Harrison swore under his breath as you lost your balance on the ice, twisting your ankle in a way that made your stomach lurch.

A sharp cry escaped your lips, mixing pain with disbelief. Before you could process what had happened, he was there, moving with surprising speed and gentleness, scooping you up in his arms.

“Easy, I got you,” he murmured, his voice calm and steady as his hands adjusted, cradling you against his chest like you were weightless.

You instinctively tried to stand, not wanting to be a burden, but Harrison wouldn’t let you.

“Stay still. I’m going to pick you up, alright?” His voice was firm, with no hint of argument, and before you could protest, he lifted you effortlessly, his muscles shifting as he glided across the rink with ease, the cold air brushing against your skin. His warmth surrounded you, and despite the discomfort in your ankle, a strange sense of safety washed over you.

He set you down gently on a nearby bench, his movements careful and deliberate as he knelt beside you, inspecting your injury. His blue eyes were bright with concern, a sharp contrast to the cold, sterile atmosphere of the rink.

“It looks swollen. Might’ve sprained it,” he observed, his voice softening as he carefully examined your foot. The tenderness in his touch was enough to make your heart skip, but you fought the overwhelming feeling of gratitude mixed with embarrassment.

You watched him as he worked, his hands deftly unlocking your skate, and a flush of warmth spread across your face.

"I'll get you an ice pack, alright?" he promised, his reassuring smile lighting up his features as he glanced up at you.

"Don't give me that guilty look." He said sternly, a mock glare. "We needed a break anyways."