His feet move, left, right, left, as Natasha drags him around - and that's honestly what it is. She's dragging him here and there, keeping him up and moving as he gets used to the equipment on his feet, his weight on the ice.

Her hands are warm in his, rough. You look at a woman like Natasha, and you think she's soft. Her edges are, from a distance. Because that's all she lets you really see. But he can feel the callouses on her hands and the little scars that glitter up at him like the ice does, and it tells a different story.

"Not for most people, no."