𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭

thirty one

Kaiden

Ethan and I sat in the packed bleachers, surrounded by fans murmuring about the skaters and routines. I wasn't planning on spending my Saturday here—figure skating wasn't exactly on my list of things to watch.

But Ethan had somehow convinced me, rambling about how these skaters were hardcore athletes. So, here I was, trying not to look too out of place.

Every so often, a skater would nail a jump, and the crowd would gasp or clap. Ethan would lean over, explaining the moves like he'd been an expert his whole life.

I mostly nodded along, half-watching, half-bored, until the announcer finally called her name.

Delphine.

I straightened a bit without meaning to, my attention snapping to the ice as she glided out.

Her expression was unreadable, all focus and intensity, as she found her starting position.

The leotard she wore—a mix of sky-blue and black—hugged her figure perfectly, highlighting every line, every sharp angle that seemed almost crafted for the ice.

There was this strength in the way she held herself, like she'd gone through hell and back and made it look easy.

The music started, low and haunting, and she began to move. It was slow at first, fluid, each step precise, like she was pouring every thought and feeling into every single move. I watched her arms, the way they extended, and then her legs, the way they bent just right, carrying her across the rink as if she were flying. My chest tightened a little, and I leaned forward, trying to ignore the strange tension in my stomach.

And then, she launched into her jumps. I couldn't help but hold my breath, watching as she twisted in the air, her body folding and extending with such perfection that it didn't seem real. She landed each one smoothly, transitioning right into the next movement, like she had everything planned down to the second.

"She's really going all out," Ethan muttered, impressed.

I barely heard him. My focus was locked on her, and it didn't make sense why. I'd seen her practice before, but this... this was different. There was something in her face—an intensity I hadn't noticed before. She wasn't just skating. She was competing against something, maybe herself, maybe the ice. Hell, I didn't know, but it was fierce and consuming, like nothing else in the room mattered.

She powered through another set of spins, her arms tucked close, her body tight and spinning fast. It was mesmerizing, the way she could hold herself together with so much force and precision. And yet, she didn't look tense; she looked calm, almost as if she was at peace in this controlled chaos she'd created on the ice.

I found myself studying her, really looking at her for the first time. Her face was set, her jaw tight, eyes narrowed, completely in her own world. I watched the lines of her back, the way her shoulders moved, the symmetry of her form—how each limb extended gracefully, yet with an underlying power. She wasn't just skating; she was commanding the ice, forcing it to bend to her will. And for some reason, I was locked in, unable to look away.

She launched into a triple jump, each rotation quick and precise, her body moving in perfect alignment. When she landed, her eyes flashed, just for a moment, and I swore I saw a glimpse of something.

Maybe satisfaction, maybe relief, maybe... something deeper. But then she was off again, lost in her routine, and I was just one of the many watching, captivated.

I could barely explain it. There were dozens of skaters, all talented, but none of them did what she did.

None of them made it feel like the ice was alive, like it was reacting to her movements, yielding under her power.

She was... something else entirely.

It made no sense why I cared, why I was sitting here with my heart pounding like an idiot, unable to pull my eyes away. But there was this tension, this almost uncomfortable fascination that wouldn't let up. Like she was hiding something, a mystery she was pouring into every jump, every spin, and I was caught up in it, whether I wanted to be or not.

As she neared the end of her routine, she spun into a final sequence, faster and faster, until she became a blur of black and blue. Her body moved with a force I couldn't wrap my head around, sharp and deadly but beautiful. And then the music ended, and she stopped, right in the center of the rink, breathing hard, eyes focused on some point beyond us all.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, my chest feeling oddly tight. She was incredible. I mean, I'd known she was good, but this was different. This wasn't just about her talent; it was about something deeper. Something that had her pushing herself to the edge, like she was fighting her own battle out there.

Beside me, Ethan was clapping, and the crowd was roaring, but I was just... silent, lost in thought. She didn't know I'd seen her, didn't know she'd made me feel anything. She probably didn't care. But watching her on that ice, with that intense look in her eyes, I couldn't shake the question in my mind.

Why did she do this?

Why did she put herself through this kind of pressure, this kind of torment?

What was driving her, pushing her to skate like her life depended on it?

I glanced down, trying to shake the thought, trying to convince myself it was nothing. But deep down, I knew I was kidding myself. There was something about Delphine that I couldn't ignore. Something fierce, something raw.

And I wasn't sure I was ready to understand why it mattered so damn much.