Blah.

This is it. Her moment of glory yet again. She glided gracefully across the ice, bending her knees to keep balance while gaining momentum and rearing up for the flare jump, like a hawk swooping elegantly down on its unsuspecting prey.

The audience held its breath and time came to a standstill as their eyes trailed the last adroit swerve before her launch, the burst of energy as she defied gravity for a moment, the perfectly coordinated twist and twirl of her anatomy while being suspended in the air…...only to crash calamitously back to the hard icy ground.

The silence was loud.

A single second seemed like an eternity as she struggled to suppress her swelling horror and the warm, prickling sensation of her gathering tears, and hastily scrambled to her numb feet. She plastered on a smile as best as she could, circled the ice-rink once more, an automatic reflex to wrap up her performance professionally, and left what she now thought bitterly was a circus ring, in a rain of sympathetic applause.

Stupefied and confounded, she shoved her way pass the outstretched arms of her mother, pass the concerned gaze of her coach, pass the muffled cheers from her supportive fans, pass the thickening swarm of reporters, towards the exit, towards solitary.

She, a four-time champion in world figure skating, failed. Failed…failed…failed. The word echoed in her mind like a broken phono player.

She half-collapsed, half-plonked herself down feebly, as if her legs went out under the weight of her defeat, and set to wallow in self-hatred.

Then, she heard footsteps behind her.

“Well, I’m relieved.”

Who in the world…? Ah. It was the geek who came to the rink to watch her practice almost every day after classes, said it was for his study on the physics of ice-skating. Ugh.

“What? That I’ve managed to crack and make a complete fool of myself?”

“No. Just simply at the fact that you’re human.”

She snorted indelicately. “Glad to know I wasn’t perceived as a higher form of biped by some people.”

“Human makes mistakes. You never did.”

“But I do, now.” She retorted, turning away. He sat beside her, but she did not seem to notice. “This is a disgrace. I was taught to win. To always be the last one standing. To keep my head above water while everyone else drown. To gra...” She shook her head as if it did not matter anymore. “It was a good thing my father wasn’t here to witness that hideous embarrassment.”

“Look, I don't see how you can teach anybody to win everything every time. I mean look at you, you're still here right, you get knocked down you get back up. Maybe that's what he wanted you to learn.”

“Oh? So now you’re being all eggheaded and giving me advice?”

“Nah. I’m just quoting G. I. Joe.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. Suddenly, she was aware he was really close to her, despite his attempt of leaning casually on the topmost stair. He was bathed in the light streaming from the crack between the double doors left slightly ajar when he came after her. It made him look older where his face was dipped in darkness, while the other side remained his haughty self. At the moment he was staring unseeingly into the distance, his lips curled at the corner, as if remembering something funny.

Sensing her gaze, he looked up at her. And his breath caught. From this angle, the lights within the building rimmed her frame, setting her aglow. But it wasn’t just that. She had somehow shed her cocoon, her defenses that had been keeping her alienated and unreachable. Her features had softened, hair tumbling in black curls around her bare-shoulders and framing her almond-shape face. She seemed so vulnerable, yet resplendent. Like a fallen angel.

He propped himself up on one elbow and, using his free hand, cupped her face. Her eyes was suddenly focused, the tips of her nerves tingling where he touched her, a thunderous roar sounded in her ears as blood rushed to her reddening cheeks.

He leaned in and gently kissed her. A feathery brush on her lips.

“Funny. I always imagined my first kiss would be more passionate. And not facing the dumpster. And certainly not with running mascara…”

He pressed his lips against hers again. This time harder. His arms twined around her and pulled her till she was on top of him, her fingers interlaced with his hair and her other hand drew him even closer to seal the gaps in between.

When they drew apart, his eyes were alight with a wicked brilliance, mirroring the sparks in hers.

“Now, how was that for a first kiss?”

“To be frank, it could have been better.”

He feigned a hurtful look.

“But what was the kiss before that about? The pre-first-kiss?”

“It wasn’t a kiss. It was a promise.”

She eyed him quizzically.

“A promise to catch you when you fall.”

“What a waste,” she mocked softly. “I’m not prone to falling.”

“Then all the more time for me to practice.”

P.S. Can someone please tell me to STOP writing this sort of crap?