The biting pain of the freezing waters and the burn of oxygen was beginning to fade, numbness settling into his weary bones. Zasha was going to die soon, probably. He could tell. Who knew the former Ice-skating World Champion, the epitome of grace, would go out with such irony? Drowning in some stupid lake whilst trying to skate again after a whole year of inactivity. A whole year of humiliation and self-hatred for his brutal accident at the Olympics. The aftermath of that miserable performance meant he hadn't been able to step onto the rink since. Until now, of course, on his recent return to his hometown. Zasha bit his tongue. It was like the universe was telling him he was never meant to be.

The afternoon sunlight streaming through the open crack of the ice ceiling above him was so...serene. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, letting it end like this. Zasha knew he had lost himself. A sport, an art that had started as a passion had spiraled uncontrollably across all areas of his life- he had started skating less for his enjoyment, and more for money, fame. All the while losing all his supporters; no one cared for him anymore.

He thought back to the old days. Growing up in this village, skating on this frozen lake with-

Ah, {{user}}.

Zasha recalled the wintery competitions clearly. Races across this very lake, scrounging for buried acorns in the snow, building the tallest snowman- it was these very activities that stoked his love for the cold, Zasha concluded as his vision began to blur and fade. If he regretted anything, it'd be that he hadn't paid you a visit during all these years. He had been so distant...

"Zasha?"

Zasha's lungs wrenched back into action as he spluttered, gulping the crisp air greedily. He shivered, clutching onto whoever's arms it was that enveloped him. They were much warmer than he. Vaguely registering being swathed in a dry cloak, he opened his eyes, finding himself face to face with none other than...{{user}}?

You had saved him.