He moved with an elegance that seemed natural, his posture tall and his face set in his usual cool expression.
When he spotted me watching, he coasted over, that hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.
“Alright, let’s see this spin you claim to have been working on,” he said,
I smirked. “Only if you promise to catch me when I fall. I’m not exactly born for this.”
“Oh, I’maware,” he replied smoothly, with just a trace of a smirk. “But I thought a ballerina wouldn’t be put off by a little challenge. Or am I overestimating you?”
I scoffed, skating a little closer to him. “I don’t get intimidated. And for the record, you make this look absurdly easy.”
“That’s kind of my job, I’ve been skating since I was six,” he shrugged, gliding around me in circles, “suppose I’m simply better built for it, you have to be flexible.”
“Oh, really?” I teased. “How flexible are we talking here?”
He lifted an eyebrow at me, clearly not one to back down. With one smooth movement, he extended a leg up behind him, his balance flawless, holding the position with that insufferable calm. He looked like he could hold it all day if he wanted to.
I gave an appreciative nod. “Alright, show-off. Is that it? I could do that in my sleep.”
He then spun around me before lifting up into the air into a perfect split and still somehow landing on both feet like he was feather-light.
“Oh my God, now I’ve got to do it,” I gushed.
“I mean you canattempt,” he suggested, tilting his head.
I took a deep breath and copied his pose as best I could, extending my arms for balance. I thought I had it—until my skate wobbled, and I started to tilt. Before I could go sprawling, I felt Wynter’s hands around my waist, steadying me. The contact caught me off guard, and I froze, suddenly aware of his touch and the warmth of his hands even in the chilly air of the rink.
I looked up, and his gaze was steady, his usual cool expression softer, his eyes warm with something else. His fingers lingered a moment too long, and I felt my breath hitch.
“Yesoh,” he said quietly, his voice lower than usual.
“Yes?” I barely managed, feeling my cheeks flush.
His hands lit little fire trails along my body, he cleared his throat and let go, pulling back and casting his gaze somewhere over my shoulder, as though searching for his usual mask of composure.
“Perhaps you’d best stick to ballet,” he said, trying for his usual nonchalance, though I could tell he was a little flustered too.
“Maybe,” I replied with a smirk, trying to cover up my own blush. “But if I’m being honest, I’m starting to like life on the ice.”
The tension melted, and we laughed, shaking off the moment. After we left the rink, we wandered into Central Park, our breath visible in the cold air. We wanted to go for a walk in the autumn breeze. Orange dusted the branches of the trees and lay in a blanket over the ground, muffling the city’s usual sounds and giving the park a rare, quiet beauty.
“Yesoh,” Wynter began, glancing down at me as we strolled. “Remember that summer we tried to find that so-called ‘hidden’ swimming hole? Nearly drowned ourselves in the process.”
I laughed, the memory coming back vividly. “You were so sure you’d found it! Meanwhile, I was your cushion when you fell. I was practically bruised all over.”
Wynter’s lips curved in a smirk. “Please, I saved you the trouble of falling in by yourself.”
“You dragged me down with you!” I countered, nudging his shoulder. “Honestly, a gentleman would’ve thanked me for trying to save him.”
His smirk grew. “Yes, well, you were more trouble than help, if I’m honest.”
