˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

Polite as ever, she’d ask every few minutes if everything was alright. Each time, you’d shake it off with a playful joke or a shrug of your shoulders.

“I’m just so excited to get on the train that I’m shaking,” you joked, hoping that would be your last for the night. Amber didn’t buy this for a second, and you could tell that immediately, but neither of you said anything about it.

You didn’t know Amber very well. At minimum, you knew the basics: she was nice, outgoing, liked playing nerdy card games you thought nobody actually cared about—but you never really had the chance to get to know her better than that.

As far as you knew, the only thing that tied you two together was the fact you happened to share the same training rink sometimes. Which wasn’t a lot. But that was just the way it was.

The good thing was that it didn’t matter too much; the train was coming in a couple minutes, and then it would all be over. She’d be seated on her end of the train, and you’d be on yours. This would all become a distant, yet agonizing memory for you to think of that neither of you would need to speak about ever again.

But every time Amber shot a glance your way, concern laced in her eyes, you couldn’t help but feel something deep in your chest. Whatever that something was, though, you didn’t know—and maybe you didn’t want to know!

All you wanted was to go home.

When the train finally arrived, you stood up so quickly that your knees instantly strained with the effort. You knew Amber saw it happen, but again, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

So, sure, maybe you might have limped a bit on your way to the opening train doors, but did that affect you? Did you care? Not at all!

At some point, Amber appeared beside you and wordlessly offered her arm for support, but you were so close to entering the subway that you pretended not to see it.

That was, until you were actually inside the subway and realized that basically no seats were available.

None except for one.

Well, that was just great.

When Amber withdrew her arm, her gaze seemed to follow yours. “Hey, you can sit there if you want,” she said.

The doors were closing, and your legs still ached like hell, but you were trying your hardest now to pretend they weren’t. Stubbornness wasn’t a quality that got anyone far, you knew that, but you’d already lied about your legs not hurting this much already–what was a few more lies, anyway?

And also, you didn’t want Amber to worry. You two hardly knew each other as it was.

“What? No. You should sit there,” you said. “You’re the Olympic champion.”

“Well, I wasn’t quite the champion, I actually only medaled in the team event, but—“

She stopped herself, clearing her throat. “Please, sit. You know, I actually like standing more than sitting.”

“Cool. So do I.”

“Do you?” she asked skeptically, eyes darting down to your legs. In response, you steadied them as best you could.

“Of course,” you replied. “Getting my standing goal in.” You pointed to your wrist to emphasize the fact, but quickly drew your hand back when you realized you didn’t have an Apple watch. “I have it on a Google Sheet at home” was your next form of explanation.

“You have your standing goal on a Google Sheet?” she repeated, barely trying to bite back her smile.

“No, an Excel sheet.” Maybe changing the story wasn’t the best course of action, but there was a chance going into the specifics would allow it to pass off as more believable.

“But you just said a Google Sheet.”

“They’re basically the same thing.”

“They’re basically not.”

“You know what? I strongly encourage you to take the seat instead,” you said, changing the subject. At least if she sat down, you wouldn’t have to deal with this for the rest of the ride home. “My pleasure. Looks pretty roomy and comfortable.”

“Maybe for you,” she replied. “But I like standing.”

“I know, you told me that already.”

“So that’s why you should sit there.”

“No, you should sit there.”

You didn’t know quite exactly how you ended up in a battle of courtesy with Amber, but somehow it just happened. And it also looked like there was no way out of it; you were in far too deep to concede now.

“Fine, then,” Amber said at once. “I’ll sit.”

She didn’t stop looking at you, though. She just crossed her arms and maintained eye contact, waiting for you to say something.

But there was nothing to say. You just crossed your arms as well and waited for her to look away—but she never did.

“What?” you had to ask once her stupid gaze felt unbearable.

“Feel like changing your mind yet?”

“Why would I do that?” Immediately after saying this, you had to stabilize yourself with the subway pole when your legs almost gave out entirely.

To this, Amber laughed. In response, you just glared at her.

“Come on. Sit down,” she asserted with finality, standing up from her seat and offering it to you.

“You sit down. Olympic gold medalist.”

Amber looked you over one more time, and once she finished, sighed with a smile. “God, you are impossible,” she said.

Then, just as you wanted, Amber seated herself back down. But this time, she patted her lap while gesturing toward you.

“The both of us can sit. Great compromise,” she said.

At first, you weren’t sure you were reading the situation correctly. “And where am I going to sit?” you asked.

She just shrugged. “On my lap. Best of both worlds.”

You took a few more seconds to compute this, trying your hardest to come to the most logical conclusion you could despite your brain short-circuiting. Sure enough, it still didn’t click completely.

Upon your silence, Amber just smirked and said, “Something wrong?”

You shook your head.

On one hand, your legs were killing you. On the other hand, you would rather die than sit on Amber’s lap right now. The million-dollar question here: which was worse?

Or maybe the worst part wasn’t either of those, but rather the fact Amber was watching you so smugly. Like she could listen in on the internal debate going on in your head, and she knew exactly how she backed you into a corner.

And she was successful. There was nothing else you could do other than acquiesce and begrudgingly sit on her lap, your legs a lot more grateful for the fact than your brain.

Right after you sat down, the train jerked so violently that you almost fell off—but just in time, Amber managed to catch you by your hips.

A searing blush crept into your cheeks and up your ears—you couldn’t help it; any reasonable person on this planet would’ve done the exact same, and all you could do was thank god she couldn’t see your face right now.

“That almost ended terribly,” she mused, her smile audible through her tone. And, given how physically close you two were, she only needed to speak the words at a volume barely above a whisper. That softness, that lowness in her voice, sent shivers down your spine.

When her arms removed themselves from your sides, you found yourself silently wishing they never left.

Then, to give your legs more rest, you adjusted yourself more comfortably on Amber, your back fully pressed into her. Against your body, Amber felt solid, strong. Warm, especially, as if you could melt into her if you really wanted to.

Eventually your legs, along with every other part of your body, went numb.

“Don’t worry, you’re almost home,” Amber reminded you after a few more minutes. “Then you can finally get off me, which I already know you’re dying to do.”

If only she knew that really wasn’t the truth.

“I don’t know,” you replied. “It’s nice.”

“Better than getting your standing goal in?”

“Only a bit more.”

Amber seemed to find this funny. When she chuckled, or when she said anything really, her body vibrated against yours. “Hang in a little longer,” she told you.

You counted every inhale and exhale she took until the train reached your stop.

“Are you going to have trouble getting up?” Amber asked, ever the responsible woman.

Not finding any worth in lying anymore, you just nodded your head and prepared yourself to stand on legs you nearly forgot how to use. But Amber, placing her hands on your hips, lifted both of you up as if you were a singular unit.

“That help?”

As soon as you separated, the warmth on your back from Amber vanished disappointingly fast.

Although you were standing now, using the pole to support yourself again, there was something in you that didn’t want to leave. Sure, it could’ve easily been due to how weak your legs were, but you knew that wasn’t the full truth.

You didn’t want to say goodbye to Amber.

“So,” she said, not moving an inch either. “The more I think about it, the more I think you might have trouble leaving the station, too. It’s a pretty long walk.”

“You’re right. Probably need your help with that, too.”

“And, you know, I’m also kinda getting the feeling you might need some help walking home, too? Like, just in case?”

“No, yeah. Totally.”

“And then, just so we’re super sure, I could help you get to bed? Maybe even check out that standing goal Excel sheet you were talking about?”

“Exactly.”

In the middle of her routine, Amber Glenn slipped on the ice and nearly crashed into you. When it happened, you were so focused on watching Alysa and Isabeau glide gracefully across the ice that you didn’t notice the third skater charging a lot less gracefully right in your direction.

Of course, she was pretty hard to ignore when you two made brief eye contact that read “Oh fuck” more than anything else. But luckily, she narrowly missed you.

Amber didn’t seem nearly as dazed as you were, because within seconds she sprinted back onto the ice and continued on with her routine as usual. Like nothing ever happened.

You, however, weren’t so lucky.

Your heart was still racing minutes after the routine ended. The obvious reason was because it was horrifying—a woman with knives on her feet almost smashed into you—but you knew something else kept your heartbeat irregular. You just didn’t know what.

Maybe it was the fact you knew the moment would get reposted on several different social media platforms and recorded with several different POVs, all of which including your unprepared and downright horrified face. Or maybe it was because it was one of your first times attending a figure skating event, and this was how it turned out.

Some would say you were blessed. But with the way your heart couldn’t shut up, were you?

You didn’t know the answer to that question either.

All you knew was that your heart needed to calm down.

By the time the show officially ended, your Google search history was filled with inquiries like: “How high is too high for a heart rate?” and “Heart rate calming exercises,” but results for the latter failed to help your case.

And frankly, you started to blame Amber Glenn for all of this. She was the one who landed into you; she was the one who made your heart race an uncomfortable amount. It all began with her. All of it had to be her fault.

You were on your way out of the venue when someone stopped you.

“What?” you hissed. You were already irritated by the slow traffic out of the building—slow walkers were the bane of your existence—so it came out with a bit more venom than you had expected yourself.

But as soon as you turned to see who stopped you, your heart skipped an entire beat or two.

It was Amber. And she actually looked quite hurt.

“Sorry. I just—I’m Amber,” she explained.

Dumbstruck, all you could do was blink. “I know.”

“And I slipped off the ice and almost hit you.”

“I know that, too.”

“OK, this is…Sorry, I’m being so stupid right now. I just wanted to ask if you could send me the footage from when I fell into you. I saw you were recording, and I thought it would be funny to, like, post or something.” You were still so shocked that it took you a bit to answer, but Amber seemed to take this as disapproval. “I’m so sorry, by the way. I didn’t mean to—“

“You’re saying sorry a lot.”

“Sorry—oh, oops,” Amber caught herself. Then she laughed, her nose crinkling with the effort, and you finally realized why your heart couldn’t stop racing.

It wasn’t because your life was momentarily in danger.

Actually, it was something far worse than that:

It was because you found this woman deathly attractive, and just being in her vicinity was enough to drive you insane. And judging by your heart, she already had.

Here she was now, looking into your eyes like you were the only thing in the universe, probably expecting an answer out of you, but you weren’t listening to a single word she said. Amber Glenn. God, Amber fucking Glenn.

“Um, but only if you’re cool with it,” she added to her previous statement, the one you most definitely did not hear.

You gave her your best guess: “Yeah, sure, I can send it to you.”

“Well, actually, I was kinda hoping you could give me your tag first. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I get a lot of DMs”—she cringed at herself—“um, so it would be hard to filter through all of them, just looking for yours specifically. It’s, just like, an efficiency thing,” Amber said, shrugging.

“OK,” you said slowly. To be honest, you just wanted the interaction to end. You wanted to be done with this hopeless, embarrassing crush as soon as possible—to get on with your life, to have your heart rate and insanity cured, to be as chill about this entire thing as she surely was.

But again, you weren’t that lucky.

Amber handed you her phone, her Instagram search bar ready to be typed into. Your fingers stumbled as they worked, and you prayed that muscle memory didn’t fail you. How embarrassing would it be to get your own handle wrong? How embarrassing would it be to have a crush on a super famous (and hot) figure skater who everyone already has a crush on?

You shivered. You handed her phone back.

“Thanks,” she said. “Do you mind sending it to me  right now?”

You really didn’t want to elongate this any further. “The internet’s not good here,” you lied.

“I can give you my hotspot!” she offered.

“No, really, it’s fine. I’ll send it to you later.”

“I don’t want you to forget.”

“How could anyone forget about you?”

You didn’t mean to say that out loud, and immediately you regretted it. “I mean, it’s not every day a figure skater almost gives you grounds for a lawsuit,” you continued, trying your hardest to play it off.

Amber winced at that. “I’m still really sorry about that.”

“And you’re also still saying sorry.”

“That’s because I am.”

For a second, you considered this. Considered the way her eyes filled with honest remorse, the way her bottom lip jut out. Everything she did was attractive, and so much so that it was almost annoying. “I gotta go,” you said, turning the other way.

“Wait!”

You turned back around but avoided looking at Amber directly because you knew you could never look away.

“Is that your dog?”

Amber turned her phone your way, showing you a picture you posted a few weeks ago of you and a Golden Retriever.

Really, you were more confused than you were shocked. “It’s my friend’s dog,” you blurted back.

“Are you kidding? That’s, like, the cutest dog I’ve ever seen in my life. What’s its name?”

“Her name’s Amber,” you replied. “But not, like, you Amber, but dog Amber.” That was a stupid response. “It’s—I’m trying to say it was a coincidence.”

She looked disappointed. “I wish a Golden Retriever was named after me, though.”

“It can be, if you want.”

“She’s adorable,” Amber reiterated, turning her phone back around so she could look at the photo. “And beautiful.”

“Well, ‘beautiful’ is an overstatement. You should see her when she chews on table corners. She goes super rogue sometimes, and it’s just…”

Amber smiled. She was watching you, evidently amused. “How do you know I was talking about the dog?” she asked.

Oh.