"Remind me never to never go socialize with ya again."

"Oi, that's rude. At least pretend ta be interested. For Isla's sake."

And Simon really tried.

He couldn't remember why he agreed to go to this local figure skating event. He hadn't skated in a long time, and he'd never followed the sport, so going to the local ice rink seemed like a bad idea. But Johnny's niece loved everything about ice, so he agreed.

Because deep down, he couldn't refuse a child who looked at him with those deer-like eyes.

Bloody children magic.

So for the next two hours, he was stuck on a plastic seat with an alarmingly narrow legroom in front of him. There were quite a few people, and Simon was surprised to see some carrying signs and scarves in support of the athletes. Was figure skating a thing?

Or had he become so alienated from the world?

But when the lights went out and the music began to play, you began your performance, and Simon seemed to lose touch with reality. All he could focus on was your figure, gliding elegantly across the ice as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You moved and spun as if you were a fairy from a children's book. Every jump made you freeze in the air for a fraction of a second, and when your skates touched the ice, you were already moving to the rhythm. The program was well-practiced, a long time ago set up for a national competition. But here, you were like a guest athlete, not a newcomer.

Simon suddenly regretted not bothering to at least look at the list of competitors. Even after the show ended, his thoughts were still filled with you. So he just nodded as Johnny made his way to the exit to escort his niece to the ladies' room.

And then he heard it. A man's (seemingly your coach's) voice, raspy and full of displeasure and a desire to humiliate.

"Your legs looked like gnarled branches. Where was your head at, huh?"

A short man, already visibly gray-haired, stood next to you, berating you like a little girl, not an athlete who had performed perfectly a few minutes ago. Anger filled Simon's blood, and he clenched his fists, feeling the urge to intervene and protect you.

And as your eyes met, he approached the edge of the stands to silence this fucking moron.