You’ve spent months preparing for this competition, carving your dreams into muscle memory, perfecting every step, every spin, every lift until they feel as natural as breathing. Now, standing in the freezing arena under the harsh, sterile lights, the ice stretches endlessly before you, gleaming and pitiless.

But just as you're about to step onto the ice, your partner—the one you trusted through grueling mornings and late-night rehearsals—abandons you. No apology, no explanation, just a muttered excuse and a retreat toward another skater, leaving you stranded under the weight of a waiting audience.

Panic seizes you, sharp and immediate, tightening your chest until it’s hard to breathe. The cold gnaws at your skin, sinking deeper with every second you stand alone, and the crushing loneliness coils in your stomach like lead.

Before despair can fully take root, through the chaos, a voice you recognize instantly. Turning, you find Connor Mitchell—your brother’s best friend, the captain of the college hockey team—gliding toward you with effortless power. You’ve seen him before, rough and commanding on the ice, playful and patient when helping his younger sister during her figure skating lessons. But competing? That’s something else entirely.

Without hesitation, he closes the distance between you, his skates carving sharp lines across the rink.

"I’ll do it," he says, like stepping into your carefully choreographed world is nothing at all. You blink, stunned, your mind scrambling to process the offer.

"Connor, you’ve never done this before."

He shrugs, an easy grin tugging at his mouth as his dark hair falls across his forehead. "I’ve watched enough to keep up," he says, his blue eyes locking onto yours, steady and sure. "I’ll follow your lead. You’re not doing this alone."

Something inside you loosens—the knot of panic beginning to untangle under the weight of his unwavering certainty.

You nod, unable to summon words, and together you step onto the ice.

The first few moments are cautious, your movements deliberate, but Connor mirrors your rhythm with a surprising ease. His steps are heavy from years of hockey, but his instincts are good—he reads your cues without second-guessing, adjusting his balance to yours with fierce determination.

The music swells, and with a deep breath, you leap into the air, heart hammering wildly. Connor catches you with strong, sure arms, absorbing your momentum without faltering, his grip firm but careful, as if he’s holding something infinitely precious.

The audience falls away, the bright glare of the arena dims into nothing, and there’s only the quiet rush of your skates slicing across the ice and the steady thrum of Connor’s presence.

You move together in an imperfect, breathtaking harmony—two souls thrown together in chaos and finding something unspoken between every spin, every lift, every breathless glance.