Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

  A chill, familiar and welcomed, surged through Angel’s body as his feet graced ice and suddenly he wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore. Skating was enough for him; it satisfied any craving, any urge, any need. He felt weightless yet so paradoxically grounded in the moment that it created a blissful sense of equilibrium in his body. He breathed in and exhaled euphoria. Skating, after all, wasn’t a sport— it was a form of self expression so deeply rooted in Angel that it had grown into a well kept garden.

   Angel spent hours on the ice, perfecting every step and movement as his limbs gracefully found rhythm within the music. He’d learned how to lead with elegance rather than power, stowing his strength away in his legs while his arms and body looked pretty; skating was grueling work, so finding the beauty in it was necessary.

    The music disappears once Angel becomes immersed in skating. The practiced routine allows him to feel rather than hear the music, something that he has become accustomed to over many years of doing it. They were going over his routine once again, over and over– repetition was key to mastery after all.

  Makima stood to the side, bright brown eyes narrowed as she stared at Angel. Coach and athlete, that was who they were to one another. Nothing more, nothing less. Regardless of how much Angel disliked his coach off the rink, he couldn’t deny the only reason he was standing comfortably at first in the world was because of her. She had many successful skaters under her wing, and was even one herself. 

   Lines wove themselves into the ice, looking like a complex, ornate spider web as Angel skated, practically flying on the ice. It gleamed and glistened under the harsh lights of the rink, reflecting a mirror image of himself. (Angel hated looking at himself in the ice, but it was so smooth that he couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of himself before looking away.)

   Going into a jump, he placed his left leg out behind him, and just before he dug his skate into the ice, his music cut. It jarred Angel so intensely he stuttered for a moment.  Angel couldn’t stop his momentum so, to his surprise, he stuck his skate into the ground and jumped. He could only manage a double flip, and as he landed back on his left leg he struggled to find balance. Swiveling and deciding that finishing his momentum was best done on two feet with his arms plastered to his chest, he spun out of the jump and looked at Makima. 

  “What gives?” He asks, eyebrows raised in clear annoyance. The entire situation had ripped him so suddenly from his trance that he doubled over, breathing so heavily he nearly threw up. Something that plagued Angel constantly was his lack of self preservation skills; he would literally work until he threw up, and then work more. It wasn’t about pushing himself to the brink— it was simply the fact that he was so engrossed in what he was doing, he never noticed his own body beginning to lag behind what he was demanding of it. 

  Makima raised her own eyebrows, but instead of annoyance, she did it to make a point. Gesturing to the skater in front of her with an outstretched hand, she then moved to announce two other students who were eager for time with her. Angel groaned. 

  “You’ve practically perfected the routine. If you’re looking for my approval, I’ll give it: you get an A plus. Now get out, I have other students.” Makima said in her perfectly pitched voice that somehow never failed to get on every one of Angel’s nerves. Putting aside his own pride (something seldom shown off the ice), Angel was pretty sure his legs would collapse out from underneath him if he didn’t get off the ice at that moment, so he skated to the edge and hopped out, wary of the younger students. 

   They looked like they were only a few lessons in with Makima; still scrawny, yet to build muscle, and they had stars in their eyes that twinkled every time they blinked. It was abhorrent to watch, but Angel couldn’t deny he looked the exact same when he’d first met the red-haired coach. Now, however, he was disillusioned with the entire thing. 

  Regardless of his own dislike for Makima, she was a good coach. Those kids would do well if they knew how to listen. The taller one, a boy, had an expression similar to a puppy and eyes that drooped downwards with spiky blonde hair and a near grin. Comparatively, the girl had a sharp face and severe eyes, tapered upwards and a high nose and cheekbones. They were both cute kids, and would most likely succeed in the skating world based on visuals alone.

   Shrugging, Angel yawned as he begrudgingly sat down on the bench and shoved his blade guards onto his skates and into his bag. Slipping on his fuzzy socks and crocs, Angel stood, stretching his back and walking out of the rink. 

  Going into the lobby, he refrained from buying coffee from the concession, deciding that sleep outweighed the allure of coffee at the moment. What it didn’t outweigh, though, was his curiosity for how Makima would treat the new students. There was a certain way she taught that she prided herself on, and that was an adaptive teaching style. While it’s the most effective, few trainers and coaches decide to follow it because of their own expectations of their athletes. Makima takes a different approach; she gaslights her athletes into thinking they’re doing all of this for themselves, even when it’s all for her. 

   Scoffing at the thought, Angel crossed his arms, looking as Makima watched the other students warm up. Angel had been here before, and the entire situation felt bitterly nostalgic; his first win had come with the crushing realization that he had to keep winning if he wanted to continue skating. Makima had a way of ruining her skaters if they didn’t do what she asked of them.

    As he observed the two new pupils, he began to take apart and analyze them as they warmed up. The girl was too powerful and aggressive with her skating, while the boy was too nervous and flighty with his. 

  Looking to his side, he saw a man that seemed to be mesmerized by what he was watching on the ice. Furrowing his brows, clearly confused as to what was so enticing down there, Angel looked back at the rink and then back at the man. 

  Oh. Angel thought, his gaze lingering on Makima’s braided hair and small smile. Of course. A roll of the eyes and a shake of his head, Angel proposed a question to the stranger next to him. 

   “Are you training under Makima as well?” Angel’s voice was in a constant deadpan, never betraying any underlying emotion. Honestly, he could care less what the answer to the question was, but he was curious, and last time he checked, a question like this wouldn’t kill him. The man startled as if Angel had caught him doing something unsavory, and sheepishly shook his head.

  “No, I’m not,” was his answer, although it looked like he wanted to say more. Narrowing his eyes, Angel very clearly gestured with his head towards the three people they were observing, as if asking, ‘Then why the hell are you staring at two teenagers ant their coach?’. The man seemed to get the message. “Ah, those are my two… siblings.” 

   It looked as if that word still felt foreign on the stranger’s mouth, as if he wasn’t accustomed to the taste of the syllables or how they settled into sound. Humming noncommittally, Angel acknowledged his answer.

  “So you dropped them off.” He stated. The man nodded.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “Hm.” Angel let out a noncommittal hum, assuming the guy was staying to watch his siblings and maybe someone else (Angel gagged at the thought), and gave a neutral goodbye wave to him. He assumed he would see the other around, especially if he lingered in the viewing area after dropping his siblings off every time, so Angel didn’t care about goodbyes that much. 

   Exhaustion overtaking him, Angel walked out of the building with sore legs and winded lungs. He wondered briefly if the man had left shortly after him, but dismissed the thought immediately because it was pointless to even think about. 

—

  “Oh God,” Makima groaned, clearly frustrated as Angel fell again after trying to land his triple axel. “You didn’t ice it, did you?” She accused, stepping closer to him with her sneakered feet and holier-than-thou attitude. It pissed Angel off. (Actually, he’d usually never feel like this, but he was in so much pain he would’ve broken down crying if he didn’t focus those emotions into anger.)

   Clutching his ankle, his left side already bruising from where he’d taken a nasty fall onto it, he huffed out a breath in response. “I did the entire RICE method, thank you very much. This shit just doesn’t heal. I don’t heal.” He wasn’t trying to be dramatic; in fact, it very much was the truth. He was a brittle, brittle person with brittle, brittle bones. He didn’t have very strong anything, and him even getting this far in such a physically demanding sport was shocking to both him and his doctor. 

  Pinching her brows together with her pointer finger and thumb, Makima shook her head in quiet contemplation. Angel didn’t dare breathe. He continued massaging his ankle, trying to make it feel a little better. Makima spoke soon after.

   “Ok. Here’s what we’ll do: you’re off the ice for now,” she decided, emphasizing her declaration by gesturing with her hands. “It’s still the summer season, you have time to become re-acclimated with it after you’ve healed a little. We’ll do ballet and strength training in the meantime, but nothing super high impact.” She said, helping Angel off the ice. 

   Her touch stung.

   Nodding, a certain type of grief rushing over Angel in an instant, he deflated immediately as he was pulled off the ice. His skates were particularly hard to take off, especially considering he may not put them on again for some time. Makima walked over to him sitting on the bench, looking like she wanted to add something. 

  “You’re also going to physical therapy, finally. You need it,” She demanded of him, and Angel had no other option but to oblige. Disobeying might’ve been satisfying in the moment, but it could cost him his entire career. “I know of one, actually. He recently introduced himself to me.” Makima mentioned, and handed over the business card of one Hayakawa Aki. 

   Shrugging and stowing the card away for later, Angel left the rink with what felt like the entire world on his shoulders and no way of removing it. Physical therapy cemented it a little too much for him, made it too real and he struggled to grasp the concept of being injured. I can do it, he would chant to himself until he believed it, ignoring his throbbing ankle that threatened to break.

   Before scheduling a physical therapy appointment, Angel decided it best to go and visit his doctor first, just to make sure that nothing really was broken. Sometimes it sure felt like it. His doctor was adamant at seeing him as soon as possible (meaning that afternoon), and he was barely able to drive to the appointment without turning around and forgetting about the entire thing. 

   The doctor’s office reminded him too much of things he’d rather forget: his parents, his childhood, his first injury. Things he’d rather never think of again. Shoving the entire thing out of his head and deciding that maybe focusing on the pain wasn’t that bad, he clicked his tongue as his name was called. 

   “So,” was what his doctor started with, pulling up the x-rays they had taken thirty minutes ago. Angel’s shoulders sagged, something he was constantly scolded against. Skaters must have perfect posture, but he supposed he could let it slide just this once. 

  “So?” Angel begged him to continue. His doctor looked at him pitifully and it made his blood boil.

   “It’s not broken, thankfully, but you’re wearing it too thin. Putting that much strain on it daily while it’s already weak…” an exasperated sigh followed as he sat down in his chair, eye level with Angel. “Your coach was right, Angel. You need physical therapy, maybe even to take this season off.”

  “No!” Angel responded immediately, the anxiety and anger in his voice rising suddenly. His doctor didn’t even flinch, most likely having to deal with this daily. Angel had also had outbursts similar to this previously, so it made sense that his doctor was completely unfazed.

   “You won’t have another season if you keep working yourself like this and not taking care of yourself, Angel.” 

   Goddamn it if he wasn’t right. Angel shut his mouth from retorting, deciding it best to just shut up and think about what he said. Pursing his lips, Angel reflexively brought his hand to rest on the pocket where that stupid business card was. 

  “I already have a physical therapist in mind,” Aki told the doctor. He nodded, looking at the card Angel pulled from his pocket. 

  “I see,” a small hum came from the man in front of him. “I’ll see if this lines up with your insurance, and if they specialize in athlete rehabilitation.” Excusing himself, his doctor went to his office and left Angel alone in the clinical room that smelled like linen and hand sanitizer. 

   Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, Angel breathed through his nose and out through his mouth, trying anything to calm himself down. Sadness wasn’t the correct word for what he was feeling; tears weren’t threatening to fall from his eyes, but he was holding himself back from breaking his damn ankle himself. From throwing the tissue box on the floor and ripping up every single piece of tissue and even the cardboard. Anger filled him to the brim and he had a difficult time combating it, and he had a sinking feeling that this is exactly what loss felt like. 

  (He knew what it felt like all too well, and admitting that he had felt this way in the past was shoved to the back of his mind. He should be different now.)

   Angel was a relatively relaxed person in his day to day life; rarely attached to anything (skating excluded), and was blunt, quiet, and reserved in his time off the rink. His friends described him as constantly bored and tired, and only stuck around because of his disinterest in causing drama or starting fights. 

  When skating was added to the mix, however, Angel got wildly protective and furious over the only thing he’s ever actually enjoyed in his entire life. He was distant with everything else, but with his art form he was all in no matter what. That’s why when he had an injury, he blamed himself more than anything else. Screw the skating committee, screw the rules, screw the overwhelming need to be better or else he’ll fall behind. 

    He was weak; that was the bottom line. He’d been a frail, fragile boy since he was born. Skinny– too skinny– with bones made of jelly no matter how much muscle he built to reinforce it. Landing over and over again on hard ice directly on his foot, using his ankle for balance, support, and to break his fall, he wasn’t surprised it had whittled away so much. Rolling it, he glared at his left ankle, then looked at his right one.

  “Why couldn’t you be more like righty here, huh? Fucking bitch.” He swore at his own ankle, refraining from slapping it because he felt like that might be a little too much and he already felt himself going slightly insane. 

   A knock sounded a few minutes later, breaking Angel out of his self-deprecating stare at the wall. His doctor walked back in, and had a smile that Angel wanted to slap off his face. 

  “Good news! Looks like everything checks out with this physical therapist,” his doctor delivered what he felt was good news (to Angel it just solidified that his career as a figure skater was over), before continuing. “But, on top of physical therapy, I think you should start seeing an actual therapist.” His doctor spoke seriously now, and Angel’s blood froze.

  “What? Why?” Angel protested.

  “This sport is your life; you need to learn how to deal with this injury and the possible things that could result from it. Many athletes have gotten injured and had to quit their sport, and they didn’t exactly take it well.” 

   Angel knew exactly what he was referring to, but refused to think of it. He gripped the paper cover to the medical bed, ripping it as he took his frustration out on it. After some time, his doctor painfully patient, Angel nodded. A sympathetic smile covered his doctor’s face and Angel just scowled in return.

  “Alright, Angel. I’ll set those two appointments up for you. You have a good day, ok?” The doctor patted his arm reassuringly before stepping out of the room again, this time permanently. Angel sat, shocked into silence, staring blankly at the floor as he short circuited attempting to process all of what was to come for him.

—

 His appointment was today. It was four days after his initial doctor appointment, and they had rushed to squeeze Angel in as soon as possible. In the meantime he’d been doing ballet exercises and stretches, making sure to keep most of his weight on his right foot. It didn’t feel the same, though, doing spins on a wooden floor rather than on ice, foot balancing precariously on a thin blade.

   He placed his left leg on the bar, rolling his ankle in a circle to the left and then to the right. Straightening his right leg, he bent forward, his back curving into a perfect semicircle as he reached his hands further, further, and further still until he was almost touching the mirror in front of him. 

   When he was peeved or emotionally constipated, he always took it out on his body. He pushed the parts of his body that could be pushed, far past what they should go. His thighs strained with the stretch, the back of them pulled so taught it nearly hurt. He was already so flexible, but he needed to get better.

  A knock came at the door; that must be Hayakawa. Ripping his leg from the bar, he shook himself out and walked to the door, his ballet flats silent against the floor beneath him. Opening the door, Angel welcomed the man in. He was a traveling physical therapist. They came to you, something Angel appreciated, so he just had Aki meet him at the ballet studio within the rink. 

   The man didn’t speak for a few moments, looking wide eyed at Angel. Narrowing his eyes, the smaller man moved his hands as if to initiate the taller to say something. Noticing this, Aki a moved to speak. “Oh, sorry. You’re just… the person the other day, at the rink. You spoke to me. I didn’t think we’d be seeing each other like this.” He said. Angel just raised his eyebrows, trying to remember the face in front of him.

   He stared blankly at Aki, not placing the face. Yeah, he looked vaguely familiar, but his hair was down and that ruined the entire image. Squinting, Angel imagined his hair up and snapped his fingers. “Right! Drop off guy. Lovely.” Angel said in turn, and the guy looked satisfied enough with that. 

   They began their session soon after, and Aki started off by asking Angel more in depth questions about his injury.

  “When does it hurt the most, and where specifically?” 

   Angel pointed to the outside edge of his ankle, as well as the inside corner. The front and back were relatively painless, but most times he couldn’t even differentiate any of it. “Mostly when I put angled pressure on it,” Angel dutifully answered. “Not, like, standing, but when I lean on it. Or jump on it. Asymmetrical pressure, I guess.” 

   Aki just nodded like he was putting a puzzle together and had just found a piece he’d been looking for. Angel just sat silently, looking somewhere far away Aki’s cool hands pressed and prodded at his ankle. 

   His touch didn’t burn, oddly enough. Angel didn’t mind it.

    They started with flexing and holding his ankle; first he would flex it, hold for fifteen seconds, then he would point his foot and hold for another fifteen seconds. 

  He had to use an exercise band after then, pulling it taught with his ankle, holding, and then releasing. He did too many reps of this to count, his ankle sore and abused. He rubbed it subconsciously.

  “We’re just trying to strengthen it right now,” The physical therapist said with a small, helpful smile. “It’ll feel better and get easier the more you do it.”

   Hell if Angel didn’t know that. His entire sport revolved around the motto, “try, try, try again”. Aki seemed to sense Angel’s glare and laughed slightly, moving to his travel bag and pulling out a plastic scraper and coconut butter. Angel quirked a brow.

  “I’m gonna scrape your muscles, helping the scar tissue break apart,” Aki informed him, massaging his ankle as Angel propped himself up on a raised bed and Aki sat down in front of him. “It’ll help it heal, but it’s gonna hurt.”

   Angel rolled his eyes. He handled pain better than anyone else he knew. 

   Lathering the coconut butter on his ankle, Aki began with long, languid strokes pressing down and scraping Angel’s flesh with his plastic torture device. Angel squirmed a bit at first but got used to it quickly, gazing out the window in a daze as Aki switched to short, strong strokes on the sides of his ankle.

  Angel nearly jumped out of his skin, an electric shock running through his body and frying his brain. “Jesus Christ!” He almost doubled over from the pain, barely holding on. He gripped the edges of the chair so hard his knuckles turned a stark white. 

  Aki only looked up apologetically, but didn’t slow his pace as he dug deeper and deeper into the delicate, bruised skin of Angel’s ankle. He nearly whimpered from the pain, but felt that would be wildly inappropriate and would make him sound like a child so he held back.

    Somehow holding a passive, neutral face, Angel held his body still (Aki had reminded him multiple times to relax and not be so tense) as Aki came to an end with his torture. He patted Angel’s ankle reassuringly (Angel had a feeling he was also promising his ankle that next time would be worse), he finished the session by wrapping Angel’s ankle tightly in a dry bandage that compressed the bone and muscle. 

   Moving his ankle to get used to the feeling of having the cloth on it, he looked up at Aki who was writing something on a sheet of paper. Angel raised an eyebrow, suspecting that he probably had homework.

   Turned out he was right; ice it twice a day while elevating it (boring), letting his ankle breathe for 30 minutes a day (usually after a shower), and a list of exercises in the morning and at night. Angel stared blankly at the paper, trying to process the information but getting absolutely nowhere. 

  Aki laughed softly, before saying, “Our next session will be next Tuesday. That work for you?” His tone was light with a hint of professionalism, his arms resting on one propped up knee that sat on the edge of his stool, the other one planted firmly on the ground. He leaned forwards ever so slightly, and Angel took a second to process what he said.

   Angel frowned; of course next Tuesday would work for him. His schedule was so vacuously empty it caused a void to form in his chest. “Yep, works for me.” Angel answered bitterly, Aki shaking his head slightly (Angel knew it was pity). 

  “My siblings are practicing now, if you want to watch them together. I figured it might help you to watch skating.” Aki offered good-heartedly, to which Angel gave a defiant shrug.

   “Sorry, but I really don’t think it will. Have fun, though.” Angel denied his request, picking up his ballet shoes, slipping on socks and his sneakers, and leaving the physical therapist to find his way to the viewing area alone.

Chapter Text

 As June slowly bled into July, the first few days of the blisteringly hot months were spent indoors doing God knows what as Angel tried his best to keep himself off the ice. It wasn’t easy, as he often wandered dangerously close to the edge, skates in hand, no one around to catch him and– 

   He would remember. 

   Remember that a shattered ankle, or even a sprained or fractured one, could mean the end of his entire career. He turned away from the rink in front of him, its freshly leveled ice packed so perfectly he could see his reflection, and he allowed his skates to hang lowly from his hand as if admitting defeat. The back of his neck was wet with sweat despite it being cold in the rink, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. He was such an idiot.

   “Oh, there you are! I was about to go…” Aki began happily, his voice filled with relief until it slowly crescendoed into concern. His eyes jumped from the skate’s in Angel’s hand to Angel’s eyes. The auburn haired man swallowed thickly, looking away from Aki’s gaze. “looking for you.” He finished quietly, as if he’d lost confidence in what he was saying.

   Angel narrowed his eyes bitterly and threw his skates over by his bag. “It’s nothing; I was just grabbing them out of my locker.”

    Aki pursed his lips, and Angel knew he’d heard that excuse a thousand times before. Sighing, he just nodded, and Angel was flooded with relief at his not saying anything. Addressing it meant that he’d actually done it, someone else knew about it, and now everyone would know that he’s really not ok .

   Angel slipped his ballet flats on, as Makima was coming straight after Aki was done with Angel’s physical therapy to torture her student with painful stretches and exercises. Padding over softly to where Aki was sitting in a rolling chair, the skater plopped himself down on the raised bench and began the drills as Aki instructed.

   They fell into a comfortable rhythm whenever they had appointments; Angel would say some offhand, cynical comment, Aki would snort and then say something back about how, ‘Yeah, I get that, but’, trying to put some good back into the world. Angel would smile small and quiet as they descended once again into a silent, comfortable atmosphere before the cycle started over.

    Today was different, though. Aki didn’t say a word back to Angel’s comments, just shot him an indecipherable look that Angel thought was similar to what anguish might look like, and it made Angel furious. Chewing on his lip as Aki scraped and scraped the skin of Angel’s poor ankle, there was a tension now that wasn’t there before. 

   It was clear Aki wanted to say something but thought it was out of line for him to ask; Angel noticed this but didn’t comment, wanting Aki to be the first one to speak instead. Angel didn’t owe anyone anything, and no one owed him anything right back. 

    Angel especially didn’t need anyone’s pity, and Aki was toeing a dangerous line. (Angel would never admit it, but he knew the look in Aki’s eyes was saddened frustration rather than pity.)

     When Aki cleared his throat, Angel nearly jumped out of his skin. They’d been silent for so long that hearing the other man talk sent chills down the skater’s spine. He shrugged them off, shivering a bit to try and get rid of the unpleasant feeling. 

   “So… were you told to go to, um,” another cough and clearing of the throat. Angel waited in suspenseful agony. “uh, any other doctors? For, like, everything that’s happening to you now.” Angel went still and just stared at Aki wide eyed, his mouth somehow becoming an even more poignant frown. He ripped his ankle away from Aki, assuming the session was done.

   “Yeah. Haven’t gotten around to it.” He clipped out, biting his words so harshly that it caused Aki to flinch. Angel wasn’t even sure if they were friends at this point– it was somewhere on the edge of friendly acquaintances, but Angel was sure that was just the other male’s personality. They were therapist and patient, and Angel hated that he had to meet such an annoying but necessary person who was forced to care about him.

  “Angel–”

  “Don’t. I get it,” Angel glared fiercely at Aki who closed his mouth into a firm, straight line for a second before pressing more.

  “This isn’t a thing you can just disregard, Angel,” Aki said, his tone becoming more and more professional which hurt Angel more than it probably should have. His voice was soft, understanding, and so horribly clinical Angel wanted to throw something at him. “Your mental health matters just as much as your physical health.”

  “God, you sound like a motivational poster.” Angel brushed him off, turning away from him and shoving his skates into his bag.

  “Angel.” His tone was even more serious. Angel didn’t care.

  Turning around sharply, perfectly balanced (damn, this therapy was working) as he stared Aki down. “Maybe I should, but I won’t. I’m an athlete– no, I’m a god when I step on that ice. Everything that happens is a product of what I do. I can’t be…” Angel gestures to his ankle, to Aki, and then to himself entirely. “Fucked up like this.”

   Aki scoffed. “Fucked up? Angel, this is what happens when you go too far. You pushed yourself to the brink of breaking, gave yourself no time to rest, and you want to go back out there and ruin it all? Permanently?” He pointed harshly to the direction of the rink, and Angel flexed his fingers angrily. 

  “Who are you to tell me this?” Angel challenged, nostrils flaring as his eyes threatened to well up with tears. He could feel that familiar sting at the back of his pupils, and he could feel his throat close. Aki paused after he said this, though, as he pondered what was just said to him. He looked defeated, and somehow, that made Angel feel even worse.

  “Sorry, I…” he looked to the side. “I overstepped. It’s ultimately your decision. I just thought we…”

   “We, what?” Angel pressed, fists balled. Aki visibly deflated.

  “Nevermind, forget it. Makima should be here soon.”

   Speaking of the devil, a knock sounded from the door, quick and succinct, and Aki sighed heavily before packing up his things as Angel opened the door. Makima stepped in, a white button up tucked into black pants. How she wore this in the summer eluded Angel, but at least she was consistent. 

   “Hello, Aki. Good to see you. How’d the session go?” Makima conversed with her honey-sweet smile and infuriatingly perfect voice. It nearly made Angel cry when Aki visibly brightened at Makima’s question, and Angel saw him leaning towards her like a flower does to the sun.

    The sun can be dangerous , Angel reminded himself suddenly, not letting Makima get to him. Aki smiled widely, something that almost knocked Angel off his feet, (his teeth are so white), and answered. 

  “It was good! You can really see the improvement. I say give it another two months and he should be able to start back up on the ice again, as long as he doesn’t overwork himself.” Aki said, thankfully leaving out the latter half of the appointment. Makima nodded, and Aki gave one last glance to Angel that was full of a hundred things, many of them Angel couldn’t bear to name.

   Makima clapped her hands in order to get her student’s attention, and began her torture.

– 

   Angel wasn’t someone who hid from conflict– in fact, he didn’t care enough about it to really see the need in arguments or interventions, but once again, everything that revolved around skating suddenly became ten times worse. Emotions started to bubble up from deep within him, something that hadn’t happened in a long, long time, and he couldn’t help but feel like a fish out of water. 

   Not even sleep allowed for peace of mind; in his dreams, Angel is dangling from the side of a mountain, just barely at the top but with a few meters to go. He could make it. He was practically already there, but the minute he takes his foot out of the protective crevice he’d found, his balance becomes shaky. He hesitates. 

   He hates hesitating. 

   But, after he plummets in slow motion with nothing to cushion his fall but prickly spruce trees, he’s instead falling on sleek ice that dislocates his shoulders and bruises his skin. He gets up, only to realize the ice is cracking from beneath him and falling into an abyss. Waking up in a cold sweat, Angel heaves as his ankle throbs angrily at the sudden movement. 

    Fuck , he thinks, head pounding as he searches his bedside table for water or any type of relief. Nearly falling out of bed, he grasps tightly onto his water bottle and takes a long gulp of the tasteless liquid, almost choking on it with the force at which it’s going down. 

    After that, he calls to make an appointment with a therapist.

    Two days later, he’s sitting in the therapy office waiting for his appointment, and a kid is sitting two seats away from him with a sucker in her mouth and stickers adorning her face. Angel looked boredly at her for a moment before turning away. 

   “What are you here for?” 

   Angel looked back over at the girl; her voice was surprisingly deeper than he’d expected. Angel just shrugged. Hell if he knew, he could have a bunch of stuff wrong with him. The girl just swung her legs and nodded.

    “What about you?” Angel asked her back, not necessarily curious but more so returning the favor. 

   “Everything.” She said to him with a sweet smile and wide eyes, turning towards him, and it was then that Angel noticed one of her eyes was cloudy and glassy and completely unnatural, and she had a scar running from her forehead down to her cheek on that side. Angel stared, eyes blinking slowly before he licked his lips and turned away.

   “Cool.” Was all he responded with. Angel himself was only twenty, and this kid looked like she was around fifteen or sixteen. He was allowed to make stupid responses to shit like that. 

  Her name was called first, and she was ushered in by a woman with short, white hair and an eyepatch. Angel raised his eyebrows as they greeted each other like old friends would, and then they closed the door. Alone again, the skater just listened to the ticking of the clock on the wall and felt time pass slowly. 

   “Angel?” A woman called, and her voice was rough and gritty. She smelled like smoke mixed with expensive perfume, and Angel suddenly knew the type of person she was. She also had an eyepatch (what was with that?) but her hair was cropped a little longer than the previous woman’s, and it was pitch black. Her eyes were mischievous and crude, and Angel wasn’t sure what would happen to him. 

   They sat down. The room was beige but covered in posters and stickers and all sorts of knick-knacks that were mostly black and white with occasional pops of color. There was a cartoon ghost figurine that sat at the edge of her desk, careful not to get in the way of her computer and keyboard. 

   The chair itself was comfy– there was a dog plush on it (could it even be considered a dog?) and a fox plushie right next to it. On the other chair there was a bat plushie. Angel examined the room while the therapist scrutinized him. 

   “Call me Himeno,” she said suddenly, propping up her chin on interlaced fingers and propped elbows. “Tell me more about what brings you here.”

   Angel held back the urge to roll his eyes. What a cheesy line, although he didn’t really know what else she could’ve said to get the conversation rolling so he didn’t dwell on it too much. “My doctor told me I should,” he answered truthfully. “I’m a figure skater and I got injured.” 

  Himeno raises an eyebrow and types some things down on her computer. “So you got injured,” she started, looking at him slowly through her one visible eye. “Why is it affecting you to the point of coming to me?” Her fingers are poised and at the ready above her keyboard. Angel glowers. 

   “Figure skating is my entire life,” he says. “It’s literally how I survive. Y’know, make money and stuff. I worked too damn hard for too long to have this happen to me.” Angel was surprised with himself; instead of sounding angry, he sounded exhausted. 

   He felt like a cracked porcelain vase– once a pretty decoration now scarred and hidden away. On the ice he was the pinnacle of entertainment. He was beautiful, elegant, and fierce. Now all he could do was sit on the sidelines in the shadow of his former glory. 

   Himeno traced the shadows on Angel’s face like she was painting a portrait of solitude and loss; her fingers typed at the keys in a click-clack that filled the silence. Angel stared. Himeno looked back, challenging him. She nodded her head, telling him to go on.

   “I– God, why is this so hard?” Angel muttered bitterly to himself, groaning as he fell back into the chair. Himeno cracked a small smile but said nothing. “Skating is the only thing I’m living for, basically. I don’t have anyone else, and I’m not even joking about that. I don’t have fucking anyone.” Angel spilled his guts on the floor, blood and all, viscous and wet and warm and too disgusting to look at. Himeno stared at them with eyes just as tired as his were, and let the blood seep into the carpet.

   “Are you saying that you’re suicidal right now?” Himeno asked, leaning on her elbow once again as she got a closer look at her patient. Angel thought for a moment before shaking his head.

   “No, I don’t think so,” he answered honestly. “I think I’m just one bad day from becoming terribly bitter.” Angel explained, opening his palms and tracing the contours of them. Himeno hummed in understanding, typing some more. 

   “You’ve done a lot in your career, Angel. Why can’t you be satisfied?” Himeno asked sincerely, with no hint of bitter mocking in her tone or sarcasm. Angel picked harder at the skin around his fingernails. 

   “I know I can do more,” he defended himself, his ankle now a dull, throbbing pain. Himeno tilted her head.

  “Can you?”

       Angel stretched on the floor, Makima putting her weight on his back as he leaned more and more forward until his chest pressed against the ground. It was a dull ache in his thighs, but he welcomed it. Stretching always made him feel better, with the release of built up tension in his body.

    “I went to therapy, or whatever,” Angel felt the need to inform Makima, just so she might think about letting him on the ice earlier. Makima let out a ‘huh’ before getting off of him. 

   “Really, now?” She entertained him with a playful smile and dancing eyes, and Angel wanted to punch her. She was like a taunting older sister that he never wanted. 

   “Yep.” Angel deadpanned, and Makima laughed. 

  “Hey, now that you got your first session done with, you should come to the competition the rink is having. It’ll be good for you to watch some of my new students.”

  “Why would that be a good thing?”

  “Maybe it’ll help with your longing for the ice. Seeing them fall all the time makes me never want to step foot on the ice again; I can’t imagine what it might do for you.” She grinned slyly, and somehow got Angel to agree. 

Angel hadn’t had a session with Aki since their fight. Not because of immaturity but because it was the weekend– and then he made the therapy appointment, and other things in life got in the way so they hadn’t talked in nearly five days. Angel hadn’t been rehearsing what he was going to say, but he was anxious nonetheless. He didn’t want the environment to be awkward or clinical.

   Aki knocked on the door to the studio, and Angel opened it, and before the smaller male could say anything the physical therapist burst out in a slurry of words and speech and Angel had a hard time keeping up.

   The gist was, “I’m really sorry for what I said, I was out of line, I hope you can forgive me,” along with a lot of stutters and fluff speech that made Angel blink rapidly to try and take it all in. When Aki was done, he just stood in the doorway, chest heaving with the might of his words, and looked Angel in the eye. 

  “Um,” Angel started. “You’re forgiven?” He said it like a question because, wasn’t this his fault in the first place? He should’ve just listened to the advice of medical professionals originally and shouldn’t have been such a child about it all. 

  Aki cleared his throat, tips of his ears red, and started to help Angel go through the well-practiced movements of their appointments. 

   Finally it was the scraping. Sure, it hurt like a bitch, but it was the only appropriate time Angel could converse with Aki and not be interrupted with a, “almost there, five more” or other things to help keep Angel on track. 

   Aki lathered the coconut butter on Angel’s ankle and got out his plastic device of torture. Angel paused, his breathing coming out shallow and anxious, unsure if he should really be telling Aki about his therapy session, unsure if he should apologize, and unsure if he should inform Aki he’d be watching the older male’s siblings skate that weekend.

   A few seconds of languid scraping and Angel was ready to get his mind off the pain. “I went to a therapist,” he said, trying to sound as dull and detached as possible, lest Aki know he actually has feelings. 

   Aki looked startled for a moment, staring up at Angel, holding the scraping tool just a few centimeters above his ankle. As his soul decided to escape and then come back, the black haired male blinked a few times before smiling. Angel looked away.

   “I’m proud of you,” Angel’s head whipped back into place to stare at Aki. Out of all the things he’d expected Aki to say, it certainly wasn’t that. Leaning back, Aki motioned towards the man in front of him. “I’m serious! You conquered whatever was blocking you from doing that. It’s another step in the right direction.” Aki’s smile was goofy and large and Angel couldn’t help but stare a little too long at it.

   Looking away again, Angel side-eyed the taller man. “Jesus, with a speech like that you might as well become a regular therapist.” He teased, his voice monotone but not unkind. Aki somehow managed to smile bigger. 

   “Are you going to the competition the rink is holding?” Aki asked, applying more pressure to a particularly tough area in Angel’s ankle. Angel nodded, yawning before wincing at the pain. Aki raised his eyebrows, nodding while pushing out his lips. “I guess therapy really did help.”

   Angel held back the urge to smack Aki’s shoulder. “Shut up. It was Makima who suggested it,” Angel hated the way that Aki looked up at him at the mention of his coach. “She said everyone being so shit would make me feel better.” He sniffed, raising his shoulders tensely as Aki continued to torment the poor flesh on his ankle.

   Aki let out a hum of understanding, “I’ll see you there, then.” 

   “Yep,” Angel nodded, looking somewhere far away so he could avoid Aki’s gaze. The latter smiled, shook his head, and continued scraping. 

   Saturday rolled around easily, and Angel slid into the weekend with a calm mind and sore legs. It had been a long time since he’d felt this peaceful, but he chalked it up to his therapist drugging the air with some freaky magic.

   Yawning tiredly, Angel looked at the clock and sipped his coffee slowly. He had a full pot brewed and intended to drink every last morsel of it, but right now he was too tired to swallow the bitter liquid. 

   He had to be at the rink in two hours, which meant he would laze around for the first hour and thirty minutes before rushing to get ready. It didn’t take him a long time, but he often forgot a lot of things so he stressed himself out more than was necessary.

  Tying up his hair, Angel put on a short sleeved shirt, sweatpants, and grabbed a sweater before slipping on his slides and leaving his house. His keys jangled restlessly in his palm as he descended the stairs to his car, and he stared briefly at the mist that covered the grass and road. 

    It’s getting colder, Angel commented, unsure if it was foreboding or not, and drove to the rink. 

    The rink was full, something indicative that this was the first big-league competition for many of these skaters, and Angel was glad he got VIP seats– he didn’t like them, but it was better than sitting in the stands. 

   Being down on the sidelines of the ice near Makima meant that he’d have to be next to her, but he could also see how she was teaching the other students. He was greeted by many people and was asked to take pictures, and he did so with a blank expression and a thumbs up. They cheered him on and let him go on his way. 

   Angel didn’t consider himself famous– he didn’t act, didn’t sing. If anything, he was properly being recognized for his talents at an extremely demanding and difficult sport. He didn't like being in the spotlight, but the sponsorships paid the bills, so he couldn’t hate it that much. 

  Going down to the rink, he slid his sweatshirt on and slipped his tennis shoes on. They were always kept in his cubby, one that was covered in stickers and filled with medals since he’s had it since he was a kid. A small smile adorned Angel’s face as he finished tying his shoes, before getting up to face Makima.

  “What are their routines?” He asked her, tugging a folded hem on his sweatshirt down. Makima turned to him, surprised he was there, and smiled strangely. Her arms were folded, making her puffy jacket stick out unnaturally. 

  “Power is skating to Gymnopedie No. 1,” Makima said, sniffling a bit in between. “Denji’s skating to Ghost Waltz.” 

   Angel nodded, pondering the choices and wondering how well both of them would be able to pull off the songs. Makima usually started off her students with classical pieces in order to ease them into the skating world; judges liked it better, and the feeling of the song was easier to grasp than something more intense like pop or rock. 

   He looked at the two of them sitting on the side. Denji was nervously bouncing his leg and looked sweaty despite the cold air. Power looked almost angry with how desperately she was clutching onto her water bottle and the pinch of her eyebrows. 

  Turning around, he was met with Aki and Makima chatting amiably, and Angel raised his eyebrows in shock. Aki met his eyes with an easy smile and a wave, and Angel walked over to see why he was there.

  “Why are you down here?” Angel asked, his voice lilting with confusion. 

  “He’s the on-site medical care,” Makima answered for Aki, causing a sour feeling to settle deep in the pit of Angel’s stomach. He frowned, and Aki looked awkward for a second, most likely taking Angel’s frown as an attack on him. 

  “Gotcha. Wanna go sit over here? It’s the best seat.” Angel proposed to Aki, pointing to the desired area. Aki shuffled for a few seconds, nodding with smiley eyes and a quiet expression. 

   As they took their seats, the announcer began to list off the different events of the day, as well as the different age groups that would be performing. Angel listened intently. He always loved watching the younger kids skate because they were so adorably clumsy that it made the entire thing that much more entertaining to watch. 

   Aki turned to Angel just as the first skater was announced. “Ready?” He asked, genuinely curious. He was acting like a concerned parent.

   Angel nodded confidently; of course he was.

Chapter Text

After the younger age group had their turn, Angel could see Denji and Power warming up at the side. They had their practice time on the ice, skating around with their competitors as they anxiously went over their routine for the last time before they had to present it. Angel leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he propped up his head. The skater was intrigued as to how the students warmed up, and he also tried to get a glimpse of their routine. 

    Aki eyed his siblings, not understanding what was happening but still incredibly supportive, and Angel braved a look. He looked proud, and pain shot through Angel’s heart. Jealousy wasn’t the right word for it, as he was happy Denji and Power had such a supportive older brother, but… it was more like loneliness. Angel swallowed thickly, not sure if he would be able to sit through their programs. 

     Shifting in his seat, Angel unconsciously pulled his sweater closer to his body, arms wrapping around his small frame. The movement broke Aki’s concentration on his siblings, and he looked at the small man next to him. Angel looked back up, eyebrow raised.

    “Are you okay?” Aki asked, his voice just above a whisper. Angel paused for a moment before nodding, like he wasn’t sure how to answer. He just blinked, and then soon after turned to look back at the ice. 

    Angel was okay, technically. In that moment. He physically felt fine, his ankle not even hurting. Other than the immense heartache, he couldn’t have been better. Sniffling, Angel felt Aki shift beside him and the amber-haired man couldn’t help but think they looked like strangers but sat too close together for anyone to really believe them to be. Their interactions were stiff and awkward, but their thighs touched where they were sitting, and their shoulders brushed every so often.

    Irony settled between them, and Angel snorted a bit at his own thoughts, no doubt causing Aki to shoot him another concerned look. Waving him off with one hand, Aki shut his mouth and watched as the skaters continued to warm up. 

    One of the contestants braved a practice jump, and two others followed swiftly after, one being Power. Angel looked at Makima who was shooting the strawberry blonde girl a sharp look, her mouth set in a thin line. She must not want anymore premature ankle injuries, Angel thought, the sardonic tone evident in his brain. There wasn’t any other way they could warm up for their jumps, though, so Makima must’ve had a lot of faith in their abilities to stick their jumps without the confidence of knowing they could . 

    When Angel warmed up on the ice, it wasn’t just about practicing his routine and going through the motions. Every competition he went to, even after years of competing and years of winning, the anxiety sometimes was so crushing that imposter syndrome reared its ugly head. It whispered anger and doubt into Angel’s ear, and it was up to him to dispel the monster. Getting on the ice during warm up and landing the jumps he needed to land– that made everything so much better. 

     Physically doing it, knowing he could, was better than any video of himself doing it or the muscle memory in his limbs. It was something real and tangible to grab onto in that moment, because Angel had learned first hand that self-doubt often causes the loss of courage. Courage to make the jumps he’d made countless times before. 

     Thoughts raced through Angel’s head, and he was tempted to go up to Makima and yell at her. But he knew, annoyingly, she had her reasons for everything. Hopefully her students didn’t fail, because if they did, it would be on her. Not them. Angel was assured that any pupil of Makima had more than enough ability to flawlessly perform their program, it was up to them to have the strength to. 

   Suddenly more stressed than he had been previously, a bubble of anxiety forming in his stomach, he didn’t realize he could be so nervous for someone else. Aki rubbed his hands together, shoulders hunched. He was feeling nervous, too. For his siblings. Angel nearly smiled at that. 

   “They’ll be fine.” Angel reassured Aki, an uncharacteristic optimism to his tone, and Aki nodded a bit too much for Angel to believe that the other man thought so too. Older brothers were always supposed to worry, Angel guessed. The man blew out a stressed breath. Angel snickered. 

    “I didn’t think I’d be this nervous.” Aki said sheepishly, his smile small but endearing. Angel laughed more. 

    “Have you never been to one of their competitions before?” 

    Aki shook his head, his fingers lacing together as he pressed his palms tightly, trying to get his anxiousness out on something, his leg bouncing up and down. Angel suppressed the urge to force it still. “They never let me before,” he answered, exasperated. Fondness slipped in when he spoke of his siblings. “Or I was just too busy.” 

    Angel hummed in understanding, knowing that life often got in the way of skating when you weren’t competing. It was a demanding sport that consumed his life, and the competitions were long and grueling. He also understood the desire for loved ones to stay away from his tournaments. Scrutiny was a terrible thing. 

    While they were talking, the announcer introduced the first contestant, and they skated out into the middle, doing a full circle before settling into their starting pose. A surge of adrenaline filled Angel, and he was sure that no one breathed. Everyone was still, waiting for the first note to play. And play it did. 

   They skated to a song called Les Filles Sans Larmes , and it was a softer piece that had many emphasized sections that drew out beautifully. It allowed the skater to elongate their limbs and hold their elements for longer. Their performance was beautiful, and for the short program, they kept most of their jumps towards the end to earn them more points. A double lutz followed by a triple loop in the first half, and in the second half was two double axles and an attempted triple. He underrotated the jump and landed with two feet, but it was still a good try. 

   He finished, one arm clutched to his chest the other thrown in the air triumphantly. Angel, and the rest of the audience, clapped. He skated off stage, and the next skater was called. 

   Three more boys skated before it was Denji’s turn. Ghost Waltz was a fun piece, charming and slow. Denji wore a costume that made him look like a Disney prince. Angel looked at Aki whose eyes were wide. Angel almost expected him to cry. The song complimented the outfit, though, as it was a bright piece Angel would have expected to be in a dance scene of a princess movie. 

   Denji’s blonde hair was slicked back, and as he skated around the ice, getting a lay of the territory, he settled in the middle, and he bowed, one arm placed on his chest as the other extended beside him. He looked like he was asking someone to dance with him, and Angel wanted so badly to hate Makima’s cleverness, but found he couldn’t. 

   The song started, and Denji moved like water. His body surged forward, back leg propelling him as he spun, his steps light. It genuinely looked like he was dancing with a ghost. The first section was filled mostly with technical elements. He did a lunge, an Ina Bauer, and hydrobladed at the heavy string section in the song. Angel’s mouth tilted up into a smile. He enjoyed this program a lot so far.

   Once the second half of the program came, Denji settled into a sit spin before pushing out of it once he came up. His arms outstretched, he skated backwards before going into a triple axel. He’d done a Lutz combo in his first half, but the second half was where he got into the meat of things. He jumped, landing it perfectly, and Angel could feel the relief wafting off of him. 

   It rolled off of him in waves, and Angel could also feel his building confidence. He knew he was doing well. Angel couldn’t help but feel confident as well, the feeling infectious. A double axel, followed by a camel spin, and he did more steps along to the music. He twirled more, his arms positioned as if he was holding a partner, his gaze surprisingly loving. Angel hadn’t realized he was so good at telling a story.

    A triple Salchow, about ten seconds before the song finished, and he stumbled a bit out of it but overall it was clean. No hand on the ice, and no double landing. Angel saw that as a success, and as Denji finished his program, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his forehead, Angel thought the boy had every reason to be proud of himself. 

   Glancing at Makima, Angel was surprised to see she looked rather expressionless. Her hands were slow as they clapped, and her signature small smile was plastered to her face. Her eyes betrayed nothing. Angel grit his teeth, making sure to compliment Denji extra hard later. 

   Next, Angel looked at Aki, and the man’s mouth was slightly agape. Angel understood why; his brother had just done extremely well. 

   “That was an excellent performance.” Angel commented, trying to seem nonchalant. Aki just nodded, silent. Angel nudged the man, looking at him with a judgy expression. He sobered quickly after that. 

   “Yeah, it was. I didn’t know Denji could do that.” Aki ran a hand through his hair, smile small but exhilaration and pride clear. He nearly glowed with brotherly love, and Angel tried his best not to gag. The show of affection was starting to become a little too much. 

   “He’s really good at conveying emotion and story in his performance. That’s a dying skill in this sport,” Angel praised Denji, tilting his chin a tad higher, knowing that he himself possessed that skill and was grateful for it. It’d taken a lot of practice and making expressions at himself in the mirror, but Angel now was able to move audiences. Move people. Wasn’t that what life was all about? “ I didn’t expect that from him.” 

   “I didn’t, either.” Aki said, sounding pleasantly surprised, laughing a bit. He rubbed his arms like he’d gotten chills. Angel wouldn’t have been shocked if he had. The performance was exceptional, especially for his first national competition. 

   They watched the other performances, commenting every now and then. The rest of the boys went, and soon, the girls would be showcasing their programs. Aki was nervous all over again, but Angel had managed to move past that barrier. After seeing Denji’s program, as well as his score (one that was a little too low for Angel’s liking, but still placed him at first overall), he didn’t have anything to worry about. If Power learned like Denji did, she’d be fine. 

   An intermission was announced, allowing the female skaters to warm up, and Angel caught a glimpse of strawberry blonde hair before him and Aki left to go get food. He hadn’t eaten that morning, a result of his own exhaustion and negligence, and he bought something to eat with Aki at the rink’s concession stand. They ate in a peaceful silence, clearly both hungry.

   Angel licked the mustard from the corners of his mouth, placing his hotdog down. “Did Power or Denji tell you what their programs were like? Didn’t you watch one of their practices?” Angel questioned, sipping on his water. Aki chewed thoughtfully before swallowing and shaking his head.

    “I did, but I didn’t really get anything from it. It’s kind of like watching someone cook on TV. Yeah, it looks cool and it’s a concept I can understand, but it’s not like I actually know what they’re doing.” Aki took another bite of his sandwich, and Angel couldn’t decide if he wanted to be offended at the comparison. Cooking was absolutely nothing like skating was. 

  Huffing, Angel nodded like he accepted that answer, and they finished the rest of their meal. 

    After they threw away their trash, Angel having bought a hot chocolate to warm up his hands, they walked back into the rink, a blast of cold air greeting them. The girls had just finished warming up, and as Aki and Angel settled back into their seats, the first female contestant was called. Her skate was a bit rough to watch, and she seemed to be the youngest out of their age group, so it was understandable. She soldiered on, something that would make her a better athlete in the long run. Everyone had bad skates. 

     Power was the second to last girl to go, and as she skated onto the ice, wearing a powder blue dress with a peter pan collar and puffy sleeves, Angel quickly likened her to Wendy from Peter Pan. Her hair was pinned up, makeup light. It made her look younger than she was. Taking her position quickly, she wrapped her arms around her abdomen and turned her head to the side, eyes closed.

     The chosen song was more like a lullaby than anything else, and it felt melancholic and nostalgic. To Angel, it felt like a night in the middle of winter. To Makima it must’ve felt like the relationship Wendy had with Peter Pan after he disappeared. The song started, and Power’s movements were, for the most part, angelic and graceful, embodying the spirit of a twelve year old girl. During some of her elements, though, she added a bit too much strength (a side effect of her personality, Angel guessed), which made it feel more intense than it was supposed to be. 

   Regardless, the program was solid, and she only had one axel at the end that was done beautifully. Other than that jump, she had a triple flip as well as a loop combination, as well as a great deal of spinning elements. During parts of the routine, Angel thought she looked like she was flying. While she didn’t skate exceptionally beautifully, the technical side of the skate was nearly flawless, although a bit of her elements weren’t very difficult, so her score couldn’t be as high as Makima might’ve wanted it to be. 

    Still, she held a strong second place in the competition. Rize was hard to beat, and she’d been an established skater in the competitive world for a while now. Angel had no doubt Power would one day be able to knock her off the top, though. He got up, Aki following, as they went to go see Power after her kiss and cry. The score was expected, but not bad, and they watched the last two girls skate. The last girl to skate placed third, securing the rankings in the competition. 

    When the girl saw Angel and Aki, she jumped forwards to jump her brother, a large grin on her mischievous face. “Did you watch? I did better than Denji, right?” She jumped up and down, skate guards thankfully protecting the blades from chipping. Angel nearly passed out at he abuse. Aki laughed, nodding.

   “You guys both did great. I’m glad I watched.” Aki responded, and Power looked annoyed that her brother copped out of the answer. Angel hadn’t expected the man to choose, and thus the response was predictable. Regardless, Angel watched them hug, standing a bit awkwardly. Power pulled away from her brother, taking a good long look at Angel. 

   “You look familiar.” She said to Angel dumbly, eyebrows raised cartoonishly high on her face. Angel crossed his arms, looking at her directly. 

   “I skate with Makima, too.” He wondered if Power had ever crossed paths with him before at the rink, but he doubted it. Maybe only caught a few glances. Power nodded, still looking suspicious, before calling her brother older. 

   Her yell broke through the entire rink, and Angel pulled at her to keep it down. He scolded her for interrupting the competition, as they were getting ready for the medal ceremony. She blushed a deep red, embarrassed, before motioning for her bewildered brother to come over and join them. 

   Denji had (thankfully) put his sneakers on and jogged over in no time, his hair still gelled up. Aki tilted his head at him, scrunching his nose. “You look so weird with slicked back hair.” Aki commented, teasing his brother who let out a shocked noise. 

   “Hey!” Denji said in response, eyebrows furrowed as he pouted. Aki just pulled him into a hug, congratulating him on first place. Angel noticed his eyes looked a little red. He must’ve had a talk with Makima. Denji then looked at Angel, who still felt incredibly out of place here. “Oh my God.” Denji gaped.

    Angel felt incredibly self-conscious, feeling like he should hide his face. Tugging at the sleeves of his sweater, Angel shifted uncomfortably as Power turned to look at her brother, eyes confused. Denji just pointed rudely. Aki slapped his hand away.

   “That’s Angel Akuryo!” Denji exclaimed, and soon Power’s jaw went slack before closing. She tilted her head. 

   “Who?” Was all that her response consisted of, and soon Power and Denji broke out into a bickering fight. Aki turned to look at Angel, clearly embarrassed of his family. Angel couldn’t help but smile. 

   “Don’t worry,” Angel told Aki, crossing his arms loosely. His back straightened confidently. “I like when people don’t know who I am. Being recognized has always discomforted me.” Aki looked down at him with a strange expression, almost the same look he’d given his siblings earlier– fondness. Angel was sure he was just misreading it. 

   Aki’s grin was toothy and warm. “Alright, I’m glad you won’t hold it against Power. Thank God she’s good at skating, or I don’t know what she would’ve done.” Aki whispered to the man in front of him, bending down to reach his ear.

   Angel’s entire body felt warm as Aki’s breath tickled the shell of his ear, and his face felt a lot hotter than it did a few seconds ago. Turning away from the man, thoroughly flustered, Angel walked to the cubbies to grab his things. Waving Aki along, the man followed. 

   “I’ll stay for the medals, but then I’m leaving. Do we have a session tomorrow?” Angel asked, gathering his things in his hand. He slid on his coat, stuffing his wallet and car keys in his pocket. The older man just nodded in return, shuffling his feet. 

   “I think it’s at eleven am.” He licked his lips, the words coming out absentmindedly. Angel nodded as well. 

   They settled back into their original seats, and the medaling ceremony began swiftly after. Denji was first, a boy named Yoshida was second, and in third place was a grinning boy named Beam. All of them had done quite well. For the girls, it was Reze, Power, and a girl named Kobeni. Kobeni looked like she’d been sobbing for a good portion of the competition, but when it came down to her own program, she’d done very solidly. 

   The audience clapped, and Angel mirrored them, his ankle now throbbing the slightest bit. He resolved to ice it once he got home. Also make some actual food (order carry out). Yawning, Angel stood and stretched, a gust of cold air attacking his abdomen as a sliver of his belly showed when his sweatshirt lifted up. Tugging it back down, Angel shivered violently.

   “Jesus, I feel like an old lady today.” He muttered, irritated. Aki got up beside him, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. Angel looked behind him, confused. 

   “Thanks for coming today. I’m sure Denji is glad someone like you watched them. Power, too.” Aki thanked Angel, and he wasn’t sure what to say to that. No one had ever thanked him for being somewhere. Biting his lips, Angel dipped his head in response, and a silent understanding was shared between Aki and Angel. They walked out together, Denji and Power trailing close behind, now fully changed out of their costumes and into warm leisure clothes. Power’s sweatshirt and sweatpants nearly swallowed her, but they were offset by her large, colorful sneakers. Denji had a sweatshirt with the same character Angel had seen in Himeno’s office (was it a cartoon character?) and black sweatpants that fell over white sneakers. 

   Overall, they looked like normal highschoolers. Angel bit back a smile. He waved them goodbye, complimenting the both of them profusely before they got into Aki’s car, a cry for food erupting from Power just as the door was closing. Angel couldn’t help but laugh to himself, getting into his own car and turning on the engine. 

    He sat for a while, like that. Just staring out at the scenery in front of him, which was just a road then a strip mall. It wasn’t anything interesting or fantastical, but Angel couldn’t help but zone out. Tightly gripping the steering wheel, Angel’s knuckles turned bright white.

    It took a long while before he realized he was crying big, fat ugly tears. They stained his gray sweatpants, and Angel was bewildered, not knowing why he was even crying.

    That should’ve been me , his mind traitorously whispered. Longing filled him completely, and he wanted to slam his ankle down and break it, just to feel something. Just to get out of this horrible limbo. But that would discard any progress he’s made, and his efforts would be null. Wiping his nose on his sleeve, promising himself to wash it once he got home, he tried his eyes the same way and drove back home. 

   When he got home, he felt more exhausted than he had when he woke up. His stomach growled incessantly, clearly not satisfied from the hotdog he ate earlier. Knowing takeout was bad for him, he trudged to his kitchen and attempted to make food. He came up with rice, fried tofu, miso soup, and seasoned cucumber. His movements were lethargic and slow, but he managed to make an edible meal before he knew it.

   His table was empty. It only sat four, but it felt unused most days. To Angel, it was his most useless piece of furniture. He’d picked it out simply to take up the empty space in his apartment. Eyes half closed, Angel ate as quickly as he could possibly manage, combining a lot of the miso soup with the rice and eating the rice with cucumber and tofu. 

   Once he was finished, he discarded the dishware in his sink, telling himself he’d clean it later. Then, he trudged down the hallway and into his room, his bed still unmade from this morning. Heavy blankets were strewn about, and pillows were untidy. He found he didn’t have it in him to care. Face-planting into the bed, he breathed in the smell of sleep and found himself succumbing to it. 

  – 

     He’d slept for a full fourteen hours. Angel woke up the next morning somehow feeling tired and refreshed at the same time, his body fighting a strange battle to get up or stay in bed. His limbs ached from being stationary for so long, so he forced himself to at least stretch. Crawling out of bed, eyes swollen and cheeks puffy but stomach undoubtedly empty, he began his morning stretch routine, smoothing the kinks in his muscles as his chest met his legs. 

   At some point he fell asleep again, just for ten minutes, his legs stretched on either side of him as he lay on his chest in the middle of them. He startled awake, and was shocked he even did that. “God, I must be going insane. Why the fuck am I so tired?” He muttered to himself, wondering if he should see a doctor about it. He dismissed the thought, as that was the first time it’d happened. 

   Shaking himself awake, he stumbled to the bathroom, flipping on the light and wincing both at his reflection and also the assault from the brightness. Angel’s eyes quickly adjusted, and he hastily splashed his face with cold water, vigorously rubbing the sides of his mouth where drool had died. He thanked God that he didn’t live with anyone, or he would’ve been mortified for life. 

   His hair was a complete mess, strewn in every which way, and the length just made it tangle annoyingly. Brushing it out, he shook his head to get the weird tingly feeling out of his scalp. Glancing at the clock, he realized it was already eight thirty. Groaning, he threw on workout clothes (plus some added layers; it was twenty-four degrees out) and grabbed a protein drink before heading out the door, keys and wallet in his coat pocket. 

   Arriving at the rink around nine, he met Makima as they both went up to the ballet studio. They began his reinforcement and strength training, but this time Makima was pushing him extra hard. He didn’t know why. 

   Angel extended his arm outwards at a ninety degree angle again, one arm dainty raised while the other curved in front of him. His pale skin almost looked translucent. He blamed it on the cold weather and immense amount of sleep he’d just gotten. Makima clapped her hands, and Angel dropped his leg into third position before lifting it again not even a full second later when Makima clapped her hands again. 

    This continued on for some time, as well as turning intervals where he was made to do a turn, and had to keep his leg curved out behind him until Makima allowed it to drop. It would happen again. Any torturous thing Makima could conjure up for him to do, he did it. 

  Time moved at a snail’s pace, and when Angel heard a knock on the room door, he’d never been so relieved in his life. Makima clapped her hands, allowing Angel to return to third position for the final time. He collapsed to the ground, chest heaving. They’d just finished going through Angel’s free skate and short program, and the jumps took more out of him than he’d expected. They’d been doing jumps and vertical practice since he’d hurt his ankle, but combined with everything else plus doing two full routines back to back… he was hurting.

   Bending his arms out in front, allowing his body to roll into a comfortable split, he rested his head on his clasped hands, breathing heavily. Aki walked in, greeting Makima with a friendly smile, his eyes lingering on her form when she walked away. Angel didn’t have the energy to comment on it, and barely had the energy to do more than look at Aki through his bangs. 

   “Angel?” Aki questioned, head tilting. His body bent oddly as he tried to get a good look at the boy on the floor. Angel blew the hair out of his face to be polite. The black haired man squatted in front of him, glancing at his left ankle before getting up and setting things down at the table. Angel groaned softly, placing his forehead back on his hands

   “Makima’s trying to kill me.” Angel whined, and he didn’t feel like he was overembellishing anything. Everything hurt. His fingers hurt. A hot chocolate would’ve done wonders for his mental state, but he didn’t even have the energy to get up.    

    Aki, like the prick he was, just laughed at Angel’s very clear suffering (of which he was totally overdramatizing), he walked back over and placed two strong hands on Angel’s very small shoulders. The man was even shocked by how little body there was. 

    “Angel, have you been eating enough?” Aki commented, helping the boy get up. Angel stumbled a bit, trying to find the strength to make his legs work. Perplexed, Angel just nodded at the question. 

   “Yeah, I think so,” he responded, then thought a little while longer about it. He shook his head after a few moments. “No, I probably haven’t been. I’ve been so overwhelmed I didn’t even realize. Before, my meals were built into my schedule. I had a routine. Not having that kind of…” Angel trailed off, not knowing where to continue. 

   “Threw everything out of balance?” Aki finished for him. Angel nodded, liking the way that sounded. Angel hated when things weren’t perfectly balanced. 

  “Yeah, something like that.” Angel then promised he would eat more, and even showed Aki his phone as he set alarms for it. Placated, Aki allowed Angel to sit at the designated area and began helping him through the exercises. 

   As always, the portion at the end was the worst– he scraped Angel’s poor skin raw, the redness blooming from underneath it. 

   “It looks much better today. I’m glad two sessions a week have been helping you more. We can go down to one session again, and then you’ll be back on the ice.” Aki told him, and Angel felt like he got the wind knocked out of him. That was so soon. It had already been about two and a half months since they’d started therapy– after Angel and Aki’s disagreement, everything flew by. The competition the rink held was something they’d both been looking forward to for a month and a half, so when it finally came, it felt like a huge milestone.

   And now here was another milestone. Angel let out a sigh of relief, braving a smile. It felt real. Attainable. Aki patted his thigh, reflecting the sentiment. “I’m proud of you.” Aki said, a glint in his eye and Angel had to force himself not to blush. 

   “Thanks, Aki,” Angel smiled wider this time, swinging his legs out in front of him. “I’m glad you’re my physical therapist. No one else would’ve been able to deal with me.” He joked, only for Aki to agree. Angel let out a noise of disbelief, causing the man to just burst out laughing.

Chapter Text

 Angel had an appointment with Himeno again. After the first jarring visit, he’d taken a while to return the call about scheduling another appointment. One particularly dreadful evening of self-doubt and incredibly crushing tunnel vision, and Angel was on the phone to meet with Himeno again. 

   When he walked into the office, no teenage girl was there to greet him. A sigh of relief left his lips, and Angel sat blissfully alone on the couch with no one to interrupt his thoughts. The receptionist peeked out of the glass to give him a look, and after he handed in his paperwork, he was left to wait some more. 

   About five minutes passed until Himeno opened the door wearing a black turtleneck, black trousers, and a white cardigan. Angel rolled off of the couch, his legs carrying him to her room. It was still decorated as strangely as it had been previously, although the plushies were in different positions than last time. That much was to be expected; clients probably used them to cry into. Angel decided to keep his hands off of them. 

   “So,” Himeno began, hands poised at her laptop keyboard, eyes bright and smile polite. Angel rolled his shoulders back, settling comfortably into his seat. “How have you been lately?” Such a vague question was sure to require a long-winded answer, one Angel was reluctant to give, so he chose the abridged version of a long story. 

   “Good, I guess,” Angel wetted his lips, his hands wringing themselves on his lap. “I went to go see the junior national skate competition. It was held at my rink this year, so I decided to show up. I was also told by my PT that I should be getting cleared soon. To go back onto the ice, I mean.” Angel explained, his body tensed like a stretched rubber band. He wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous or unsure.

   Makima nodded, a small hum following as if telling him to continue. Pausing, his hands now an ugly red, Angel shifted in his seat. “I feel ungrateful.” Angel concluded, his raw hands now settling flat against his thighs, his shoulders hunched and neck stinging as he hung it in a weird position. Makima paused her typing, looking up with an inquisitive brow and light frown. 

   The expression suited her much better; it complimented her mysterious eyepatch. She looked sinister when she smiled. Picking furiously at his nails, Angel waited for the inevitable psychoanalysis he was about to receive. 

   “How so?” Himeno questioned, fingers taut and at the ready. Angel sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. She’s just doing her job , he begrudgingly reminded himself. 

   “All of these good things are finally happening to me, but I still feel just as shitty as I did in the beginning, if not worse,” Angel confessed, his heart sagging low in his chest. Initially he thought the shock hadn’t worn off– when Aki told him he would be cleared for ice soon, he was elated. Later, though, a sense of dread washed over him like a cold bucket of water had been dumped on his head. He felt frozen and completely bare. “What if I can’t recover from this?”

   Himeno nodded, finally understanding. Doubt was a funny thing. Someone could receive the highest of praises, given the most compliments, awarded the largest of trophies, and still if they did not believe in themselves, doubt would wiggle into their mind. Inadequacy was not tolerated in the arts, and with something as physically demanding as skating, it was prohibited. After a lifetime of achievement, if Angel could no longer succeed, he would simply be deemed a legend. 

     Aren’t legends supposed to be dead?  

     Exactly.

    Ice skating as a sport was so fragile. Success was so momentary. Angel wasn’t sure he had done enough, achieved enough– had he really created something memorable? Had he changed people? Had he changed himself? These were questions he might die with if being back on the ice proves fruitless for him. Maybe he would have to resign himself to a life of being bitter and old, looking on at the young skaters from the stands. 

   “You’re scared you won’t live up to the endless potential you had before your injury?” Himeno assessed, and Angel nodded shyly, almost unwilling to admit her true deduction. Some more typing followed, until she sighed. “You don’t know until you try, Angel. Worrying yourself crazy about something that hasn’t even happened tricks your brain into thinking that it will. Right now, focus on what’s tangible. What can you see? What’s in front of you? What is an undeniable truth that there’s no point in changing? For instance, your injury. It’s healing. You’re going to be cleared for the ice soon. Beyond that, you know nothing.

    That’s absolutely terrifying if you let it be, but what I suggest doing is focusing on the positive what-if’s, because those are just as probable as all the bad what-if’s. You can’t measure self worth based on the opinions of others because they’re always looking out for themselves.”  Himeno advised, tone helpful but not incredibly serious. Angel nodded, slightly dazed. 

   The conversation continued in a similar fashion: Angel would introduce a problem, Himeno would try her best to give advice. It was up to Angel if he wanted to take it, of course, but it was helpful to hear an opinion that didn’t try and make him feel better for the sake of it. Towards the end of the session, Himeno stilled, her hand moving from the keyboard to tap at the desk. 

   “Angel,” Himeno prompted. Angel just responded with a questioning hum. “During our last appointment, you said you had no one. Why is that? And has that changed now?” 

   Angel’s eyes widened a fraction, the question catching him completely off guard. He pursed his lips, shifting in his seat. “It has changed now, I think.” He purposefully ignored the first half of the question, causing Himeno to smile in amused understanding, and all Angel could think about was black hair and a kind smile. He hated himself for thinking of him. Truthfully, it was the only kindness he’d received in a very long time. 

   Himeno typed more before glancing at her watch. “I’m glad, Angel. I hope to hear more from you at our next session,” she responded to the lackluster answer smoothly, getting up from her chair with an easy expression, the politeness never leaving her gaze. Angel got up as well, thanking her, before walking out of her room. 

   He made another appointment with the receptionist right after, making sure to try and practice spilling his secrets in front of his mirror. It was easier that way. Rain assaulted the pavement when he made his way outside, and he sagged. The weather that morning had been cloudy, the sky swirling with darkness, but he’d hoped he would be able to make it home before it started the downpour. 

   Inhaling, he filled his chest with air he didn’t think he deserved and ran to his car, unlocking it. Drenched from head to toe and feeling like a wet dog, Angel sat in his car and breathed heavily, starting it to try and dry off. The ride home went by in a blink, and soon he found himself unlocking his door as quickly as possible, trying not to ruin whatever pieces of clothing had just dried. 

    The door slammed shut as Angel slumped against it, and he glanced at his watch. Since it was Sunday he didn’t have training, so he didn’t have any idea of what to do. Watching a movie was stupid as scrolling any streaming platform sounded like a waste of time, and he thought instead to the piles of books that remained unread. Slipping off his soggy shoes, Angel stripped his wet socks from his feet and put on his slippers instead. 

   Changing into more comfortable (and dry) clothing, he opted to read the first book on the stack. It was some adult fantasy novel he’d been recommended by staff at a bookstore, so he decided to give it a try. He expected some predictable drivel but it was something to occupy his attention, regardless of how bad it was bound to be. Settling into his couch, a steaming cup of tea at his side, he tucked into the book and resolved not to move until he was finished with it.

   Just as anticipated, the book was full of nonsense. It was full of attractive characters that were either unlikeable or boring, but Angel couldn’t find it in him to care, and that scared him ever so slightly. Setting the book on the side table, he suddenly felt the urge to scrub his hands raw. 

   His stomach growled as he lathered his hands with soap and washed them with scalding hot water, and he pondered what to do. Opening the door, he suddenly got an idea that had the possibility to be really good or really terrible. 

   Phone sitting heavy in his pocket, unused and forgotten throughout the day (Angel didn’t like social media or using his phone at all), he fished it out and stared at the screen for a moment. The decision in his head was made, but actually acting it out had him second guessing whatever stupid plan he’d come up with. 

   A green app stared back at him, beckoning him to click on it. Angel obliged, seeing the name ‘Aki’ in bold black letters and he pressed on it before he could talk himself out of it. A quick text, simply inviting him for dinner at Angel’s house (Angel would cook, of course) just because Angel needed company and he knew Aki wouldn’t refuse. He didn’t know if that was an abuse of power, but maybe Angel didn’t care.

  Aki texted back quickly after, the speed shocking the auburn haired boy. Jumping as his phone buzzed, he read the text. It was accompanied by three exclamation marks and a smiling emoji. Scrunching his eyebrows together, he couldn’t tell if Aki was being genuine or sarcastic. Wetting his lips, Angel presumed it was the former. 

   With that, he set out to cook a simple dinner of chicken curry and rice, with a few easy side dishes that didn’t take him very long. It was a simple dinner that consisted of whatever he could find in his fridge (thank God he had curry cubes), so he hoped it tasted good. Alternatively, he hoped Aki didn’t have very high expectations. Angel consistently cooked maybe three things for himself, as routine tended to rule his life. He liked it that way.

   About an hour passed before Angel’s doorbell rang, and the coincidence of it was not lost on Angel. He’d just finished up dinner, setting it on the counter before he walked to the front door, welcoming Aki in. He had an umbrella and was wearing casual clothing, similarly to Angel, and the younger man gave him slippers to wear as he left his umbrella down on Angel’s porch to drain. Putting the slippers on, Aki followed Angel into the dining room. 

   The table was small, fit for about four people if they squeezed enough, but for two people it was perfect. They sat across from each other, and Angel sheepishly thanked the other for coming.

   “Sorry the text was so last notice.” Angel apologized, spooning himself a portion of curry onto his rice after Aki had. Aki just shook his head. 

   “Don’t apologize. That’s why I gave you my number in the first place.” Aki smiled pleasantly, and Angel held his gaze for a moment before looking away, taking a long sip of his water. Aki spooned a bit of rice and curry, popping it into his mouth and closing his eyes happily. 

   “It’s good!” Aki praised.

   “It’s just curry cubes; don’t expect much more from me.” Angel joked dryly, a smile on his face nonetheless. They ate in relative silence, a comment about something during the day requiring an answer. The atmosphere was comfortable albeit a bit strained, with both of them wanting to talk more but not sure how to.

    “Angel,” Aki started, spoon resting at the side of the bowl. Angel perked up, hair falling in front of his face. “I hope we can be friends after, y’know, my services are no longer needed.”

   Angel scrunched his nose at the wording. “You make it sound dirty.”

    Aki just laughed, waving his hands in front of his face, insisting that he didn’t mean it that way. Angel cracked a smile as well, teasing him more the more he protested. They fell then into a comfortable conversation, laughing every so often as the sun began to set behind them. It was probably around eight by the time Aki was ready to leave. 

   “Thank you, Angel, really. I’m glad you could reach out to me.” Aki admitted, smiling down at Angel like the younger boy was made of gold. A flush slowly rose to Angel’s cheeks.

   “Of course, Aki. I’m glad you came.” 

   Angel closed the door, heart pounding furiously in his chest. After a few years of very little human interaction, his brain just didn’t know how to function. Yawning, Angel stretched out his back, allowing his arms to extend over his head. Walking to the kitchen, his eyes dropped, noticing the amount of dirty dishes.

   “I don’t want mice…” Angel muttered to himself as a motivator, knowing that his hatred of rats would win over exhaustion. Plate after plate, the dirty fishes were loaded into soapy hot water as Angel lazily scrubbed and rinsed them off. Water dripped from the dishes into a funnel that brought it into the sink. 

    Quickly soon after Angel was ripping his clothes off his body in favor of wearing pajamas, and cuddled up in bed. Tomorrow he would have to wake up early, and he didn’t want to delay sleep any longer. A deep breath later, and Angel was sleeping soundly in bed. 

     The next morning Angel walked in the rink, seeing Makima talking to Aki, their conversation hushed and secretive. Angel scrunched his eyebrows, a frown replacing his once neutral expression. He refused to be jealous, though, as he wasn’t quite ready to unpack what that jealousy meant yet. 

    Truthfully, Angel hadn’t expected to see Aki there at all; their next appointment wasn’t until Wednesday. Bag held in his hand like an anchor weighing him down, Angel cleared his throat, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. Selfishly, he wanted to alert Makima and Aki that he was there and that Aki should stop talking to the devil herself. 

   Just thinking about the torment Angel had to go through last week was enough to send shivers down his spine, his legs still slightly sore from the abuse suffered. Makima looked away from Aki, eyes inquisitive as she looked at Angel who stood across the room. 

   He did look like he was minding his own business, lacing up his pointe shoes and digging around his bag for a hair tie. To anyone who wasn’t Makima, he would’ve looked completely inconspicuous. But Makima knew too much about Angel, simply because they’d been around each other (reluctantly on Angel’s behalf) for the better part of five years. Makima patted Aki on the shoulder before following Angel into the dance studio. 

    Once the door was closed, Makima held back her laughter, letting out a slight huff. “What was that about, Angel?” Makima asked, tone teasing as she walked over to the boombox. Angel just tied up his hair, remaining silent as he stretched his ankles and warmed them up. 

    “What do you mean?” Angel said belatedly, remaining neutral as he began to warm up, putting his warm up pants on. Makima rolled her eyes and shook her head, arms crossed on her chest as she looked at Angel like she would a child. Angel just stared back. 

   Makima tsked, shoulders rolling back. “You don’t get to know everything, Angel. I’m still your coach.” 

   “I never asked to know everything.” 

   Narrowing her eyes, the red haired woman just smiled pleasantly, lips tight in an uncomfortable way as Angel looked at her. None of her expressions were natural or real, and that was something the male had to learn the hard way. When they’d first started training together, coach and athlete, he’d misinterpret her tight smiles and closed eyes as praise. In reality, that was her being extremely disappointed or angry.

   No matter what, Makima wore the same expression. Small smile, dead eyes. It was unnerving to say the least, but it had gotten her far in a world that was used to oppressing women and demeaning them. Figure skating demeaned everyone, but women and girls especially were put to a standard no human could ever reach. Except Makima, apparently. 

   When she retired she held the world and Olympic records in both free skate and short program, and even now, as Angel looked at her, she still held those records. She was a god amongst men, and to anyone looking in at them, they would assume Angel was overwhelmed with gratitude to be her student. In reality, Angel wanted nothing more than to crawl away from her and never look back. 

   She was the reason for his success, though, and he doubted he could find a better coach anywhere. Sighing, Angel knew he’d gotten himself in deep shit and that the soreness in his legs would worsen by the time they were done. 

   Once Makima changed the CD in the boombox, Angel knew he was doomed. 

   Walking out of the rink was troublesome and painful, his legs protesting every step, his arms going slack as he carried his things. It had been a long time since he’d had a training session that painful, but he knew it was only going to get worse and worse. He needed to get back in shape before his season started ramping up, and he needed to do it fast. Learn the routines, get them down, and compete. Over. And over. And over. 

   Unlocking his car. Angel threw his things in the backseat, the cold not bothering him as it whipped at his face. The weather was really starting to feel more like winter, despite it still being fall. Sliding into his car, Angel ignored the angry cramp in his calf and tried his best to breathe. Thinking to himself, he was pretty sure he had bananas at home. Maybe a warm bath would help. 

   Maybe he could ask Aki. 

   Shoving the last thought to the side, Angle decided to just drive home and take a bath in Epsom salt, and then have some protein for dinner. Building muscle was of the utmost importance to him right now. 

   The drive home was excruciating, his calf only letting up for about a minute. He’d nearly crashed once trying to slam on the brakes, and by the time he got home his forehead was beading with sweat. Shakily, he got out of his car, taking his bag with him and opening his door hastily. If this continued he might just collapse. 

   Drawing a bath, herbal tea in hand, he carefully massaged his painful calf while the tub filled up with hot water. His thumb dug into the flesh and muscle, harshly loosening the cramp and helping him relax. Once the bath was full enough, he stripped himself of his grimy training clothes and set his mug on the edge of the bath before slipping into the scalding oasis. 

   He felt like a chick that couldn’t fly yet but was watching all of its siblings do what it could not. He’d deleted any social media he had a while ago, finding it exhausting to see videos of friends and other skaters. They would post snippets of their routine, or little self-choreographed pieces to songs they liked– all of it hurt for him to watch. 

   Especially because he hadn’t told anyone about his injury, or the fact that he was suspended from the ice temporarily. All of it was exhausting, and he knew the responses would all be half hearted. They would all say they were sorry, and how terrible it must be for him, all the while celebrating the fact that Angel was no longer their competition. 

   Angel didn’t feel bitter, though. If he was in their shoes, he would do the exact same thing. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt, or that if he could avoid it, he would. So, for now, any news about his health stayed stagnantly positive. No one would know, and he was completely okay with that.

    Finishing his herbal tea, he soaked in the bath for what felt like centuries, his body turning red with the heat and his fingers pruning. Not caring about either of those things, the man continued to soak, dunking his head under the water. Sometimes breathing became too much. 

   Once he felt sufficiently out of oxygen, he came up for air, hair dripping water onto his face and shoulders. He liked the way the droplets fell, sliding down his temple and dropping off his chin. Returning to the water. It felt like a shortened version of the cycle of life, despite the fact that water was abiotic and inanimate. 

   Feeling himself somewhat of a crazy person, Angel snapped out of his reverie and got out of the tub, wrapping a towel tightly around himself, the chill hitting him almost immediately. Rolling his neck, feeling it crack and pop, he was delighted to notice that he felt substantially better, drying himself off and putting on pajamas. He toweled his hair dry, scrunching and rubbing as he went to look at his phone.

   A notification popped up. Aki. Drawing his eyebrows together, he was confused as to why he was getting a text from him. 

    Have you seen this article yet? Was followed by a link. Angel, overcome with curiosity, clicked on it.  Seeing the title nearly made him drop his phone and scream.

    In big, bold, black letters read, Is Angel Akuryo Retiring? Male Figure Skater Hasn’t Been Seen on the Ice.

     Somewhere, in the back of Angel’s mind, he really thought that he’d jinxed himself.

Chapter Text

   There was little consoling anyone could do to make Angel feel better. Everyone who had any business in the skating world had already seen the article, and already news outlets and reporters were reaching out to ask for a comment. No one had shown up to his house, and he prayed to God they didn’t. On Twitter, his name was trending, which was never a good sign. 

     Angel usually had no interest in social media. Since the article dropped, he was consumed by it. Refreshing his feed, looking his name up on google. It wasn’t for any conceited reasons, or to check how popular he was. For every new tweet or article or mention that his name was in, a match was lit in his stomach and soon he feared dynamite would explode. Anxiety filled him to the brim. He didn’t want to read what people were saying about him, but still he did. 

    When he arrived at the rink the next morning, Makima was waiting for him. Her arms were crossed, and a stern expression masked worry and her rigid demeanor didn’t change. Stone-faced, she stood and skirted around the situation, but her eyes still wandered towards Angel. The man felt them burning into him, further spreading the spark that would set off a ticking time bomb. 

      It was the first day he would be back on the ice, no doubt expedited due to the article. Makima was scared; not for Angel, but for her reputation. It was laughable, but Angel understood. Coaches in this sport had to toe a fine line, protecting themselves against overworking allegations from fans and critics. To get as good as Angel, spirits had to be broken in the process.

    Makima was scared of what this meant for her. What criticism she would receive, and, if this injury was truly permanent, if she would get the blame for it. Angel’s breathing was shaky, and his vision wobbled terribly. This wasn’t the best headspace to be in before getting back on the ice, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. 

    Silence covered the coach and athlete, settling into the fine corners like dust in an old house. Movements were slow and nervous, Angel rolling out his ankle and warming it up before he put on his skates. A pool of frozen ice lay before him, daunting and insurmountable, a zenith of his own design. One he would have to conquer. 

     Instead of looking like an open sky, the rink now felt like a prison. The walls enclosing it, the feeling of being totally and utterly alone, performing for no one but himself. Angel usually loved that sensation. It was like flying. Now it felt more like drowning. 

    Lace by lace, the skater tightened and fixed his skates to his feet, tying them aggressively into a double knot. They would not be a hindrance to him today. Guards were put on the blades, and he walked to Makima who had been staring out at the glassy ice. 

     “Ready.” He said, voice flat. Angel was quite annoyed with himself, as he’d hated the idea of not being on the ice for so long that finding it terrifying was frustrating. He was supposed to be happy because of this. Honestly, he couldn’t tell if it was the article or the fact that he actually was skating again that scared him more. 

     Makima turned around, eyes sharp as they fixed onto Angel’s. She nodded, telling him a basic warm up. Get him acclimated. Jumps would come later. He had to still be able to jump. Angel complied, skating swivels and circles into the ice. He alternated feet, weaving on one foot while the other rested on the active one’s ankle, and then switching. He felt like a kid again, doing backward swizzles and half swizzles and extending his leg backwards to glide. 

    Turning and twisting, his flexibility relatively the same (he felt a bit more lithe this time around, probably due to the copious amounts of ballet), the wind whipped his face as he skated and for brief moments he felt that same glee. Exhilaration that came with being so out of breath it was euphoric. 

     Doing a camel spin, flipping to do one on the opposite leg, he was surprised to feel that his ankle hurt minimally, if at all. He did a couple test jumps, mostly just one rotation and very delayed, with little air time. Makima nodded as he did it all, calculating them. Angel stopped when his coach clapped. 

     “Alright,” she sighed, looking at her watch and then looking at Angel. “We’re going to begin to feel out your routine. I have a couple music options for you.” Makima sounded so unenthusiastic about it that Angel deflated from his brief happiness. 

    “I take it that my performance was satisfactory?” Angel asked, laced with ruefulness and disdain. Sarcasm wove its way into the rhetorical question, angry with how suddenly his coach ripped the only true glee he’d felt in months away from him. Makima only raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Ignoring him, she walked instead over to the audio player.

     Angel, honestly, didn’t really listen or comprehend any of the music choices played. They sat and listened to the three songs, staring at each other or at the ground, and Angel acted like he enjoyed them. All he heard was stagnant nothingness, blood roaring in his ears and the sound of his labored breathing. 

    Makima paused the last song, clicking the sound system off. Crossing her arms, red braid falling like fire down her shoulder, she raised an instigative brow at Angel. When her student made no move to glare back, she just sighed and softened her shoulders. “Just pick one, Angel. It doesn’t matter if you actually heard them.” 

    Angel gritted his teeth. “Fine. La Mer.” La Mer was a classical piece by Debussey, and God if it didn’t describe what his life was. Blurry shots of mundane moments, painted thickly to look beautiful but hiding any context. Makima nodded in acknowledgement, writing it down on her practice sheet. 

      “Alright. Here’s what we’ll do.” 

     The next two hours were modern torture for Angel, being told how he should act and what he should do. It was, in Makima’s words, a transformative piece. Not only was it about the impressionist movement, something that changed the art scene forever, but it was also about Angel proving that he wasn’t retiring yet. He wasn’t hurt anymore, and was back and stronger than ever. 

    From his cocoon, he would emerge more beautiful than ever. Rather be a butterfly than a moth, right? Angel hoped his performance was as entrancing as the wings of a monarch flapping in the autumn breeze. 

     The first part of the short program was almost done. He still needed to start his free skate, but Makima said that she would choose the music for that. There were only two jumps in the first half, as Makima told him that the latter half of the performance would contain the bulk of the jumps. More time for Angel to get stronger. 

    Skating off the ice, legs wide and chest parallel with the ground, heaving and exhausted, Angel nearly collapsed on the bench. He was starving and tired, and his eyes were weary. As he was untying his shoes, Makima handed him a laminated sheet. On it had a daily schedule for him, preparing him for competition season. Angel raised an eyebrow. 

       Meal plans to sleep schedule were detailed out, not to mention practices, and it felt good to have structure to his life again. No more floundering and gasping for air. Sighing, Angel gratefully took the paper and slid his skates off, putting his slides on in lieu of them. 

    “Eat well, Angel. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

    Angel nodded, echoing her sentiments, and left the rink. Inside his car, he pulled out the paper again. It was Monday, which meant that not only did he have training on ice, but he also had ballet training. Mentally cursing, the man hit his steering wheel then turned on his car and drove home. 

    Bare floors and cold walls greeted him when he walked inside his house. It was grey inside, the warm lights having not yet been turned on, and the cold outside with its stormy, winter skies held little softness in them. Angel was tired. First order of business, though, was flipping on the lights. 

   As yellow hues flooded the space, allowing the true colors of everything to breathe, Angel set his bag down and traveled to the kitchen to make food. He washed and put rice in his cooker, allowing it to cook while he made the rest of his meal. Craving nato, he pulled that out, alongside two fresh eggs and a bit of sauteed cabbage. It would do. 

    Ever since he was a child, Angel had never had that much of an appetite. Growing up sickly and scrawny, eating never did much but make him nauseous. Though his body might need food, he rarely had any want to supply it with any; he had to learn how to prepare meals that were satisfying enough, and that he could eat fully. 

      Tossing the cabbage in with one of the eggs currently in a pan on the stove, he made a little omelet for himself. The other egg would be left for the rice and nato. As Angel cooked, he tried his damndest to keep his eyes away from his phone and his mind off of the articles circulating about him. It was stupid how much he worried about it; no one walking down the street even knew who he was. The skating world was very small compared to the general populous, so the chances of anyone being able to put a face to a name was low. 

      Still, his mind itched and his eyes warily scanned his peripheral to see if he had gotten any new notifications. Predictably nothing popped up, but the anxiety continued to bubble at a low simmer. Angel could do little more than eat, regardless of if his worries were already devouring him from the inside out, successfully suppressing the majority of his appetite. 

      His rice cooker beeped. Decompressing it and releasing the steam, he paused for a few seconds to watch the condensation, looking at the beads of water trickling down the lid. A rice paddle was procured a few moments later, and he dug out a sizable chunk of the rice and deposited it into the awaiting bowl. This, for now, was enough. 

     Eating was a lonesome ordeal; refusing to look at his phone much less open it, he opted for a silent lunch with him zoning out whilst chewing on food, the egg seeping further into his nato. He ate his omelet slowly, not quite liking the taste, realizing that he’d burnt a significant portion of the cabbage (he hadn’t been paying attention). About half the rice was left, so he scraped the nato and egg out of its container and into the rice, finishing off the rest of his meal in silence. 

     Angel opted for a nap. He quickly fell asleep, his bed messy and unmade from that morning, but warm nonetheless. The sky was gray and boring, making it easy for his eyes to become heavy and not bother about shutting the blinds. Ballet was at four, and he woke up at three, groggy and disoriented and, ultimately, still tired.

    He decided the nap was a bad idea. 

     Laboriously tugging on tights, a tight shirt, shorts, and then sweatpants and a sweatshirt over it all, Angel packed his flats and pointe shoes into his bag alongside bandaids, salve, and tiger balm, he was out the door thirty minutes later. Water bottle in hand, he tediously opened his car door and drove off to go see Makima for the second time that day. 

     His phone pinged from where it was hidden in his middle compartment. The man ignored it until he pulled into the driveway, only opening it when he had worked himself up enough, thinking it was some reporter asking for a comment. Readying himself to lay into whomever was on the other side, he was shocked when all he saw was Aki’s name. Swallowing, he opened the text.

    All it said was ‘Are you okay?’. Angel’s chest felt heavy, and the urge to cry welled up in him like a fountain that finally got turned on after a long winter of running dry. No one so far had asked him how he was feeling, but then again he’d only seen one cold hearted person in the two days since the article had been published. Not knowing how to respond, Angel clicked his phone off and then completely shut it down, not wanting to waste his energy on thinking up an appropriate response. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about his feelings– he never was.

        Ballet was equally as excruciating. It was, essentially, just his short program routine in pointe shoes. Makima clapped in double time as he jumped and stretched and did whatever he could to keep up. Angel was sure his coach was pissed at him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

     After practice, limbs sore and in need of a good soak, toes burning and in so much pain he could barely walk back to his car, he turned his phone back on. Another text from Aki, saying, “Ignoring my text isn’t going to make you feel better. Respond when you can”. Angel scoffed, knowing that when Aki had something to say, he wasn’t afraid of doing so. 

      Regardless, Angel couldn’t help but shrink into himself and be reserved. Never before in his life had his feelings been put first by anyone, not even himself. No one ever cared, and Angel had learned to deal with that, squeezing any semblance of vulnerability into a little box he kept locked up at the back of his mind. He carried himself with wry apathy, not caring about anything but skating. It was foreign for someone to want to know how he felt. 

      Tapping his phone on his steering wheel, Angel hummed to himself in thought. Texting back, he responded to Aki: Are you up for lunch tomorrow? I’ll explain then”. Aki responded with a yes, saying a time that worked for him. Angel agreed that it worked for him as well, and he was even more anxious for tomorrow to come. 

    In the morning, Angel was groggy and tired and drove to training sipping on scalding hot coffee that he downed without complaint. Makima greeted him with an equally tired expression, coffee of her own sitting in her mug like a void. While Angel tugged his skates on, Makima talked to him about the plans today, and told him she’d chosen his free skate music, having it re-done and fit to the performance time. Angel nodded, but didn’t really absorb any of it. 

     His brain still had yet to catch up into his body, moving at a snail’s pace. Muscle memory took over his body, skating and responding to Makima’s commands without registering any of it in his mind. It was almost like he was still asleep, running on autopilot. He was nervous, tired, and his nerves were alight with anxiety. 

     Friends weren’t something Angel had an abundance of, and the ones he did have rarely hung out with him. They were friends in title only, and Angel tended not to mind it. He was a solitary person with a rigid personality that people found hard to mold to. Instead of going with the flow, Angel did things his way. It was how he was. 

      Growing up alone did that to a person. 

    Practice was over before Angel felt like he even blinked– his dissociation took him from the rink back home in what seemed like a second, his body looking small from where he watched it. Feebly he walked inside, letting his bag drop to the ground in the entryway before falling on his couch. Looking at his phone, he realized he should take a shower and at least look slightly presentable to meet Aki later. 

     So, he did. Hot water streamed out of his showerhead, cleansing his body from grime and sweat. It was scalding, allowing Angel’s brain to reboot and kick back into gear. He let the water burn him, his skin turning from a pale peach color to a bright red. His auburn hair stuck to his forehead and neck, feeling uncomfortable as he scrubbed his body, making it even redder than before. 

    He wore black slacks and a cable knit sweater, a turtleneck hiding underneath. It was starting to get significantly colder out, the competition season sneaking its way into Angel’s schedule before he could process he was even skating again. Being back on the ice had felt so natural yet also somehow so foreign to him that his brain didn’t know how to deal with it. 

      Cold air stung his nose as he walked to the restaurant. His cheeks were numb with redness caused by the cold, and his lips already began to feel the familiar tightness of being chapped. Japan began feeling winter sooner than most other countries, and Angel sniffed a few times before warmth prickled his skin in the restaurant. Aki was already there, chatting with the waitress, finger moving on the edge of his water glass. 

   “That’s not sanitary.” Angel commented, breaking up the small talk Aki and their waitress had been having. The waitress smiled politely, asking for Angel’s drink order, and was gone. Licking his lips, Aki raised an eyebrow. 

    “What isn’t?” He took the bait, finger stilling on the edge. Angel shrugged off his coat, draping it over the back of the chair, squeezing his arms to his sides in an effort to find more warmth. 

    “Your fingers going where your mouth does. Did you even wash them?” Angel chastised, looking at Aki with his own raised eyebrow and slight snarl of disgust. Aki just laughed, moving his hands away from his glass and nodding. 

    “Yes, I promise you I did,” he surrendered easily, leaning back into his chair and looking at Angel with a more focused, concerned gaze. Angel’s body prickled, goosebumps rising as he felt the urge to flee. Aki’s eyes were warm; he was used to caring about people. Maybe too much. To Aki, things like this came easy to him. To Angel? He was in agony. “What’s up, Angel?” He asked, tone quieted like he was trying to placate a scared animal. 

    Prickling, Angel bunched into himself, trying his best to be so tiny Aki just stopped noticing him. He felt childish acting like this at his age, not knowing how to walk the line of emotional intelligence or how to correctly articulate his feelings. In truth, he’d never been taught or allowed to be so truthful– someone, in the end, always expected more from him. 

    “Did you see the article?” Angel asked, praying to God he hadn’t read it. Aki, horrifically, nodded. Angel visibly paled. This was what humiliation felt like. 

    “I saw it, but never read it. Denji and Power showed it to me,” Aki explained, trying to calm a spiraling Angel down, but despite his best efforts the older man just made it worse. The fact that two junior skaters– teenagers, who were in the skating scene– read the article about him meant that the reach of the piece had gone far further than Angel had dared to think. “Angel, calm down.” Aki said, his tone a bit more firm this time. Angel sucked on his teeth, mouth pursed. 

    “I have every right to be upset, Aki.” Angel’s tone was dry, expression neutral. Aki sighed. This was the battle he fought every time he tried to talk to Angel about something serious– the younger man would never see past his own temper. He dug a hole for himself and kept digging, and rejected any hand that tried to reach down to pull him up. 

   Aki rubbed his forehead with his fingers, trying to ease his growing headache. “I understand that, Angel, and I’m not disagreeing with you, but you’re driving yourself insane,” Aki answered and empathetically as he could, hands expressing every word. “People understand that if you were truly injured beyond repair, you would’ve said so. But you’re back on the ice, and you will prove whoever wrote the article wrong.” 

     Scoffing, Angel readied himself to respond when the waitress returned with his water. She then asked if they were ready to order, and Aki jumped at the opportunity to stall their conversation. He answered smoothly, saying they would have the sukiyaki, and the waitress walked away. She prepared all of the things for the table while Aki and Angel glared at each other in the silence. 

   Once the waitress had finally left them, Angel angrily ate his food while Aki just watched him. 

   “Are you going to keep watching me or are you going to eat?” Angel bit, swallowing some broth and vegetables. Aki huffed out a laugh and ran a hand through his hair. 

   “Angel, I promise. You have nothing to be worried about. You’ve been training so hard and pushing yourself. The only person you have to battle now is yourself. No one else needs to be any of your concern.” Aki said, picking up his chopsticks and digging in, leaving Angel to let the words echo in his ears. Heat rose to his face before he could help it, and he covered it by filling his cheeks with meat and rice. 

    In the back of his head, Angel’s mind whispered something he didn’t even know existed there, an echo of his true feelings: not even you, Aki?

Chapter Text

Angel was going crazy. 

    He’d been pushing back meeting with Himeno because he just couldn’t , and he decided to cure himself. Now that his injury was pretty much healed, why was therapy even necessary? Any deep, dark feelings or memories he had no need to be resurfaced. Good riddance, he thought. No good could come from his past.

      Besides, Makima had been working him to the bone ever since she got the clearance to do so. Not that she hadn’t been before (even thinking of the previous ballet training made Angel’s limbs hurt), but now that he was back on the ice she was ruthless. Maybe she hated the press more than Angel did. 

     Jumping, pulling one arm in tight and allowing the other one to stay gracefully straight above him, he landed before he knew it and glided backwards. There was a stillness in the cool air of the rink, and Makima looked at him with glazed eyes. God, how Angel hated that woman. 

     Angel wasn’t always the best. Sure, he was talented and showed it from a young age, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t suffered his fair share of defeats and obvious setbacks. Even before his injury he’d been battling with keeping up with people who outranked him skill wise. He started skating late; too late, in his opinion, to be compared to the likes of people who probably were much better than him. They just hadn’t caught Makima’s eyes. 

     When Angel was fifteen, he won his first Grand Prix title. It was his first year competing with the seniors, and he swears it was all luck. The ice was bad, chunks being dug out and never filled. So many of the other skaters fell, and when he didn’t, he automatically got more points. He was young and able, and after he got off the ice he nearly collapsed. 

    Makima helped him up, with her hungry gaze trained on his face and her smile clipped and greedy. Angel hadn’t known it then, but Makima was almost drooling. She’d told everyone that she would be Angel’s coach, whether he wanted to or not. When asked, Angel said yes. 

    Before he trained with Makima, he was with a coach from his hometown. He lived with his grandmother, an old, rich, arrogant woman who wanted nothing to do with Angel unless he was perfect. When Angel was a young child, she would take out a music box that had a pretty ballerina who spun when the music played. His grandmother would stare at the ballerina in her pretty pink tutu and pretty pink bows, and shove the music box into Angel’s small, eager hands. 

    “This is what you need to be,” she would say, and she would lean in so close that Angel could smell the cigarette smoke in her breath. “Silent and put on display. You already look like a statue.” 

    Clutching that music box close to his chest, Angel’s mouth was set into a thin line, eyes hard and unwavering. As a child, he was thought to have had no emotions; a pretty sculpture made of clay and not flesh. He liked his hair long because he could hide behind it, but more often than not he was mistaken for a girl, especially when he was younger. Just a sculpture, nothing more.

    After accepting Makima’s offer, his grandmother was more than happy to move. The house she lived in was stained yellow with her constant smoking, and she’d lived in it for years. Raised her children in it. Eager to leave, they packed their things and moved to where Makima operated. It was easier than it should’ve been. 

    Makima made sure he only ever won after that. 

    “Again.” Makima’s voice rang out loud and clear, causing Angel to clear his throat and catch his breath. He’d been bent over and heaving, thinking about things he shouldn’t have been. Angel nodded reluctantly before rolling his shoulders back and doing his program over again. Makima played the music, and Angel disappeared. 

    All he was on the ice was a ballerina in a music box. He danced and danced while people watched and cheered, and once the box was closed he vanished from sight. No one saw him unless that music was playing, and he liked it that way. Otherwise he really was a spectacle. 

    When he skated the music overwhelmed his senses– he allowed it to fill him and be the only thing he thought about. Skating came naturally to him, but feeling music and living it was always harder. Processing emotions and then showing them on the ice took a lot of work for him. He wasn’t used to being so candid with his expressions, so visceral in his performances. 

    To move an audience to silence, to make them remember what they just saw. That was always the goal. He had to be remembered. He must be, otherwise what was it all for?

    The music stopped and Angel’s body was tense and looking downwards, the pose of defeat in the context of his performance. It was a sad song with a sad performance that was filled with as much emotion as he could muster. Sweating despite the cold and unbelievably exhausted, Angel collapsed on his back, the ice cooling him off. 

    He could hear whispers from off the ice, hushed and incomprehensible. Angel couldn’t find it in him to care. The skater had been at it since eight in the morning, and it was nearly eleven, and he had to come back later that day as well. He wanted to eat. More importantly, he wanted to sleep. 

    “Angel,” Makima said, and the auburn haired man sat up. His eyes widened a fraction when he saw who the guest was. Aki. “Come here.” 

    Lifting himself off the ice, Angel skated silently over to them, his form small and lithe. He was wearing tight clothing (save for his shorts) and it showed off his skinniness. “Hey,” Angel greeted, his body leaning comfortably on the side of the wall, his bones and muscles aching. 

   Aki greeted him with a nod and a slight smile before Makima broke up whatever weird staring contest they were doing. “Angel, your first competition is next weekend. Do you think you’ll be able to do it?” It wasn’t a question. He had to do it, no matter what. So he nodded. Makima smiled. 

   “Perfect.”

   “I’ll be there as well, in case anything happens.” Aki chimed in, readjusting his work bag so it sat more comfortably on his shoulder. Angel scrutinized him for a second, eyes tracing the bag and its hidden contents before they shifted to Makima. 

   “Are you worried?” Angel asked. Makima just shook her head, an unnerving smile on her face. Her eyes nearly glowed with one-sided amusement. Angel didn’t like that at all.

   “Your grandmother will be attending as well.” Makima’s amusement made sense now, and it make Angel want to punch her in the face. Anger filled his eyes and clenched his fists as he studied the woman in front of him. She was trying to provoke him; why she was doing it, though, Angel didn’t know.

   “Why?” Angel asked, gritting his teeth as he tried his best to placate his fury. Makima just shrugged, picking some invisible fluff off of her coat. This woman is insufferable , Angel thought to himself. 

   “She asked. You know, Angel, I had to be the one to tell her about your unfortunate injury. She was very sad.” Makima told her athlete, and Aki suddenly looked very uncomfortable. 

   “It was not your place to tell her.” Angel spat, walking away from the two of them in order to end whatever petty argument was about to erupt. Makima worked in emotional manipulation and gaslighting. She never lost, and Angel couldn’t handle that today. He was tired enough as it was. 

    Packing up his things and shouldering his back, he gave a hard look to Aki before leaving. His grandmother was a topic he’d like to have kept buried, but of course Makima had to bring it up. 

   Once he got home he went straight to his room, flopping on his bed and kicking off his slides. A letter sat on his bedside table, unopened and cream coloured, beckoning him to read it. His grandmother had given it to him two years ago, and he’d taken it out this morning for some odd reason. He hadn’t read it since he stopped contacting her (a fact Makima knew) and he planned to keep it sealed. 

   Despite himself, he reached for it. The envelope was soft in his hands, and he traced his fingers over the indented strokes of his grandmother’s pen. It was blue on the cream, and it looked nice. Her handwriting was always pretty. Digging his pointer finger in where the envelope was sealed, he ripped it open and found a neatly folded letter on white lined paper. He guessed she wrote it with her nice fountain pen, the one she saved for special occasions. 

   Breathing in deeply, eyes closed, Angel steadied himself. This letter meant nothing to him and had no hold over him, not anymore. He willed himself to believe it. He had to believe it, for his own sanity. Breathing out, he allowed his eyes to open and began reading the letter. 

     Dear Angel,

            Your parents’ anniversary was yesterday. I loved them so much, you know. My only daughter and her lovely husband. I took you in and tried to raise you right. I don’t know where I went wrong– where your parents went wrong.

          Where did my kind grandson go? The one I worked so hard for? You’re where you are today because of me, and it hurts to not see you love me anymore. I’m old, Angel. I deserve some love. 

        Why can’t you be a good son? Why can’t you be a good grandson? Your parents loved you very much. I loved you very much. Just come home, Angel. Don’t leave again. 

        You don’t appreciate what I’ve done for you, but I forgive you. Don’t worry.

                                                                                              Love, Grandma

     Angel threw down the letter. Tears pricked his eyes and his skin hurt; it felt too tight on his body, like it hadn’t grown with his bones. Everything ached and his heart seemed to shrink four sizes as his breath quickened and his vision tunneled horribly. It felt like he was becoming a kid again, scared and helpless and completely controlled by the adults around him. 

      He grabbed for his phone, reaching out. He wasn’t lonely, he convinced himself he couldn’t be. Now that he was an adult he could do what he wanted. People shouldn’t care that he was emotionless or snide. Aki didn’t, at least. Texting him, Angel heaved, doubling over and coughing into the ground. Everything in his body shook, and he crumpled the letter in his hand. 

     An eternity passed him by before his doorbell rang. A knock sounded when Angel didn’t answer or get up to open the door. He couldn’t; he was shaking and frozen on the ground next to his bed. Besides, he left the door unlocked. When Aki figured that out, he heard the door open and the man enter. 

    “Angel?” He heard. He couldn’t respond. “Angel?” Aki cried, more urgent. Finally he made it to Angel’s room and saw him curled up, clutching the letter in his hand. Angry and terrified. 

    Rushing over, the larger man covered the smaller with his arms, leaning the younger on his chest. Angel gasped out a breath that mixed with a sob, trying desperately to push Aki away. The older man held him tight, clutching his head and pressing him further into safety. Right now, Angel needed to be smothered. Anything to get his mind off of his past and his family. 

    “You’re okay,” Aki whispered delicately, softly petting Angel’s hair to calm him. “You’re okay.” 

    Angel’s chest burned with shame and hatred for himself, and he blinked tears out of his eyes. Finally however, Angel pried his arms from his chest and wrapped them safely around Aki. He breathed in the older’s scent, reveling in something that didn’t smell like emptiness. 

     “Sorry,” Angel murmured, genuinely apologetic for making Aki come and deal with his problems. 

     “Don’t be. I want to be here,” Aki said back, his gaze soft. “Have you eaten yet?” He asked. Angel shook his head and was thus lifted up gently by Aki until he could stand on his own two feet. His legs shook, desperate for stability, and they stood until they calmed and Angel could walk on his own. 

    They walked to the kitchen, Aki’s hand wrapping around Angel’s waist and guiding him to where he needed to be. His mind was numb and in need of energy. Food would do that. 

     “I’ll…” Angel began, clearing the stickiness from his throat. “I can cook.” He croaked, and Aki just quirked a brow.  

     “No, I don’t think you will,” Aki responded neutrally, setting Angel down in a chair and beginning to cook. They sat in a comfortable silence, and Angel slowly came back to his senses. Somewhere in the middle, Aki had set a glass of water in front of him. Sipping periodically, Angel stewed in his own embarrassment. 

     “Holy shit I can’t believe I called you.” Angel muttered, tucking his head into his folded arms. Aki just snorted from the kitchen. 

     “No offense, but who else were you gonna call? Or were you just going to sit through it alone?” Aki asked, although his tone hinted that they were both just rhetorical questions. Aki looked at Angel over his shoulder, gaze challenging. Angel quickly backed down, turning his head away from Aki. 

      “Touché.” Angel said, voice muffled in his arm. Aki just went back to cooking. Soon, his lunch was displayed in front of him and Aki beckoned Angel to dig in. Not waiting for anything else, Angel fervently began to eat like it was his last meal. A three hour practice followed by a panic attack tended to drain a lot of energy. 

        “Are you going to call your therapist?” Aki asked, mouth full of rice. Angel stopped chewing for a moment before continuing. He nodded his head. 

      “Eventually.” 

      “Are you going to tell me what happened?” Aki asked instead. Angel nearly choked on the piece of squash he was swallowing. 

       “Do you really want to know?” 

      “Would I have asked if I didn’t?”

     Tsking, Angel set down his chopsticks and sighed. Aki waited patiently, setting down his own utensils and crossing his arms on the table in front of him. 

      “It’s my grandma,” Angel started. “She wrote a letter to me two years ago. I opened it before you came.” Angel told Aki, refusing to say the words ‘panic attack’. It was pitiful to him. 

      Aki just hummed, nodding. He was most likely putting the pieces together himself based off of the conversation he had heard that morning (more like been a witness to). 

      “Throw it out.” Aki advised before picking up his spoon and eating some miso soup and going about his meal. Swallowing thickly, Angel mirrored him, picking up his chopsticks and taking another piece of sauteed squash that would hopefully go down easier. 

       “Can you promise you’ll never leave me?” Angel suddenly asked, looking up from his bowl. Aki raised his own head, pausing. Angel stared intently at the other man. Aki pondered the question for a while before shaking his head.

       “No, I can’t.” He answered truthfully.

       Angel smiled. “Good.”

Chapter Text

Aki hadn’t always had two siblings. Well, technically three, but now it was just two, and before then it was just one. 

   His parents were very kind people. They enjoyed the little things in life, like living in a forest and watching the snow pile on the ground in winter and watching it all melt away in the spring. They enjoyed the way the cicadas chirped in the summer, and the way the leaves fell in fall. 

   They were kind people, and that made it even more tragic when they went up in flames. Aki used to blame himself, especially because he was the only one who wasn’t there. His poor younger brother, still too young to have really experienced anything, at least died with his parents. 

   Aki didn’t quite know what was a worse fate, dying or staying alive. Before, he thought that living was worse, but now he thinks dying would be. Somehow tragedy plagued his family constantly, and a distant relative of his lost their life and left two children behind, both adopted. In her will, she’d placed Aki far down the list of potential guardians if she were to die, and somehow every person before Aki had met their time as well. 

   In simpler terms, he’d ended up with two siblings instead of one when it really could’ve been three siblings. He didn’t want them to end up in foster care again, and they were only ten. As much as Aki liked to think himself cold hearted, there was little his brain could do to convince himself not to take them in. 

   He’d graduated college a year prior, thank God, and had been working as a physical therapist nearby. He had enough money saved to buy a two bedroom apartment, and the kids shared a room together and never seemed to complain. Aki had enough common sense to know they came from a harsher background than he, and he would wait for as long as necessary to hear it in full. 

    Denji and Power, in some ways, saved Aki as much as he saved them. It was a wonderful family they’d built, and Aki was extremely protective over them. If he lost another family, he doubted he would stay on earth much longer. 

   Which was why everything now was so perplexing for him. He didn’t understand how Angel lived in such solitude, in such wanted silence. Such startling emptiness was so jarring to Aki, but Angel seemed so at home it frightened him. Before Denji and Power, that same emptiness threatened to consume him completely.    

   Angel, however, felt quite comfortable in it. He coexisted with the nothingness; empty house, near-empty fridge, pristine, uncluttered counters. Calendar that hadn’t moved past January, surely empty of important dates and birthdays. The entire concept was foreign to Aki, who had everything on the calendar down to when Denji had club meetings at school. 

   Aki had only said no to Angel’s question because it was true. Aki would never choose Angel over Denji and Power, especially not this early in their friendship (relationship? Aki didn’t know, and he was too scared to ask Angel who he was sure didn’t know either). 

   Angel came up beside him, delicately taking his empty plate and disappearing into the kitchen. Aki took this as time to scan the room. The kitchen was attached to the dining room through a little archway, and to the side of the dining room was a living room with a couch and a tv, as well as an empty coffee table. Little knick knacks, mostly related to skating, were placed sporadically around the room but nothing truly convinced Aki that this space was lived in . It felt cold and austere, a sharp one-eighty from the home that Aki went back to. 

   “Angel,” he asked, voice raised slightly so the man could hear him. The response he got was a curious hum from the kitchen. “Why did Makima invite your grandmother? If you don’t mind me asking.” He couldn’t understand why the woman wanted to make Angel suffer so much in that moment.

   “Because she’s a cunt.” Was Angel’s snipped reply, and it sounded like he was eager to say so with how easily the words rolled off his tongue. He reappeared seconds later, towel in hand as he dried the water off of them. Aki raised both of his brows. 

   “Really? But in person, she’s so…”

   “Sweet? Charming? Charismatic?” Angel supplied, and Aki couldn’t refuse any of the titles he’d placed on Makima. Scoffing, the smaller man just rolled his eyes. “As if. She sure is good at pretending, though.” Angel murmured, disappearing again before coming back out once again with two mugs in hand.

   “Coffee?” Aki asked, and Angel nodded the affirmative. Aki gladly took the bitter liquid, warming his hands up through the cup. Angel looked to be doing the same. “Sorry I never noticed.” Aki apologized, and Angel looked up, a bit startled. 

    “No,” Angel shook his head. “don’t be. Like I said, she’s very good at pretending.” A small smile tugged at the skater’s lips as he took a sip of his coffee. Aki mirrored him, doing the same. The feeling of the liquid sliding down his throat instantly warmed him up. 

    “Besides, I should be apologizing to you for calling you all the way out here.” Angel smiled sheepishly, hunching forwards slightly. Aki just laughed.

    “I already told you, it’s okay. I didn’t even have work today.” Aki answered, and that much was the truth. He didn’t work today– it was one of his few rare days off, surprisingly. It seemed fate was on his side. 

    Angel looked out the window that was in the dining room; the sky was a muddled gray, and his eyes blurred as he stared, deep in thought. Aki looked at Angel, tracing the man’s delicate features and the way his brows pinched when he was too deep in his own mind to care about anything else. 

    In his time as a physical therapist, he’d dealt with a numerous number of people who had become depressed because of their injury. Many of them were athletes. They dedicated their entire life to a passion that gave them the feeling of exhilaration, a feeling of belonging. Athletes were lucky; their reason for living, their entire meaning of life comes from their sport.

    Which is why their lives end when they become injured and can no longer participate in something that brings them so much happiness. When Aki looked at Angel, though, he didn’t see a man who placed the meaning of life in his sport, he saw a man who escaped life with his sport. He had nothing else besides it.

    No family, no friends. No meaningful relationships. He didn’t have a favorite show, or a favorite movie. He didn’t decorate his house the way he wanted to, or show off the awards he’d won. His life centered completely and totally around skating, which was why when he could no longer do it, he had nothing stopping him from giving up. 

   “Stop looking at me like I’m some charity case,” Angel said, and Aki could feel the heat rise on his neck when he realized that had become so dazed he forgot he was staring at Angel. Trying his best to quell the flush of his cheeks, he looked down at the table.

   “Why would you think that?” He smiled, bringing his mug to his lips, taking a conservative sip. Angel just pouted.

   “I can see it in your eyes. You adopt strays.” Angel scrutinized, pointing an accusing finger in Aki’s direction. The man laughed, not being able to deny the accusation, so he simply nodded his head.

   “You’re not wrong, Angel,” Aki set down his mug, the black liquid sloshing ever so slightly, before he looked back up. Angel looked curious, his amber eyes swimming with the urge to figure Aki out. How he could figure another person out without even knowing himself was something Aki decided to keep to himself. “My brother and sister– Power and Denji, that is– are adopted. A relative of mine adopted them, before she died. Because my parents are dead as well, the burden to adopt them fell onto me.”

   Angel’s eyes widened just a fraction, betraying the shock he must’ve fought to keep hidden. Aki didn’t mind it; ever since the fire, he’d gotten used to it. Of course, in the beginning it had made him angrier than he’d ever been. The pity, the stares thrown over the shoulder, the whispering and everyone who suddenly wanted a piece of Aki’s family. But now, it was better.

   “I didn’t know that,” Angel murmured, talking into his mug as he paused to take a sip. Aki waved him off. 

   “I didn’t tell you. Now you know.” He said simply, not bothering to sugarcoat it with any sort of reason. His parents weren’t something he enjoyed talking about, but he did understand that their death was an inevitable part of his life. 

   “Do you remember them? If you don’t mind me asking.” Angel asked, voice neutral. He knew best what it was like to be asked questions that were so infuriatingly kind it made his blood boil. People often sugarcoated their morbid curiosity with feigned sympathy, and Angel had experienced that feeling too many times.

   “Yes,” Aki nodded. His eyes became cold for a moment, distant– but just for a moment. They returned, bright and alert. “I was five when they died. There are some memories that are extremely vivid, others not so much.”

   “Foster care?” Angel asked another question. Aki nodded, and Angel hummed.

   “I don’t know which of us is more lucky,” Angel said. Aki looked at him strangely, lip quirking in a certain way that made Angel look crazy. “I don’t remember anything about my parents. You do. I don’t know which is better.” 

   Aki, for some incredulous reason, took that moment to laugh. Angel just smiled, kicking his legs softly under the table as he finished off his coffee. 

– 

    With only a piece of toast floating around in Angle’s belly, he wished he’d eaten less. A large part of him– the rational part– knew he needed as much energy as possible to do this. Skating competitions were long and they were exhausting. Having to be on the ice exerting that much power for a combined total of around seventeen minutes with a piece of toast he wanted to throw up.

    It was his first competition back, and it felt both anticlimactic and incredibly stressful considering the stands were full of onlookers and Makima was staring him down. Aki was by his side, but somehow Makima’s presence tended to overwhelm anyone else’s. Tying his hair up, Makima had them step away from the physical therapist.

    “Don’t do any big jumps during warm-up,” Makima advised, voice hushed. Her yellow eyes were darting around frantically, “Do what you need, but I want everyone else to not expect your routine.” Once she got a nod of confirmation from a begrudging Angel, she walked away. 

   Angel needed to calm his brain down. There was too much happening, with all of the people coming up to him and saying how glad they are that he’s back. He answered them all with a tight smile and a light nod, before continuing to stretch. 

   Once the rink was open for warm-up, Angel, alongside the other skaters, made their way onto the ice. Breathing evenly became a chore, his anxiety spiking as he skated, going from front to back then front again, doing little baby jumps that just reminded himself he could do them. 

   He rehearsed his routine in his head, going over the details of it, the feel of the music, feeling the ebb and flow of the ice as he glided on it. The other skaters were tangible in his vision but disappeared in his mind. When he was finished with mapping out his routine in warm-up, the whistle was called and everyone was ushered off the ice to begin getting ready. 

   As the competition officially started, he sat next to Aki, in costume, and watched as the other skaters performed. The majority of them were younger than him, still in their late teenage years or very early twenties. 

    It made him feel like someone past his prime, desperately clinging onto any remains of grandeur and fame he’d had before his injury. Tensing, Angel closed his eyes, repeating a mantra of, fuck them, fuck them, fuck them in his head so maybe he would believe it. Being apathetic, removed from relationships and reserved from intimacy protected him. 

    He didn’t need friends right now. 

    Fuck them.

    Aki looked at him from the side, expression unreadable. Angel was sure he looked broody, his brow set firmly and his mouth in a deep frown. He looked determined. Aki nudged him, holding his hand out. Angel looked over, unsure before taking his hand. 

   He squeezed it.

   “I didn’t know you got this competitive.” Aki mused, voice lilting with the hint of a laugh as Angel scoffed. 

    “This doesn’t even hold a candle to how I acted before.” He said, getting up when he was called to be on standby. Aki squeezed his hand one more time before letting it go, his hand dropping to the bench as Angel walked off.

     In, out. In, out. Angel breathed in the cool air of the rink, let it freeze his lungs.

    This is where he belonged.

Chapter Text

   Before he knew it, Angel’s right arm was up in the air, his left folded delicately on his sternum as it shook with the force of his breathing. Sweat was dripping down his face despite the obvious cold, and the skater’s vision was swimming, blobs of black spotting the world above him. He didn’t even remember doing it, the performance– didn’t remember doing the choreography, or the jumps, or the spins– none of it. 

    It felt like the last ten minutes of his life were willfully erased from his memory, or, more accurately, his mind was never conscious for it. All of it was muscle memory, the quick drag of the blade on his skates against the ice, the feeling of flying while knowing gravity still worked on him. Angel let his head fall, the adrenaline rushing out of his body suddenly as his limbs were wracked with exhaustion and the need to throw up nothing overcame him. 

   Quickly, as fast as he could, he glided off the ice and nearly rammed full force into Aki’s larger frame before Angel unceremoniously collapsed at his feet. In any other context it might’ve been flattering, but the auburn haired man was so close to passing out that his head felt like it would pop. Burst, like a balloon too full of air, and now that the image was in his head Angel couldn’t get it out.

   Aki, ever the concerned citizen (friend, Angel reasons, and then erases that word out because maybe he wants him to be more), gently wraps his arms around the lithe, too skinny skater’s waist to lift him up in order to get him properly seated at the kiss and cry. Makima was already seated, glaring, eyes burning with shame as her pupils bore scathing words unsaid that burned Angel’s skin. 

   Sobering quickly, squeezing whatever brain power he still had at the forefront of his mind, compartmentalizing the parts that were shutting down because he was tired and hungry and hurting. Two legs held up his torso, wobbly as they might be, and he walked to sit next to Makima, putting on his blade guards as he advanced. Once seated, the board began to display his score.

   Good. It was good, Angel thought to himself. Not great, because he wasn’t at that level yet, maybe wouldn’t be again, but for what it was, it was good. Somehow he hadn’t underrotated or over-rotated a jump, nor did he fall out of one, a fact that made a sigh of heavy relief leave his lungs. His score wasn’t phenomenal; the technical side of things wasn’t as high as it could be, because Angel simply couldn’t throw three triple axels in at the end of his routine yet and make it out with an intact ankle and a career. 

   But it was good. Makima was still beside him, and he couldn’t see any yellow eyes glaring at him and digging his heart out, so he assumed he was okay to get up. Makima and Angel bowed before exiting the kiss and cry, and Angel found Aki again.

   “Food. I need food,” Angel rasped, suddenly acutely aware that he was also very dehydrated, the solution of which came from a water bottle being handed to him by Aki. Gratefully accepting it, he took liberal gulps of it before gasping. “Like, now.”

   “I have protein bars and some fruit in my bag,” Aki says, leading them over to where he had set up camp for the day. Angel blinked a few times, both surprised and very unsurprised that Aki would come so prepared. Feeling Angel’s eyes on him, Aki shrugged. “I had a feeling.” He explains, gesturing to Angel’s fatigued state. 

   Huffing, a slight glare gleaming in the skater’s eyes, he grabbed the protein bar and a banana, ripping the packaging and taking a quick bite. Chewing was an afterthought as he inhaled the bar and banana, his stomach cramping with how quickly he devoured the food. 

    Like a worm wiggling its way into a rotting apple, a thought bored into the back of Angel’s mind. He’d been delaying thinking about it, especially considering that if he looked up into the stands and saw her, he might’ve run out of the rink altogether. Part of him wanted to just find her, rip the band-aid off and rid himself of the eventual pain he would feel, but the other half begged him not to. 

    Finish the next performance, and then he could. Do what had to be done, and then he could break down as much as he wanted. Only four minutes of skating left. He could do it, especially now that he’d been provided sustenance. 

    “Did you watch?” Angel found himself blurting out, and he saw the corners of Aki’s mouth twitch up. An odd expression crossed his face, one akin to confusion, like he was wondering why Angel thought he wouldn’t have been watching it.

    “Of course,” Aki said smoothly, his eyes glimmering. Angel allowed himself a few seconds (longer than that, if he had to admit it) to examine the physical therapist. He was wearing gray sweatpants and Nike trainers, along with a black thermal shirt. It fit him nicely, and Angel suddenly felt bad for staring. Aki was preoccupied with getting something out of his bag now.

    He wore his hair half up, half down, and Angel noticed that he looked good like that, and then he noticed that Aki always looked good. Angel then wondered, with an embarrassing amount of clarity, if Aki thought the same of him. God, he was twenty years old– he shouldn't be acting like this. More pressing, though, was the fact that his heart was currently hammering against his ribcage because he was at a competition and his grandmother was here. Bigger problems. 

    Aki noticed the weird air around the skater and bumped his shoulder with the smaller male’s, arguably making the situation worse , and Angel sent a glare towards Aki. He immediately sobered, backing up slightly. Feeling a little bad, but also a bit too stressed to care, Angel chewed on his bottom lip.

    “Sorry,” he murmured. “Just… a little stressed.” He explained, eyes glancing to the stands against his will and Aki understood then. He nodded, something light and almost completely unnoticeable, which caused Angel to raise a brow. Maybe he didn’t want to draw too much attention to Angel’s very clearly distressed demeanor. 

     The entire day he’d been dealing with questions– ‘how are you?’ ‘where have you been?’ ‘were the rumors true?’. Exhausting as it was, it was also unnerving; these people wanted to see his psyche dismantled. They didn’t want him winning, doing well, succeeding. For the few months he was out was most likely bliss for the competitors that considered Angel to be the bane of their existence.

    Ice skating was a dangerous sport because everyone was incredibly talented and hardworking, bitchy, and (most of them) were rich. Money got people far in life, and that also extended to competition. Furthermore, the entire landscape of skating was changing so drastically. Angel’s style of skating was considered to be going out of style.

   While he did include a fair share of hard technical abilities and jumps, a lot of his routines focused on choreography and performance more so than power. But judges seemed more impartial to bigger, better jumps, more powerful routines, and less so on rhythm and musicality. Angel was falling out of the scene, and as young as he was, he wasn’t sure he could keep up anymore.

    Aki was staring at him, Angel realized, and he felt a little self conscious, which then made him feel like a hypocrite. You were staring him down earlier, too , Angel reminded himself, forcing the blush that threatened to rise to his cheeks down. His expression was weird, an amalgamation of emotions Angel didn’t recognize. The planes of Aki’s face weren’t harsh, so it didn’t look like Aki was mad. 

    “Are you sure it’s just stress?” Aki gently prodded, his tone something Angel still couldn’t get used to. Everyone in his life treated him with such pointed urgency, all clipped words and imperatives. Someone considering him with kindness, asking him questions with genuine interest felt weird. 

    “Well–” Angel bit himself off, not really sure how to continue. He sat down on the bench, leaning back against the wall and taking a long gulp of water. A weight that had found a comfortable home on his shoulders felt heavier every moment, and he shifted, uncomfortable. He made a mental note to text Himeno, later. “I don’t know.” He decided. Aki nodded. 

     “That makes sense.” He shrugged, nodding before he joined Angel in leaning back. They watched the other skaters as they went, their bodies twisting and jumping. Angel’s favorite part about watching the other skaters was their costumes and music choices. He hated criticizing others performances, because it only made him overly critical of himself.

    Shifting slightly, Angel turned to look at Makima who was– already looking at him. Stunned, he flinched back, a grimace on his face before he could help it, and he knew that whatever Makima was planning would come to a head after his free skate. 

    He could tell Aki was looking at him from the way his body was awkwardly twisted, his neck straining to look innocuous while still getting a good look of Angel’s very anxious posture. The skater knew he was shaking, his hands not stilling even as he put them into his lap, but the only thing that mattered was that they were still on the ice. 

   “Aki,” Angel grit out, eyes closed to try and get Makima’s burning gaze out of his mind, “Being here for me means supporting me, not being just as anxious as me. Chill.” He commanded, and Aki’s shoulders immediately dropped, a sheepish expression creeping onto his face.

   “Sorry.” he said, wincing a bit when Angel pursed his lips. It made sense for Angel to be so incredibly nervous– he hadn’t done this since his injury, and the last time he had, it caused his injury. He didn’t want that to happen again, didn’t want it to be permanent this time. He was older in terms of ice skating, sure, but he wasn’t even close to his prime yet.

    “S’fine. I get it.” Angel mumbled, waving the man off. He felt comfortable next to Aki, inexplicably so, and felt a gentle arm wrap around his shoulders. A warm hand placed his head on strong shoulders, and Angel felt so comfortable he suddenly wanted to fall into a deep sleep he never woke up from. 

   The end of the male free skates were announced, and the female free skates were set to begin, and Angel had ample amounts of time to just relax. He tried his best to practice his routine while also resting, mostly scooted up next to Aki. In the back of his mind, he knew his grandma was still somewhere there– watching him, probably, scrutinizing his every move and writing a checklist of what to reprimand him for. 

    Makima, too, was looking at him, probably waiting for the right time to intervene with Angel’s resting period. She was still his coach, regardless of how much he disliked her, and right now he needed some pointers on how to score higher in order to place higher. She walked over, hands in her black, tied trench coat. Whispering something to Aki, he then relinquished his grip on Angel. 

    Groaning, Angel hauled himself up, standing tall in front of Makima who looked at him, unimpressed. Her brows were as straight as her mouth, and her posture was relaxed but professional. What Angel would give to remove the stick from her ass. 

    “Do the routine,” Makima instructed. “Omit the jumps, just do the spins and choreo.” 

   Angel listened, doing the routine, his mind going blank halfway through once muscle memory took over. Makima looked at him with precision, her eyes narrowing. A finger went up to tap her lips, and Angel knew then he would have a lot of pointers once he was done. 

    Finishing, wrapping his arms around himself, he dropped them and drew in a large gulp of air before turning to Makima. Raising a brow, he then waited for Makima’s assessment. She was silent for a few moments, like she was trying to figure out how to properly formulate what she wanted to say.

    “You’re off,” Makima said. Angel’s brows shot up, his jaw going slack for a moment before he shut it and furrowed his brows instead.

    “What?” He exclaimed.

    “Your right side, it’s overcompensating. Your left ankle still isn’t used to the pressure yet.” She said, and Angel lets out a string of curses while running a stressed hand through his hair. If his right side is overcompensating, it’s only a matter of time on the ice before he falls on a jump– or worse, injures his right ankle. 

    “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Angel spews. Clutching his hair, he tugs on it for a second, trying to calm himself down. It just meant he needed to focus more on his left ankle during the performance than his right, hopefully making sure it did what it needed to do without injuring it further. “Is that everything?” He asked.

    Makima nods, eyes lingering on Angel’s face before she was told to get him changed for the performance. Ushering him into the changing room, he was handed his costume. It was a beautiful shade of red, with sheer, flowing long sleeves and an ornate midsection that clacked when he moved. Sighing, Angel pulled on his black pants, sliding them over his skates, and then pulling on his guards. 

    Overhead, the free skate was called, and Angel was sent out of the room and to the rink, his hands still trembling. A lump had managed to get stuck in his throat somewhere along the way, and he was trying to swallow it down, locking eyes with Aki as he did. Smiling softly, the man looked so kind– something Angel didn’t really know how to handle in that moment, so he looked away.

    His name was called, and he skated onto the ice. Looking down, he noticed his hands had completely stilled, and the audience had completely disappeared. It was just him, no one else. Breathing in through the nose and out through his mouth, he made peace with whatever god he thought existed before skating to the middle and getting into his beginning pose.

    The music began, and so did his second performance of the day. The entire thing once again went by in such a blur he didn’t really register it, the only thought at the forefront of his mind being focus on your left . In order to be stable on his right foot, he had to be stable on his left. There couldn’t be any shaking when he led up for a jump.

   When he finished, his arms wrapped around his torso, he didn’t register the screaming cheers of the crowd over the loud ringing in his ears, and the way his vision wobbled as he skated off the ice. His hands were trembling even harder now, mostly because he was trying so hard to focus on his left ankle that he actually ended up adding an extra jump despite himself. He didn’t even realize it. 

   Makima was looking at him, face hidden behind a mask of feigned happiness. There was no way Angel wasn’t in the lead– his performance was flawless. He knew it was. If he ignored the throbbing pain in his ankle, he could even believe that he was back one-hundred percent. Aki looked at him, too, then to his ankle, brows furrowing. God, he hated how nothing got past that man. 

   “I’m fine. ” Angel bit out, walking past Aki towards Makima and the kiss and cry. She tilted her head up as she saw him coming over, a small smirk tugging at her lip, and she turned before he even reached her. They sat at the kiss and cry together, and saw Angel’s score. It was high. Really high. He would win, there was no doubt about it, and Makima wore a triumphant smile on her face that held a much more sinister tone the longer Angel looked at it.

   “Your grandmother is waiting for you out in the lobby,” Makima told Angel, the corners of her eyes molding into something that made the skater’s stomach roll. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, too fat to talk. Nodding, a haze entered his brain and it was hard to think straight. He stumbled over to Aki.

    “Can you–” His head felt too heavy. His tongue felt too heavy. Everything seemed to crash into his body all at once: the fatigue, the dehydration, the malnutrition. The fear. Aki’s hand was on his shoulder in an instant, bleeding warmth into the coolness of his pale skin, and something crawled into Angel’s chest and burrowed itself deep inside. 

    “I’ll come with you.” Was all Aki said, a complete acceptance of the words unspoken by Angel, and a sigh of relief escaped the smaller man as they exited the rink and walked into the lobby. It was busy, which was to be expected, and reporters were on Angel in an instant. He understood the Lady Gaga music video now. 

    Cameras flashed in his face, lights bright and jarring, and he felt like a bug under the thumb of a kid. A plaything. Maybe they would rip off his wings, next. Shivering, he cleared his throat, mustering a smile the best he could, and tried his best to answer a question. Someone had asked how it felt to be back, and he started answering that of course it felt good– until, from the corner of his eye, he spotted a woman who’s glare rivaled Makima and who had curled amber hair, just like Angel’s. 

   “Oh, fuck me.” Angel muttered under his breath, his vision already tunneling. Aki stiffened from where he stood behind Angel, and the reporters in front of him immediately turned sour. They started shouting things such as ‘excuse me, what did you say?’, thinking Angel irreverent and pompous. In that moment, he didn’t quite care.

   His grandma stared at him, wearing the same bright red lipstick she always did, not smiling. She looked so thoroughly unimpressed with him it caused any pride he felt previously to rush out the window in an instant. 

   “You okay?” Aki asked him. With a shake of his head and a discreet nod in the direction of his only living relative, Aki fully understood what was happening. He pushed past the reporters, uncaring of their disrespectful glances and shouts. They walked up to Angel’s grandma together, and somehow, that made it all okay.