Chapter 8 Wynter Chill
Wynter Chill
Istared at the notebook that had scribblings of all of our handwriting—I had written in black ink, Remi in blue, and Sydney in bright red.
It almost felt like we were plotting an evil scheme to take over the world, or at the very least an incredibly detailed recipe for mischief.
There were circles and dotted lines and scratched-out ideas—we’d spent at least two hours going through this plan until we were satisfied.
“This is it…it’s practically bulletproof,” Sydney declared, clearly feeling rather proud of herself.
“You think?” I wondered, always being the only skeptic in the room as per usual.
“Oh I know so, If this flops—”
“Which it won’t,” Remi emphasised, interrupting, “don’t forget that you’re addressing a ticking time bomb, Syd.”
“Hey!” I gasped in offence, but I knew deep down that she was right.
“If it fails, which I’m certain that it will not, then we will know that we’ve certainly been hexed by otherworldly forces,” Sydney concluded, and I couldn’t help but snort a laugh.
“Since when do you believe in the supernatural?” I prompted. “I have a strange feeling about this,”
“How so?” Sydney finally packed up her belongings as her phone pinged, “It’s Jax.”
“I don’t know, I just feel like it’s about to be a catalyst for so much,” I expressed, and Remi placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Isn’t that the point?” Remi smiled then took a deep breath, placing both hands on my shoulders now, her deep brown eyes looking down at me.
“Isn’t that what you want, what you deserve?
I don’t know, Yesoh, I’ve known you two freaking years and this is the most lively I’ve ever seen you.
I don’t know what on earth went down between you and the ice prince all those summers ago but something tells me that this isn’t the end. ”
“What if he wanted it to be, though?” I contemplated. “What if it really was supposed to be the end?”
“Then he wouldn’t have come knocking on your door the minute he got back, Soh, he just…wouldn’t have.” Sydney spoke with a such conviction it was easy to believe her. I wanted to. Just then she answered her phone. “I’m going over to Jax’s to study.”
“You really expect us to believe you’re going halfway across town to study?” Remi giggled. “Yeah sure!”
“Can’t a girl study at her boyfriend’s in peace? Damn, I didn’t know I was hanging out with the state police,” Sydney defended as if she’d just been accused of the worst crime in existence.
“Just don’t be a teen mom, Syd,” I warned her.
“I watched enough episodes of the show with you to be absolutely petrified, thanks.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m a big girl, don’t you trust me?”
“Well yes!” Remi agreed. “It’s Jax we don’t trust.”
“Oh, but you love Jax, everyone loves Jax, it’s kind of his thing!” Sydney protested.
“Of course I love Jax, and that’s why I’m warning both of you as your dear best friend not to drop out before your time, now run along!” I encouraged.
And they both did just that.
And then it was just me and my notebook.
I stared at it for a little while, and I could’ve sworn it seemed to glitter in the moonlight seeping in from the window.
It was incredibly late, and it wasn’t wise for me to be out at this hour, so I decided to clear my mind before the guilt of what I was plotting ate me alive.
I made my way back into the ballet studio and put on my shoes.
My feet were sore, but it was all just a part of the job.
I knew that. I knew that there was no gain without the most excruciating pain.
I knew that everything in this life came with strings attached.
I practised my arabesque and pirouettes because I knew they never wear my strong suit, and if I was going to be auditioning for the right of spring at the end of the season, I needed to perfect them.
I could feel the sweat collecting on my brow and my core tightening and muscle strain.
I knew that the pain I would feel the morning after would be worse than anything I felt now, and I didn’t know whether to take that as a comfort or something that I should dread.
The only light that bled into the practice room of the studio was from the dim lighting of the hallway, I practiced a few more steps, and even projected performances of the Nutcracker up onto the screen for me to see.
I made it my sole mission to mimic the body language of the prima ballerinas.
As I saw upon the stage, I would emulate them, and become grace personified.
At least that was what Madame Stacy always emphasized every time—she said that to be a ballerina was to be nothing but grace personified.
There was no room for chipped edges and cracks.
You were to be elegance embraced and grace personified.
“You did not say my name,” I heard a voice break the silence from the doorway, and I nearly tripped over in surprise.
It was the season after a crackling fall, the one before a blossoming spring. It was Wynter.
“What?” I wondered, taking the remote and pausing the projector video.
“Only after I left, and I had time to contemplate on the conversation that we had earlier at your dorm, I realized that during the duration of it, you did not say my name, not even once.” Wynter stepped into the moonlight—he wore no makeup now and his face was bare and beautiful.
He was all bee-stung plush lips, eyes so deep you could swim in them, and effortless radiance.
“Yes…and so?” I stood my ground.
“Why is that, I cannot help but be curious?” he taunted, and I shook my head in disbelief at how he could be so formal yet so familiar at the same time.
“What does it matter if I say your name, what do you want Wynter?” I quipped as his gaze shifted to my bag…where his diary was still peeking out.
“Ah.” He noticed it, stepping forward just as I did too, mimicking his step. “So you do have what belongs to me?”
“Yes I do, I found it in the box you left behind,” I confessed, and he paused for a beat, almost as if he were trying to decipher the meaning behind my words.
His face was always an optical illusion of mountains and highlands, swirling and whirling—just when I thought I could comprehend him, he shifted and a whole new image took its place.
There were no maps, no compass, no directions that could lead you to any fathomable conclusions about the depths of him.
“I do not understand, do you not intend to return it?” He stepped forward to reach for the diary, but I was quicker, taking it and holding it close to my chest and away from him.
“Honestly no, I had zero intent of giving this back to you. Just as you had zero intent of telling anyone you were back in town. I was ready to read it and uncover all your little truths…” I shifted on my feet and began to walk around him.
“And yet?” he queried, tilting his head in question.
“And yet. I don’t think I will.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I want something from you too.” I caught a glimpse of something close to irritation in his eyes. Close.
Wynter Kwon always gave you half-truths. Half glances, half promises, nothing about his being was complete. He would never reveal the entirety of any of his emotions, at least not willingly. Which is probably why he was so unsettled by the thought of me reading through his unfiltered thoughts.
“So you’re attempting to blackmail me?”
“No need for such grim and harsh language, aren’t girls allowed to take up hobbies anymore?” I responded, feigning offence.
“My sincerest apologies, girls are allowed to take up felonies for fun.”
“Ah, that’s more like it!” I applauded. “Now ask me again what is it that I want.”
“Want do you want, Soh?”
“Firstly, don’t call me that. That’s only for my close friends and family and you haven’t been that in a millenium,” I corrected him. “Secondly, what I wish for is very simple. I want you to teach me how to skate.”
“Down the sidewalk?” he prattled, and I rolled my eyes at him. “Oh…you cannot be serious.”
“On the ice,” I confirmed, “I want to know what it’s like.”
“That’s like teaching a human to breathe underwater and a fish to walk on land,” he concluded with a hint of humor to his tone. “Damn near impossible.”
“Why? I’m a ballerina, I have good balance and grace is of a second nature to me,” I defended, and he turned to face me directly.
“Ballet and figure skating may be distant cousins, but they’re not the same, you know that. You tried when we were kids and fell flat on your face, damn near breaking your nose. Why would you want to attempt this again?”
Because I want to be near you, to spend time with you in your world, I longed to say, but of course, I did not.
“Because I’m curious about it, I have been watching and learning a lot about the sport and I want to learn from…”
“The best?” he teased with a glimmer of sorts in his eyes from a compliment he crafted for himself. “You flatter me, Soh.”
“Quite the contrary, ice prince. You flatter yourself. As per usual,” I scorned. “I just want to learn from someone who knows a lot about it, okay?”
“If that were the case, if anyone would do, then you wouldn’t be here exercising your new criminal hobby on me,” he countered my argument and I narrowed my eyes at him.
He was smart, and that was endearing, but I was intelligent. And that was rather unfortunate for him.
“Here’s how things are going to go. You ready?”
“Enlighten me.”
“You’re going to teach me how to figure skate while you’re here, and in turn I will keep your diary on my highest shelf out of sight and out of mind. I won’t read a word. That’s, of course, if you teach me how to skate by the end of your stay.”
He arched a brow. “And how do I know that you truly will not read it?”
“Well. You’re just going to have to take my word for it,” I assured him.
“And how will I be certain that is any good?”
“You aren’t.”
“Ah. I see.” He nodded slowly, walking towards the window, the moonlight shining on his hair highlighting the single strand of silver, it almost seemed to glitter under its spell. He had his back turned to me.
“You don’t have to agree, I could always just crack open the diary and read—”
“Deal,” he responded, interrupting me, turning around.
Oh my god. Oh my god?
“Oh?” I smirked, folding my arms. “You’re giving it up that easy?”
“Nothing about any of this is easy,” he clarifies, “but I’ll do what I must.”
“Didn’t they ever tell you not to strike deals with the devil, Kwon?” I warned with a slight laugh.
“You are no devil, Soh.” He brushed past me, carrying the scent of vanilla and a rain long since poured. “No matter how much you’ve always believed yourself to be.”
And at that his words carved themselves into me, branding themselves onto my skin.
“What do you even know, hm?” I responded, feeling my breath knocked out of me.
He shook his head, pressing his tongue to his cheek, almost as if he knew something I didn’t, saw something I didn’t, the way he always did. Like he was so much older and wiser and…more than me.
He began to leave the room I quickly stopped him grabbing his arm as a thought crossed my mind that I couldn’t grasp in time to stop it from slipping past my lips. “Wait!”
“What is it?” he said, still not facing me.
“You might grow to despise me at the end of this,” I warned him in advance, I felt the need to.
“Despise you?” he repeated as if it were the most ludicrous statement he’d ever heard a day in his life. “Despise you…”
“Goodnight,” I concluded, taking my bag with me and quickly leaving.
Truly. What did he even know? He might hate me someday, maybe I would too.