Chapter Text
“Are you looking forward to coming over? My family can't wait to meet you!” Emil gushes, voice slightly tinny through Michele's laptop speakers. ”It’s a shame Sara couldn’t come, but I guess she wanted to spend time with Mila before the season starts again.”
Michele's eyes soften. “Of course I am, Emil. It'll be interesting to see what your family's like.” He absent-mindedly taps his fingers against the edge of the screen, almost as if he's trying to touch Emil's face. “Didn't you say you had sisters?”
Emil beams. “Yep! They're both older than me, Andrea's 25 and Irena is 31. I'm the baby of the family.” Michele smiles fondly. “That makes sense.” It does in all honesty. Emil acts like a hyper ten-year-old most of the time, occasionally punctuated by moments of stunning maturity belying his nineteen years.
The blonde boy laughs, causing a few of his rink mates to glance over at him. Michele notices. “Shouldn't you be practicing?”
Emil waves a hand dismissively. “It's cool, I've just finished, we're in the locker rooms now anyway.” Michele's face turns red at that, imagining Emil sweaty from practice and...He's just going to stop there in case Sara walks in again and laughs at him. She finds his blush hilarious for some reason, probably because it 'looks like your head’s about to explode out of love, Mickey!’. He would tease her about the same thing, except she has about ten tons of dirt on him, so he refrains.
“I-I should probably let you get changed,” Michele mutters, studiously looking everywhere but Emil's chest - he's taken his shirt off and Michele really does not need a surprise boner on top of the luminescent blush. Emil pouts.
“Okay, Mickey, see you tomorrow? Your flight gets in at ten am right?”
“Yeah, I will,” He smiles softly. “Love you.”
Emil’s grin lights up his face. “Love you too!”
The airport teems with life, a riot of colour, noise, and emotion. Michele drags his suitcase through Immigration, stepping through the entrance to the Arrivals hall. He glances around, looking for a familiar blonde mop of hair; he barely has a moment to stop and pull out his phone before someone leaps into his arms, nearly knocking Michele into the hard linoleum floor.
“MICKEEEEEYYYYYYY!!!!!!!” Michele blinks, taken aback.
“Emil?”
The person jumps off him, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
Emil yanks Michele into a bone crushing hug, leading the young woman beside him to smile.
“Oi, put him down, kiddo, we need to get going!” she laughs. Emil pouts, letting go of Michele. Michele massages his ribs. Emil’s hugs were certainly...powerful, to say the least.
She extends a hand. “I’m Andrea, Emil’s sister. You must be Mickey, right?” Michele shakes her hand politely, surveying her appearance. The family resemblance is strong; Andrea shares the same hair and eyes as her younger brother, and he doesn’t doubt that she would have the same scraggly beard if she were male. The only major differences are her height; Andrea is tiny, barely reaching above Michele’s shoulder; and her build. Emil is lanky, tall and relatively skinny, whereas Andrea is stockier, with strong shoulders and shorter legs. He’s cut off from his musings with another crushing hug.
“It’s lovely to meet you! I can’t wait to get to know the famous Michele Crispino, Emil hasn’t stopped talking about you since he was...ooh, about 14? He was always going on about the Italian siblings whose routines were so beautiful and elegant!” Emil blushes, one of the rare times Michele has seen him do so.
“Andreaaaaa…,” he whines. “Stop being embarrassing!”
Andrea playfully slaps her brother on the shoulder. “I will when you stop bringing it on yourself, brácha .” She claps her hands together. “Right! Let’s get going, I promised to pick up some snacks for Irena, and I do not wanna piss her off right now, pregnancy hormones are scary. Emil, grab your boyfriend a trolley and meet me in the car park? I’ve gotta find where I parked the fucking thing.” Emil salutes, and Michele has to smile at how much his boyfriend looks like an overgrown child, eager to please his elder sibling. “Aye aye captain!”
She smiles and turns to walk away, already digging in her bag for her car keys. Michele turns to Emil. “She seems...interesting.”
“Yeah, she’s definitely interesting alright! Irena’s much calmer and chilled out in comparison. Máma’s nickname for her was the ‘eye of the storm’ when we were kids because she was so normal compared to me and Andrea. Andrea’s said she’ll come rollerblading with us, but Irena can’t go with us because she’s due any day now.”
Michele blanches. “Rollerblading? Are you mad?” Emil cocks his head to one side.
“No? It’s super fun and one of the more...accessible sports I like. I wanted to take you free climbing or canoeing but Irena and Máma both said no because they’re too dangerous.”
“Oh good…” Michele says weakly, glad that there seems to be a voice of reason within the family.
They reach the car, a tiny, battered 90s model painted bright blue, various skating equipment in every nook and cranny, and a cutesy air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. Emil heaves Michele's suitcase and carry on into the boot, and slams it shut.
“You don't mind if Emil takes the front seat, do you, Mickey? Stringbean needs the legroom, he's all squished up in the back.”
“Stringbean?” Michele mouths when Andrea turns around. Emil flushes pink and clambers into the front seat. Michele's quite enjoying this new, embarrassed Emil. He's really very cute.
They tear through Prague at what feels like top speed, the tiny car swinging round bends with all the force of a runaway toddler, the two siblings chatting together as Michele tries not to let his lunch make a sudden reappearance. The car pulls into a parking space outside a small convenience store.
“I've gotta just pop in here for Irena's stuff, you guys wait here? I'll get chocolate!” Before either of the two men in the car can react, she's gone, blonde ponytail swinging behind her.
“Your sister drives like a madwoman,” Michele says bluntly, finally relaxing.
“Eh, she's not that bad.” Emil smiles. “I’m much worse, she's at least passed her test. The driving instructor called me a ‘human disaster of epic proportions!’” he says brightly. Somehow, Michele can believe that. Emil is well known in the skating community for being ridiculously clumsy off the ice; the second he went to leave after he received his Skate Canada bronze, the photographers managed to capture Emil toppling backward off the podium, leaving JJ Leroy to catch him and Yuri Plisetsky to laugh his ass off. The amount of times Emil has shown amazing grace and power on the ice, only to trip over his own feet on the way to the kiss-and-cry could fill a book.
Andrea yanks open the car door again, flinging a shopping bag into Emil’s lap as she turns the key in the ignition.
“Right, let’s go!”
Emil opens the bag, recoiling at the packaging of the innocuous looking chocolate bar perched on top of the other groceries. “Ew, sójové řezy? I thought Irena hated these?” Andrea shrugs. “Apparently she’s been craving them like mad, Máma said.” She glances ahead at the road. “They’re not that bad, to be honest, I don’t get why you and Irena hate them so much.”
Emil shudders. “They’re the rum flavoured harbingers of the apocalypse, that’s why. Ooh, you bought cat’s tongues!”
Michele blanches. “Cat’s tongues?”
“They’re chocolate, don’t worry.” Andrea comments. “They’re Emil’s favourite sweets.”
Emil nods in agreement. “You should try one!” He turns around in his seat, thrusting a thin chocolate bar towards Michele. Michele takes it tentatively.
“They’re pretty good. Not as nice as Pocket Coffee, but good, I guess.”
Andrea grins. “Yes! Another convert!” She pokes the radio's on switch. “Music?”
Emil bounces up and down in his seat. “Yes! Have you got the aux cord?”
She smirks in response. “‘Course I do, what kind of heathen do you take me for? My IPod’s in the glove compartment.” He swiftly plugs the device in, eyes lighting up as he selects a song.
A loud English rock song fills the car, as Emil and Andrea start to sing along.
Huh, Michele thinks. Emil’s singing voice isn’t half bad. Sure, it’s painfully obvious that he hasn’t been near a voice coach in his life, and he occasionally stumbles on some of the English pronunciations, but it’s not as bad as he thought. The song builds towards the chorus and Emil turns around in his seat. “Come on Mickey! Join in!”
Michele shrinks back, protesting.
“I can’t, I don’t know the words!”
“Fair enough,” Andrea says over the noise. “It’s just you and me then, Stringbean.”
They burst into the chorus.
“AIR HOSTESS! I LIKE THE WAY YOU DRESS!”
Michele gapes. He knew Emil was loud, but not that loud.
“YOU KNOW I HATE TO FLY BUT I FEEL MUCH BETTER! OCCUPIED MY MIND WRITING YOU A LOVE LETTER!”
The two siblings dance in their seats, grinning and laughing throughout the song.
“MESSED MY PANTS! WHEN WE FLEW OVER FRANCE!”
Michele smiles. It reminds him of when he and Sara were younger, the long road trip they took between their home of Naples, and Turin, where they were to start university. It was only three years ago. A year later, he’d met Emil; at that point a fresh-faced sixteen-year-old who had recently made his senior debut. He’d instantly disliked him, his obsession with protecting Sara clouding his judgment. Yet Emil had wormed his way into Michele’s heart, his good cheer and kind nature eroding away the Italian’s harsh, angry exterior to reveal the charming man beneath.
“WILL I SEE YOU SOON IN MY HOTEL ROOM FOR A HOLIDAY ROMANCE! AIR HOSTESS!”
As the two siblings in the front finish the song, falling about giggling as the car trundles towards the suburbs of Prague, Michele thinks that he’s never been luckier in his life to have such an adorable boyfriend.