Ice doesn't break so easily
John Logan x Figure Skater!Reader fanfic
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Been writing this the SECOND the Off Campus series released 😭😭
HOPE YOU ENJOY!
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Part 1: Watch Out!
The thing about figure skating is that people only ever see the pretty parts.
The sparkly dresses.
The perfect spins.
The standing ovations.
Nobody sees the girl throwing up in a rink bathroom fifteen minutes before competition because she's terrified she'll mess up.
Nobody sees the bruises.
Or the sprained ankles.
Or the fact that sometimes your entire future depends on a score given by five strangers sitting behind a table.
Funny how they always leave that part out.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror above my apartment sink and immediately regretted it.
I looked exhausted.
Dark circles.
Messy hair.
The kind of tired that sleep doesn't fix.
My phone buzzed on the counter.
Mom.
I let it ring.
Immediately another call came through.
Dad.
Of course.
I sighed and leaned forward, gripping the edge of the sink.
Three weeks into the semester and they were already acting like the world was ending.
Actually, that's not true.
They always acted like the world was ending.
One bad practice.
One missed landing.
One silver medal instead of gold.
Suddenly we were having family meetings.
The kind where they spoke softly enough to pretend they weren't disappointed.
Which somehow made it worse.
The phone stopped ringing.
A text appeared seconds later.
Dad: Call us when you get a chance.
Translation: Call us now.
I tossed the phone onto my bed and ignored it.
Maybe that made me a bad daughter.
At this point I honestly didn't care.
I grabbed my skate bag and headed for the door.
The second I stepped into the hallway another apartment door opened.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite twin."
I groaned immediately.
"Milo."
My brother grinned.
"That's my name."
"I know."
"You don't sound excited."
"Because I'm not."
His hand flew dramatically to his chest.
"You wound me."
"Unfortunately not fatally."
Milo barked out a laugh.
The idiot looked annoyingly attractive this morning.
Which was unfair.
We were twins.
I spent forty minutes getting ready and somehow looked like I'd survived a natural disaster.
Meanwhile he rolled out of bed looking like a cologne advertisement.
Life wasn't fair.
"You going to practice?" he asked.
"No, I'm carrying around a skate bag for fun."
"Smartass."
"Manwhore."
"And proud of it."
I rolled my eyes.
That was another thing about Milo.
Nothing ever bothered him.
Or at least he pretended nothing bothered him.
Girls loved him.
Professors tolerated him.
People naturally gravitated toward him.
Meanwhile I spent most conversations trying to figure out how quickly I could leave them.
He fell into step beside me as we walked outside.
The September air was cold enough to sting.
Students crowded the sidewalks.
Some heading to class.
Others looking far too awake for eight in the morning.
"I talked to Mom yesterday."
I immediately regretted leaving the apartment.
There it was.
The reason he'd come looking for me.
"I don't want to hear it."
"Y/N."
"No."
His expression softened.
Which was somehow worse.
"She's worried."
A laugh escaped me.
Sharp.
Humorless.
"Well she sure has a funny way of showing it."
Milo sighed.
Neither of us said anything for a moment.
Because what was there to say?
Our parents loved us.
I knew that.
The problem was they loved us the same way they loved skating.
Intensely.
Relentlessly.
Obsessively.
Every accomplishment was met with another expectation.
Every success became a requirement.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt proud of myself before wondering whether they'd be proud too.
And somehow the answer was always no.
"Regionals are still months away," Milo said carefully.
"Tell them that."
"They think you're stressed."
I laughed again.
This time it sounded borderline insane.
"You think?"
He winced.
"Okay. Fair."
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By the time we reached the athletic complex, my mood had somehow got worse.
An impressive achievement.
I adjusted the strap of my bag.
"You don't have class?"
"I do."
"Then why are you here?"
Milo grinned.
"Because you're my sister."
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.
"And?"
"And I know you've been avoiding everyone."
I immediately looked away.
Because unfortunately he was right.
Making friends had never been my thing.
Most of my life had revolved around skating.
Training, competing, recovering, and repeat.
While everyone else learned how to socialize, I learned how to land triple jumps.
Very useful for skating.
Terrible for making friends.
The scholarship was the only reason I was at Briar in the first place.
A full athletic scholarship.
One injury.
One bad season.
One mistake.
And it could all disappear.
No pressure though.
"Go to class, Milo."
Milo stood there for another second like he wanted to say something.
Probably something annoyingly insightful.
Then he sighed.
"Fine. Be stubborn."
"I'm not stubborn."
His stare said otherwise.
"I'm serious, Y/N."
His voice was quieter now.
"Don't let them get in your head."
My throat tightened.
Because he wasn't talking about my professors.
Or my classes.
Or even skating.
He was talking about them.
Mom and Dad.
I looked away first.
Like I always did.
"I'll see you later, Mo."
His expression softened.
Then, thankfully, he let it go.
"Text me if you need anything."
"Like bail money?"
"Exactly like bail money."
A small laugh escaped me.
Milo pointed at me dramatically.
"There she is."
"Go away." I yelled.
He grinned before turning around and heading toward the academic buildings.
A few girls walking by immediately looked at him.
Of course they did.
Being Milo was apparently a full time job.
I shook my head and continued toward the rink.
The second I stepped inside, everything changed.
The noise disappeared.
The chatter.
The crowds.
The feeling that everyone was looking at you.
Gone.
The familiar scent of cold air and freshly resurfaced ice greeted me immediately.
My shoulders relaxed before I even realized it.
Home.
Or at least the closest thing to it.
The rink wasn't completely empty.
A few skaters occupied one side of the ice.
A coach was yelling corrections at a teenager attempting a spin.
Someone in the distance was running drills.
I dropped my bag onto one of the benches and immediately began pulling on my skates.
The routine was automatic by now.
Left skate.
Right skate.
Tighten.
Retie.
Double knot.
Stand.
My phone buzzed again.
Mom.
I stared at the screen.
The familiar knot formed in my stomach.
For a second I considered answering.
Just getting it over with.
Maybe this time the conversation would be different.
Maybe this time she would ask how I was adjusting.
Maybe she'd ask about classes.
Maybe she'd ask if I was making friends.
The phone stopped ringing.
A voicemail notification appeared seconds later.
I didn't listen to it.
Instead I shoved my phone into my bag and stood.
The ice waited patiently beyond the boards.
For the first time all morning, I could breathe properly.
I stepped onto the rink.
Immediately everything else faded away.
This was the part people didn't understand.
Figure skating wasn't just a sport.
It wasn't just training.
It wasn't even competition.
Not really.
It was freedom.
The only place I'd ever felt completely in control.
The ice didn't care about expectations.
It didn't care about scholarships.
Or grades.
Or disappointing your parents.
It only cared whether you could stay standing.
And somehow that felt simpler.
I pushed off.
The familiar sound of blades carving through ice echoed around me.
One lap became two.
Two became three.
The tension slowly drained from my body.
My movements became smoother. Lighter.
For a little while, I let myself forget.
Forget the scholarship hanging over my head.
Forget the calls.
Forget the fact that every achievement somehow came attached to another expectation.
The music began playing through my earbuds.
A routine I'd heard thousands of times.
I started working through sections automatically.
Step sequence.
Turn.
Spin.
Landing.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The repetition should have been exhausting.
Instead it felt comforting.
By the time an hour passed, sweat dampened the back of my neck.
My legs burned.
But my head was finally quiet.
That's why I didn't notice the hockey players arriving.
Not at first.
I didn't notice the voices near the entrance.
Or the sound of equipment hitting the benches.
Or the growing group gathering by the boards.
I was too busy chasing perfection.
Too busy trying to nail a jump I'd already landed a hundred times before.
One more time.
Just one more.
I picked up speed.
The music swelled.
My knees bent.
I launched into the air.
And that's when somebody shouted.
"WATCH OUT!"
The shout came too late.
My blade caught.
The landing went wrong immediately.
And before I could correct it, I slammed shoulder first into the boards.
Pain exploded through my side.
"Fuck."
The word escaped before I could stop it.
Somewhere behind me, multiple male voices started talking at once.
"Jesus."
"That looked painful."
"Is she dead?"
I pushed myself upright.
Unfortunately.
A whole hockey team was staring at me.
Fantastic.
Exactly what every figure skater dreams of.
Humiliating themselves in front of a group of six-foot athletes.
"Are you okay?"
A blond guy had stepped forward.
Concern written all over his face.
"Yeah."
I winced.
"No."
He laughed.
"At least you're honest."
I glanced toward the group gathered near the entrance.
Most looked amused.
One looked concerned.
One looked like he was actively trying not to laugh.
And one was watching me.
Dark hair.
Broad shoulders.
Arms folded across his chest.
His expression completely unreadable.
I looked away first.
Because obviously.
Then I stepped off the ice.
And immediately lost my balance.
"Shit!"
Strong hands grabbed my waist before gravity could finish the job.
The world tilted.
Then stopped.
For one embarrassing second, I found myself staring directly into a pair of dark eyes.
Close.
Way too close.
The hockey player raised an eyebrow.
"Careful."
His voice was annoyingly calm.
"Wouldn't want all that hard work to end in a concussion."
Heat rushed straight to my face.
I stepped back so quickly I almost fell again.
His mouth twitched.
Like he was trying not to smile.
Which somehow annoyed me even more.
"Thanks."
The words came out awkwardly.
Then I turned around and practically fled.
Behind me, somebody laughed.
"Nice one, Logan."
And just like that, I learned his name.
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