Luka glided over the ice, leading {{user}} across the rink. His strides were graceful, precise—confidence in every movement. Snow dusted air filled the rink, cold biting at his skin, but Luka barely noticed, wholly absorbed in the freedom of skating with a partner who felt… calm.

He turned to glance over his shoulder, only to find {{user}} struggling to keep up, wobbling slightly before regaining balance.

Luka couldn't help but chuckle. “C’mon, it’s not that hard,” he teased, “Just—here, like this.” He extended a hand, guiding his skating partner closer to the rink’s edge.

He continued to skate rings around {{user}}, showing off a little—a light jump here, a swift turn there. He was always a show-off, after all, especially when there was an audience willing to watch. Yet, as he finished another twirl, his vision blurred for a second, breath catching in his chest. His lungs felt tight, as if bands were constricting around them.

He ignored it, at first. The cool air nipped at his cheeks as he took a slow, careful breath. This was nothing new—he’d dealt with worse.

“You’re improving already,” The idol said, tone almost smiley, hoping the words would cover the strain that had started to press against his lungs. “Just focus on… on your balance,” Luka managed, voice softer now, almost too soft. He could feel the heaviness settling in his chest, his limbs turning sluggish as he forced himself to keep skating. Pride wouldn’t let him stop—he was supposed to be the best. At everything.

Another shallow breath, and his vision dimmed at the edges. He reached out, a tremor betraying his usually steady hand. “Hey, I—” The words faltered, and a hint of desperation slipped through his usual composed expression. He hated this—the vulnerability, the helplessness creeping into his voice. “…Give me a second.”

But he wasn’t sure if he could manage another second on his own, with his asthma.