I don't visit my hometown often since I moved out from my parents. And every time I come back here for Christmas, I am overwhelmed with nostalgia for my school years. When, instead of sitting in classes, Ray and I would run to the newly opened mall, buy donuts with a thick layer of icing, and loiter around for hours on end. We played arcade machines, tried on clothes we couldn't afford anyway, and drank liters of soda. We rode bikes and skateboards, listened to music, and, in general, the sky was higher, and the grass was greener.

Yes, nostalgia paints everything in such warm colors. But what can I do if my childhood was a happy time? And in all this, my best friend was with me.

And now he, tense with zeal, laces up his skates, and I just want to smile.

The skating rink is full of people, although it's still early. I hesitantly step on the ice. Oh, I haven't been on blades for a long time. It's a bit scary. I push off the boards and draw a jagged line on the ice. Ray pushes off behind me and slides past. But before I can show him my admiration, he flops on his ass. I skid up to him.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

He nods and tries to get up. I would give him a hand, but it's a no-brainer to guess how this would end if I did. So I'm trying to cheer Ray up. He finally gets up and, grunting, shakes himself off.

"Why did you want to go to the rink of all places?" He asks.

"Well... you kind of wanted me to show you how to date and all that." I'm a little surprised at myself for bringing it up. This promise weighed on me, and this is my chance to get rid of the burden. "So, here it is!"

"I think you're trying to get away," Ray narrows his eyes.

"Why do you think that?!" Yeah, ok, that sounded fake.

"Well, what kind of date do you have in the morning?!" Ray wonders.

"An original one!" I expressively raise my index finger. "We talked about it. Restaurants and all sorts of clubs are obsolete, and late-night parties are lame, but a date in the morning on a skating rink is something interesting and funny."

"I've already smashed my ass. Very funny!" he exclaims, frowning. But his grumpiness somehow seems cute.

"You don't get it!" I object. "You need to add some romance to it, so it would be cute. These things make people closer, you know?"

"And if my face hits the ice, it'll be just peachy and romantic as hell," Ray comments sarcastically. I frown, but I decide to continue the impromptu date/master class/fuck-knows-what.

"You don't need to hit your face! But if you do, your date will most likely offer you to hold hands to prevent you from falling again," I tap on my temple as if illustrating how cunning this tactic is. And in response to Ray's incredulous look, I extend my hand to him. He takes me by the wrist awkwardly. I look at him skeptically. "Are you serious? Are my hands covered with scabs or what?"

Ray's hand slides from my wrist to my fingers, and a chill runs down the back of my head, but I diligently ignore it. I lightly squeeze his hand and smile, "That's better."

It seems to me that Ray's face is showing more and more confusion. I honestly enjoy being in control here. Yes, I do experience certain emotions that cause all sorts of anxiety in me, but my dominance helps me to cope with it.

We slide along the edge of the rink, which is less crowded, and I can feel the warmth from Ray's fingers. At some point, I drop my hand, and Ray intertwines our fingers, locking our hands together. I am bathing in heat.

As I pass by some guy, a strong push lands on my shoulder, and I hear a rude "Fagot" behind my back. I fall back and hit my tailbone hard. Ray jumps up to me, his face confused, but this confusion is of a different kind. It's anger. He looks around in search of the offender and rushes after the guy. I try to stop him.

"Ray, damn it, don't! Fuck him! You better help me up."

But Ray already caught up with him, and what does he do?

He pushes the guy so hard that he flies into the nearest snowdrift. But as it turns out, the guy at the rink has friends. They begin to draw closer to the snowdrift, helping the guy to get up. Ray is still blazing with righteous anger. I'm up on my feet and standing next to him, trying to drag him back. But now the friends of my abuser want a showdown or to take revenge, who knows? People look askance at us. These four are against Ray and me. We are on skates and on the ice.

I push closer, but Ray shields me. It reminds me a bit of elementary school, but I am not a kid anymore. And I'm not afraid of these jerks.

One of the guys shoves Ray. I get to the edge of the rink and quickly snap the locks on my boots, staying in my socks. But now I can hit using my whole body and not even roll away.

Has this happened to me before?

Well, yes. Several times I ran into some jerks. But living in a larger city makes it easier for people like me. We have safe places to meet each other, but even there I never walk around holding hands.

But here... These guys feel righteous, throwing punches and insults in my face. But I'm not holding back either.

I internalized that punches sometimes work faster than words, especially in such a situation. Either hit or run. Talking to those who attacked you first will not help.

So I push another guy who came too close to me. He screams, his face flushed. A second guy flies up to me, but Ray materializes behind me and hits him in the stomach with a swing. The guy bends in half and slides back on the ice. Ray jumps up to the guy in the snowdrift, grabs him by the collar, and shakes him violently, shouting insults and threats. He demands an apology.

Another guy skates up to Ray from behind, but I manage to knock him down. This scuffle would have continued if a police car had not passed by. From the speakers, the officer loudly demands we stop if we don't want to ride to the police station.

The four guys retreat gloomily, throwing a couple of savory curses at us, which we return tenfold.

Only now did I realize that I was standing barefoot in the snow, and my feet were already numb. Ray, still in the heat of the fight, is bursting with rage and indignation. I drag him to the benches, where I get my shoes, but it's already problematic to shove my feet in there.

Ray's anger is replaced by genuine concern in an instant. He calls a taxi, and it arrives pretty quickly. I hardly feel my toes, which I rashly blurt out to Ray.

"Are you serious?!" Ray exclaims. "Take off your socks! You need to rub your fingers! You froze them off!"

"You must not rub frozen fingers, dumbass!" I object faintly, but my toes hurt, and I don't mind rubbing them if it makes them warm again.

Fortunately, we have already arrived at my house. I hobble to the entrance as quickly as I can. Ray runs ahead and stops, offering me a piggy ride. I have no time for arguments and false modesty. I jump on his back, and he briskly carries me into the house, bypassing the stairs.

He carries me straight to the bathroom and sits me on the edge of the tub. And, before I even have time to say anything, Ray kneels down and quickly takes off my socks. My toes appear blue-red. Ray gets up and looks around nervously, then notices a hairdryer hanging on a hook. He grabs it and turns it on. Kneeling in front of me again, he puts my feet on his knee and directs a stream of hot air at them.

I'm melting down. The noise of the hairdryer allows us to be silent. I watch as Ray gently touches my toes. I hurriedly bend over, hiding my rapidly blushing face, and rub my gradually warming limbs.

Looking up, I suddenly notice that Ray has a bruise on his face. Right on the cheekbone. Pretty big. Unconsciously, I reach forward and touch his face; Ray looks at me in surprise. Even the hairdryer begins to blow somewhere to the side.

"Hurt?" I ask, not even trying to shout over the noise. Ray has to look away, turn off the hairdryer and turn back to me. "Does it hurt?" I repeat.

"What are you talking about?" he says uncomprehendingly.

"You have a bruise on your face. Huge."

"So do you," Ray says with a half smile. We go to the mirror and see that we both have a couple of bruises on our faces, and my chin is also scratched.

"Damn..." I exhale heavily. "So much for your date."

Ray chuckles. I get out of the bathroom first.

The TV is working in the living room. But mom is nowhere to be seen. Maybe she went out somewhere.

I take a couple of bags of chips and a couple of mugs of hot mulled wine. Ray walks into the room as I sit down on the couch.

"To keep us warm," I offer Ray the mug. He sits down next to me.

There's a Christmas movie on TV. After taking a couple of sips, I finally feel the warmth spread throughout my body, along with some kind of relaxed calmness.

I lean back on the pillows, remove the blanket from the back of the sofa, put my feet on a long coffee table (it has always served as a footrest for us, though mom didn't approve), and throw the blanket over Ray and me.

He also leans back and puts his feet next to mine. We're silently drinking mulled wine and watching a movie. Now nothing really bothers me. And I just had a real fight! But now I am warm, near Ray, and I can hardly imagine a better Christmas atmosphere.

Ray finishes his mulled wine, puts the mug on the table, and returns to his original position. He rubs her head against my shoulder as if making himself comfortable. The wine and hum of the TV make me sleepy, and I see no reason to resist. Drowsing, I feel Ray's hot palm on my arm.