Worth The Wait

𝟏𝟓|𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝚮 𝐓𝚮𝚬 𝐖𝚨𝐈𝐓

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐘 𝐁𝚨𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝚬

The rink is cold. The sharp sting of the ice beneath my blades is nothing new. But today, there's something off. Maybe it's the pressure—getting closer to the Games with every passing day. My routine feels like it's slipping through my fingers, and I can't seem to shake it. My movements don't have that same edge, that perfection I'm used to.

I glance over at River. He's standing there, staring down at his skates. He's been fidgeting with his laces for what feels like forever, and I almost wonder if he's avoiding me, avoiding the fact that he's nowhere near where he needs to be on this ice.

"I'm ready," he says, finally lifting his eyes to mine.

I raise an eyebrow, instinctively sizing him up. He looks determined. Almost too determined, but I can't tell if it's genuine or just another one of his "I've got this" moments. He doesn't always come through, not when it comes to skating anyway. I don't want to be disappointed again.

"Sure?" I ask, keeping my tone cool, casual. He can't know how much I've been doubting his commitment to this, to us.

River doesn't flinch. His face softens, and for a split second, I see something else—a vulnerability that catches me off guard. I don't let it show. I won't.

"Yeah. Let's just do it," he says, his voice steadier than I expect.

I don't know what it is, but something in the way he says that almost makes me hesitate. It's different. There's something different about him today. Maybe it's just me, but I can't help the strange flutter in my chest. He's quiet, focused, and I find myself wondering if this whole thing actually matters to him more than I thought.

I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the weird tension. "Alright. But if you drop me, I'll make sure you never hear the end of it."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and for the first time in a long time, I feel something shift in the air between us.

We begin the lift. It's just a simple move, one we've done before, but I've never trusted him this much. Never let myself believe he could get it right. He reaches for my waist, his hands warm against the cold, and I prepare myself for the usual stumble, the awkward pause. But it doesn't come.

This time, it's different. River's hands are firm, secure, his movements smooth, controlled. For the first time, I feel completely weightless as he lifts me. I'm in the air, my body aligned, balanced, and I don't feel the usual panic creeping in. There's something about the way he holds me, like he knows exactly what he's doing. It's... impressive.

I lock eyes with him, and for a split second, I forget everything. The Games, the pressure, the distance between us. There's something raw in his gaze, something real. It's like we're finally working together. But the walls—the ones I've spent so long building—they're still there. I feel them, pressing in around us, reminding me of everything that makes this partnership a mistake.

I clear my throat, unwilling to let myself feel anything more than that fleeting moment. I don't need him. I don't need anyone. Not like this.

And then, just as easily as it began, River lowers me back to the ice. His hands linger on my waist for a second longer than necessary, but I don't let myself acknowledge it.

"Well," I say, keeping my voice casual, "that wasn't terrible."

River grins, that familiar cocky smile spreading across his face. "Told you I could do it."

I can't help the small, almost reluctant chuckle that escapes my lips. Maybe I was wrong. He actually did it. But it doesn't mean anything. It doesn't change anything. It's just a lift. One moment, one success in the middle of all the chaos.