I have everything, except you - Thomas Brodie Sangster fic

11. Paradice (deliberate typo ;))

He glided across the glassy surface, slipping through people, smooth and slow. He rounded each corner gracefully, fluid movements making him appear swan-like.  

I, on the other hand, stuttered around the ice, my arms flailing wildly and my knees locked, always on the brink of toppling over.

After a few minutes he slid over to me, and skated by my side. Whenever I started to lose my balance he would hold his arm out for me to grab, and chuckled whenever I did. I ended up clinging to him for three laps around the rink, so he decided to try teach me how to not look like a seal on land. 

He clasped both my hands tightly, and turned backwards, so he was facing me. I looked at my feet, completely clenched so I wouldn't wobble. 

He tilted my chin up with his finger, smiling encouragingly as my eyes met his.

"Keep your eyes up here, it'll help, you know," He stayed looking at me for a second, then took his hand away from my face and gripped my other hand again. He led me around slowly, praising me every time we completed a circuit. 

"I don't know how you can skate backwards when I can barely do it facing the right way," I laughed, getting distracted and tripping. Fortunately, Thomas caught me and pushed me back upright.  He didn't answer, only frowned a little.

"How did you get so good?" I asked, he looked like he was holding back something. 

"Well, don't judge me, it was a while ago.. I used to do figure skating." He confessed, biting his lip. 

"I won't judge you, silly. That's actually pretty cool, but I couldn't imagine you in a leotard," I said, and we were both silent for a moment before he looked at me, raising an eyebrow. We both burst out laughing, and I crashed to the ice, this time Thomas was laughing so hard he couldn't catch me. 

"I think we should get out of the rink before you break something, Milly," He helped me up and out of the little gate, while I looked at my watch and discovered that we had been there for two hours. The time had gone so quickly.

We sat down with some hot chocolate in a random cafe Thomas knew, it was crammed with old books and comfy armchairs, with posters of a whole lot of different bands adorning the spaces between shelves. We ordered and sat down facing each other, either side of a low table. 

"So tell me more about your secret skating career, why'd you start?" I asked, leaning on the arm of the chair.

"It was ages ago, there's not much to tell. Violet got me into it, actually," He told me, nodding. I'm bad at hiding my obvious lack of understanding, he saw straight through me. "Violet's the girl you bumped into that day, who can't hear." 

"Ah, right. That's cute. Um, just a quick question about Violet, does she not have hearing aids?" I asked, sipping my drink somewhat awkwardly.

"Not yet, it's a recent hearing loss, though. Her parents are saving for the cochlear implants she needs, so we've learnt sign language to cope until then," He sits casually while telling me all of this, one foot resting on the opposite knee, but I could tell it made him a bit upset, so I changed the subject. 

"Sounds like you've been friends for ages, just like me and Steph," I said, but I didn't really have much to say about her, I couldn't really just talk about her, or Pat, or anyone else, really.

"Do you like reading?" He asked me out of the blue.

"Reading's for losers," I reply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. He looks down, one side of his mouth pulled into a half smile.

"But yeah, I do." 

*

I had to wear the heavy platforms I'd bought the other week, didn't I? The ones that made sneaking in when mum was cooking in the room next door impossible? 

"And where have you been?" Folded arms, arched eyebrow, the all to familiar figure. 

"Just on a date, no biggie," 

"Well, you should have called. I was worried." Her tone drops for a moment, until Dad walks in to the kitchen. He must've been the one to remind her that I exist, the one who was actually wondering where I was and caring. 

He hates how strained my relationship with my mum has become, so his piercing blue eyes dart nervously between us before he tries to slip upstairs to his study. 

"Maybe I didn't feel like informing you of my every breath," I snap, sick of the conversation. 

"Phillip," My mum rests a hand on my father's shoulder, "Her attitude needs to stop, i'm going to fucking  lose it in a second," 

She whispers the cuss word, because she knows how much my dad hates swearing. He gives her a 'come now, dear' look, then turns it to me as he hears me mutter "Troll" under my breath.

I anticipate the slap, gold rings bruising my leg more, the sting that stays even after i've slammed my bedroom door and buried myself in my duvet.