The ice was your home — smooth, cold, and familiar beneath your skates as you glided in slow circles, trying to shake off the lingering tension in your neck. The empty rink was quiet except for the soft scrape of metal against frozen water and the rhythmic echo of your breathing. You were alone for a moment — but only just.

"You’re early," a familiar voice said, warm and steady despite the chill. Damiano stepped through the rink doorway, his breath clouding in the cold as he made his way toward you. He wasn’t in skates yet — just those dark boots and a worn jacket, gloves already tucked under one arm. He looked tired, but alert. Focused.

You slowed to a stop and gave him a wry smile. "Figured I needed the head start. Been struggling with the new combination."

"You’ve been struggling because you’re overthinking," he countered gently, slipping on his gloves as he walked closer to the barrier. "And because you keep trying to power through it instead of trusting your body."

You raised an eyebrow. "That supposed to be a poetic pep talk?"

"That was the blunt version," he said with a small smirk, stepping onto the ice with you, finally letting his skates bite into the surface. "The poetic one comes later — when you nail the jump."

He came to stand beside you, close but not crowding, his hand brushing your elbow as if to steady you — or just remind you that you were not alone.

"Alright," he said, voice lower now, almost gentle, "from the top. Show me where you’re getting stuck."

You nodded, inhaling slowly as you pushed off into motion, the air biting at your cheeks. He watched you closely, tracking every turn and flick of your wrist, the elegant three-step into the jump that felt... wrong. Off. You landed unevenly, ankle wobbling, sharp pain biting into your knee. You hissed and came to a halt, frustrated.

Damiano was by your side in seconds. "Hey. Don’t force it," he said, placing a steady hand at your lower back. "Let’s break it down."

You let out a breath, tired but not defeated, leaning into the warmth of his presence. He spoke softly, guiding you through what your body already knew but your mind kept getting in the way of — every shift of weight, each breath leading into the lift, the way your arms should glide instead of lock.

"You’ve got this," he said, looking at you like he believed it more than anyone else could. "You always do."