champagne problems

prologue

". . . maybe i want your love forever, is that so bad to say . . ."

— the stars, 

chelsea cutler

»»————-　❅　————-««

"Do something pretty."

She's practicing a Beillmann spin when Nathan's voice cuts through the air. He's leaning against one of the boards, arms crossed against his chest. The red fabric of his fleece sweater is pulled tight around his biceps, straining.

It's half-past nine. The rink closed thirty minutes ago, but Mr. Taylor had printed an extra key for her when she was fifteen so that Sang could practice without all the crowds. She likes him—he owns a diner near the highway, and he calls her his little Olympian whenever she stops by.

Sang slows down, letting go of her foot. It eases to the ground behind her, and then she pushes off, sliding across the ice. "What, this isn't good enough for you?"

"Shut up." He's laughing now, his smile blinding. "You know what I mean. One of those... spinning, jumping things."

"A loop?"

"Yeah. That one."

"You can't just crash my practice and demand a show." She's still skating in meticulous circles, but not fast enough to lead into a jump. "People pay to watch this."

If Coach Korba knew that Nathan was here, he would kill her. He's got very little tolerance for distractions in general, but this isn't just another season. In eight weeks, she's going to Worlds. It changes things—could change everything.

It doesn't leave much time for boyfriends, but Nathan makes it.

He's up at five in the morning every day to drive her to the rink. Comes back at eight to pick her up for school. Then they're in classes, and he's texting her the whole time; pictures of Kota as he mulls over a math problem, lines from Romeo and Juliet that remind him of her, little emojis when she's been quiet for too long. He'll go to practice, and then stay at the rink with her until eleven, even on the days where he looks exhausted. 

It works. Somehow. Even though she's at a competition practically every week, and he's training his hardest for when all of the scouts come out, there's more love than there is distance.

Nathan pushes himself off of the board. His skates are a dark colour, chunkier than hers, but he moves with such a direct precision that it almost takes her aback. No matter how often he tells her about it, Sang still sometimes forgets that hockey isn't just body checks and slapshots. 

He slides to a stop in front of her, and Sang just barely avoids knocking into him. He's grinning down at her, blue eyes flitting across her face.

"I've got a five in my pocket."

Sang scoffs, rolling her eyes, and moves to skate past him. "I'm pretty sure I'm worth a little more than five bucks."

Nathan's hand shoots out, grasping at her hip. The warmth of his skin cuts through the thin fabric of her leggings and his thumb, callused and gentle, just barely slips beneath the hem of her shirt.

"I'll give you a kiss."

She smiles a little; a break in her exterior. "I want two." He's starting to grin. "And the five bucks."

His head dips down, and now his nose is brushing hers, and even after two years together sometimes when he's this close it feels like she can't breathe.