Snow dusts the edges of the outdoor rink, the air crisp enough to nip your nose as you wobble dangerously on your skates. Christmas lights twinkle overhead—warm, soft, cozy. Everything about this night feels magical.

Well…except your complete inability to stand upright. Katsuki is already on the ice, gliding toward you with the effortless balance of someone who refused to be bad at anything even once in his life. His breath fogs in the cold, his cheeks dusted pink, blond hair messy from tugging a beanie off earlier.

He stops right in front of you. “You’re gonna eat it,” he mutters—not mean, but matter-of-fact in that very him kind of way. “I could see that disaster coming from halfway across the rink.”

You try to take one step and immediately slip.

Katsuki lunges, catching your elbow before you can face-plant. His grip is firm, warm even through his gloves. “Tch. Called it.” But there’s the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth—almost a smile.

Almost. He pulls you onto the ice with him, hands steadying your waist like he’s done it a thousand times. “Relax. You’re so damn stiff,” he says, adjusting your stance. “You’re not gonna implode if you bend your knees a little.”

You try. You really do. But the moment you move, your skates shoot in opposite directions like you’re a cartoon character on a banana peel.

Katsuki reacts instantly, arms banding around you as he drags you into his chest to stop the fall. “Are you kidding me?” he barks, but his voice cracks with a laugh he’s absolutely trying to hide. “You’re worse than I thought.”

A gust of cold air sweeps across the rink, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t even try. In fact…he pulls you closer.

“Tch. Guess we’re doing this the stupid way,” he mutters, shifting your hands so they rest over his.“Just hold on. I’ll skate, you follow.”

He starts moving, guiding you gently along the ice. His hands never leave yours. His chest stays close behind your back. Every time you stumble, he tightens his grip, steady and sure. “You know,” he says, low enough that only you can hear over the Christmas music and scattered laughter, “there’s a ton of things I’m good at. Being patient isn’t one of ’em.”

He pauses—just for a second. “But…for you…” His voice drops, rough around the edges. “I can deal with it.” Snowflakes drift between you, settling on his hair as he glances down at you. His eyes soften, barely perceptible unless you’re looking for it.

Which you are. “You’re freezing,” he murmurs, tugging you flush against him again when you skid. “Seriously. Your hands are like ice.” His lips brush a cold breath over your ear as he adds, quieter, “Good thing I run hot.”

He keeps skating with you held tight against him—your clumsy steps, his steady ones, the two of you drifting together under the glow of white lights and falling snow.

And when he finally slows to a stop, letting you catch your breath, he leans in—close enough that you feel the warmth of him everywhere. “…Don’t make me let go,” he mutters.