#what even is plot

The guitarist wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t the best either; and always, always late.

She was the strongest out of the two; it was easy to outshine him when skating (not that she didn’t do that already when she skated with Matteo, but now it was laughable how easy it was) However, Simón being weak was also a risk; because then her safety would be compromised if he lifted her the wrong way, or dropped her by accident if he stepped wrong.

So far none of that had happened because they hadn’t practiced those parts yet; Tamara wanting to help them ‘connect’ with each other had taken most of their rehearsing time with the easy steps first, leaving the most complicated ones for last (which was stupid and a waste of time, she had made it known but, of course, “take it easy” was the team’s motto).

Another problem was that he was easily distracted all the time; if she had to count the number of times she had to snap him out of his Luna-induced-state, she’d fall asleep very quickly at night.

Him not giving her enough attention bothered her a lot.

And her vanity was wounded. She was used to shine, to be the sun on the rink, everyone’s attention on her, awed by her talent, envying her because her steps were as flawless as it could be; and he, foolishly, would rather focus on a stupid moon who couldn’t care less was his center of gravitation.  

Yes, it bothered a lot.

Ámbar huffed once she finished tying her quads’ laces, angry at herself for letting that boy’s obliviousness affect her, when Simón stumbled into the lockers, in a rush.

“Am I late?” he asked, breathing heavily. She didn’t know what was with him and Luna being late to everything, but she was reaching her limit of patience, always waiting. Was this a Mexican thing, or were they just oh so connected that shared the same flaws?

“Not yet.” She scowled him, standing up to allow him lace up his own skates. Simón had the decency to look ashamed.

“I’m sorry, but with the band we’re still choo-”

She interrupted him, scowl intact, “I honestly don’t care.”

Ámbar waited for him to be offended by her response, like a normal person would; he, of course, being all Mr. Nice Guy, just smiled at her, sitting down with his quads to begin putting them on. “Fair enough.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that.

She wanted to ask him what he meant, why he didn’t seem to mind her bashing his band; but she just huffed again (which she did a lot around him), and skated to the rink, not before shouting a “hurry up” in his direction, to, well, hurry him up.

She stepped in the rink in seconds, unsurprised that the only people from the team that were there, were Ramiro, Matteo and her. Ámbar, of course, couldn’t stop from complaining.

“Your partners aren’t here yet? So unprofessional.”

Matteo was the first to react, rolling his eyes at her comment, and jumped to defend his lover girl “Luna had to stay at school a little longer today, she’ll be here soon.”

“Ah, of course.”

She could see her ex’s mouth turning upwards for a second, before she started her usual warm ups around the rink, not bothering to hear what Ramiro had to say about Jim’s whereabouts. She could care less about whatever those losers were doing, probably moping around some guy; because they were that desperate.

Matteo caught up with her a moment later, “where’s the guitarist, anyway? I don’t see him here either.”

“Miss him already?” she changed her course, standing in front of him to now skate backwards, smirk well put on her face. “Worried that he’s actually with your little Luna-love?”

“Ámbar.” His face turned blank, not entertained at all (which in Matteo terms, meant he was jealous and wasn’t willing to let the world know)

“Luckily for us, though,” she nodded towards the lockers’ doorframe, where Simón was already there, about to step into the rink, “he’s here, alone.”

Matteo didn’t look back, didn’t even tilt his head to look behind him, but kept his eyes on her face. His eyes turned from emotionless to amused in a second, and a smile appeared just as fast, “I see.”

“But you don’t.” She retorted, confused at his answer. Was today a “tell Ámbar weird responses to confuse her” day or something? Or were they just idiots?

“Or do I?” he teased, circling around her. Ámbar glared at him, crossing her arms.

He was acting ridiculous now. From experience, she could tell he was trying to get something out of her, by making her want to lash out and admit something. What exactly, she wasn’t sure. Balsano knew her better than most people, so the probability of him catching up with something about her before she could even think about it first was high.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Matteo circled her one more time before shrugging off, “you’re smart, you’ll figure it out.” With that, he left her side to go to the bleachers, where Gastón was now with Ramiro, Jim and Yam.

Nevertheless, Ámbar was annoyed. “What the- Matteo!” she called after him, ready to skate in his direction when Simón appeared in front of her, blocking her way from demanding answers out of her ex-boyfriend.

“Have you warmed up yet?” he asked, half scaring her to death, half actually killing her by nearly making her fall from the scare. Basically, he almost murders her.

He did save her, though, by holding her by the shoulders before she could meet the ground.

“I was in the middle of that,” she shrugged him off, literally, to get his hands off her. He took a step back, and smiled down at her, making her slightly uncomfortable.

Personally, she thought he looked ridiculous. Crooked beanie, horrible blue hoodie, and creepy smile. She was reminded of her best friend’s stupid crush when he first appeared in their lives; for someone who loved fashion, how could Jazmín had ever been interested in him? A real mystery she was not set to solve.

He had a nice enough body and face, but there was something that just made her hesitate about him. Unknown territory she had no intention to step on.

“Want to warm up together? We could even practice the lifts this time.” Simón pulled her out of her thoughts. So, of course, taken out in a shock, she blurted out the first thing that came out from her brain.

“Do you like Jazmín?”

He blinked, once, twice, “what?”

The heat from her cheeks was unwelcome. She knew she was embarrassed.

Fortunately for her, it was then when Mariano came and ordered them to start skating around the rink again, so they did.

They circled around fourteenth times, stretching and practicing a couple easy steps on the way. Lunita joined them when they hit the fourth round, shouting apologies nobody (her) cared to listen, and she huffed once more.

Fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth.

On the eighteenth turn, Simón finally caught up with her, skating along her and trying to follow whatever step she was making. She got annoyed soon, and went past him, increasing her speed until it was safe to do an axel without falling on her face for lack of impulse.

She heard her friends cheer on the background, clapping loudly. When had they arrived, she had no idea, but she still flipped her hair in acknowledgement, smirking proudly.

When she looked back she found Simón’s eyes on her, smiling and clapping along. The image was so weird, so unusual to her, she lost her balance for a second, and fell on her butt. His face turned concerned immediately and, rushed to her side; the rest of the team plus their coaches close behind.

His face was in front of hers in a minute, “you’re okay?”

She gulped at the closeness, her stomach getting unsettled all of the sudden, “I think so.”

Tamara came behind Simón, who had kneeled down beside her, and asked, “can you stand? Does it hurt anywhere?”

It was then when Ámbar noticed her ankle was actually in pain, wincing. “I think my ankle might be hurt.”

Mariano cursed loudly, and ordered for anyone to bring ice quickly, while he ran to his cellphone to call a doctor. With Tamara and Simón’s help, they took her quads off, the former examining her left ankle as soon as the sock was off.

“I think it might just be a bruise,” she spoke sweetly, after a few minutes, “still, it’d be better if you just sit down and ice it for today.” Ámbar was more than ready to complain, but Tamara’s look shut her up before she could, “now, one of you please take her to the bleachers so she can sit down there.”

On the corner of her eye, she saw Matteo taking a step, ready to offer himself. Simón beat him at it, surprising them both, but made her ex smile for some reason.  

“I will.” Without giving her time to protest, he lifted her up, securing her in his arms; bride-style.

Ámbar was speechless. He even had his freaking quads on! She didn’t know if she was scared he’d let her fall or just plain shocked he volunteered to carry her, but she couldn’t form a sentence.

Once they reached the stands, he accommodated her on a chair, before allowing Delfi and Jazmín to bombarded with questions about her wellbeing.

“Hey, hey, let her breath.” He nudged them softly, shutting them up effectively for a total of two seconds, because then they proceeded to apologize non-stop.

Somehow she found her voice again, “just shut up already.” They did this time, “if you want to be useful go and bring me water or something.”

They were gone in a flash, so she looked up to the boy, who looked more amused than anything. “What?” she asked, but he just shrugged, avoiding an answer.

“Simón! Get back to practice!” Mariano yelled at him, snapping his fingers to let him know there was no time to waste.

“I hate that guy,” he told her secretively, making the corners of her mouth twitch.

“SIMÓN!”

The boy rolled his eyes, but still didn’t move, “are you going to be okay by yourself for now?” she nodded in response, “feel better, yeah? Can’t let this rink be without its queen.” Simón winked, and left her to go with a very pissed Mariano, finally starting to practice the choreography.

She was stunned, once again, by him. What even was this? Black magic? Voodoo? This clearly wasn’t her.

“Does it hurt less now, Ámbar?” Delfi appeared again, with a bottle of water and a very worried Jazmín carrying a sandwich behind her.

She nodded. But inside, she was screaming.

Simón must have thrown a spell on her, that was the only (il)logical reason.  

Cause she, sure as hell, wasn’t crushing on him.