Worth The Wait

𝟑𝟏|𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓

I glance at River beside me, his usual steely focus on the task ahead, but there's something different about him today. Maybe it's the way he's standing, so grounded and steady, or the subtle shift in the way he's looking at me—there's a quiet certainty in his eyes, and for once, I'm not afraid of it.

Our routine is almost there. It's close. We've been practicing for what feels like forever, and yet, it's only now that I feel like we're on the cusp of something real. Something more than just a partnership.

River and I—we've always had this tension between us. Even when I was just trying to keep him at arm's length, even when I couldn't stand him, there was something that connected us. And now, as I look at him, my heart racing just a little faster than it should be, I realize that it's not just about skating anymore. It's more than that.

I can feel it deep inside me—the change. The bond we've built, piece by piece. It started as a rivalry, yes, but somewhere along the way, it became something else. Something I'm not sure either of us was ready for, but something I can't ignore.

His voice breaks through my thoughts, low and steady. "You good?"

I take a deep breath, looking at him. Really looking at him, the way I never have before. I nod, trying to push the anxiety from my chest. "Yeah. Let's do this."

And just like that, we're in sync again, the rhythm of our movements falling into place as if we've been doing this for years. The steps that once felt awkward and forced now feel natural, fluid—like we belong here. Together.

I feel my heart settle, the nervous energy I've been carrying for weeks finally giving way to something more calm, more certain. We're going to make this work. I can feel it in my bones.

As we glide into the next section of our routine, the tension between us starts to ease. The earlier lift was flawless, and now the movements are flowing one after the other with an ease I haven't felt before. I can almost feel the weight of the routine shift, like we've unlocked the final piece of the puzzle. There's no awkwardness, no hesitation—it's just us, in perfect sync, our bodies moving together like we've done this for years.

We move into the next step, a fast-paced series of spins and intricate footwork that I've always struggled with. My feet are light on the ice, almost like they're gliding without any effort. River matches me step for step, his movements sharp and precise. I can't help but look at him—his concentration, the way his body moves with such purpose. For the first time, I'm not focused on the competition or the mistakes we've made. I'm focused on him.

River catches my eye for a fraction of a second, and there's a flicker of something there—something soft, something that wasn't there before. It's enough to make my heart skip. I force myself to look away, to focus on my next step, but I feel him beside me, steady, solid. I can feel his presence in every move we make.

We move into a quick sequence, our skates cutting into the ice as we spin and shift, perfectly in tune. I've never felt so connected to anyone before, not like this. The music pulses around us, and we're no longer just performing. We're living the routine. It's as though the music itself is guiding our movements, wrapping us in its rhythm.

When we hit the final footwork pattern, the one I've always dreaded because of how easily we've stumbled before, I feel the usual flicker of doubt. My foot slides just a little too far out of position, and my body starts to lose its balance. For a split second, my stomach drops, and I brace myself for the fall I've come to expect from every misstep.

But then River's hand is there. Solid. Steady. He pulls me back into the movement, without hesitation, without any of the earlier uncertainty. His grip is strong, his touch confident, guiding me back into place like nothing ever happened. It's like he knew exactly when I would falter, exactly when I needed him.