Originally written for Day 11 of the Hansanna for the Holidays event on tumblr. Hope you enjoy!

"It can't be that hard, can it?" he had said, and the crooked smile he had given made her heart do a funny stutter in her chest.

Watching him now, gliding and swerving gracefully over the ice, Anna realized she ought to have known better than to trust that smile.

"Show off," she muttered, gripping the edge of the wall tightly.

"Just push off and glide," Hans said, still with that stupid charming smile. "It's as easy as sock sliding, I promise."

"Sock sliding doesn't involve strapping knives to our feet!"

He laughed. "I thought you said you skated before."

"Yeah, when I was a baby," she said. "I haven't skated since I was five years old!"

"Once you learn, you never forget. It's kind of like riding a bike."

"Last time I rode a bike, I fell flat on my face," Anna groused. "So that's a very, very bad analogy."

"I haven't skated since I was little either," Hans said, but the fact that he had just made one lap all around the rink without falling, moving as though it was as easy as breathing, was hardly reassuring.

"How little is little?" she said.

He chuckled. "Now you're just stalling, princess."

"It's a fair question," she argued. "I mean, honestly, how come you're so perfect?"

There was a pause. One long, horrifying pause before Anna's words caught up with her brain, and the audience in her brain yelled, abort abort abort.

"I mean at skating!" she all but shrieked, feeling her face flush. "Not you as in you being perfect — which isn't a bad thing! Because no one's perfect, right? But you are — at skating, I mean. Perfect. At skating. Because you are."

Hans was back to her at the edge of the rink by the time she finished rambling, standing just a few feet from where she still clung to the wall like a lifeline. "Here, give me your hand," he said. His cheeks were slightly pink in the cold, and his eyes were bright. "Do you trust me?"

Face burning, Anna managed a small nod as she took a deep breath, stepped onto the ice —

And promptly stumbled backwards.

Hans was quick to catch her, holding her by the arms before Anna could meet her messy, bloody fate.

"You lied," she said, clutching his arm tightly.

"Well, for most people it's easy," he said lightly, unperturbed as she scowled up at him.

"If I fall and bleed to death, my ghost is going to haunt you forever."

"I won't let you fall."

It occurred to her then, as Anna struggled to stand upright with her legs wobbly and unsure, just how close they were. Their foreheads were almost touching, and she could feel his warm breath brushing her cheeks. Hans was staring at her intently, green eyes on blue, and something about that look made her mind reel, fogging her thoughts and leaving her breath tangled in her throat.

"Don't let go," she heard herself say.

"Never," he said softly, and it sounded like a promise.

"Need a hand?"

Anna took a deep breath and resisted the urge to groan. She would know that voice anywhere. Of all the rotten luck. . . .

Bracing herself, she lifted her head and gave him the coldest glare she could muster.

"No."

The effect was ruined, however, by the fact that she was holding onto the railing tightly, legs unsteady as she cautiously made her way around the rink.

"Suit yourself," Hans said, shrugging.

But rather than leave her alone, he kept pace behind her. Anna could feel him staring at her, and it made the hairs at the back of her neck prickle, made her all the more rigid and awkward as she tried to remember how to skate. It took her a few tries and false starts before she was gliding over the ice, and even then she had to hold her arms out, feeling with every push forward that she would topple over.

She hated herself for feeling relieved when Hans circled around her, skating backwards — still a stupid showoff, she thought — so that she had no choice but to face him.

"You haven't been practicing," he said nonchalantly.

"Why do you care?" Anna grumbled, staring stiffly ahead.

"I don't."

"Then why ask?"

He shrugged. "Just making conversation."

"Go bother someone else," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm busy."

"With what?"

"Trying not to slip. Obviously."

"You really should know better than to skate on your own," he said, scoffing, and she didn't know what it was — maybe it was because of how long the day had been, maybe it was because she was here with him again, of all people — but something about his tone made her bristle.

"I'm not."

"Oh?"

Anna looked coolly at him. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Ah," he said, sounding amused. "Your boyfriend. The mountain man."

"His name is Kristoff," she snapped.

His eyebrows rose. "Someone's touchy. Hit a sour note, did I?"

"Shut up."

"I must have, since he stood you up and all —"

"He didn't," she said sharply. "He's just a bit late from work, that's all. Something you obviously don't know anything about —"

"Like you've ever worked a day in your life, princess," he sneered.

Hearing the old nickname, Anna felt herself stiffen. "Don't call me that."

She would have walked away then and there, if only she could skate fast enough without tripping. Hans knew it too, blocking her way easily when she attempted to turn away.

"Why here?" he said suddenly.

"What?" Anna couldn't read his expression, but now that she was gazing up at him, she could see that his eyes were darkened with something that caused the bottom of her stomach to twist into a knot.

"Why are you taking him here?" he demanded.

"That's none of your business," she said evenly.

"It's just a question, Anna. What do you have to lose by answering?"

"Why even ask?" She smirked. "What's the matter, Hans? Jealous?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself," he said, lip curled scornfully.

She scowled at him, and he returned it with his own, his gaze meeting hers.

And that was what undid her — that one, too-long look between them. Long enough for her nerves to unsteel themselves and for his stare to soften. Suddenly all Anna could think of was the last time they had stood here, when he had held her hands and moved her across the ice, when they had glided and floated across the rink, moving effortlessly together, almost like they were dancing.

The air around her suddenly shifted and the next thing she knew, Hans was moving close, and leaning closer still. With his head tilted down, his lips appeared to be drawn to her own with unbreakable threads. His eyes searched hers, as if waiting —

For what? For her to push him back? For her to move forward? What would he have done if she did?

"Was any of it real?"

The words left her so quietly that it took her a moment to realize they were her own.

His eyes never strayed from her face. "Anna —"

"Anna!"

Pulling back, Anna turned and found Kristoff outside the rink, on the other side of the room. He was far enough that she couldn't make out his expression, only his blond hair and his arms waving wildly.

"Anna, is that you?" he called.

Without hesitating, without pausing to turn back, Anna made her way towards Kristoff's side of the rink. She wasn't sure how long it took — it could've been seconds or minutes or hours — before she finally reached him, legs shaking with relief and something she couldn't name. She was only half-listening to his apologies, barely registering the soft kisses on her cheek, before she felt herself pulled back into the moment.

"Who was that guy?" Kristoff was asking. "The one you were with when I called you."

Anna gave him a faint smile.

"No one," she said. "Just a stranger."