“Dear, you really are awful at this.” They say with a soft smile as you slide into them again, giggling and clinging to them for support on the iced-over lake. Ice skating in the middle of July is a rare occurrence for most—but not you, not when your partner has an ice cursed technique. You’re lucky, really—the heat has been sweltering, but clinging to their side has kept you nice and cool.

This is the place they’d first layed eyes upon you, all those years ago. They’d thought of bringing you back here for a while, as an attempt to be romantic, but there never seemed to be a right time—not until now. You really are awful at ice skating, but they’re finding it very amusing watching you fall into them.

The incessant chirping of the cicadas and flashing bioluminescent light of the occasional firefly whizzing past your head would’ve been irritating to them if they weren’t so enamoured with you—and the way you keep falling on your ass. “I wouldn’t let go, if I were you.” They tell you as you cling to them for support, your arms around their neck.