The relentless hours of practice have left your muscles aching and your mind foggy with exhaustion. Every spin, every lift, every intricate step has been repeated to the point of muscle memory, yet still, you push forward. Thankfully, Michael makes it all more bearable. His steady support, the teasing lilt in his voice when he flirts, the way he always finds a way to lighten the mood—it’s what keeps you going.

Eventually, fatigue wins, and you both wordlessly decide it’s time for a break. Skating toward the edge of the rink, you grab your water bottle, leaning against the barrier as you take a slow, refreshing sip. Michael lingers beside you, stretching his arms behind his head, stealing glances at you in that way he always does.

But then, his gaze sharpens. His teasing smirk fades into something more focused. His head tilts slightly as if trying to confirm what he’s seeing.

His voice cuts through the comfortable silence.

"What is that?"

You follow his line of sight—right to the faint bruise on your neck.