#you will have to try prying tenderness between them (platonic or not) from my Cold Dead Fucking Hands and you Will Fail

[randomwriteronline]

What did Kopaka remember?

Quiet in the mountains. Chaos. Endless seas. Clanging of metal. Chills of adrenaline in battle.

Warmth in his chest.

The last one was puzzling.

The first three he could see; the second two he could imagine from a glorious past as a proud Toa, a warrior, a hero - the clear shape of it forgotten, but its meaning still there.

The last one, though.

The last one was puzzling.

He was a Toa of Ice. A being forged in endless blizzards, as unrelenting as the avalanche, the snowstorm, the glaciers - as impenetrable as the permafrost that freezes the roots on their path.

He was not supposed to feel warm in his chest.

He was not supposed to be clumsy or get lost easily, either.

Who had ever heard of that? A hero who could not find his path? Did that mean he would not have recognized his own destiny if the elder had not assigned a Protector to guide him? That he would have wandered aimlessly, confused, if not rescued and merely left to his own devices? That he could have been swayed by the minions of Makuta and turned into a foe of his own siblings with ease? That it could have taken as little as a step in the wrong direction to turn him to evil?

He tried not to dwell on that.

He tried desperately not to dwell on that.

He turned his thoughts to Pohatu.

It always helped, to turn his thoughts to Pohatu.

Pohatu was... Well.

Pohatu was perfect.

He was powerful, stalwart, dutiful. He did not speak unless needed, sometimes not even then. He remained serious, stoic, focused in the face of danger. Nothing could have made him crumble, nothing could have made him doubt or flinch. He was smart, and steady, and strong: he was above them all.

He was a proper hero.

The only one out of all the Toa who Kopaka could truly look up to, aspire to be like.

Tahu was too loud, obnoxious, bossy, Gali too neurotic and self-certain; Onua was kind, but slow to wits and hardly capable of dosing his power; Lewa refused to listen to anyone but himself.

And Kopaka, though try as he might to seem so, was far from perfect.

Pohatu was perfect.

He envied him. He adored him.

So what if he was aloof, what if he seemed to hate them? What if a Scorpio or two got him once? What if he got nervous in the dark, and needed a shoulder to lean on to steady his breathing again? Happens to the best of us.

Of course Kopaka would protect him.

Of course he would jump to his defense.

It was an honor.

A way to show him.

See? I am like you. I am a true warrior like you. I am a proper ally to you. I am worth your time.

What self-centered things to think.

But he could not help it.

Pohatu was perfect.

He truly was.

Kopaka watched him as he slept, warmed by a fire Tahu had set up, instead of focusing on the surroundings of the camp. He watched him safe from judgement, as all the others too were asleep - he could hear their breaths and snores, could tell them apart from those alone. He watched him: he slept sitting up, curled in on himself, hands clamped around his arms, knees pulled to his chest, head dangerously leaning forward always about to fall. The glow barely escaping the sliver between his eyelids was dim. Something in the way they were shut gave the impression he was frowning fiercely beneath his mask.

He looked so strangely small.

He never looked happy.

Why did that hurt?

That was just how he was. Never happy. Never overtly, maybe never at all. Always more concerned with something else.

Why did that hurt?

It was a phantom pain, behind his nape.

He could not place it, could not figure it out.

It must have been something, one of the many things he could not remember, not fully, not completely. Something shapeless, but still there.

What did Kopaka remember?

Quiet in the mountains. Chaos. Endless seas. Clanging of metal. Chills of adrenaline in battle.

Warmth in his chest.

Dark.

Mlexqr?

Mlexqr!

Mlexqr!

Pohatu was looking at him.

It scared him briefly.

His hand had somehow gone, all on its own, to find and hold the Toa of Stone's.

He hadn't even noticed he'd moved closer to him.

He hadn't even noticed he'd woken him up.

He hadn't even noticed he'd held his hand.

Pohatu was looking at him.

Kopaka looked back, silently, stupidly, because he could not have explained himself if he had wanted - and he wanted, stars above knew he wanted.

This was no heroic behaviour. This was no behaviour at all, period.

What would the other think of someone like that? Someone who moves closer to a sleeping person and holds their hand like that, for no reason, waking them up out of nowhere and not offering a single explanation for the trouble?

He was annoyed, certainly. He had to be. He had to hate him by now, for such an incomprehensible inane action.

What was he doing?

What was he doing?

He couldn't even answer himself.

He kept holding his hand.

He should have stopped.

He kept holding his hand.

Pohatu was looking at him.

He did not let go of Kopaka's hand.

The shape of his eyes seemed less furrowed. Slightly, only slightly. But it really did seem a little less furrowed.

Tenderly, comfortingly, uselessly, Kopaka caressed the other's knuckles with his thumb.

Pohatu let him.

They remained like that for a while.

A long while.

Kopaka watched intently as the other Toa's face, what little he could see of it, mellowed out until it was calm. He watched as his breathing turned deeper, more tranquil. As his body unclenched.

It reminded him of that moment as they walked underground, looking for a way back to the surface, before they'd emerged from the empty tomb into the city's cemetery - when Pohatu had suddenly leaned on him, silently, and had seemed to be soothed immensely by his mere presence.

Maybe Lewa had been right. Maybe he was afraid of the dark.

No wonder he had looked so terribly unhappy as he slept. There was nary a light in the sky. Even stars would have barely done anything to help.

He had nothing to worry about now, Kopaka's hand said with a gentle dead seriousness through the gentle chill that it emitted as he kept caressing Pohatu's knuckles with his thumb. He was there with him. He was not letting go of him.

The phantom pain behind his nape cried.

They did not say anything.

But Pohatu's dim eyes took a strange shape, a softer shape. A shape Kopaka recognized.

Beneath his mask, he was smiling.

Smiling.

Warmth in his chest.

So sweet and sudden that it burnt and singed and scarred him beneath his armor, potent enough to make his heart stutter and shake with a violence he wasn't sure anything else could replicate.

Kopaka tightened his hold a tad more.

Pohatu smiled.

Just a little, but he smiled.

Warmth in his chest.

The phantom pain behind his nape wailed.

Pohatu's head laid on his knees, maybe not too comfortable, but no longer at risk of slamming onto them. His hand was slack in Kopaka's, though it held on: it felt like a stone left under the sun, radiating pleasant heat upon a chilly palm.

He had fallen asleep again.

Kopaka continued caressing his knuckles for a moment more, just to make sure he wouldn't wake up immediately.

He looked into the fire, into the night. He should have let go, at some point: certainly the Toa of Stone wouldn't have enjoyed being made fun of by Lewa for needing his hand held throughout the night. Certainly he would have glared at him viciously, yanking himself away from his fingers with a hissed warning of never doing that ever again.

Or maybe he would have said nothing, and only hated him in silence.

Or maybe he would have said nothing, and held onto him still.

He thought back to the shape of his eyes when smiling.

Such a familiar shape.

A familiar look.

A warm look.

Warmth in his chest.

When Gali took over guard duty and allowed him to rest, Kopaka forgot to let go.

[theharellan]

Written for Stories of Thedas Volume II. Pairing: Solas & Cole (platonic) Prompt: Library

Masks upon masks. The Winter Palace is strange to Cole, who attends at the Inquisitor's bidding and finds himself at a loss for how to help. Solas comes upon him with ideas for how to cope with the deadly Game.

Read on AO3.

Couples spin on the dance floor, turning and turning, going nowhere and everywhere at once. Their heads fill with daydreams, one gazes into her partner’s eyes through their masks, imagining the hidden corners they could lose themselves in. Another, all he sees is the faint outline of a knife in his companion’s skirts, so all-consuming he almost forgets the steps. A third, their eyes bore holes into the other’s heads, hate springs from love eternal. His eyes dart from one couple to the next, glimpses into minds fraught with thoughts of a Game no one ever really wins.

He breathes in and feels the air catch in his throat. Honeyed words mask the taste of poison, cold compassion, they understand only so they can hurt. It isn’t right, it isn’t fair, it isn’t–

In the blink of an eye he’s in the library, surrounded by pages that whisper the words of yesterday. Not so sharp against his skin. Below, a dead man in the shape of a Warden pretends to stare at a plaque, praying no one will look at him twice, fearing they might see his valourous wings are clipped. It’s still a hurt, a tangle, but he’s trying to help. Cruelty does not become him. He lets out a breath he forgot he was holding, hands coming together to pull at his sleeves.

Oh.

He had forgotten about the uniform. The fabric doesn’t come away at his touch, no matter how hard he tugs.

And he misses his hat.

Cole wonders how long he will wait here, alone with his panic clawing at his throat. In the Spire he spent months isolated, forgotten by all save the one who no longer cares to know him. Suddenly the soft, inviting lights which illuminate the halls of the Winter Palace seem as cold as the dark cells they had kept Rhys in, clapped in irons for crimes Cole committed. Anxiety squeezes every inch of him. He counts the beats of the music that drifts from the distant dance hall, just to assure himself only minutes have passed since he came here.

A door opens behind him, and he nearly jumps into shadow, the Veil waiting to envelop him, drawing him from prying eyes, but a familiar face waits on the other side. “Solas!” he gasps, relieved and ashamed that he had doubted, but grateful most of all.

Solas shuts the door behind him, turning the handle so the latch doesn’t make a sound. “I thought I might find you here.”

That gives Cole pause. He hadn’t known he would find himself here, until it happened. “But I don’t read.” The books here are newer than those kept in the Pit, some hum with the occult, others recount poems about the shape of a woman’s hips, but he still doesn’t read. There isn’t a question in his tone, but Solas hears it, all the same.

“This place can be overwhelming for anyone, even without accounting for your abilities. Books carry meaning, but without eyes upon them those meanings are static. Far easier to take in,” he answers as he walks towards him, gait stiffer than usual. His feet had forgotten what it was like to wear shoes. Solas has been quiet that evening, quieter than usual, the stem of a glass glued between his fingers, bottomless. He lets his hat do his talking for him, the Drasca’s dissent lived on atop his head. He stops beside Cole, leaning upon the marble rail, gloved hands bearing weight. His eyes turn upon him, no brimmed hat to hide behind. “Are you all right?”

He pulls on his sleeves, this time he thinks he feels a thread come loose. “Yes... No? There are two faces for every person.” The Left Hand smiles and laughs, she comes alive, but inside it’s cold and cruel. The rose withers upon the vine. He finds the thread with his finger and pulls, but it doesn’t break. It unravels, further and further, if he keeps going his whole sleeve will be an unspooled mess on the floor. “I don’t know which to look at. I-I don’t know how to help.”

Solas reaches out, subduing his worrying hands with a single, steady touch. A gentle gesture, despite the blood which stains them. Sometimes they do not seem so different from his own, they remember the bodies because forgetting would be worse. Killer’s hands, but there is no deceit in their tenderness. Solas wraps the thread around his finger, string bright white against his brown glove, and he tugs. It snaps, suddenly brittle, and falls to the floor to be swept away by a servant who will never know they were here. A comforting hand is placed deliberately on his shoulder blade, and Cole stills. He inhales, eyes snapping from the abandoned thread to Solas. There is kindness in his eyes, quiet assurance. He has seen this all before and he will make it easier to bear. So many tricks just to make it through a day, an evening, an hour. “You will not find much compassion in these affairs, any help you offer will be perceived as duplicitous, a means to get what it is you desire.”

“Then I… shouldn’t help?”

He hesitates, delaying his answer with a moment’s deliberation. “The choice is ultimately yours, but their comfort should not come at the cost of your peace of mind.” His hand slowly falls from his back as Cole turns his advice around in his head. “While we are waiting for the Inquisitor to call upon us, rather than mend the missing pieces in strangers’ lives, perhaps I may help you.”

“Help me?” He searches Solas’ eyes for answers, compassion seeking solace in pride. They are quiet, revealing only as much as intended. Cole chips at the cracks in the rock and hopes for water to spring forth, but he guards his sorrows like a wolf guards her den.

“Would you care to learn how to dance?”

A dozen thoughts pile into the spirit’s head, most too quick to catch, but he grasps one by the tail. “Do spirits dance?”

Solas claims spirits are people, and each day that belief is realer in Cole’s own mind, reinforced by the Herald and Solas himself. He need not change to be loved, or understood, he need only be himself. But if he is a person, then he is not a person the way Varric is, or Cassandra, or even Solas. There’s a touch of sadness in the corner of his smile, as though he is sorry the question needs to be asked. “I suppose it falls to us to answer together,” he replies patiently with an offered palm.

Uncertain how it will help, but ready to trust that it can, he takes Solas’ hand.

“Listen closely,” he says, but he declines to speak again. Cole’s instruction takes a different turn, a manicured glimpse through a window into Solas’ soul.

“Delicate hand folded like a paper crane between my shoulders, her eyes shine like the gold she deals in when I take to the dance.” Josephine had poured so much into tonight, all her smiles and favours, anything that will see the Inquisition prevail. “She didn’t think you would be asked to dance, but she was afraid if you didn’t learn, someone would.”

“Her time was likely better spent elsewhere,” he agrees, “though nothing would have given me more pleasure tonight than refusing one of Celene’s court. Listen again, parse the thoughts which cloud the memory and see how we move.” Cole nods, and concentrates. He remembers the palm tucked in the valley between Solas’ shoulders, and he moves his there. His feet, too, he moves in line with his hips. It’s strange, focusing upon his own body and the space it takes up in the world. Lighter now that he has chosen compassion, but still very much real, empty only in the seconds the air rushes from the chambers of his lungs.

He feels eyes upon him, questioning, searching for confirmation before the music dares move them. “I’m ready.”

When Solas steps forward, Cole steps back, like they’re two puppets on the same musical string. He clips his strides, travelling farther faster than Solas can hope to without magic to carry him there. Awkward at first, but with each beat he feels him join with the dance that exists in his head. Old melodies, half-remembered, play in distant memories. Like the sky he knew it, once, but made himself forget. Dancing wasn’t always this way, was it?

Solas remembers. Feet too full of motion to keep his thoughts safe in his head, they spill onto the fabric of the world where Cole breathes them like his own. Memories of moving on a dancefloor to a familiar tune, swaying with the stars themselves, spinning until they parted from the earth. He swells with pride, a beast alive beneath his ribcage, it thrives and fights and inspires. When they dance the heavens and the earth move, and an empire holds its breath. It fears what dread the dawn will bring, but his People find freedom in the impromptu steps.

“What are you two doing here?” A voice snaps the string. Halamshiral looks different than it did heartbeats ago, all the magic hidden in dark corners (all the elves, too). When Cole turns to see the servant who disturbed them, he’s surprised to see a bare face behind her plain mask, and a second later cannot recall why.

With silver eyes she stares at him, unblinking. “She can see me.”

“A consequence of our dance, I believe.” Yes, he can feel it. Solas fades with each passing second, growing distant as his hand falls from his waist. “It will fade in a moment.” He speaks as though she is not there, but he’s waiting. It’s another dance, only it’s Cole’s turn to lead.

Cut loose, he turns his attention to the woman. Fear flows through her veins, the dagger beneath her sleeve is ready to open theirs. Beneath the steel, her heart wavers. Stranded between duty and love. “I’m warning you-”

“There’s still time,” he says. “She waits for you beside the fountain where you wished away Your Lady’s collection.” There were wiser things to do with gold, but oh how they’d laughed with every dream plunged into the water.

Cole steps forward and she braces, but not fast enough. “Forget.”

Time is unmade behind her eyes, and she slips the mask from her face to rub the last place she’d been kissed. Gone as quickly as she came, with new purpose in her step.

“It seems you found a way to help someone, after all,” Solas remarks after the library door has shut behind her. “You never fail to impress.”

Something in him shines brighter, bolstered by his pride. “Thank you.” He falters, looking down at his feet, curling his toes inside their boots. “I’d like to try another dance, if you think there’s time.”

A laugh coloured wine red parts Solas’ lips, punctuated by a snort that makes Blackwall down below look around for its source. “I believe there is time for one more,” he says, outstretched palm seeking Cole’s hand. “Since you have devised a way to put off intruders, I daresay we have all the time in the world.”

It isn’t a lie, but neither is it true. Like the golden caprice coins that shine beneath the lovers’ reunion, Solas’ words glow like wishes.

[twstlotus]

Hi! May I please request a scenario with Malleus with the reader who’s good at ballet or figure skating? (Your choice) and he’s kind of amazed at how graceful she looks?? Also, welcome to the fandom!!

Reading this over, perhaps I might have er...overdone this by a considerable amount-- (2012 words help)

I must say I did not expect to ever have to watch a figure skating performance for any sort of reason, but it was a welcomed experience. I actually tried to convey a more platonic relationship between the two but still kept the romantic aspects of it somewhat visible. I do apologize if this does not fit to your liking. You all are always free to send in criticism for my pieces and point out any inaccuracies if there is any! I’d appreciate them a lot.

Anyway, enough chattering. Despite the length of this piece, I do hope you will enjoy it to its fullest!

placed under the cut due to how lengthy this is

–

Winter in the NRC had just arrived, seemingly coating the grassy plains with a snowy blanket while the leaves on the timber trees began to fall; white touches of snow replacing what was previously on the branches. The cold breeze driving nearly all the animals into their homes to slumber. Bears sleeping soundly in their dens and bats curling up in their caves.

But as the animals returned to their homes, so did your companions.

Ace and Deuce had already went back home earlier, of course, not without the two scuffling for a while and you having to take on the mediator role once again between the two of them. Jack also made an appearance and said his goodbyes before returning to his own home, saying how he was “excited to see his younger siblings again” and told you to look out for yourself and Grim while staying in NRC.

A few other familiar faces appeared too; Leona, Ruggie, even the Leech twins despite them only being there to announce that they’d be staying in the school. Well– you couldn’t say you were ecstatic to see them over the holidays, but it was a disturbingly refreshing piece of news that there was at least the Octavinelle trio to accompany you other than Grim. Wait, would that even be considered good news?

That is– until you saw a familiar set of horns walk by near Ramshackle dorm.

“Tsunotarou? Is that you?” You called out to him from a distance, unsure if he heard you. His pointed ears then perked up when he heard your voice and turned to face your direction as you were walking towards him, trudging slightly through the thick layer of snow that had already begun piling up.

“Oh? (Y/N)? I did not expect to see you still lingering around. Did you perhaps retrieving something?” A curious expression gazed upon him as he brought a hand up to his chin. Your expression softened at his words, giggling slightly at them. Did he forget that you were of another world? Though even so, your expression seemed to confuse him slightly. “Tsunatorou, I’m not from this world, remember? Non-magical person.” You stated, motioning your hands to seem like fireworks exploding to try and resemble some “magical” aspect.

After a few moments, the memory of you informing him that you were a completely non-magical human dawned on him, leading him to have a slightly flustered expression at his forgetfulness. “Ah, yes, yes. I remember now...I apologize for forgetting something like that so easily,” He uttered out, an apologetic look now painted on his face before he perked up. “But if I may ask, what do you plan to do now? Seeing as how you’ll remain here for the entire duration of the school holiday,”

“It’s fine, Tsunotarou. You’d be surprised at how much Ace forgets that I’m not from around here either,” a short laugh escaped your lips, “and, honestly– I’m not entirely sure. When I was back in my world, I’d go figure skate in a few public shows I was in when it was Winter or at least practice it. I have my skating boots with me but since the ice here isn’t clean, it could make my skating blades go dull. Even then, all the clear sheets of ice around here are covered in snow…” You explained, though a dejected sigh then followed quickly after.

Whenever you thought about figure skating, or, ice skating in general, it reminded you so much of home– a thought that now brought you warm joy yet also introduced a throbbing sorrow in your heart simultaneously. Home was always a nice thing to think of, but the fact that you were so very far away from it hurt you, but you were careful enough to mask it all.

Even though you believed that your words only spoke of the missing feeling in figure skating, the dejected sigh you gave and your eyes were enough for Tsunotarou to believe that your words were more than just missing the feeling of figure skating. A worried expression then bloomed on his face.

“Are you feeling alright, Child of Man?” He asked in a tone that could only be described as soft, gentle, even tender. His voice was enough to pull you out of your thoughts as you immediately lifted your head to face his eyes– his bright, brilliant green eyes.

You quickly made a mental reminder to stop having your head in the clouds before giving the other man a sweet smile. “I’m fine, Tsunotarou. No need to worry about me.” You softly spoke, this time, your tone was that of reassurance to not trouble Tsunotarou any further.

Unfortunately, your tone alone wasn’t enough to convince him that you were truly “fine” as you said you were. Your eyes said it all. They were down– a tinge of sorrow evident in them. As much as he’d like to ask and make sure you were alright, he had no desire to try and force it out of you, pry it out of you– even if he had your best interests at heart,

But that didn’t mean that he’d just halt here and leave you all wistful by yourself. You were already alone with only a few people to keep you company in NRC. He didn’t need to worsen the state of it by leaving you alone either.

Looking over to the snowy plains, an idea then struck his mind. One that could hopefully lift your mood, he thought.

“...(Y/N), would you like to skate now if you were able to?” He questioned, his usual poker-face remaining as it had always been– yet seeming far softer now.

A puzzled look crossed your expression. What did he mean by that? The only sheet of ice was visibly covered in piles of snow, even the ice itself could be dangerous if it wasn’t layered or thick enough. It’s not as if he can whisk all that snow away magically anyway– or could he? “Ah? Well, of course! It has been a while since I skated though, so I might be rusty…” A dry laugh then followed after your words. But Tsunotarou’s expression then began to shift– his lips curved into a small smile before bending down slightly and pointing at the ice sheet covered in snow.

“What if you were able to skate there?” He whispered.

Alright, this was getting a tad strange now. What does he intend to do?

“Erm, well– I think it’d be pretty fun. The ice there looks like it’d have enough space for me to skate, maybe even figure skate too. But why do you keep saying all this, Tsuno–?”

He put his gloved finger on your lips accompanied by a shushing sound that ran from his tongue, effectively making you go quiet yet make your face flush ever so slightly by the feeling of his finger on your lips, yet for the most part, you were just confused.

“Hush now, Child of Man,” He spoke in a lower volume, similar to the volume people would talk in the library– albeit a tad higher.

He slowly removed his finger from your lips and began to move his hands unusually, all the while continuing to face the coated ice ahead of you two.

“Now, watch.”

Suddenly, golden gleams of light began to appear from the tip of his fingers before forming a shimmering line of pure magic headed towards the coated ice, his magic looked as if someone had melted gold and formed such a wondrous path of it.

The snow piles atop of the sheet of ice began to glow a bright golden, quickly whisking it away from the ground with golden-colored wind-like magic before dispersing the snow, it’s remains hitting the other piles of snow– yet some also flying to yours and Tsunotarou’s direction.

After what seemed like a while of just snow flying to your face which– you closed your eyes for, and Tsunotarou working his magics away, you felt a hand placed on your back and a commanding yet gentle “look” whispered into your ear. The whispering more so caught you off guard, the feeling of Tsunotarou’s breath on your ear effectively painting your cheeks a light pink, but disappearing quickly after.

You did as he commanded and opened your eyes– ahead of you, you saw an open sheet of ice clear of any snow piles– beautifully cleaned for you. Even from afar, the ice seemed to be rather thick enough to skate or even walk on.

Needless to say, you were breathless. You had never seen such a clean sheet of ice– even in your world! Cleaning it so well would normally take about an hour or two before it could even be this clear– yet Tsunotarou made it seem effortless. Magic– convenient, isn’t it?

“...Tsunotarou– it’s amazing!” You happily cheered, holding your hands to your face as you gazed at the ice sheet, absorbed by it’s quality. Quickly after, you turned to face Tsunotarou and gave him the softest smile he had most likely, ever seen. “Thank you, Tsunotarou.” A giggle now followed after your words– a giggle that seemed to even warm his heart. “..Of course. My pleasure, (Y/N).”

“I’m going to get my skating shoes from the dorm. Stay here!” With that, you rushed inside Ramshackle and quietly fetched your skating shoes, past a sleeping Grim, and raced back outside– putting them on rather swiftly as Tsunotarou watched you with keen interest.

Once you were done, you shakily lifted your body due to the slight imbalance of the shoes– with the help of Tsunotarou, you were able to balance yourself in the “rink” he made all for you.

Tsunotarou was proud that he made you so...happy– but a look of worry crossed his face for a moment– he parted his lips; “Will you be alright?” He asked in a worried tone. Of course, he trusted you with your safety. He knew that you were experienced in the arts of skating, but the human body is so fragile in comparison to his. He couldn’t help but be worried.

But even so, you found his worry understandable and sweet of him to do so. “I’ll be fine, Tsunotarou. Now, watch.” You said in a somewhat playful tone, obviously referencing his own words that he spoke to you previously.

Thus, you began your dance. You slowly began to skate on the rink, gradually picking up the pace with the help of the slippery ice. Occasionally posing mid-skate as if you had a wide audience– well, in this case, it was Tsunotarou. When the ice carried enough smoothness for you to easily skate on and the posing seemed to be at it’s minimum, you performed a quick jump before lifting your leg to the back and face forward, hands on the elevated leg and spun as quickly as you could with one leg– gradually continuing to lift your other leg higher and higher before lowering it swiftly and continuing to skate, performing all sorts of jumps:

The toe loop!

Salchow!

The flip!

The Lutz!

Of course, you weren’t as professional enough to perform a triple axel– a move that barely any figure skating women had ever done. Yet, even so, Tsunotarou was thoroughly enjoying your wonderful performance. From the moment you started to skate, he was already captivated by your movement. How you made it look so effortless was beyond him, and coming from someone who had been widely feared due to being one of the most powerful wizards of his world, it speaks many volumes to have him even think of such a thing.

His eyes gleamed with nothing but pure fascination– even smiling to himself when seeing how happy you looked while skating, posing, everything; and when you saw him smile at you, you smiled back– it made his heart warmer than any fire in his life could, even his own.

Truly, perhaps you’ve even managed to charm his heart, and he is not opposed to it.