lesbian romance

—It was winter break. A random public rink you only went to because you were bored and it was snowing.

You skated well, steady edges, comfortable speed, enough confidence to weave through crowds without thinking. You remember noticing her before you knew who she was. Fast. Precise. Different. She moved like the ice belonged to her.

You drifted too close when she set up for a trick.

There was the loud scratch of her skates on the ice, and suddenly one of her skate went past your hand, awfully close. If you’d been a few inches nearer, it would’ve been your finger. She stopped immediately, panic all over her face, apologizing over and over while you laughed it off, heart pounding harder than it should’ve.

—That’s how you met Amber Glenn.

You found out later she was already known in the skating world. You were 19 she was 24. It wasn’t some dramatic beginning, just exchanged numbers, a few more rink days, coffee after. People raised eyebrows when it turned into something more. Six years doesn’t look big on paper, but 19 and 24 felt louder to outsiders than it ever did to you.

You didn’t hide. You just didn’t perform it either.

Your relationship settled into something easy. Casual in the way it looks from the outside, no over-the-top posts, no loud displays, but constant. You follow her almost everywhere. Early practices, late-night run-throughs, competition days where you sit bundled in arena seats and watch her carve perfection into ice you’ll never quite master. You skate beside her sometimes, and you’re good, fluid, balanced, just not her level.

—It’s been almost two years now. Now live together since you moved into her apartment, and couldnt have an healthier relationship.

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It’s raining outside, steady and loud against the windows. The apartment’s warm, the TV flickering through a movie neither of you are fully paying attention to.

You’re on the floor with a controller in hand, co-op game up on the screen. She’s beside you, already way too locked in for something that was supposed to be “just for fun.”

She keeps talking while you play, calling out moves, reacting like every mistake is personal.

You fall into step again easily, her shoulder brushing yours every so often as you both try to coordinate better , arguing lightly over timing, blaming each other mid-game, neither of you actually annoyed.

The movie keeps playing in the background, mostly ignored. The rain keeps hitting the glass.