Day 8: Ice Skating | KA12
Pairing: Kimi Antonelli x ice skater!Reader
Tropes: Athlete x Athlete (Power Couple Energy)/ Secret Identity / Hidden Talent / "Teaching the Expert" / Domestic/First Date Fluff/ Ice Skating Date
Summary: Kimi Antonelli thinks he’s pulling the ultimate romantic move by renting out a private ice rink to teach you—a "beginner"—how to skate without the pressure of a crowd. It’s sweet, charming, and totally unnecessary because you’re secretly an Olympic qualifier desperately trying to act like a normal civilian. You play along with his "lessons" to protect his ego, but when a stumble turns into a near-disaster, your muscle memory takes over. Suddenly, the "clumsy beginner" is landing a perfect spin, and Kimi is left questioning reality (and his own coaching skills) on the ice.
Word Count: 2.4k
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The air inside the private rink was crisp, smelling faintly of ozone and Zamboni fumes. But tonight, it just made your stomach do a nervous flip.
Kimi Antonelli stood by the entrance, looking effortlessly stylish in a thick wool coat and a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. He rubbed his gloved hands together, his breath puffing out in small white clouds. This was it. The first official date, and you were currently suffocating under the weight of a very stupid, very well-intentioned lie.
It hadn’t started maliciously. In fact, it started because you were desperate to be anyone other than who you were. To the rest of the world, you were an ice skating prodigy. You were currently the top qualifier for the upcoming Winter Olympics, carrying the weight of a nation’s gold-medal hopes on your back.
Then you met Kimi. He didn't know about the medals or the grueling schedule. To him, you were just a girl he met at a party who had a nice laugh and pretty eyes. You wanted to keep it that way. You wanted to know if he liked you, not the athlete on the Wheaties box.
The "lie" had happened a week ago, during a casual text conversation. You were lying on your couch with an ice pack on your knee, exhausted after a six-hour training block, when his name popped up on your screen. You were talking about holiday plans.
Kimi: I drove past that outdoor rink downtown today. It looks really cool with all the trees lit up.
You: Yeah, it’s really pretty this time of year.
Kimi: Have you been? We should go.
You had hesitated, your thumbs hovering over the screen. The last thing you wanted to do was tell him that the rink was your office, your torture chamber, and your sanctuary all wrapped in one. You didn't want to explain that you couldn't go to a public rink because you’d be recognized, or that skating on chopped-up public ice was a recipe for a twisted ankle.
So, you tried your best to shoot it down fast.
You: Honestly? I haven't gone skating just for fun in years. I’m probably totally out of the loop.
It was technically true. You hadn't skated for fun since you were six.
But judging by your current circumstance, he probably had interpreted that text very differently. He probably read “I haven't done this in years” as “I don't know how to skate, and I'm nervous.”
Kimi: That’s a crime. Everyone needs to skate at Christmas. Are you free on Friday?
Kimi: Don't worry about being rusty. I played a little hockey growing up. I’ll teach you.
You had stared at the phone, a laugh bubbling in your chest. Kimi Antonelli, offering to teach you, an ice princess, how to skate. It was the cutest, most ridiculous thing you’d ever heard. You didn't have the heart to correct him then because it felt rude to shut down his enthusiasm. You figured you’d tell him later.
But "later" never happened. And now, standing at the edge of the rink he had rented out specifically so you wouldn't be embarrassed by your “lack of skill”, you realized it didn't feel harmless anymore…in fact, it felt like a ticking time bomb.
"So," Kimi said, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he gestured to the expanse of white. "Surprise."
You blinked, looking around. The rink was silent—no screaming kids, no hockey practice, no other couples. It was just the two of you.
"Where is everyone?" you asked, clutching your tote bag tighter.
"I rented it out," Kimi said, looking proud of himself. "Two hours. Just us."
Your heart sank. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for you, and it was also a tactical disaster.
"I figured we could use the space," he continued, leaning in conspiratorially. "Plus, I didn't want you to feel self-conscious if you fell. And... well, honestly, I know how the press gets. I didn't want you waking up to news articles micro-analyzing everything just because you were seen with me. I wanted to save you the burden."
He paused, the realization of his own words hitting him. He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Wow. Okay. I realize I sound like a total ego-maniac right now. 'Oh no, the world is obsessed with me.' Please pretend I didn't say that. I just... I want this to be perfect."
A knot of guilt tightened in your stomach. He wasn't doing this to show off; he was genuinely trying to protect you. If you dropped the bomb now, you wouldn’t just be clearing up a misunderstanding. You’d be taking this incredibly thoughtful, romantic gesture and turning it into a punchline at his expense. You couldn't humiliate him like that, not when he looked so earnest.
"That's... that's amazing, Kimi," you managed, forcing a smile.
"Do you need rentals?" he asked, pointing to the counter.
You hesitated. Your custom Edea boots with the gold-plated blades were actually in the trunk of your car, hidden under a blanket. But walking in with professional gear would be an immediate confession. You had to commit.
"Yeah," you lied, forcing a cheerful smile. "I definitely don't own any."
You were officially a liar.
—————————————
Ten minutes later, you were sitting on the bench, watching Kimi lace up his rental skates. He moved with the easy physical confidence of a Formula 1 driver.
He stood up, wobbling only slightly on the hard rubber mats before stepping onto the ice. He wasn't a figure skater, but he had that natural athlete's center of gravity. He skated backward a few feet, rough and scratching the ice, then held his hands out to you.
"Come on," he beckoned, his eyes warm. "Grab my hands. The ice is slippery, but don't worry. I've got you."
You stepped onto the ice. Your body instantly tried to engage—knees bent, weight over the ball of your foot, shoulders aligned. You had to fight your muscle memory actively, stiffening your legs and letting your ankles wobble artificially.
You grabbed his forearms, clinging to him like a lifeline. "Okay," you squeaked. "Okay, I'm up."
Kimi beamed, taking his role as protector very seriously. He began to pull you forward slowly. "See? Not so bad. Just keep your knees bent more. You're too stiff."
"Like this?" You bent your knees, and you didn't want to ruin his moment.
"Yeah, exactly. And look where you want to go, not at your feet," he coached. His voice was soft, a stark contrast to your coach, who usually barked this specific instruction across a freezing arena at 6:00 AM. "If you look down, you fall."
"That makes sense," you murmured.
You stopped worrying about the lie for a moment and just looked at him. He was just... caring. For the first time in years, you weren't the expert everyone was critiquing. You were just a girl holding a boy's hand, and he was genuinely worried about you skinning your knees. It was surprisingly nice to let someone else take care of you.
As his confidence grew, he loosened up. He dropped your hand for a second, picking up speed. He did a quick lap around you, the wind ruffling his hair, before executing a loud, spraying hockey stop right in front of you.
He looked up, breathless and grinning, waiting for your reaction. He looked so proud of himself that your heart actually squeezed in your chest. He put his hand back with yours.
"See?" he beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's all about the edges."
—————————————
Kimi was skating backward, his eyes locked on yours, his smile confident and distracted. He never saw the deep, jagged rut left by a previous skater’s toe-pick.
His left blade hit the gouge and locked instantly. His legs flew out from under him, sending Kimi crashing down, his heavy wool coat hitting the ice with a dull, sickening thud.
But because he was holding your hands, he didn't just fall but also took you with him.
He jerked you forward with violent force. You were pulled off your center of gravity, your dull rental skates clattering against his as you stumbled over his prone form.
"Whoa!" Kimi shouted.
Instinctively, he let go of your hands to break his fall. It was the chivalrous thing to do, but physically, it was the worst possible variable.
You were launched.
The stumble propelled you like a stone from a sling, hurling you toward the rink boards. A true beginner would have flailed, panicked, and braced for impact, likely shattering a wrist or a nose against the unforgiving hard plastic.
But you didn't think. Your instinct took over.
You were falling forward, inches from the disaster. Instead of crashing, your core engaged with a violent, steel-trap snap. You slammed your right blade into the ice, forcing an edge out of the dull rental steel that shouldn't have been physically possible.
You turned a fatal stumble into a low, crouching lunge.
You were hurtling toward the wall at speed, but you punched your left toe-pick into the ice in time, whipping your body around in a blur of kinetic energy.
SCREEEEECH.
You spun out of the momentum—three rapid rotations on one foot, a blur of perfect axis and balance—before checking out of the spin with a sharp, professional snap of your arms.
You came to a dead, silent halt.
You were alive and safe, but you had just outed yourself completely.
You slowly slid into a graceful rest position and turned around.
Absolute, heavy silence, broken only by the low hum of the rink’s generator and the ragged sound of your own breathing.
Kimi was still sitting on the ice. He was propped up on his elbows, legs sprawled. His beanie had slid over his eyes, but he pushed it back with a trembling hand. He wasn't looking at his bruised knees. He was staring at you as if he’d just watched an abomination.
You stood there, the adrenaline crash hitting you, replaced instantly by a wave of hot mortification.
"Are..." Kimi’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," you breathed out, smoothing your coat.
Kimi pointed a gloved finger at you, then at the wall, then back at you.
"You just..." He mimicked a spinning motion with his hand, looking bewildered. "You just Matrixed that wall."
"I..." You scrambled for an excuse. Beginner's luck? Extreme Yoga?
But there is no explaining away a bracket turning into a scratch spin on rental skates.
Kimi scrambled to his feet, ignoring the snow clinging to his coat. He skated over to you. He stopped a few feet away, staring at your battered rental skates as if they were alien technology.
"That wasn't an accident," he said, his voice breathless. He pointed a trembling finger at your feet. "You just did a perfect axle.”
He looked up, searching your face like he was seeing it for the first time. The dim rink lighting cast shadows across his features as the gears in his head finally clicked into place. He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head.
"Kimi—" you started, trying to interrupt the train wreck.
"Who are you?" he asked, genuine panic bleeding into his tone. "Normal people don't do that. Are you a pro or something??”
"It started as a joke!" you said quickly, hands flying up in defense. "And then you were being so sweet, and holding my hand, and I didn't want to make you feel bad!"
"I literally explained to you how to balance on ice five minutes ago," Kimi said, his voice rising an octave. He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking genuinely distressed. "I was 'teaching' you. I was holding your hand so you wouldn't fall. And you... You're a pro. How deep does this go?”
"I qualified for the Olympic team last week," you admitted, wincing as the words hit the air.
Kimi made a strangled, dying noise. He turned around, skated a small, clumsy circle, and buried his face in his hands.
"I am never going to recover from this," came his muffled voice. "I felt so cool. I told you to bend your knees! I told an Olympian to bend her knees!"
"If it makes you feel better," you said, skating closer, smoothly now, and gently prying his hands away from his face. "My coach yells at me about my knees, too."
He peeked through his fingers. His face was flushed bright red, a combination of the biting cold and catastrophic embarrassment. "I looked stupid."
"You didn't look stupid," you said softly. "You looked gallant…until you tripped."
He groaned, finally dropping his hands to his sides. "I nearly killed you, and then you turned into a ninja."
"I have good reflexes," you offered with a sheepish smile.
"No," he shook his head, looking at you with a new, intense kind of awe. "You're just amazing."
———————————————
The power dynamic had shifted entirely, but the tension had evaporated. For the last twenty minutes of the session, the charade was dead.
"Okay, but seriously," Kimi said, watching you skate backward with effortless speed, his eyes filled with envy. "How did you find an edge on these? They're like butter knives."
"Fear is a great motivator," you laughed, spinning around to face him. "Here, give me your hands."
You took his hands. "Shift your weight to your heels and stop fighting the ice."
You spent the rest of the time actually teaching him. He was a quick learner; his driver’s brain understood weight transfer and instinct once you explained the mechanics.
As the overhead lights flickered, signaling the end of the session, you stepped off the ice. "You know," he said as you walked out into the biting cold of the parking lot, snow beginning to drift down around you.
"What?" you asked, wrapping your coat tighter against the wind.
He stopped at the car, opening the passenger door for you. He looked at you, his eyes dancing with a competitive spark that you recognized all too well. It was the look of an athlete who had just lost a round and was already planning the rematch.
"Next date," he declared, "we are going go-karting."
You laughed, pausing as you climbed in. "Why?"
"So I can regain my dignity," he said, dead serious.
"Deal," you grinned.
He leaned in then, the cold air between you vanishing. He kissed you. It was soft, sweet, and lingering under the falling snow. It felt better than any podium finish.
"But just so you know," you whispered against his lips, pulling back just an inch. "I'm a fast learner."
Kimi groaned, resting his forehead against yours, defeated but smiling. "Please, just let me win one."
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