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Circumspect not to disturb the half-up half-down ponytail that took her four attempts to perfect, Tessa lifts her dark locks with her hands. She can feel him breathing behind her as he reaches around to tie the long satin ribbon, which matches his shirt’s deep Egyptian blue, at the nape of her neck.
“That’s not too tight, is it?” Scott sniffles as he smoothes over the knotted bow he just completed.
“Not at all,” she turns around and lays her hands on his shoulders. Her hand reaches up to caress the skin where his chin and his cheek meet.
He leans into her comforting touch and closes his eyes to savor a mere fleeting moment of bliss. From up close, Tessa can make out the dark circles fighting their way to be seen beneath the concealer she smeared underneath his eyes a few minutes ago. The palm of her hand finds its way to the thick strands of hair at the back of his head. She pushes his head down gently. Instantly, Scott leans down to capture her in his warmer-than-usual embrace. He releases a heavy breath through his mouth. His mild congestion on day one of All That Skate has clearly aggravated into a feverish cold, complete with a stuffy nose and an irritable Scott.
“Don’t forget to be present,” she whispers, much to his chagrin.
He cantankerously groans before taking another deep breath and replying, “Together.”
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During the opening number, Scott seems to avoid Tessa’s gaze and stares wistfully into the stands. Tessa quickly glances around and marvels at the twinkling lights coming from fans’ phones and forming a makeshift starry galaxy among the crowd. She could laugh at his uncomfortable expressions but she prevents herself from doing so. His eyes meet hers, a dopey grin on his lips.
Scott practically forces himself through the choreography of “Rock My World”. He does not hit his cues as sharply as he would’ve liked to. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that Tessa’s glorious smile is the only thing motivating him and getting him through this last show in Seoul.
Just two more numbers after this one, he silently assures himself.
With their hands intertwined, they return backstage. Scott assists Tessa out of her militaresque costume and into her cranberry dress, adorned with floral appliques. Tessa returns the favor, holding the black mesh of his costume.
“We have a lot of time before we go out there again,” Tessa’s hand rubs up and down his arm. She feels his forehead with the back of her hand. A slight fever, she thinks and hands him a new water bottle and some pain killers from her bag to alleviate his throbbing headache.
Scott chases the pills down and tips his head back as he chugs the entire contents of the bottle. He hoists himself up to sit on a nearby, sturdy table. His long arm extends to push the back of her waist towards him, and his other arm draws her in between his legs. His head tilts down to fit into its rightful place as he presses his face into her trapezius muscle. Slowly, they inhale and exhale in unison. His muscular arms wrap around her middle, and his left hand strokes the area of her bare back between her shoulder blades. His right hand curls around the back of her neck, underneath her hair, which is still in a high ponytail and not yet in Satine’s bun.
Her hands massage his lower back. “I talked to Yuna. After the show, I’ll go with her to pick up some medicine and dinner for you. I want you to go straight to the hotel once we’re done with the curtain call.”
The corners of his mouth feebly raise, “Yes, ma’am.” His right hand stretches down to cheekily pat her left buttock.
She retracts from his clutch abruptly to catch a glimpse of his weak smirk. She pretends to scoff at his crude gesture but she cannot hold back her grin, one that is matched by his own.
Her lips press into the crease of his forehead, “I want you to rest as much as you can before we head to Japan.”
“I know,” he mumbles.
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Their Moulin Rouge program materializes much better than Scott had hoped. When he mouths the familiar words of “Come What May” to Tessa, Tessa scrutinizes his bloodshot eyes with a knowing smile. When the lights dim at the end, his genuine, blinding smile reveals itself. She always has chills running up her spine every time they finish that program. She senses that he does too.
Yuna passes between them after all the applause and waves her hand to them in fluttery motion. They repeat the motion in her direction and disappear backstage to help each other change into their final costumes.
At the penultimate note of the Bieber’s “2U”, Scott lifts Tessa onto his shoulder and nestles his left hand between her thighs, through her skirt.
Tessa points to the crowd, and mutters through her plastered performance smile, “Scott, hand.”
He quickly adjusts his hand to sit more appropriately on her left leg and acknowledges the crowd with his free hand, waving enthusiastically in spite of his fatigue.
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After blowing his nose numerous times and therefore creating a mountain of crumpled tissues in the trash can, Scott unhurriedly showers and changes into a t-shirt and sweatpants and flops onto his bed. Tessa has a separate room but he made sure to request their rooms to be adjacent to one another. While checking-in a few days ago, much to his pleasure, he found their rooms to be serendipitously connected together by a single door, as part of a small suite. They keep that door ajar.
Approximately thirty minutes later, he hears Tessa enter through the door of her room. He hears the muffling of plastic bags carrying her purchases and smells the aroma of freshly-prepared food.
Tessa walks through the adjoining door and enters Scott’s room. “Yuna says this is the best bimibap in Seoul, and recommended the chicken soup for you, so I bought both,” she places the take-out containers on the desk and sets another plastic bag near his feet on the bed.
Scott barks a throaty cough and sits up on the bed, leaning his back on pillows propped up against the headboard.
“Thanks, Tess,” he breathes as he pulls her standing frame closer to him, “What would I do without you?” he chuckles and kisses the neckline of her shirt which rests right above her breasts. She kisses his head and combs through his hair with her fingers.
“Come on,” she rubs his back, “You need to eat first before taking your medicine.” She takes the bowl-shaped container containing the soup and grabs a plastic spoon. Sitting across Scott’s lap, she dips the spoon into the broth and faces Scott.
He looks like a child on Christmas Day as his exhausted face breaks into a grin and raises an eyebrow at Tessa, “Really?”
“This soup isn’t going to feed itself to you,” she bites her lip. He leans forward to welcome the spoonful into his mouth.
He hums, gratified by the new warmth in his belly, “That’s good.” He pets her jean-clad thighs and smirks, “How lucky am I?”
She shakes her head in disbelief. She teases him, “Wipe that stupid grin off your face or I’ll make you feed yourself.”
He playfully frowns, causing his second favorite, delightful sound to liberate itself from her throat.
Once Scott finishes his soup, Tessa lets him pick at her bimibap on a separate plate prior to finishing her portion herself, all the while stationary in her position, sitting across his lap. Once she is done eating, she pushes herself off the bed with the intention of putting all of the empty containers and disposable utensils in the trash.
“Where are you going?” his half-open eyes widen, and his posture becomes more alert than it was a second ago.
“I need to put all this garbage away and give you your medicine,” she says without looking at him and giggles, “You’re so clingy when you’re sick.”
“You’re mean,” his eyebrows narrow. She laughs as she turns to look at him and walks back to the bed.
“I’m so glad you shaved that caterpillar off your face,” she pinches his upper lip between her nails.
“Ow,” he pushes her hand away, “I only did it because you wouldn’t kiss me.”
“I still won’t kiss you until you feel better again,” she interjects. She catches him raising an eyebrow at her as if to retort, Yeah right.
She retrieves a small glass bottle of liquid and another plastic spoon from the bag she placed on the bed. Facing him again, she crawls over him and straddles his waist. She tears off the clear plastic seal and attempts to open the bottle with her hands, which are slippery from the vanilla-scented lotion she applied earlier.
Watching her struggle, Scott fails to hold back a chuckle, “Tess, it’s childproof.”
She mischievously glares at him. She hands him the bottle wordlessly, and he easily unscrews the small cap for her and hands her the bottle. Her shining eyes trace the features of his honest face before pouring the transparent, brown liquid carefully onto the plastic spoon.
“What is that?” he grimaces.
Tessa rolls her eyes. “It’s poison,” she deadpans sarcastically.
“Why can’t I take a pill?”
“Don’t be a baby,” she scolds him, “Medicine in liquid suspension is more effective than medicine in pill-form. It takes effect faster. Plus, Yuna said she takes this when she’s sick and it works like a charm.”
“I highly doubt she said that,” he crosses his arms.
Tessa gives in, “Okay, so she didn’t exactly say it that way but it was something along those lines. Now, open wide. Please.”
Scott sighs, and Tessa lifts the spoon closer to his mouth. He gives her one more unenthusiastic look before opening his mouth so she can slip the spoon between his open lips.
Scott reluctantly swallows and scowls, “That’s fucking disgusting.” Tessa chortles at his reaction. “And you’re enjoying this.”
His words result in her laughing harder, “Come on. One more,” she pours another spoonful.
He huffs as he opens his mouth again to receive the full dose. He moans in discomfort at the foul taste and hands her the bottle’s cap.
Tessa leans over him to put the medicine bottle on his nightstand. Scott reaches for the water bottle beside the lamp but Tessa’s hand stops him.
“No, you can’t wash it down yet. You’ll dilute the medication,” she explains.
He wipes a hand down his face in disappointment, “It tastes like shit.”
“Yeah well, I never said it tasted good,” she strokes his chest for a transient moment. She begins to move from her straddle position but Scott grasps her hips and pushes her back down on his lap.
“Stay with me,” he commands but then pleads gently, “Please, T.”
“You need to rest,” she insists.
“I will.”
She cocks her head to one side, not convinced.
“I promise I’ll be a very good patient, doctor,” he grins as he lazily strokes her thighs with both of his hands.
“Okay, that’s it. I’m leaving,” she feigns contempt and makes a second attempt to get off of his lap. He thwarts her efforts, tightening his grip on her thighs.
“I’m just playing with you, kiddo,” he coughs out a laugh.
She encircles her arms around his neck, “If I get sick, I’m going to be so angry with you.”
“I’ll take that risk,” he counters. Without a hitch, he lifts her off his lap and next to him, “I sleep better when you’re next to me anyway.” Knowing she sleeps on her side, he hands her the firmer pillows because he knows she prefers those to the softer ones. Firm pillows provide more support for her neck.
She stops fluffing her pillows to tilt her head up to stare at him sincerely. “Give me a second to get my toiletries and pajamas from my room.” He nods and can’t stop grinning to himself once she leaves his room.
________________
Fresh as a daisy after using his shower, she slides into her favorite red-striped pajama set. She gives herself a blowout and twists her hair into a top knot. As she applies her facial moisturizer (Nivea, of course), she hears Scott blow his nose into another tissue before he enters the bathroom. She stands aside to let him wash his hands. Tessa hands him his toothbrush, grabs hers, and squeezes one strip of toothpaste onto each.
A part of his mind amusedly ponders that although they started skating at a young age and grew together, Tessa never outgrew him, despite her family’s genes, manifested by Tessa’s tall siblings. He contemplates this while oscillating his gaze from the back of Tessa’s head to her appearance in the mirror. She finishes brushing her teeth ahead of him. Before she spits into the sink, Scott audaciously and sloppily kisses her cheek, lips foaming with toothpaste.
“Ugh, Scott,” she reprimands him. He guffaws as he spits into the sink, clutching her waist.
Tessa wipes her cheek and mouth on her towel and leaves the bathroom. Scott follows but stops walking when he notices her heading back into her hotel room.
“Hey, you said you’d sleep with me,” he calls after her.
“So clingy!” she remarks over her shoulder, “Let me get one more thing.”
He decides to finally settle in and tugs on the duvet. He then climbs in bed and lies on his back. Each time he breathes out through his nose, his exhalations pathetically muffle into soft snoring sounds. His headache, clogged sinuses, and sore throat seem to have augmented into a nauseating pain pulsating at the center of his forehead and over his eyebrows. Using his fingertips, he squeezes the creases of his forehead in an effort to lessen his migraine.
Instead of walking over to her side of the bed, Tessa crawls over Scott’s legs and sits upright next to his supine body. She holds a small brass jar in her hand.
“Take off your shirt,” she leans over him, touching the hem of his t-shirt.
With his eyes firmly closed, he croaks, “I’m not in the mood right now, Tess.”
A half-suppressed laugh erupts from her pretty mouth, “Nooo,” she taps the lid of the compact container, “I think this is supposed to be like a Vicks of some kind.”
“Oh, okay,” he grudgingly, sits up to grab his collar with both hands in an upward motion to pull his shirt over his head. He tosses it towards the edge of the bed and lies back down. Tessa opens the jar but not without letting her eyes rake over the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders.
She dips her fingertips into the jar and scoops a loonie-sized amount into her palm. With her other hand, she takes most of the dollop and spreads it on Scott’s chest. The back of his throat makes a deep inarticulate sound as whiffs of menthol and camphor manage to travel through his mostly-congested nose and into his lungs. Tessa rubs the remainder of the balm between her hands before working her fingers at the back of his neck and down his shoulders. After ten minutes, she reaches up to push the pressure points located near his temples.
“Tess, you could be a physiotherapist,” he grumbles as she wipes her hands with a tissue.
“Shhh,” she leans down to quickly kiss a few centimeters above his navel, “And you need to lay off the beer and steak.”
“What?” he starts to open his tired eyes but Tessa’s fingertips graze his eyelids down, touching his fine lashes.
"Nothing. You need to rest,” she gazes at his sleepy, docile form, “Goodnight, Scott.” She grasps his t-shirt from the edge of the bed and puts it on him. He lazily complies.
After staring intently at Scott snoring for almost three quarters of an hour, Tessa decides to pack up Scott’s clothes that have been strewn across his room. She folds his t-shirts and costumes neatly and opens his suitcase only to find more clothes rumpled in chaotic disarray. Disapprovingly shaking her head, she rearranges everything in an efficient, systematic Tessa Virtue way.
Throughout the night, Scott’s cough indiscriminately shakes him awake, dragging him in and out of consciousness. Several hours later, he turns his body on his side and can see the overcast sky emit white streaks of light through the openings between the drapes of the window. The light produces some contrast in the room, creating gray shadows along the beige-painted walls.
He vaguely remembers each time a violent cough flared up from his throat, Tessa approached the bed or simply leaned over to move her small hand on his chest in a circular motion, which somehow soothed his distress and discomfort.
His eyes focus on the digital clock sitting on the nightstand to decipher the numbers. He realizes the time and knows they have a flight to catch in a few hours. He shifts over to his left and sees Tessa sprawled out on the mattress in a prone position. He winces as he rubs his eyes, the throb of his forehead resurfacing when he touches the tender areas Tessa fervently and meticulously massaged.
She’s already fully clothed and airport-ready in her jeans, comfy t-shirt, and a leather jacket. Her face is still devoid of makeup but her hair has been released from the top knot. Her runners are on her feet but are hanging off the side of the bed, probably in an effort to courteously keep the sheets and duvet clean.
His hand smoothes over the silky waves of her midnight brown hair. Outside of his loving family, Scott is certain that Tessa is the only consistent person in his life—consistently loyal, consistently even-keeled, consistently hard-working, consistently striving for greatness, consistently by his side, consistently Tessa.
Somewhere amidst his thoughts, he is interrupted by a faint whimper. He drowsily smiles at her, watching her yawn and stretch her limbs.
She lifts her head to find him already awake and asks in a raspy voice, “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” he sniffed, “That syrup or whatever you gave me really knocked me out. Strong stuff. We have to send Yuna a thank you note.”
“You were coughing in your sleep though,” she argues, “I was worried.”
“I feel a lot better than I did yesterday morning, thanks to you,” he assures her and sighs, “Thank you for taking care of me, Dr. Tessa.”
She beams at him, adjusting herself to bolster her upper body on her elbows and tucking her fists under her chin. “What kind of a girlfriend would I be if I don’t take care of you?” she rhetorically asks. “You took care of me too when I was sick after the Olympics.” An ephemeral moment of silence passes between them. She nudges his shoulder, “You’re all packed up by the way.”
He stretches his arms and lets out a monster of a yawn, “You’re the best, Tess.”
“Don’t you forget it,” she winks.
“Never,” he affirms. He pulls her closer to him, cuddles her face into his chest, and places a light kiss on the side of her head. “I find it so funny that you got sick at the end of Pyeongchang, and now I get sick at the end of our tour in Seoul. That’s ridiculous, eh? Korea must hate us.”
Her laugh is muffled by his camphor and menthol-scented shirt.
“I feel so much better. You could be a doctor or a physiotherapist, T,” he whispers into her ear. “But only I can be your patient. I can’t let you touch anyone else.”
“You’re so selfish,” she shifts to place her chin on his chest.
“Pshhh, you love me,” his left hand cradles her neck.
She slowly blinks and breathes meaningfully, “I do.”
Only he has the privilege of seeing her like this, hearing her say the words meant only for his ears, witnessing her vulnerable side, and bantering along with her humorous, sharp wit. And he doesn’t have to utter those three sacred words in response to her admission. She knows that his love burns only for her.
A myriad of people can say they know Tessa Virtue but only Scott Moir can truly say he knows her.
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And you're my only virtue
And I'm virtually yours
And there's certain things that I adore
And there's certain things that I ignore
But I'm certain that I'm yours
I adore you
I adore you
- James Arthur, “Certain Things”