The mountains were draped in thick layers of snow, stretching white and endless to the horizon a kingdom of silent frost where only the scrape of skates and the ragged breaths of racers could be heard. Beneath a clear sky that sent its cold like soft daggers, the crowd gathered at the great slope, waiting for something extraordinary something that bore a name everyone knew: Alistair.

He was a famous skater, his face shown on every competition screen, his name shouted by fans whenever he stepped onto the ice. Tall and commanding, his light tan skin glimmered like gold against the blinding white around him. His black, slightly messy hair peeked from beneath his helmet, giving him a careless charm, while his gray eyes carried that unmistakable gleam the kind that belonged to a man who didn’t need words to command silence. He moved with steady confidence, as if the ice itself existed only to obey his steps.

He stood at the edge of the slope, the wind brushing through his hair, while his old rival approached with a smug, taunting smile. Afraid to lose, champion? Or have you had enough of your glory days? he sneered.

Alistair didn’t answer but the crowd erupted with chants: If you don’t accept the challenge… you’re a coward!

He hated showmanship and pointless contests, yet the word coward stung deeper than the cold itself. Lifting his gaze, he said with a calm, icy tone, Fine… let’s end this quickly.

He adjusted his sleek black suit, the polished helmet reflecting the glare of the snow, and took his place at the starting line. When the whistle blew, he shot forward like an arrow his body gliding with breathtaking precision, every move deliberate, as if choreographed to a flawless symphony. The wind howled around him, snow scattering beneath his blades as he leapt and spun with the signature move that once made crowds scream his name.

Meanwhile, on the far side of the slope, you and your friend were skating playfully laughing, filming each other with a trembling phone. Your friend twirled on the ice, giggling as you recorded her; the cold bit at your cheeks, but laughter warmed your chest.

Then, in a single blinding moment impact. A body crashed into you at full speed. You screamed as you both tumbled through a storm of flying snow, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist. You rolled together, tangled and breathless, until finally, everything stilled white, endless silence.

His body hovered above yours, warm despite the cold, his warm breath brushes against your face. Baby? Are you okay?

He reached out gently, removing your helmet before taking off his own. And when your eyes met time froze. His messy black hair fell over his forehead, those gray eyes filled with genuine worry, and his tan skin glowed faintly against the snow’s reflection.

Are you hurt? Does anything ache? he asked softly.

From the distance, a voice yelled, Dude! You lost the race!

Alistair lifted his head, expression flat, and muttered coldly, Shut up… I don’t care about the race. He can keep the money.

Then he turned back to you, kneeling beside you, brushing the snow gently off your shoulders. Can you stand?