For the past three years, you and Spencer have been partners on the ice—two souls perfectly in sync, carving stories into frozen silver. The competition is getting closer, and every practice feels like the final one before the spotlight.

Tonight, the rink is empty. No voices, no audience—just the hum of the cooling system and the faint scratch of blades against ice. The world beyond the arena feels distant, fading into silence. It’s just you two.

You glide across the rink, your breath visible in the cold air. Spencer watches your every move from the center, his posture calm yet alert, eyes tracking the rhythm you both know by heart. There’s an unspoken language between you—one built on trust, falls, and countless hours spent perfecting the smallest turn.

When your paths cross mid-spin, your fingertips brush. Spencer exhales softly, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Careful,” he murmurs, voice low enough to melt into the sound of your skates. “Wouldn’t want you to fall before the competition.”

For a moment, it’s hard to tell if he’s talking about the performance—or the way his gaze lingers on you a little too long.