The Safest Place
You don't remember now who started it, really, although you do remember the promise.
(When we get home, I'll teach you to ice skate, he'd said in Seoul, that day when the air was filled with so much tension that it nearly crackled in your ears, but you'd relented, had said all right, and had hidden his promise in a secret corner of your heart to present in case he'd forget.)
One hot summer day he remembers it too. As the city slowly becomes a jungle of concrete and steam, he says, I'll take you ice skating, his voice like gentle hands smoothing over wrinkled paper. You smile, and within the next hour you're both in the car daydreaming of fog and breaths that escape as clouds.
The rink smells of cold steel and sweat and is brimming with people. You scrunch up your nose when two pairs of skates are handed to you at the counter. The laces smell sour, but he helps you tie them nice and tight. When you first step on the ice, you feel like you'll fall, but you don't. It's harder than how you remember it to be, but with him you always feel a little braver, become a little bolder.
He holds your hand.
Left, right, left right...you've got it! You're a natural!
You tell him that you have actually ice-skated before and that you do know how to rollerblade, but secretly beam at the praise. The ice feels like frozen concrete and you really feel like you'll fall aaaany minute now,
but you don't.
He keeps holding your hand.
He's a natural skater and when he feels you can stand well enough on your own, leaves you to zoom around a lap or two. You imagine blur lines streaking from his back like smudged paint. He skates with the confidence and agility of a hockey player, his concentration only breaking when he catches you looking, and he hams it up by dancing to whatever music is playing.
There's only one fall. One.
The few seconds that your hand slipped from his somehow the ice became too slick and fought your skates and in an instant you're on the floor. You didn't feel anything to be honest, but the next time you show any semblance of falling, you feel a pair of hands at your waist to steady you, waiting til you get back your rhythm and balance before slowly letting go.
The highlight is the near-collisions.
There's a couple fumbling on the ice, moving along as though their joints are rigid or their bones jelly, and it's that particular time that you've already gotten used to moving on your own with a little bit of speed but still need practice with braking that they manage to find their way into your path, none of you actually knowing how to stop. You realize what's about to happen five seconds in and brace for impact.
The next thing you know is a pair of arms quickly envelop you in an embrace, and you turn, your face pressed against cloth and the steady sound of a beating heart. In one swift movement you're out of harm's way, and you can hear the mumbled apology from the other couple.
This is probably what Lois Lane feels like, you think, breathless. He's got you in a hug so secure that all your fears of falling have melted away.
Are you okay? he asks, brown eyes serious, concerned. You nod, your heart skipping a beat and your palms becoming sweaty. He smiles a corner smile.
I've got you. I won't let you go.
Hours later, even after leaving, you're certain you've left a small part of your heart on the ice.