Chapter 25 You Don’t Get To Choose When
You Don't Get To Choose When
The rink waited in silence with the kind of stillness that was heavier than I thought. The lights above set the scene aglow, reflecting the smooth surface of the ice. I waited by the railing, the cold, clawing at my hands, where they gripped the metal. I watched Wyn as he fastened his skates.
I loved the expression on his focused face, head bent and a singular white streak fell over his eyes.
“You really want me to do this?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with a quiet challenge.
I nodded, trying to sound indifferent. “Of course, if you can woo the judges at the Olympics then you sure as hell can woo me.”
“The Olympics was light work compared to you.” He sighed then took is bottom lip between his teeth and sighed.
“Oh I know.” I hummed, “But I want to see, aren’t you going to give me what I want Wyn?”
A slow smirk tugged at his lips, and he stood, his presence commanding even in this quiet moment. “Alright,” he said simply, stepping onto the ice. “Although this does feel oddly intimate.”
The shift in his demeanour was instant, almost as if he were possessed by a completely different entity, he skated a lazy circle at first as though testing the ice before sliding across like there was lightning bolts beneath his feet. So gracefully and intentionally it struck me to my core.
He suddenly spun around where the metal of his skate glinting in the light as he pivoted his arms gliding through the air with such precision.
My breath hitched. I never thought I would ever see skating as anything more than a tedious sport, but in this moment I knew, it was a form of self-expression, and art.
A performance that felt as though it were only for me just as I’d asked.
There was a softness to it that I didn’t see when he was on TV.
He then began to circle me in slow, agonizing movements, and I could tell that he wanted me to stand still, if I moved in the slightest, I would injure, not only myself, but him too.
His fingers then circled my middle ever so slightly.
When he stopped his chest, rose and fell in deep breaths, his gaze fixed on mine he skated away and then towards me. ??
“You’re staring,” he said, a flicker of amusement in his tone.
I crossed my arms, feigning composure. “You’re decent, I guess.”
He chuckled, leaning against the railing in front of me, his face suddenly close. Too close. “Just decent?”
The air between us felt heavier, charged with something unspoken. The sheer closeness of him was dizzying.
“I’ll admit that it’s hot, but you could do better,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
“You think I’m hot?” He queried. A hint of amusement in his tone.
“Quite.” I affirmed, “But that doesn’t mean I’ll accept a mediocre performance from the people’s prince himself. Do better I know you’re holding back.
“Holding back?” he repeated, his gaze holding mine. “Am I to orchestrate a performance worthy of let’s say Tokyo circa 2019?”
My heart raced as the seconds stretched. “Show me,” I said, forcing the words out, my voice steadier now.
His lips curved into a small smile, and he held out his hand. “Come on.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You said you wanted more,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “So come with me.”
I hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. But something in his gaze made it impossible to say no. Wynter’s hands were on me immediately, steadying me as my skates touched the ice. His grip was firm, his fingers warm against my waist.
“Relax,” he said, his voice low and close. “I’ve got you.”
His breath was steady and even as he guided me across the ice.
“You’re doing fantastic look at you,” he teased, his tone light but his gaze intent.
“I’m not doing anything,” I shot back, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened. “You’re dragging me.”
“More like keeping you from falling face flat,” he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “But you’re still here.”
The words lingered, heavier than they should have been. His hands slid from my waist to my wrists, guiding my arms out slightly as if he were shaping me into something softer, more fluid. The intimacy of the moment was almost too much, his closeness overwhelming.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
His lips parted, but he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned in, his face inches from mine. My breath caught, the tension between us taut and electric.
“Because I want to,” he said softly, his voice a confession. “Because I can.”
The rink was silent, the cold air sharp against my skin, but Wynter’s presence was all-consuming. He stood close, his breath visible in the chill, his voice low but firm.
“Put your trust me,” he commanded with such authority he only embodied on the ice.
he pulled me gently onto the center of the ice, his touch steadying. His fingers found my waist, his grip solid and commanding.
“This is the tricky part,” he murmured. “Don’t look down, that makes it worse.”
Before I could reply, he lifted me up into the air. My pulse raced—not from fear, but from the sheer exhilaration of being in his hands, of being at surrender to him completely.
And then he caught me. His arms wrapped tightly around me, holding me close. My breath came short as I pressed against him, our bodies perfectly aligned. His chest rose and fell against mine, his dark eyes searching my face.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but tinged with something heavier, something I couldn’t name.
I nodded, my hands clinging to his shoulders. I should’ve stepped back, but his grip didn’t loosen, and neither did mine.
“You didn’t let me fall,” I whispered.
His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile. “I never will.”
“Hmph you say that now…” I grumbled.
The space between us thinned to nothing. His fingers tightened at my waist, and his gaze dipped to my lips for just a second—a second too long. The air was thick with something unspoken, something dangerous.
“Come again?” he asked, his voice rough, barely above a whisper.
I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t breathe.
The world around us seemed to vanish, the cold air, the hum of the lights, everything but him. He leaned closer, his eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me. My heart raced, my skin buzzing with anticipation.
But then, just as his lips hovered near mine, I stepped back, breaking the moment.
“No,” I said, my voice trembling but firm.
His brows furrowed, confusion flashing across his face. “Yesoh—”
“I know what you want.” I breathed heavily,
“And what is that?” He mused,
“Don’t play naive with me. I know that you think you want this now but I won’t settle for an impulse.” I informed him skating backwards. “I’m more than that.”
“Yesoh what’re you talking about?” He questioned,
And then it hit me like a truck. He had no idea how I felt this entire time, he had no idea that he was my first crush, the first boy I ever liked.
He had no idea that all this time my heart had been reaching out to him.
And that realization hurt more than expected, the realization that all this time I had been falling all on my own.
Time and time again I had fallen to the ground, bruising my knees in the process.
How dare he wake up one day and decide on a whim that he wants me back, how dare he merely want me when I’ve needed him always?
“You know, I thought that this was what I wanted, but this isn’t right,” I said, my voice sharp now, the emotions I’d kept buried rising to the surface. “you—you can’t just wake up one day and decide you want me, and just like that, you think you can have me.”
His expression shifted, hurt flickering in his eyes, but I didn’t stop. “I don’t understand…”
“You see the thing with you Wynter, is that you know that you’re beautiful, you know that you can bat an eye and have rows of women collapsed to their feet.
That’s why you think that things should be this easy for you, because they always have been with girls.
But not with me, I won’t allow that not this time. ”
“Hey, where is this coming from?” He questioned grabbing ahold of my wrist and I held his gaze breathing heavily and swallowing hard.
“You don’t get to do that,” I said, my voice cracking. “You don’t get to decide when I matter.”
The weight of my words hung between us, heavy and unrelenting. I turned away, stepping off the ice and grabbing my shoes.
“Yesoh, wait,” he called, his voice soft but urgent.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. The tears were already burning at the corners of my eyes, and I refused to let him see me cry.
After that, I decided to do what any sane individual would do after experiencing a crisis in which the boy she’s been obsessed with since she was a kid finally decided that he wanted her.
I decided to run away to my dad’s apartment in downtown New York to play video games with my little brother Soleh.
The apartment smelled faintly of takeout and laundry detergent when I walked in, letting the door click shut behind me.
Soleh was already sprawled on the couch, a controller in hand and his laptop balanced on the coffee table.
His lanky frame barely fit into the cushions anymore, but his posture was the same—relaxed, half-slouched, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
He looked like mom more and more as he got older, with her curls and soft features.
“Hey,” I called, taking off my boots and dropping my bag by the door.
Soleh turned, grinning in that easy, teasing way he always did. “Soh. You’re just in time. I’m about to make a Sim sacrifice themselves in the pool.”
I rolled my eyes but made my way over anyway, collapsing onto the couch beside him. “I don't think that this is what EA imagined the game would be used for, have you considered feigning normalcy perhaps?”