Worth The Wait

𝟐𝟒|𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓

𝐋𝐔𝐂IE 𝐁𝐀𝐒I𝐋𝐋E

It was one of those days that felt heavier than usual. The rink, always a familiar space where I could lose myself in the rhythm of training, felt oddly charged. River was on the other side, stretching in preparation for our session, and I was already thinking about the challenge ahead. This new sequence I'd devised was going to push him—hard. He had the raw talent, no doubt, but the finesse, the precision, was something entirely different.

"Ready for your punishment?" I called over to him, a teasing smile tugging at my lips as I adjusted my gloves.

River shot me a look, cocking an eyebrow. "I thought you said you were teaching me, not torturing me."

"Well, it's going to feel a bit like both," I replied. "This isn't going to be easy. You've got a lot of catching up to do."

"I'm up for it," he said with a grin that made it clear he wasn't backing down. I almost admired the cocky confidence. Almost.

I started by showing him the sequence—a rapid series of spins, jumps, and an intricate footwork pattern that required perfect timing and fluidity. It was a routine I'd been working on for weeks, one that could showcase both our strengths and our weaknesses. And if River could master it, it would definitely help him stand out at the Olympics.

His first attempt was... rough. He barely landed the jump, and his spins were more like awkward pivots than the precise rotations they were supposed to be. The footwork was a disaster. But River didn't quit. He didn't sulk or whine. Instead, he got back up and tried again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, he improved. His form was still a long way from perfect, but I could see it in his eyes. He was determined.

"Better," I said after a particularly smooth jump-spin combo. "You're getting there."

River shot me a smirk. "Getting there? I'm already halfway there."

"Don't get cocky," I warned, but there was something about the way he said it—something that made me realize just how far he'd come. He was pushing himself harder than I had ever expected, and I had to admit, it was starting to make a difference. I had always thought of him as just the guy I had to beat, the guy who got under my skin in every possible way. But now, in the thick of this routine, I saw him as a partner—someone who was genuinely working toward the same goal.

The sequence began to fall into place. Slowly but surely, River's balance improved. His timing was still off in places, but the frustration in his eyes had shifted to focus. He was getting there—maybe not as quickly as I would've liked, but he was improving. And the better he got, the more I realized that maybe, just maybe, we weren't so different after all.

We spent the next few hours refining the program. River followed my guidance more easily now, his movements more fluid with every pass. By the end of the session, he wasn't perfect, but I had to admit—he was close. We had made significant progress, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.

As we both cooled down, I looked over at him, and for the first time in a while, I saw something that resembled respect in his eyes.

"You're not half bad," I said, a rare compliment slipping out.

He grinned. "I know."

I rolled my eyes, but there was no malice in it anymore. "You've come a long way since we first started training together."

"Yeah," he said thoughtfully, catching his breath. "I guess you're not as terrible a teacher as I thought you'd be."

I smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."