“And next up, I Hope You Dance by Lee Ann Womak!” The man on the radio said, and Ja’far sighed. This was one of his favorite songs. He got up and carefully walked over to the ice, the music from the speaker flooding into his mind as he kicked off, gliding forward into the cold. Years ago, he was clumsy on the slippery substance, falling again and again, but over the years, he’d gotten graceful and was able to skate without issue.

He’d adapted his style to match that of his idol, Sinbad. Sinbad was known around the globe as being the best skater in history; he’d been to the Olympics, won three gold medals in one year; Men’s singles, pair skating, and ice dancing. Sinbad qualified for speed skating as well but didn’t participate, wanting everyone to have a fair shot. The performance he put on shook the world, the raw emotion in his skating brought tears to the eyes of every single human watching.  

Ja’far wanted to be like that, but at the same time, he knew he’d never match up.

Slowly he skated forward, skating around the perimeter of the lake,  and set off into his routine, trying to match his jumps to the music. It wasn’t a problem. Indeed, he knew this song by heart; he’d done this routine even more. The feel of the soft wind, carrying snowflakes caressed his exposed hands and face, catching on his white hair and eyelashes, it felt all too familiar with the words engraved themselves into his soul.

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder, You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,

Cold winter wind is what drew Sinbad towards the lake on this cold December night, and looking back, he was glad he’d decided to follow it. The snow crunched softly beneath his boots as music drifted to his ears, a song he’d heard on the radio time and time again. Looking around, he attempted to find the source, the thick pine trees blocking most views, but he saw a set of footsteps and followed.

May you never take one single breath for granted, God forbid love ever leave you empty-handed,

The sounds got louder the closer he got, and the distinct sound of skates against ice, his pace picking up with excitement.

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean, Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,

Purple hair whipped behind the teenager, amber eyes alight with curiosity, forgetting whatever he came there for. 

Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance, And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance…

When he reached the lake, his eyes widened at what he saw. A boy, no older than eight by the size, with a slight frame. Under the lamp lights, the black turtleneck the child wore seemed a bit transparent, unable to keep them warm, and the dark, ratty gray pants hung loosely on his thin body, but God did he look elegant despite that. Hair whiter than the snow falling just above the shoulders, unkept and messy, skin the color of moonlight and speckled with light cinnamon colored freckles. Pinkish red strawberry blush covering rounded cheeks and the tip of his nose, where the color almost overtook the cute speckled sunspots. Eyelashes fluttering just a bit before opening to reveal eyes colored fern, shaded in pine and juniper, sparkling with genuine excitement, and the smallest hints of a smile gracing those pink lips and, okay, maybe this kid wasn’t a boy. Too pretty, like an angel of skating.

I hope you dance...I hope you dance.

Sinbad watched as this person transitioned from motion to motion, body moving as if it was a leaf in the wind, more flexible than he hoped to be. Eyes closed and the routine continued.

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance, Never settle for the path of least resistance

The sound of the metal against the ice picked up and got louder, the movement causing the teenager’s body to go rigid, entranced.

Livin' might mean takin' chances, but they're worth takin', Lovin' might be a mistake, but it's worth makin', Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter, When you come close to sellin' out reconsider,

Emotions bubbled up inside of him, remembering his mother and how she skated with his father, how she’d tell him that it wasn’t something she understood, but if they were ever offered to become professionals, they didn’t want it. Skating was something unique to them, not something to share with the world; private. 

Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance, And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance…

I hope you dance...I hope you dance. I hope you dance...I hope you dance. (Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along, Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone.)

Sinbad didn’t even realise he was crying until the salty tears touched the corner of his lips, but by then, it was too late to stop, the cold wind rubbing his face and he shuddered, watching as the dancer--Truly, this person was either a dancer or the embodiment of music--moved as effortlessly as if such complex movements were natural.

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean, Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens, Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance, And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance….

This dancer took a sharp breath in as the Olympian let out a shaky one, the final piece of the song coming together, signaling the end.

Dance...I hope you dance. I hope you dance...I hope you dance. I hope you dance...I hope you dance. (Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone)

As the song ended and the dancer stilled, a calm washed over the area, which broke the second Sinbad stepped forward, attempting to speak with the dancer.

Ja’far turned to him quicker than lightning, eyes opening even faster, and gasped, skating to the edge of the lake and grabbing the speaker, Sinbad rushing over.

“Hey! Wait!” He called, but Ja’far had gathered his things, quickly snapping off the skates from his boots, and ran off into the night quicker than Sinbad could ever hope to go. The elder teen gave chase, however, following the footsteps almost entirely in the dark, the lights of the trail the only thing guiding him.

But then they just stopped, as if that angel had ascended from the earth to their home.

“Wha… Where’d they go…” Sinbad muttered, looking around in the emptiness, and stepped back, branches around him rustling and snow falling from them in heaps.

Ja’far was scared. Very, very scared. He wasn’t supposed to have been seen; He didn’t get a good look at who it was, what if it was someone from Sham Lash? What if they told Shaka? Oh, god… Panic flooded his veins as he jumped from branch to branch, through the woods, back to the orphanage. He shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have even started skating, he’d known the risks--

But it was fun, while it lasted.

In the span of the next twelve years, a lot of things changed for Ja’far. He’d spent years becoming invisible to Sham Lash, the organization which ran the orphanage. Well, orphanage was putting it loosely. They only took in babies, killed those who didn’t meet their standards and raised the rest to be assassins. After he’d been found out as a skater, he’d been through hell and realized he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d gone off on them, leaving a bloody mess behind.

Since then, he’d been adopted by a beautiful family, gone to school, made his way in life, and ended up as a teacher at the local elementary school and a dance studio, where he taught ballet in the evenings, and he volunteered on weekends at the event center for gymnastics. Ja’far had known for a long time that he was terrible at idling and needed more and more things to do.  The teaching had come naturally to him, though the learning part itself was more of a struggle than he’d be willing to admit, and as for the other two; Well, he needed to keep his body flexible, and after years of doing ballet with his sisters and aunt to help them practice, he’d decided he could add more to his plate. Then, one of his students had mentioned that their elder sister, who he’d also taught, was having trouble with her gymnastics routine, and Ja’far had volunteered to help her, then the rest of her class was coming to him for extra help.

But no matter what, Ja’far hadn’t skated since that day.

He’d seen the children skating, had helped them even, and he’d seen some kids who figure skated come to ballet classes, though he couldn’t bring himself to try again. Even though he knew he was safe and no one would judge him for it, he couldn’t rid himself of the stigma that doing things like that made him weak.

One day, however, a Thursday just after he’d gotten back to his apartment, he got a call from his adoptive father that changed everything.

“Hello?” Ja’far had answered, happy to hear from Hinahoho, but at the same time, he wanted to rest a bit before heading to class.

“Hello? Ja’far? I was wondering- Well, Ruru and I were wondering- Would you come home for a bit?” Hinahoho sounded a bit flustered, and Ja’far’s next query was what the twins had done to cause such a ruckus, a slight chuckle in his voice as he inquired.

“Well, uh, they’re bickering over what looks better on them, pink or periwinkle.” “Neither. Go with burgundy.” Ja’far chuckled, “But, Hina, I know you didn’t call me for something like this. What’s going on that I need to go home?”

“It’s almost Rurumu’s birthday, and she said she wanted for you to be here on her birthday.”

“Oh; I’ll be there if I can, Hina.” Ja’far smiled, and they continued talking like that for about an hour until Ja’far needed to hang up to go to dance class. He couldn’t wait to go home.

Sinbad had been ecstatic when he’d been invited to go up north for his friend’s birthday. Rurumu had been a close friend of his since his parents had died, and he even got her together with his other friend, Hinahoho. But that was around twelve years ago, just after he’d seen that boy skating.

He thought of that boy every day.

Not in a sexual sense, of course, but mostly in awe. He wished that he could skate like that boy could, and he’d found himself a goal to strive for. He’d watched his routines again and again for hours, and no matter what, he was unable to become the music like the white-haired boy could.

“Are you still on about that boy?” Rashid would always ask, and Sinbad would always give the same response.

“He’s special, Rashid; I don’t know what it is about him, but he is.”

Sinbad missed those days.

But, ah, he couldn’t focus on the past. When you’ve got training to do day in and day out, there’s no time to focus on the past, yet most importantly, he had a flight to catch, and a friend to see.

If there were anything Ja’far could say about his apartment, it would be that it was quiet, unlike his actual home. And warmer, to boot. Hinahoho lived up in the northern part of the country; it was always cold around this time, and they had a perfect little lake in their backyard which still froze over. It tempted him every time to go back to skating, but he couldn’t. Hinahoho and his family ran the hotel by the mountains, which had a natural hot spring that overlooked the lake; On birthdays it was closed off. So, Ja’far wasn’t surprised when they’d shut the hotel down for Rurumu’s birthday.

“Ja’far, Rurumu and I invited someone else to join us this year,” Hinahoho had warned, knowing Ja’far did not enjoy the company of people for long periods of time.

That guest, however, had been late. So late that they’d missed all the festivities and all of Ja’far’s siblings had already gone to bed. The white-haired man knew he should be as well, but the night was so quiet, and he’d decided to go for a walk.

Why he’d brought his skates, he didn’t know. Why he’d kept buying himself new skates every time he outgrew his previous pair even if he never used them, he didn’t know.

But what he did know was that the pull to the ice was stronger than ever tonight, and he was weak.

He brought his cell phone and a mini speaker that he sometimes used for class out to the lake, searching through his song list as he walked. Green eyes scanned the list of songs when a certain one caught his attention. It had been his favorite as a child, and he wasn’t any different now. With shaky hands, he selected it, paused the music before it could begin playing, and laced up his shoes. He put his phone down on the speaker, which had been put into the small bit of snow, and set off into his old routine.

Sinbad knew he was late, but he hadn’t expected to be this late. First, he missed his flight, then the cab driver recognized him from his career as a skater and held him up for like three hours, and then didn’t know where the hell they were going, so he was later than he’d wanted to be. He placed his present down on the table, and there he found a note.

Hey, Sinbad! For whatever reason you’re late, I know you’re probably cold. For a skater, you never handled the cold very well. Here’s your room key, and you’ve got full access to the hot springs. Thanks for coming!

-Hinahoho & Rurumu.

Bless them, they were too kind. Sinbad walked down the halls to the hot spring, quickly changing out of his suit and snow-covered boots into the robe that he found there, untying his hair and letting it flow down his back. He should probably cut it, but he didn’t really want to, so he let it be as the frigid air hit him. The man slipped into the hot water and sighed in relief, moving to an edge. This place had the best views, no matter the time of day.

“Oh, there’s someone on the lake,” Sinbad mumbled to himself, raising an eyebrow, “That’s odd,”

On most nights, he’d watch just because he was a people watcher; he loved watching the way humans moved and acted, like thinking up stories for someone just based on their looks and attitude. But tonight, something intrigued Sinbad about this man. Who’d be out here this late? Was he a skater? He had the body of someone who at least did ballet, maybe gymnastics, but he didn’t look like someone Sinbad recognized from the skating arena.

None of them had white hair.

He watched as this mystery man set off and his eyes widened. He’d rarely seen that before. It wasn’t like a standard set off, which was to get into the rink to start the routine, but instead, he went directly into skating around the lake, before the routine began.

He knew that routine. He’d seen it once, long ago.

“No way…” He whispered to himself, eyes wide. “No.. Way…”

He could only watch in awe as the emotions rushed back to him. Hope. Sorrow. Confusion. And this time, underlying it all, he felt something new from the man. Hesitation.

The steps weren’t as crisp as they were before, and a few of the jumps barely landed, but he saw how the man moved and he wanted to shape it, to show the man how it could be as it became more and more refined.

Hinahoho had told him that one of his kids, the eldest, was a fan of his. Well, he’d met all of Hinahoho’s children, except for the oldest, and so Sinbad had to assume that this was Ja’far, the eldest son.

“Damn… I mean, I’d seen photos, and Rurumu said he was flexible, but they were underestimating him.” Sinbad said to himself, standing up and going to go get dressed; he had someone to meet, and as lovely as the water was, his hair was freezing. Literally.

Ja’far wasn’t out there long, maybe an hour, but it felt like a minute. A heartbeat, perhaps; he felt exhilarated, having been on the ice again after so long, and it was more than worth the cold hands and freezing face. He’d just take a few minutes in the hot springs and--Who’s in the living room?

He only heard a small noise, a scuff of a chair, and he’d known someone was there. The instincts of an assassin didn’t die quickly, and he called out in a voice that was quiet enough not to wake up anyone. However, it was loud enough that he could be heard,

“Who’s there?”

“Ah, so you’ve returned!” Responded a voice that Ja’far had heard before, and a face he recognized peeked out from the living room door.

“I. Y-You’re-” Ja’far stuttered out, face turning redder than before, this time not just from the cold but the fact that Sinbad, a living legend, was standing in his parents’ living room in only a bathrobe.

“Sinbad, nice to meet you, Ja’far.” Sinbad flashed him a dazzling smile, watching as the other’s emotions ran wild with the befuddlement.

“H-How do you know my name?! And what are you doing here?” Ja’far asked, turning around to give the man some privacy. He was sure he was red enough that even his hair, usually white as the driven snow, was slightly pink.

“I’m friends with Hinahoho and Rurumu; They invited me. And I know your name because, if you’re here, you’re part of their family; I’ve met all their kids except the oldest, Ja’far, which I now have.” There was an audible smirk in his voice, and Ja’far wanted to punch it off. Or slap it off.

“Well, now you’ve met me, please get dressed.”

“Why?”

“Wh-- Why get dressed?! Because you’re basically naked in a house where there are little children!”

“But they’re asleep.” He apparently didn’t see the issue, and Ja’far whirled around, ready to slap him, but he paused. Somehow, during that exchange, Sinbad had put on pajama pants and a shirt without Ja’far noticing.

“Okay then… So, why are you up?” Ja’far asked, and Sinbad grinned. “See, I made a decision while I was watching you skate-”

“You watched me!?”

“Yes, but that’s beside the point. The point is, I’ve decided to become your coach and coach you to Olympic glory!”