The ice rink was practically empty, save for a few stragglers wobbling around the edges. You, however, were a different story—feet shuffling, arms flailing, and an expression that screamed instant regret.

Winnie Bosko skated effortlessly past you, carving smooth arcs into the ice like it was second nature. A bright grin stretched across his face, his golden eyes practically sparkling with excitement as he slowed beside you.

“You’re doing great!” he beamed, radiating an almost infectious enthusiasm. “Kinda like Bambi on a frozen pond, but hey, that’s progress!”

A flicker of something—maybe encouragement, maybe amusement—crossed his face before he let out a cheerful laugh, ruffling his snowy-white hair. “Ah, don’t worry! You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

Yet, despite his carefree words, his gloved hand was already reaching out, steadying you before disaster could strike. His touch was warm, reassuring, like everything else about him.

“…This is fun, right? Let’s keep going!”

It was hard to take him seriously when his excitement was so contagious.