request: bepsy fluff where he teaches reader how to ice skate !!
warnings: pure fluff, mild language, gentle flirting, private rink setting
the rink smelled faintly of cold metal and popcorn, the kind of scent that lingers in winter jackets and on the laces of skates. overhead lights spilled soft white across the ice, bright enough to catch the faint mist of your breath. not a single other person was there—the silence stretching all the way to the far boards—because bepsy had rented the entire place out for the night.
you stopped just inside the entrance, boots squeaking on the rubber mat. “no way,” you said, eyes wide. “it’s… empty.”
leaning against the railing, bepsy grinned. his hoodie hood was half up beneath a black beanie, a single strand of hair falling into his eyes. “that was the idea,” he said. “figured it’d be easier to teach you if we didn’t have kids zooming past at mach speed.”
“you rented the whole rink?”
he shrugged like it was no big deal, though his grin said otherwise. “yeah. i wanted it to be chill.”
your heart did a weird little flip. “bepsy, that’s—”
“—exactly the right amount of extra?” he cut in, smirking. “come on, rookie. let’s get you out there before i start doing laps alone.”
you followed him to the benches where he’d already set out a pair of rental skates. the blades glinted under the lights, and the air carried that sharp, cold bite of frozen water. he crouched down to help you lace up, fingers moving with surprising precision.
“you don’t have to—” you began.
“yeah, i do,” he said, tightening the laces with a quick pull. “trust me, loose skates are a nightmare. plus, i’m basically your coach tonight.”
“coach bepsy,” you teased. “sounds official.”
“world-class, actually,” he said with mock seriousness, looking up at you through his lashes. “my services are usually booked months in advance.”
“guess i’m lucky,” you murmured.
“yeah,” he said softly, grin turning a little shy, “guess you are.”
the moment stretched just long enough for the cold to sneak in before he stood, offering his hand. “ready?”
you took it. his palm was warm even through his glove. stepping onto the ice was like stepping onto glass—you wobbled instantly.
“whoa—” your hands shot out, clutching his sleeve.
“easy,” bepsy said, laughing as he steadied you. “bend your knees a bit. don’t fight the ice.”
“i’m trying,” you hissed, clinging to his arm.
“don’t think so hard,” he coaxed. “just glide. like this.”
he skated backward effortlessly, pulling you forward. the sound of blades slicing through ice was crisp, and the whole cavernous space echoed with it.
“eyes on me,” he said, a little grin tugging at his mouth. “not your feet.”
“easy for you to say,” you muttered, but you lifted your gaze. his hair had slipped out from under the beanie, a few strands catching the light, and for a second you forgot to breathe.
“there you go,” he said softly. “natural.”
“maybe,” he admitted with a small chuckle. “but you’re better than you think.”
he let go of one of your hands, then the other, skating backward at a slow pace so you could follow. your heart jumped at the sudden freedom.
“you’ve got it,” he said, matching your pace. “and i’m right here.”
you took a shaky glide forward and, to your own shock, didn’t immediately crash. “oh my god,” you whispered. “i’m actually moving.”
“look at you,” he said, pride warming his voice. “rookie no more.”
after a few laps you both stopped near the center, breath clouding in the cold air. bepsy coasted to a smooth halt in front of you, close enough that the warmth from his jacket brushed your arm.
“not bad,” he said. “i might have to draft you for my imaginary team.”
“what’s the prize?” you asked.
“bragging rights,” he said with a sly grin. “and maybe hot chocolate. depends how nice you are.”
you tilted your head. “wow, tempting.”
his grin softened, eyes bright beneath the rink lights. “you look good out here,” he said quietly.
the compliment sent a warm spark straight through you. “you’re just saying that because i didn’t faceplant.”
“nah.” he stepped closer, still smiling. “i’m saying it because it’s true.”
you glanced away, cheeks heating despite the chill. “smooth.”
“i try,” he said, his voice lower now.
the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. it hummed like the low buzz of the overhead lights. he reached out and brushed a cold strand of hair from your face with a gloved fingertip.
“a little,” you admitted.
“want to keep moving? it’s warmer when you skate.”
“if i fall, you’re catching me,” you warned.
“always,” he said without hesitation.
you started another slow lap, and this time he skated so close your shoulders occasionally bumped. each time, he grinned like it was part of some secret game.
“so,” you said after a moment, “how many people have you taught to skate?”
“just you,” he answered quickly.
“yeah.” he shrugged, eyes forward. “guess i was waiting for someone worth teaching.”
you nearly lost your balance at that, and he caught your hand instantly, steadying you with a laugh. “easy there,” he said. “don’t fall for me too fast.”
you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “that was terrible.”
“and yet,” he said, clearly pleased, “you’re still holding my hand.”
“only so i don’t break my tailbone.”
“sure,” he replied, unconvinced.
you skated until the rink lights dimmed slightly, signaling closing time—even though you knew it was technically your time limit, not the rink’s. your legs ached, but you barely noticed.
“hot chocolate still on the table?” you asked as you stepped off the ice.
“obviously,” bepsy said, unlacing his skates. “but only if you admit i’m the best coach ever.”
“fine,” you said, nudging his shoulder. “best coach ever.”
“very happy to hear it,” he replied, that soft grin back again. “and for the record, you were way better than you thought.”
you felt the warmth of his words long after you both stepped into the night air, the city cold around you but everything else quietly, unexpectedly warm.
i dont know if i wanna write during october since the subathon is gonna take place during that month.
but if i do it probably wont be request!
