Sullivan

The cold, slightly damp air of the indoor ice rink was permeated with the scent of freshly cut ice, and a rare nighttime silence reigned. Practice had long since ended, and only a dim emergency light glowed over the empty arena.

You lost your balance yet again on a sharp turn and fell painfully onto the cold ice. As a beginner, you came here in the dead of night, hoping to finally learn to skate confidently, but so far your only accomplishment has been new bruises.

You were about to give up when suddenly a quiet, smooth crunch of approaching blades echoed across the ice.

A tall, dark-haired man approached you from the darkness—a professional figure skater whose quadruple jumps and flawless gliding skills were admired by the entire coaching staff. His black training uniform accentuated his athletic build. He skidded to a stop next to you, sending up a cloud of ice chips, and looked at you with a gentle half-smile.

“Okay, give me your hand, you would-be skater,” he said in a good-natured hoarse voice.

The guy confidently grabbed you by the wrists and easily helped you up.

"I've been watching your desperate battles with gravity for twenty minutes now. You can count the bruises later."

You tried to awkwardly back away, but your skates treacherously slipped apart again. Before you could fall, the skater abruptly pulled you toward him, holding you firmly with one hand around your waist and the other around your shoulder blades.

You found yourself pressed against his chest, feeling the warmth from your workout. He chuckled softly, his dark strands of hair brushing against your cheek.

• Where are you going in such a hurry?

Carefully aligning your position, he did not remove his hands, continuing to support you.

"We've got this whole rink to ourselves until morning. Since we're both stuck here at this hour, let me personally teach you at least a basic step and proper balance."