DEH Oneshots/drabbles/shitposts

Ice (Treebros)

Ice.

It's something that Evan Hansen wasn't used to when he was little. It was never cold. The only Ice he could think of until he was five years old was the ice that came from the refrigerator, and even then, that was artificial. It was a peculiar thing, to him. Ice was just really cold water, yet it hurt so badly when he dropped it on his foot. Granted, that was an ice pack, but Evan didn't bother learning the difference. All he knew was it was cold, and wet, and solid, and it defied every law Evan had learned before he studied the properties of matter in second grade science.

Ice was weird.

It was weird all the way up until Evan moved to Minnesota when he was six years old.

That's when ice became something Evan was quite fond of.

At the age of seven, Evan began to learn to ice skate. It seemed like something so simple when he first attempted to do it, but with the amount of times he fell, he was surprised he didn't give up within the first week of trying.

He almost did.

But there was something about the ice that just picked him back up whenever he slipped and face planted. Normally, when he'd get hurt, he'd have to ice it, but not when the ice is right beneath his feet. Evan loved it. It was soothing, and cold, and it made him feel exceptionally free every time he stepped out into the rink. It made him happy.

So he stuck with it.

Eighteen year old Evan Hansen was about to step out into the ice for all the world to see.

After years and years of practice, Evan had finally made it. It was what he had been dreaming of since he first felt the freedom of the skate. It'd been on his mind since he had first performed in front of an audience.

The Winter Olympics.

Evan Hansen was the second youngest figure skaters on the United States team, but he had scores that proved that he was one of the best.

Olympic status, though?

Apparently.

Evan was standing by the gate, his coach giving him words of encouragement that Evan pretended to hear. His eyes were locked on the gigantic crowd in front of him, his breaths shallow. The warmup had done nothing for his nerves. He could barely land a triple lutz triple toe, but the warmup wasn't what mattered. It was his performance.

Fuck, his performance was next.

He shut his eyes, breathing out, remembering that he was already where he wanted to be. He didn't need a medal to feel like he'd done something right.

He wanted one, though.

As his name was called, he made his way out into the ice. His stature was more relaxed by now, and he actually smiled once he heard the sound of the blade against the slippery floor, and the crowd begin cheering for him.

He stood still in the center of the ice. Waiting for his music, his heart beating quickly.

But once that music hit, Evan was flying.

Everything seemed to slow around him, and all he had to worry about was the music, and how it ran through his body as he sprung into every single jump, landing each one near flawlessly. All he had to worry about was his breathing. All he had to focus on was how he moved, not anyone around him, not anything around him.