Chapter Text
You thought you'd like ice skating, because you like water. You like the feeling of cold liquid against your face, hands and toes and your body in the mornings, and you like the droplets of water falling down on your shoulders from your wet hair. You thought that if you'd combine two things you love— water and John— you'd get something amazing, but. No. You were so, so wrong. ("But, Dave, there's no difference. It's water. It's just... frozen.")
He looks at you, you know.
"Dave."
He's far from you.
"Dave."
He's closer now.
You open your eyes, slowly. You blink a few times and look at him; he looks at you, amused smile playing on his lips. You gaze at your hands that are wrapped around the metal bar, holding yourself close to it, and if you weren't wearing red mittens you'd see your white knuckles and your red palms, to match the color of the material and your cheeks and nose. You don't want to let go; you will keep your death grip on this bar.
"You have to move."
"No," you respond quickly, eyes darting down. You almost see yourself in the ice. You blink again and start to be somewhat annoyed by the fact that gusts of wind keep blowing in your eyes and it stings because it's cold and you don't know what to do and you had to leave your shades and you don't want to look up and everything sucks.
"Princess, sorry to break it to you but no one cares about the color of your eyes, if that's what you're actually concerned about."
You feel a little offended— you shouldn't-
— but sigh because he's right. If you could, you'd raise your foot and drop it on the floor in a childish manner just to annoy him. But if you move, if you move just one inch, your legs will shoot up in front of you and you will slip away from the gravity's grasp and you do not want to fall on your ass here.
"John, I don't like this."
He giggles and moves closer to you. He stands in front of you now and makes a pirouette, like a fucking ballerina, and air swooshes as he does the exact same thing and you see him on the opposite side of the rink you are now. He makes a gesture with his hand, provoking you to move and you faintly see him wiggling his eyebrows.
You gulp and try to slowly, really slowly, soften your grasp on the bar and push yourself away from the safety of it.
Dave: release the Kraken.
Yes, because that's exactly what you look like. You look like a huge, dying octopus, with your hands flailing around you and your legs bending, trying to keep your damn balance and your dignity. You straighten your back and your legs, and your arms fall at your sides. You are moving slowly. You now look like a fucking plank but who cares, you feel like a queen. Yes, you are The Queen. You can totally do this! You are full of confidence right now, you actually sway your hips a little, and no, there's noROOM LEFT
for anything because you fucking did it, you're ice skating, there's no room left for Jesus, do you hear that?
It's the sound of you shrieking like a terrified five year old kid because you're starting to fall forward, not on your ass, and your face will meet the cold hard floor and you will break your totally perfect nose. You flail and thrash and try to stop yourself from falling.
You close your eyes and wait for the worst.
Which never comes, because you feel warmth surrounding your body and you feel the firm grip of two hands pulling you closer to another body and you're saved.
You look up at him and he smiles back with his whole face and his blue eyes are glittering (with amusement or not, you don't know).
"Hello," John says, his hands moving on your waist.
"Hello yourself," you respond, glancing around you— he's right, no one gives a flying fuck unless you hit the floor and break a bone—, and you wrap your arms around his neck.
He keeps you close, with his lips on your forehead, leaving soft pecks of encouragement as he starts skating backwards and it takes you a few moments to give up on your ego and let him have his way and even if you're wearing a fuzzy, large coat you still feel the warmth of his hands, maybe through the warmth of his smile, or his eyes above your hair. You start moving your own feet in the same way he does.
John laughs and pulls away, grabbing your hands, still skating backwards in front of you. You can't stop the smile from spreading on your flushed cheeks.
"See? It isn't so bad."
"That's because you're... shit... you're the one who does most of the skating," you mumble, trying to keep up with him. He's so multi-task, if you talk too much you can't concentrate on moving your legs and fuck up. You panic when a couple skates past you and touches your arm, almost making you trip. The girl turns to face you and mumbles an apology and John nods at her. She turns around and holds the other's girl- girlfriend maybe?- hand and she, yuuuup, girlfriend.
You turn your face towards John, who is still holding your hands, but looking around him.
"Hey, John."
He hums to let you know you have his attention. You push yourself closer to him, and you whisper a quick "look at me" before you place your hands on his face and make him look at you. His hands are once again wrapped around your middle, and he smiles before leaning down to kiss you.
Yeah, sure, maybe it's not that bad.
But you do end up falling on your ass, anyways.