Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shinobu’s name is on everyone’s lips for the worst reason. 

It isn’t because she set a new record, performed an impeccable triple lutz or captivated the judges. It’s because she (allegedly) committed a crime. 

To the normal world, she’s being accused of something petty. To the skater world, she’s being accused of something worse than murder.

“Did you hear about Shinobu Kochou? Yes, the Shinobu Kochou, the girl expected to win gold next season. You won’t believe what she did…”

Shinobu was stretching in the locker room with the other girls, already in her glittering indigo costume and thermal tights, when the competition organizers came in with matching frowns. They walked past every other skater without sparing them a glance, their stares honed in on Shinobu at the end of the room. 

“Miss Kochou,” the one at the head of their pack said sternly. “Please hand over your bag for inspection.”

Shinobu raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Why?”

“Please, Miss Kochou,” another added more calmly. “Let’s not make this more difficult than it already is.”

She stubbornly stepped in front of her bag instead. “I believe I have a right to know why you want my personal property, don’t I?” 

The calm one opened his mouth to speak but was swiftly interrupted by the stern one. “Miss Kochou, you have been accused of taking performance-enhancing drugs before today’s event. Hand over your bag for inspection.”

The other skaters’ heads all whipped towards her at the same time. 

“Performance-enhancers?”

“Kochou’s on steroids? It can’t be…”

“Ha, so that’s why she’s so good. Little cheater.”

Shinobu gaped at the organizers. “This is ridiculous, I don’t even carry headache medication—”

“Hand over your bag,” the stern one repeated. 

Despite knowing she was innocent, she hesitated, gripping her bag strap with white fingers. She eventually handed it over with a huff, doing her best to seem nonchalant.

Everyone watched the scene unfold with bated breath, time slowing to a standstill as the calm organizer pulled out each item from her bag one at a time. Skates. Extra leggings. Skate guards. Spare clothes. Cosmetic bag. 

A small sandwich bag containing a pack of eleven red pills, the twelfth capsule missing from the silver packaging. 

Shinobu stared at the bag in unconcealed shock. She had never even seen those drugs before, let alone used them.

The stern organizer snatched the bag from her colleague’s hands and dramatically raised it to the light.

“Trimetazidine,” she announced, drawing gasps from the entire room. Trimetazidine was one of the most infamous enhancement drugs among skaters, its ability to drastically raise one’s stamina often too tempting to those desperate for higher scores.

Shinobu didn’t need them—she had made it onto the podium at nearly every competition since she was a teenager. She was good enough without stooping so low and every judge who had ever seen her knew it. She was a professional by her own merit, her own talent, and her own years of hard work, not because of some magic little drug. She was offended anyone would ever think otherwise.

But like a rapidly spreading wildfire, the damage was already done. 

The whispers started immediately, her name being passed through hushed tones amongst the other skaters and their coaches—some even had their phones out, rapidly texting their friends the news before Shinobu even had a chance to defend herself. 

“Those are not mine,” she spat out despite knowing her words wouldn’t be enough to save her. “I’ve never taken one of those pills in my life, I’m good enough without them.”

“Miss Kochou,” the calm one began, “I’m afraid you’ll have to submit to a blood test.”

Shinobu tossed her hands into the air. “Fine! Do what you must, just do it quickly so I can get on the ice.”

The stern one chuckled sardonically. “Miss Kochou, you won’t be competing today. You are suspended until your test results return.” 

Her world stuttered to a halt, forcing her to gape at them. “But these are the national qualifiers, without this competition, I—”

“Pack your things and go straight to my office,” the stern one ordered. “A nurse will be with you in a moment.” 

Shinobu started preparing a harsh retort but bit her tongue to stay quiet. The last thing she needed was for her temper to dig her a deeper grave. 

When her coach returned from her coffee run to find her star skater suspended for alleged doping, she went livid. Although Shinobu was never really the biggest fan of the woman, she appreciated how quickly she defended her, at least. Not that it changes anything.

An hour goes by. Her fellow skaters are all performing their hearts out, more than a few likely relieved Shinobu is currently out of the running. Meanwhile, she's still confined to the organizer's office, anxiously bouncing her leg as she awaits results she already knows will be negative—not that that fact makes her feel less like a criminal getting torn apart by a prosecutor.

Finally, she hears the click of shoes and low chatter coming towards the office. She shoots out of her chair just as the calm official and her very, very angry coach enter. 

“Well?” Shinobu prompts. 

“Negative! All negative, just like we said!” her coach shouts. “What a waste of time and resources! Now, she’s behind the other girls because she didn’t get the opportunity to warm up!”

The official clears his throat. “Miss Kochou, I’m pleased to say that your results came back negative, however…”

“However?” Shinobu asks, clawing her fingers into the thermal tights that have been suffocating her for the last hour. She should be lacing up her skates, not sitting here fighting for an innocence that has already been proven. What more stands in her way? 

“However, I’m sure you understand the weight of the accusation being made against you. Although you hadn’t taken the drug when we arrived, it was still discovered among your things. We can’t be certain you weren’t intending to take it shortly before your performance.”

“She wasn’t,” her coach insists. “Honestly, you people are acting like she’d even need them! You’ve seen her skate, you know she’s more than capable.”

The official sighs and offers Shinobu a sympathetic look. “Miss Kochou, while you won’t be suspended from the association, I’m afraid you’ll have to be disqualified from this event.”

Shinobu doesn’t hear her coach’s gasp or frenzied arguments. Everything around her goes entirely silent, the ringing in her ears deafening as she slowly processes her fate. 

Disqualified. It means more than missing this competition—it also means missing the nationals, which means missing the chance to enter any tournaments on the global stage. It means waiting another year for her next shot. It means this year’s preparations were wasted.

But it isn’t just that. Although her results came back clean, every whisper, every rumour, and every lingering ounce of doubt will stain her reputation, twisting and marring it until her name becomes an embarrassment, her legacy turning into yet another cautionary tale about doping and another example of what happens when you fly too closely to the sun.  

“Did you hear about Shinobu Kochou? Oh, how the mighty fall.”

Shinobu tosses her phone off her bed and groans into her pillow, hoping that the pressure the cushion is currently putting on her head will be enough to drive the memory away. She’s no expert, but it can’t be healthy to relive her career-ruining moment twelve times in the four hours she’s been awake today. 

The internet has not been kind to her. While a few people are still rooting for her with hearts and ice skate emojis, they get easily drowned out by the comments thrilled about her downfall, like “knew she had to be hiding something,” or “finally she’s being taken down a peg,” or even worse, “she won’t be missed!”

Thirteen times in four hours. What a lucky number. 

“You sound like you’re having a lovely morning,” Kanae says as she enters the room. She takes her usual bedside perch and pokes Shinobu in the neck.

She sighs but sits up. 

“You brushed your hair today!” Kanae says with a brief clap. “That means you got out of bed, good progress!”

“Not really. I stretched until I could reach my brush. It doesn’t count,” Shinobu grumbles. She’s glad she didn’t need to stand to get it—if she had seen her reflection in the mirror, she knows it would have brought a shiver of revulsion through her. She has been through enough trauma over the last few days. 

But like the world’s worst cue, her abandoned phone lights up with a new notification.

Mitsuri: OMG have you seen this??

Kanae snatches the phone off the ground before Shinobu can, quickly standing up and out of reach as she easily unlocks it.

Shinobu really needs to change her phone pin. 

“Kanae, this is theft of property,” she groans, lacking none of the motivation but all of the energy to fight her sister. 

Kanae shakes her head as she taps the screen. “You shouldn’t even have this with you, it’s only making you feel worse—” Her expression falls. 

“That face is making me feel worse, come on, give me my phone.”

“Nope!” Kanae shuts it off and tucks it into her skirt pocket. “I think I’ll keep it for a few days. You should try reading a book instead, it’ll help you forget for a while. Toodles!”

Kanae glides out of the room. 

Shinobu flops back onto the bed. She was in no shape to chase her sister through the house when she couldn’t even get out of bed to grab her hairbrush. She’d just have to make do with her old cable television and the romance novel Mitsuri begged her to read three months ago that has been collecting dust in her bedside drawer. Maybe time away from the internet will be good. Maybe even the best thing to ever happen to her.

She spies the corner of her laptop under a pile of laundry on her chair and lunges for it. The forbidden nature of disobeying her sister makes Shinobu feel like a hacker breaking into a government database while inputting her password and clicking open her browser. 

She types her name. 

Scrolls to the news section. 

Dies a little inside when the most recent result is from Icy Insights, the main source for the never-ending gossip of the skating world. They’ve always been at the forefront of every scandal no matter how small, so they must be having an absolute field day with her downfall. 

WATCH: Douma Kibutsuji spills on tumultuous past with Shinobu Kochou

Shinobu’s left eye twitches. She has never, ever liked Douma. Even when they were teenagers, she knew there was something off about him, every single one of her instincts yelling at her to leave a 12-ft distance between her and him at all times. He always looked at her like she was a piece of meat, licking his lips like the demented wolf from some fairytale and smirking during every interaction as though he could see through every thermal layer of clothing. 

Before she went solo, he constantly harassed her with requests to be her partner. For months, he subjected her to dozens of calls and texts with an endless barrage of “leave him, Shinobu-chan, he doesn’t understand you like I do” and “c’mon, Shinobu-chan, you know you’ll never get the gold with him” until she briefly considered filing a restraining order against him. While she has to admit that they share similar levels of ambition, that's where her tolerance of him ended—he was pompous, arrogant, and unbelievably belittling. She still can’t comprehend why he sticks to pairs skating rather than going solo. 

Her fingers tremble as she clicks on the video, though she doesn’t know if that comes from anxiety or barely-contained rage. What right does Douma have to talk about her? What could that jackass possibly have to say?

The host introduces Douma, who gives the camera a sickeningly self-satisfied grin that only grows as she recaps the drug incident. 

“So Douma, you told us you weren’t surprised when you heard about Shinobu’s scandal. Can you explain why?” the host asks. 

“Of course!” Douma answers cheerfully, making Shinobu nauseous. “As we all know, she used to be in pairs skating before going solo for…‘professional reasons,’ was it?”

“That’s right. If I recall correctly, she said she wanted a new challenge.”

Douma chuckles to himself. “Yes, that’s it. That’s the official reason, but not the actual one. See, after that nasty—and it really was nasty, an absolute disaster, even—breakup with her original partner, she was scrambling to find a replacement who could keep up with her.”

Shinobu raises an eyebrow. 

“Because she was so advanced?” the host continues.

“Yes, but not just that. First, there’s her temper, which is really something, to say the least. Then there’s her insatiable ambition—she’s willing to do anything to make it to the top.”

As if she’s the only ambitious skater. No one stays in such a cutthroat world unless they possess determination bold enough to weather the many storms.

“Which is where the doping comes in?” the host asks, egging Douma on.

Shinobu leans closer to the screen. 

Douma nods with fake solemnity, pressing his lips together in a pathetic display of sympathy. “I believe so. Before she went solo, I actually agreed to be her partner.”

The host gasps. 

“It’s true. I'd always been a fan of hers and after speaking with her at an event, I thought we shared the same goals. A match made in heaven!” Douma sighs. “We had a few practice sessions and were in the middle of learning new choreography when I learned her ambition was worse than I thought. She worked me to the bone and I couldn’t take it anymore. That…that was when she suggested I use performance enhancers to keep up.”

The next time Shinobu sees Douma will end with her toe pick in his eye.

While she briefly considered finding a new partner after parting ways with… him, she couldn’t even make it through auditions. She made the firm decision to go solo rather quickly, even with Douma beating down her door with his duffel bag.

“And that's why you broke off the partnership,” the host added.

“I had to. She may have been one of the best, but I couldn't sacrifice my integrity and sportsmanship, not even for a spot on the podium. That's when she went solo.”

This is insane.

She knew she had been on Douma’s bad side since she put her foot down and chose to go solo rather than take him on as a partner, but does that make her worthy of all this? Her career is already in shards at her feet, why does he feel the need to light it on fire too? 

And to Icy Insights of all places. Those gossipmongers take any theatrical lie as fact for the sake of drama. They'll likely eat this feast up for weeks if not months.

In trying to hit the back button, Shinobu makes the horrific mistake of scrolling down to the comment section, effectively turning her headache into a pounding migraine. Most of them side with Douma,  congratulating him for “putting himself first!” and “taking control of his career.”  Others admonish her for her unchecked ambition and confidently state that no skater or association will ever take her seriously again. 

Very few people point out that her blood test results came back negative, but they get drowned out by others shouting that she simply hadn’t had the chance to dope up yet, that no one can 100% know for sure that she wasn’t planning to take those enhancers, “because how did they end up in her bag if she didn't want them?"

Shinobu doesn't even know the answer to that. 

go-lucky: Good riddance. Glad this bitch is finally getting what she deserves.

nik0lav: wtf what did she do to you??

go-lucky: Don’t you remember when she dropped her partner of 10 years to go solo? Seems like a pretty shitty move, wouldn’t you say? 

clovey: ugh finally someone says it! I’ve hated her since she abandoned her partner as if he wasn’t the one who made her look good, she doesn’t deserve to be on the ice

starryskye: Kinda harsh but true, she hasn’t been the same since they skated together

kale-ale: karma is the bitch that always delivers lol

Shinobu slams her laptop shut, launches herself out of bed, grabs her skates, and stomps downstairs. 

“Shinobu?” she vaguely hears Kanae call from the kitchen. “You’re finally up, that’s great—Shinobu? Hey, where are you—”

The slam of the front door behind Shinobu cuts off Kanae’s question. She feels bad about blatantly ignoring her, but the last thing she wants is to linger and talk things through with anyone. 

Glad this bitch is finally getting what she deserves.

She breaks into a sprint down the street, her heart pounding in her ears as though she’s running from death itself until she reaches her nearest ice rink. 

The once-familiar sight of the rink’s glass double doors mocks her as she shoves through them, forcing her to struggle as though they haven’t easily yielded to her hundreds of times before. 

She doesn’t deserve to be on the ice. 

Thankfully, the arena is empty as she falls onto the bench beside the ice, kicks off her shoes and shoves her skates on. She tugs hard on the laces, harder than she knows she should, until it almost feels like she’s cutting off circulation to her feet. 

Then she steps onto the ice. 

There’s her cutthroat ambition—she’s willing to do anything to make it to the top.

Once upon a time, that was a good thing. People admired her determination, they respected how much work she was willing to put in and how much time she was willing to dedicate to perfecting her craft. 

And it was perfect—critics adored her technique, the crowd loved her tricks, and the judges praised her jumps. She’d learned how to make every move matter, every possible misstep look intentional, and every routine seem effortless. 

There’s none of that perfection now as she skates across the ice erratically, her arms flailing in every direction her anger commands, her feet barely keeping up with the growing rage in her chest. 

Too emotional! she can imagine her coach scolding. At this rate, you’ll break the ice!

She almost hopes she does. 

Oh, Shinobu-chan, this is why you needed me, Douma taunts in her mind. Look at you, you’re a wreck without someone there to hold you down.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe she was always doomed to fail as a solo skater. Her emotions have always run too hot, too high, too unstable for someone supposed to be a butterfly on ice. She has no anchor, no tether, no rope to hang onto for dear life as her fury threatens to wash her away. 

Slow down, Shinobu, a cool voice whispers in the back of her mind. The world hasn’t ended yet. 

But it has! she wants to scream in return. What do I have without skating? What do I have without my reputation? What do I do to get out of this?

The voice hesitates. You’ve gotten through it before. 

She squeezes her eyes shut as she recalls the last time she did this, the last time she escaped to the ice rink and skated until her muscles shrieked at her, begging her to stop. It was the last time she allowed her tightly wound threads to come undone, the last time she permitted herself to fall apart, to crash and burn as her overwrought emotions begged her to do…

After that nasty—and it really was nasty, an absolute disaster, even—breakup with her original partner, she was scrambling to find a replacement who could keep up with her.

I’ve hated her since she abandoned her partner as if he wasn’t the one who made her look good.

Don’t you remember when she dropped her partner of 10 years to go solo?

Her heart races under her skin, not giving her enough time to catch her breath before it beats again, over and over and over without any sign of slowing down. Her face boils while her arms shiver and no matter how fervently she urges herself to calm down, her brain doesn’t want to listen. She hasn’t felt this helpless in a long time, not since that night on the bridge, the cold tearing past her defences and burning her skin just as it is now…

As she skates into a jump, the anxious, hyperactive waves flood over her—all she wants to do is curl into a ball, close her eyes, and pretend she’s anywhere else, that she’s flying high up in the sky where no one can get to her. 

“Shinobu, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Unlike the previous voices, the one shouting at her now isn’t coming from inside her head.

She plummets back onto the ice, unable to stick her landing. 

Pain shoots from her bottom and up her spine, her legs giving out beneath her before she can even hope to balance herself. She’s forced to lie on the freezing ice, the seeping cold digging through her t-shirt and leggings until she can feel it in her bones. 

Someone calls her name again. Only then does she open her eyes.

Kanae races towards her side, somehow managing to keep her balance on the ice without skates. How typical of her sister to be graceful without even trying. 

She sinks to her knees at Shinobu’s side, immediately lifting her head off the ice and onto her lap. 

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” Kanae worries. 

“No, not at all,” Shinobu replies sarcastically. “I feel better than ever.”

Kanae shakes her head in disbelief before looking over Shinobu’s body, pausing when her gaze reaches her feet. “Can you move your feet?”

Shinobu rolls her eyes but wiggles her ankles. 

Only for a very sharp stab of pain to shoot up her entire leg. She bites back a cry, but her sister knows her too well to fall for it.

“You twisted your ankle!” Kanae reaches down to undo Shinobu’s skate, but the laces don’t give way to her insistent tugging. “Oh my god, Shinobu, how tightly did you tie your laces? No wonder you weren’t able to land properly, we need to get you to a clinic! What were you thinking running off like that, you know you shouldn’t skate when you’re like this—”

“I couldn’t take it anymore!” Shinobu shoots back before putting her face in her hands with a loud groan. “The things people are saying, the lies Douma is telling, the fact that everyone keeps bringing up him and saying that I don’t deserve to skate because of something I didn’t even do…I don't know what to do, Kanae, I don't know.”

Shinobu doesn’t realize she's crying until Kanae pulls her into a warm embrace, her hands rubbing soothing circles on Shinobu’s back as she shakes under the weight of her sobs. She clutches her sister’s clothes, finally not caring if she looks like a little girl again. 

“How do I get out of this? Skating is all I have.”

“Shh, we will find a way out. Everything will be okay. You will be okay. I promise.”

For once, Shinobu decides not to counter her sister’s overwhelming optimism. Like skating, it truly is all she has.

A few hours later, Shinobu is back in bed with a bag of ice seeping through the bandages wrapped around her left ankle. 

She sighs. Skating to blow off some steam was a great idea at the time, but she really screwed herself over—she’ll be out of commission for weeks until her twisted ankle finishes healing. 

She pulls her laptop, which was left at arm's length under the condition that she stop looking at upsetting comments, closer. When she unlocks it, it’s still open to the same heinous article from earlier. 

She hasn’t been the same since they skated together.

She immediately clicks the back button, taking her back to the initial search of her name. 

She stares at the search bar. Clicks on her name. Sure enough, the first recommended result is him. 

She’s going to regret this. 

The first results are biographies from skating websites and a few videos she quickly scrolls past. Those are followed by articles about their break-up and more recent speculations about his whereabouts, then the original announcements about her going solo. She ignores those too.

It takes three pages of results until she reaches the old articles about their achievements and the shining photos of their competitions and medals. She sees her younger self standing on a podium with a wide grin, a bouquet of roses in one hand and his hand in the other. 

Shinobu Kochou and Giyuu Tomioka place record-breaking score in national competition! 

Kochou and Tomioka stun in dazzling ballet-inspired routine

Future Olympic champions? Experts weigh in on Kochou and Tomioka as they take gold in Junior Nationals.

Shinobu hovers her cursor over each one but never clicks. She doesn't need to read them to remember each moment like it happened yesterday. 

Not that she'll let herself dwell on them either. She swore she never would again.

Instead, her attention turns to the many search results about their separation. She winds up clicking on a discussion forum from only a few months ago speculating on the reasons behind their breakup:

Why did Shinobu Kochou and Giyuu Tomioka stop skating together? They had such amazing chemistry and they won tons of competitions! How could anyone give that up :(

virtuemoirrr: I don’t think they’ve ever said why. Maybe she wanted to go the Olympics route and he didn’t? Makes sense since he doesn’t skate anymore

alex0va: True true. It’s weird that they don’t even seem to talk anymore though…

hanyuwu: I bet feelings came up. Either they both fell for each other or it was some one-sided thing that made things awkward so they just decided to split. Happens all the time.

vasilery91: It has to be this!! Have you seen their Madame Butterfly routine from their last competition? You can’t tell me they weren’t in love or something, check out their heart eyes!!

icey_prince: If this is true, the break-up must’ve been suuuuuper messy. Do they even see each other anymore? 

“Messy” doesn’t even begin to describe what happened between them. 

The comment nearly makes Shinobu close the tab, but she pauses when her cursor points at the Madame Butterfly performance the commenter mentioned. The hyperlink taunts her, begging her to click it. 

She stares at it. She hasn’t watched one of her performances with him in years. Yet despite her better judgement, like so many things she’s done lately, she clicks on the video. 

Her younger self skates into position in the middle of the rink, one arm at her side and the other outstretched as the crowd goes quiet in eager suspense. Her black dress sparkles under the spotlights, glittering like it’s made of stars. 

He takes her outstretched hand and for the flicker of a second, Shinobu can feel the lines of his fingers as they curl around hers, eternally warm even in the chill of the arena.

The music starts and Shinobu watches herself immediately twirl into his arms. He brings her into a low dip and her hand skims the ice as they skate in a circle. He gradually leads her higher until she’s at normal height again and she breaks away from him.

Everything after that is in perfect sync, perfect technique, perfect coordination. The crowd claps after every twirl and salchow, watches with bated breath during the death spirals, and cheers whenever he lifts her into a jump and catches her seamlessly. As the music continues to swell, the score in the corner only goes higher. 

The loudest cheer comes from their grand finale, where they perform a flawless triple twist with equally impressive choreography. She remembers their coach telling them that the execution of that section was what secured their win.  

Although Shinobu knows she stuck the landing, it doesn’t stop her heart from racing as she watches her younger self go up into the air. Her breath completely stops until he catches her and safely positions her back on the ice. 

When the routine finishes, the crowd roars with applause. Her younger self is flushed and out of breath but grinning from ear to ear. She pulls him into an overjoyed hug that he readily returns, gracing her with a rare smile before burying his face into her shoulder.

The video cuts to the award ceremony, where they stand on the highest podium. The camera zooms in on their smiles as she waves at the crowd, him holding her bouquet so her hands can stay free. He knew she loved that part, that she ate up the cheers that symbolized approval and undeniable success. 

Shinobu’s eyes burn but she refuses to acknowledge that she's crying, not even as a hot tear rolls down her cheek.

Things were so much simpler back then—she was still starry-eyed and impossibly optimistic about the future. She didn’t doubt for a single second that she would make it, boldly confident that she would someday end up on an Olympic podium with a big smile and a gold medal draped around her neck. 

And with Giyuu standing tall beside her, his hand on the small of her back and his knees slightly bent to minimize their height difference. Their cheeks would blush from the cold and as soon as they were off the ice, he would cup them to warm her back up again just as he always did. 

She believed in everything back then. In him. In their partnership. In herself.

Yet just like her fall earlier, it all crashed into the ice.

She stares intensely at the screen even after the video ends, her chest growing more hollow the longer she sits in silence. 

Three years have passed since she last skated with him. Three years since she went solo and learned to work alone. Three years since she last knew the rush of twirling through the air and trusting someone to catch her. Three years since she last felt the thrill of her sport.

Shinobu's eyes widen at the thought. As though her world hasn't already caved in on her, it suddenly shrinks even more. 

She has always loved skating. It’s in her blood, in every breath, in each movement. Skating is her, but it wasn’t until she caved and finally revisited her decorated past that she realized she hasn’t felt the joy of skating in a very long time. 

Not since...

Despite knowing it will make things worse, she clicks on a playlist of all her past competitions and curls into her blanket. 

Eventually, blissfully, she falls asleep to the familiar sounds of blades on ice and the sight of the one person she swore to never see again smiling at her with all the trust in the world.

When Shinobu wakes up, nearly two hours have gone by. Kanae sits at her bedside, indulging in a slice of pizza and staring at the laptop that still plays old performances.

The current video is of a post-performance interview, with Shinobu and Giyuu still catching their breaths as a reporter asks them questions.

“And how long have you two been skating together?”

“Oh gosh, it feels like forever! Hmm…”

“Ten years now,” Giyuu interjects. 

“Ten years, imagine that!” Shinobu teases. “A whole decade of being stuck with him!” 

Still half-dazed from her nap, Shinobu smiles instinctively at her past comment. 

“Reminiscing, were you?” Kanae asks.

Shinobu’s eyes shoot to her sister and it’s only then that she realizes Kanae was watching her rather astutely just now. 

“No,” Shinobu fires back, crossing her arms. “Just…remembering things.” 

Kanae laughs to herself. “I think ‘remember’ and ‘reminisce’ are synonyms, by the way.” 

She looks at the screen again, where the video has shifted back to the performance Shinobu was watching earlier. 

“You know…” Kanae continues, her sweet voice taking an oddly serious turn. “When you first started skating, mom was worried that you were only pretending to like it because we did and you didn’t want to be left out. I said you were too stubborn to stick with it if you didn’t like it for yourself, but she didn’t believe me.” 

They both share a giggle. Shinobu remembers her frantic mother constantly asking “Are you sure about this?” whenever she hit a new skating milestone, from buying her first skates to entering her first competition. Although the skating world always assumed she forced her daughters to become professional skaters, Shinobu and Kanae both knew that they did it because they wanted to. 

Kanae takes Shinobu’s hand in hers. “What finally changed her mind was seeing you two in your first pairs competition. She said you looked so happy while you were on the ice with him, as though there wasn’t anything else you wanted to do. You were at ease. It was the first time she saw you doing something without a permanent frown on your face!” 

Shinobu tries to laugh at her sister’s teasing, but she feels the same pang from earlier in her chest. 

She remembers that day so clearly, not only because it was her first competition but also because her mother was right. It was one of the few moments the storm cloud permanently over her head, even as a child, dissipated. She had felt like a butterfly out of its cocoon for the first time, light and free as she glided across ice and twirled in mid-air.   

The feeling was unlike anything she’d ever known, which was why she had fully committed to pairs skating even when her mother and sister were renowned soloists. 

After things soured between her and Giyuu, she tried to stick to it. She didn’t want to give up that feeling for anything, even if it meant trading him for someone else. But regardless of who she skated with, she never found it again. Never in the way she had felt it with him. 

“When I skate with you, I feel lighter than a feather. Like I can do anything!”

“Because you can. You can fly as high as you want and I promise I’ll always be there to catch you when you come back down.”

Shinobu’s eyes widen at the intrusion of the memory she thought she had stuffed away ages ago. 

“Either you really want to break my hand or you’re remembering things you don’t want to,” Kanae giggles.

Shinobu immediately pulls her hand away. She didn’t realize how tightly she was gripping Kanae’s fingers. “Sorry. I…”

She trails off as a new video begins, this one a practice session just before a competition. Whoever filmed it had zoomed in on her and Giyuu, ignoring every other pair there to focus on each minuscule moment they shared. Based on her costume, Shinobu guessed it was their last performance together. 

Her past self whispers something to Giyuu as she takes his hand, making him smile and nod. 

How funny—she still remembers exactly what she asked him. Wanna head to Maple’s on the way back?

So normal. So inconsequential. So blissfully unaware that in a mere two weeks, it would shatter all around her. 

Kanae elbows her. “You know what the skating world loves more than drama? A classic reunion.”

Shinobu’s eyes shoot to her sister. “I hope you’re not implying what I think you are.”

Kanae gives her a smug smile. “What if I am? You know I’m right.”

Shinobu curls her fingers into a tight fist. Of course, she knows that. Even someone as dense as Douma knows. But “I can’t go crawling back to him.”

Kanae laughs, playfully rolling her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Is it dramatic if it’s the truth?” Shinobu huffs. “Besides, why would he even agree? He doesn't even compete anymore."

“Oh, well, you never know! Maybe you’ll be surprised. Why not give it a shot?”

Because it would feel like pouring alcohol over an open wound. 

Because it would fracture what was left of her already-bruised pride. 

Because she doesn’t know what sounds scarier: Giyuu ignoring her, rejecting her, or agreeing to help her. 

But unfortunately, she does know that her sister is right about the skating world’s love of reunions. The only story greater than her fall from grace would be that of her gradual climb back up with the boy she once loved. 

The boy who promised to always catch her, only to drown her heart in ice-cold water.

Chapter Text

When Shinobu passes the cheerful wooden plaque welcoming her back to the sleepy town that raised her, she nearly throws up and turns around. 

The main street lined with colourful storefronts and enough floral window sills to make Mitsuri weep with joy does nothing to relieve Shinobu’s anxiety, nor does the sight of the old clock tower or the familiar jingle of a distant ice cream truck. Instead, they all remind her of her bittersweet past, the happiest memories of her life intertwining with the worst ones.

Shinobu momentarily debates turning back again. 

When she moved here from the busy city as a small child, she hated it. Although this quaint town boasted a population of just 40,000 and scenery ripped out of a postcard, she knew that the idyllic, peaceful life couldn’t possibly be for her—she was too angry, too impatient, too much.

Then somewhere along the way, she fell in love with it. 

She sighs deeply. As if it wasn’t enough for Giyuu to break her heart—he had to take the comfort of her home too. Asshole. 

An asshole she needs to save her career. Life is cruel. 

When she reaches her childhood home, her parents are already waiting for her on the porch. They hurry to her and immediately sweep her up in tight hugs, her mother’s embrace lasting the longest as her father carries her bags inside. 

“I do wish you could have come back under better circumstances,” her mother soothes with a tight squeeze. “I know this must be very tumultuous for you.”

“I’m fine,” Shinobu replies in a strained whisper. Her mother is cutting off her air supply, but Shinobu still tightens her hold a little more. For the last three years, her parents have made the trip to visit her and Kanae in the city. While Kanae has returned plenty of times, Shinobu refused.

Until now, of course.

Her parents help her inside as though she broke her ankle and not merely sprained it. Though she would normally fight against their coddling, she welcomes it today, taking comfort in being treated like a child in need of comfort rather than an adult facing horrid consequences. 

Except for when her stare lingers on the dozens of trophies, medals, and framed skating photos scattered throughout the house for the next several hours. Those don’t help her current dilemma. 

When it’s time for her to go to bed, her mother cheerfully follows her upstairs. 

“I’ve kept your rooms exactly the same. It’s truly like you and Kanae never left!” 

Like she never left. If only the rest of her life could be that way. 

When Shinobu opens her bedroom door and hears the floorboards creak beneath her, she sucks in a breath. That single sound from so many years ago, here in this room that was once her entire world, makes her chest feel so full yet so hollow all at once.

The lilac polka-dotted bed sheets are the same, as are string lights wrapped around the headboard and the butterfly decals on the wall, some of their edges frayed and peeling but still there as though she has only been gone a few hours and not three years. Still the same furniture, still the same space, still the same room. 

But with how much she has changed, she barely feels like she belongs here anymore. 

She steps further inside, setting her bags down on the plush rug Kanae got her for Christmas four years ago. Shinobu traces her fingers along the familiar cracks in her dresser and the crochet threads of the blanket folded across her bed.

She stops in front of the corkboard beside her window. 

Dozens of photos of her younger self smile down at her—she sees herself blowing out the candles of her 8th birthday cake, Kanae holding up her first championship medal, her entire family skating together, her classmates celebrating the last day of high school…

And Giyuu. So much Giyuu. Post-performance polaroids, high school dances and lunches, photo strips covered in filters and colourful stickers from the booth in the local arcade, countless snapshots from their shared childhood and even more from their late teens, after they became a couple. Back then, she had believed everything was set for her: her skating career was a constant and he…he was her forever. 

She’s old enough now to know that forever doesn’t exist. Not really, anyway. But her age didn’t teach her that—he did. 

She finds an old bedsheet in her closet and hangs it over the corkboard, silently cursing her mother’s incurable sentimentality. 

As she lies in bed, wide awake despite the late hour, her mind goes into overdrive, wondering if going back to Giyuu really is the best decision. Surely she can find someone else, can’t she? Or find some way to clear her name and remain a solo skater, right? She should just escape back to the city before anyone notices her presence here.

This is a good idea.

This is a bad idea.

This will save her career.

This will kill her.

Two sides of her mind at angry war with each other, her past and her future glaring intently at her present. 

She shouldn’t be here, back in her childhood room with those photos on the corkboard and the scuff marks she knows must still be on the window sill from midnight trysts. She shouldn't be here in her hometown, full of streets lined by her memories, with the arena where she learned to skate and the places where she had all her firsts. A bridge in the dead of winter, the wind's skin-slicing cold…

She shouldn't be doing this. But she needs to.

She needs to be back on the ice, gliding and jumping with her arms outstretched, performing her heart out to a roaring crowd. She needs the podium and the flowers and the weight of gold around her neck. She needs to come back to life.

She needs to do this. It’s her only way back up.

She groans into her pillow. She only hopes he says yes.

The following afternoon, once there's no other excuse to procrastinate, Shinobu drives to the only arena in town. 

Owned and operated by the Tomioka family for three generations and counting, the arena once was Shinobu and Kanae's second home, making them grow closer to the Tomiokas whether they wanted it or not. They grew accustomed to seeing them on a daily basis—Mrs. Tomioka running the facilities, Mr. Tomioka riding the Zamboni and coaching hockey, Tsutako practicing hockey, and Giyuu...being Giyuu. 

According to Kanae's research, Giyuu still works there.

Although Shinobu had needed a GPS to drive home yesterday, there's no need for directions now as she reaches the arena on pure autopilot. She parks in her father's favourite spot, then opens the doors that easily yield to her as though welcoming her back after all these years.

Her steps halt in the foyer.

Everything is the same. The same ancient water cooler in the corner, the same icy blue paint on the walls, and the same distant humming of the fridge in Mrs. Tomioka's office that they always kept stocked with sodas and energy drinks. Shinobu briefly wonders if there’s anything but water in it now.

Medals and trophies from her and Giyuu’s old competitions, and his sister and father’s hockey games, line the left wall, still immaculately maintained by Mrs. Tomioka if their blinding gold is anything to go off of. Photos still decorate the wall next to the case, frozen memories of now-adult children learning to skate in colourful snowsuits, Tsutako with a toothy grin as she steals the puck from an opponent, a teenage Mr. Tomioka posing with his coach…

In the middle of them, Shinobu and Giyuu after their first win at a major competition. They both smile in it, hers wide and missing a baby tooth and his shy and subdued but still excited. Their medals gleam around their necks as they hold hands, though she doesn’t remember if his mother made them pose that way or if they did it on their own. 

Shinobu withdraws her hand before it traces the glass, unaware of when she even reached out in the first place. 

As a teenager, she spent nearly every day here, rushing straight from school and ignoring her homework to perfect a trick or add another spin to a routine. It was her second home, a haven protecting her from the outside world, the place where she could fly.

Now at 22 with an illustriously dying career on her shoulders, she feels like a stranger intruding on sacred ground. 

Shinobu slowly reaches the double doors, her heart pounding in her ears in these final precious seconds of peace. This is her last chance to turn around and walk away. 

She pushes open the left door, remembering that the right one squeaks too loudly.

The chilling air of the ice rink hits her hard, her body involuntarily shivering despite being long accustomed to it. She keeps the door open, holding onto the warmer air of the lobby. 

Something tugs at her chest, pulling her towards the rink. At first, she thinks it’s simply the instinct to skate, but then she sees—

She nearly trips over her own feet. 

Giyuu skates calmly around the rink, picking up pylons and moving skating aids to the opposite wall. He has earphones in and, if he truly hasn’t changed at all, is likely listening to some indie artist at a low volume.

She can’t breathe. 

Sure, he still hasn’t looked at her, but here he is in the flesh, right in front of her after years. Here’s the hair she once ran her fingers through, the broad shoulders she once balanced on during ambitious lifts, and the arms that once caught her so expertly. Then there are his other details, ones completely unrelated to skating that she remembers with a rush of warmth to her cheeks. She shakes the ideas out of her head, rubbing her temples. 

The door clicks shut behind her, echoing throughout the empty arena. 

Giyuu turns his ear towards the sound but doesn’t look away from his task. “Sorry, we’re closed until tomorrow.”

The same voice that encouraged her under glowing spotlights, that whispered to her under fleece blankets, that promised to never leave.

The same voice that cut through her that night. 

Shinobu braces herself against a nearby railing. She takes a long, deep breath. 

“Can’t you make an exception for an old friend?”

He pauses mid-task, his head snapping in her direction. 

Anxiety suddenly surges through her. She spent the last several days imagining this exact scenario, mentally fortifying herself to face him for the first time in three years. She promised herself she wouldn’t be angry or upset when she saw him, just professional and respectful. 

But her chest doesn't get the memo, her breath and heartbeat quickening as their gazes connect.

His eyes…still stupidly blue after all these years. 

“Kochou?” he calls.

Her surname. She should have expected that, but it still irks her. How dare he act like he didn’t spend his entire life calling her by her first name. 

“Tomioka-san,” she returns with a nod and an artificial smile. If he’s set on treating her like an acquaintance, she’ll return the favour. 

He slowly skates towards her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

“Wonderful question,” she replies curtly, not wanting to waste time on small talk. It never was either of their strong suits. “Have you kept up with skating news at all?”

He pauses and shakes his head. 

“Of course not. Very well. Give me a moment.”

Shinobu finally breaks eye contact as she sits on the nearest bench, takes her skates out of her bag, and puts them on. 

“Kochou—”

“Shush.” She pulls tight on her laces. “I’ll explain in just a moment.”

She isn’t a nervous person; if she wants something, she’ll get it without stuttered words or shy glances, but he has always been an exception in her life. 

She rises from the bench on wobbly feet and staggers towards the ice. She needs all the boldness she can muster to get through this and she always feels more confident while skating. 

She skates towards him, realizes her mistake, and decides to circle him instead to keep a safe distance. He stays where he is, eyeing her warily. 

She holds up three fingers. “Two truths and a lie.”

It was a game they used to play whenever they were too afraid to admit to something. Wedging a ridiculous lie between two difficult truths made it far easier to confess the thoughts they’d rather keep buried. 

She puts down one finger. “One. I realized hockey is my life’s passion and I need your sister to coach me.” 

Giyuu snorts as he begins trailing her, staying a few paces behind her as she skates across the rink. 

“Two. I need to ask you a really, really big favour. Three. You are the only one I can ask.” 

His skate blades go quiet, but she doesn’t turn away from the ice ahead of her. She can picture his raised brow and tilted face, more confused than he already was. She huffs, knowing it means she’ll have to explain everything from scratch.

“Due to unforeseen circumstances out of my control, my solo career has fallen apart. I don’t quite yearn for an early retirement, so my only options are to wait for a miracle or create one of my own…by returning to pairs skating.” She glides into a lazy figure eight, still not facing him. “That’s where you come in, by the way.”

His skating starts up again. “You need a partner.”

“Yes.” Desperately.

“Can’t you ask someone else?”

“Come on, you know it isn’t that simple. There’s too many factors to consider: skill, diligence, chemistry—”

“Didn’t seem to be a problem three years ago.”

She nearly grinds to a halt at his comment. She doesn’t remember him being capable of that kind of bitterness. 

On second thought, yes she does. That’s what got them here, after all. 

“Well, it’s a problem now,” Shinobu counters, anger filling her frosty cheeks. She quickens her pace. “Due to those circumstances I mentioned, no decent skater will touch me with a ten-foot pole. Again, due to no fault of my own.”

Douma’s smug grin comes to mind and her anger nearly overpowers her. That shameless, good-for-nothing asshole— 

Her injured ankle wobbles, disrupting her increased speed and knocking her off-balance. Her knee gives out beneath her, forcing her backward. The room spins and she squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable impact she knows will hurt. 

“Kochou!” Giyuu shouts, his arms appearing around her waist and pressing her body to his to stop her fall. 

The impact lowers him—and therefore, her—onto the ice, but he never releases her. His body is warm, so at odds with the bitter cold she expected instead. Still, a shudder runs through her. 

“Do those ‘circumstances’ have to do with an injury?” he pants, his breath tickling her ear. “I haven’t seen you fall like that since you were a kid.”

“I may have been upset and got carried away. Maybe.”

He shakes his head with a sigh. “You shouldn’t skate like that. Sit on the bench, I’ll get you an ice pack.”

“There’s no need for all that,” she objects as she struggles to stand. “I hate being coddled.”

Despite her words, she accepts his help as she gets back on her feet, not that it stops her from grumbling the entire way back to the bench. She only falls silent when Giyuu disappears to get ice from his mother's office. 

Shinobu has been in this scene dozens of times before, at different ages and under different stresses, but the same scene nonetheless. Yet there’s that niggling strangeness again, that feeling of being an outsider in a place she still knows so well. 

When Giyuu returns, she snatches the ice pack from his hand. While she knows it isn’t wise to be visibly annoyed with the person she needs to ask for help, she also knows that she’s currently too bitter towards him to care. He surrendered the right to her kindness. 

Giyuu shakes his head with a sigh but still kneels to loosen her laces.

“You never change, do you?” he murmurs, barely audible. 

“Heard that. And I beg to differ.” She crosses her arms. “I’ve done plenty of growth since our last interaction.”

She catches him looking at her from top to bottom. “I don’t see it.”

She scoffs. And he’s claiming she hasn’t changed? “Not literally. Also, I’d watch your words. My skateblade is dangerously close to your face.”

“You won’t do anything. I’m all you have.”

“I wouldn’t say all I have,” she replies, turning up her nose. 

“You don’t need to. I know I am.” He stands up and sits on the bench beside her, a careful, insurmountable distance between them. “Otherwise, nothing could have dragged you back here.”

She opens her mouth for a retort that falls apart before it can reach her throat. “And if you’re right? Would you still hear my case?”

He shrugs. “I don’t have anything to lose.”

“Thank you,” she deadpans. She nearly reminds him that he would have been all over her idea before but bites it back. Instead, she stares out at the rink, soaking in the familiar chill and allowing it to run along her tired limbs.  

“Do you remember when we met?” she asks, her carefully practiced speech drying up on her tongue. 

He nods, seemingly ignoring the sharp change in subject. “You fell.”

“I didn’t fall. I do not fall. I merely miscalculated the distance between myself and the floor. Anyhow, that’s not the point. The point is that you caught me and that’s what I need now. Someone to catch me.” 

Giyuu tilts his head to one side, blank confusion filling his eyes.

Shinobu sighs. So she does need to spell it out. “A few weeks ago, I was accused of doping up before an important competition. Falsely accused, for the record.” She laughs sardonically. “Ridiculous, wouldn’t you say? Me on something as pathetic as performance enhancers. As if that scandal wasn’t horrific enough, Douma spread some more colourful rumours about me on Icy Insights, of all places.”

“Douma…” Giyuu ponders. “Who is that again?”

“That pompous blond who tried poaching me from you before,” she explains. She rolls her eyes and misses the subtle clench of Giyuu’s jaw. 

“Why would he lie about you?”

“Likely because he’s still upset about me preferring to go solo than ever skate with him.”

Giyuu’s voice lowers, almost to a mumble. “Do you regret it?”

“Regret rejecting him? Ha! Even with all that’s happened, I’d tell my past self to make the same decision.”

…Right?

Shinobu clears her throat. “As I was saying, after those rumours broke out, I had a bad…episode while skating and twisted my ankle. Which brings me here. So…”

She swallows nervously, the weight of her predicament suddenly falling onto her shoulders like a glacier all over again. Her entire career is riding on this conversation, on one answer from the boy she thought she understood, only to realize she had no clue. Everything she fought for, worked for and gave up her youth for, everything she ever dreamt of. 

Shinobu rapidly blinks away the water forming in her eyes and readjusts the ice pack, hoping he’ll assume the tears are out of physical pain. 

“I can’t go back to solo skating,” she attempts. “That path is closed to me for good now, so I thought I would return to my roots. I need a partner who can keep up and is actually willing to skate with me. And who can catch me. Besides—” she takes a deep breath— “everyone loves a comeback story. The federation wouldn’t be able to resist.” She balls her hands into fists. “I’m not asking you for a complete career change. All I need is once more. Will you skate with me once more?”

The seconds of silence stretching between them feel like hours of torture. 

She doesn’t dare meet his eyes to gauge his reaction. She doesn’t know if she still has the uncanny ability to read his thoughts from his expression, but she can’t bear to try and fail or worse: find rejection. 

“It’s interesting,” Giyuu begins, his voice as cool as the winter wind yet as unclear as a blizzard. “Before, you never would have asked. You would’ve said I’d do it and I would.” 

“We’re going to be partners!” Shinobu announced with her hands proudly on her hips. 

Giyuu’s head shot up in alarm. “Huh? I thought this was just for fun.”

“Not anymore!” She pulled his arm and dragged him off the bench before hobbling towards the rink. “I’m gonna go pro just like Mom and Kanae and you’re gonna help me!” 

“W-wait, slow down, Shinobu!”

Shinobu wishes she still had that same brazen confidence. It would be very useful right now. 

Instead, she digs her nails into her palm. “So, will you do it?”

His eyes flicker downward, then move towards the ice. He studies it with a seemingly careful solemnity—is he remembering the same things she did? Does he see his first double twist? Their first successful lift? The day they met?

“I haven’t skated like that in a while,” he cooly admits, still staring at the rink. 

“I know. I can work with that.”

“...I don’t want to drag you down.”

“Ha, don’t worry, I don’t think my career could sink any lower!” She smiles, but a weight drags her heart down at the comment. “I’ve considered everything. I know what I’m asking you.”

But has she? Has she thought through every factor and potential outcome? Does she really know what she’s getting into?

“Okay then.”

Shinobu accepts his reply with nonchalance before it sinks in. Her eyes widen as something surges in her chest. 

“‘Okay?’” she repeats. “You’ll do it?”

“Sure,” he says with the same casual shrug as earlier. “I don’t have anything to lose.”

For the first time since her bag was searched, Shinobu feels like she can breathe. It isn’t the enthusiastic reply she hoped for, but considering she didn’t expect him to agree at all, this is revolutionary. There’s hope for her. She has a chance. 

“Thank you. Oh, thank you, Tomioka.”

He nods, quietly accepting the gratitude without much fanfare. “How do we start?”

Shinobu straightens with sudden determination. She didn’t expect him to jump to action so quickly, but then again, she barely expected this interaction to go this smoothly. 

“Somewhere warmer, preferably. Let’s go to Maple’s.”

Maple’s has the best coffee in town and everyone knows it. She can't count how many evenings she spent in one of its cedarwood booths, poring over her textbooks as she and Giyuu rushed to finish their homework after practice. It was always a comfort, a home away from home and the ice rink. 

“Can’t. It’s gone now.”

Her mind goes blank, struggling to process his words.“What? That’s impossible!” 

“The owner retired,” Giyuu explains. “It’s a chain cafe now.”

Shinobu continues to blink in slow shock. Everything else in town seemed the same yesterday, so how could such a staple of her youth be gone?  

Giyuu stands from the bench, walking a few steps away from her with his hands in his pockets. “A lot has changed since you left, Kochou.”

Her breath catches, her ankle throbbing harder in alarm. Somehow, she doubts he’s just talking about the cafe.

She hardens her jaw and turns in the opposite direction. “I know.” 

He seems to conveniently forget what drove her away in the first place.

Despite Shinobu’s disappointment over Maple’s disappearance, they end up at one of the new faux leather booths of its replacement. She orders a mocha, and while it certainly isn’t Maple’s, it tastes the same as the one from her regular cafe in the city. A piece of her new home in her old one. 

Giyuu sits across from her in awkward silence, interrupted only by the first bite of his sandwich—smoked ham and cheddar, just like before. 

Shinobu shakes her head free of that thought. They’re not here to reminisce, they need to form a plan for her comeback. First, she needs to assess how competition-ready he is. While she certainly isn't expecting him to be Olympic-worthy, she needs him to at least be capable of the basics to stand any chance. 

“Can you still do the jumps?” Shinobu asks bluntly, punctuating the sentence by slamming her mug back onto the table. 

Giyuu looks up at her mid-chew. “Probably.”

Her eye twitches slightly. “Probably? ‘Probably’ doesn’t get on the podium, Tomioka. ”

Again, she knows she should be nicer to the person her career currently depends upon. He could stand up and leave her in this booth more easily than when he said yes.

So she clears her throat and dons the sweetest smile she can muster. “Excuse me, that was rude. Nerves, you know?”

He raises an eyebrow but nonchalantly wipes his chin with a napkin. “I still do the old exercises to stay in shape.” 

“Yes, you were always quite diligent about those, weren’t you? Glad to hear you’ve maintained it.”

Shinobu had always thought her old coach’s exercises and stretches were pointless—she’d always wanted to jump straight to the good stuff and often grew restless with all the stretches and breathing exercises. But not Giyuu—he’d always followed them to the letter and had forced her to do them even when their coach wasn’t around to watch. As a result, his flexibility had been impressive and his stamina far better than hers. 

“Old habits die hard,” he admits with a careful sip of his coffee. 

“Hmm.” Shinobu opens her Notes app and begins a checklist. “Very well. Next time we meet, you’ll skate for me so we know what to work on.” 

He nods. 

Shinobu gulps her coffee and slowly sets the mug down. She taps on the ceramic, not eager for the next topic of discussion. 

“Next order of business…image.”

For the first time that afternoon, Giyuu’s shoulders tense up. 

That was another thing their old coach emphasized: public image. She would always tell them that the most exceptional pairs owed only half of their success to their skills—the rest came from chemistry, connections, and the presentation of a bond so incredible that words couldn’t possibly describe it. 

“Want. Always keep the audience wanting. Give them a fantasy.”

So that’s what Shinobu and Giyuu did. They posted clips of their practice sessions and photos from their free time, just enough for people to begin speculating about their relationship, constantly turning over the question of ‘will they or won’t they?’ or outright begging them to confirm or deny what they were.

And it worked like a charm. People analyzed every photo, speculated after every performance, and constantly reposted them across social media, turning them into stars amongst their fellow juniors. Everyone wanted a piece of their possible romance, a glimpse of their fairytale, proof that soulmates and true love existed. 

Little did Shinobu and Giyuu know that they would fall for their performance too. Although they never confirmed it publicly, their feigned romance turned into reality. They’d fallen for each other. Hard. 

But every fairytale, no matter how sweet, has an ending, and real life rarely follows the narrative of a happily ever after.  

At least there’s no risk of history repeating itself—Shinobu is far too jaded to ever reach that point again. She’ll be professional, friendly and not at all familiar. 

“We need to post about our reunion as soon as possible,” she says, keeping her voice steady. “And we can’t simply state it outright. We need to keep it subtle but obvious.”

She pauses, observing the table before her. Her purple mug sits next to his navy blue one, the signature colours they were once known for on perfect display. 

“Put your hand on your mug,” she instructs as she opens her camera app. “And don’t you dare move.”

After finding the perfect angle, she snaps a series of photos. Downing the rest of her coffee, she opens her social media. Nothing beats reunions with old friends, she types, adding an ice skate emoji at the end. She holds out her phone to Giyuu.

“You may have the honours, Tomioka.”

“‘Friends?’” he deadpans with a raised eyebrow. “I thought we were supposed to make them speculate.”

Of course, now he chooses to be stubborn. She huffs, squeezing the edges of her phone. “Fine. What do you suggest, then?”

He stares off into space for a few seconds (typical), then finally takes her phone. He types whatever genius idea he’s concocted, then hands it back to her. 

You always find your way back home, the new caption reads. 

Shinobu rereads it, then does it again for good measure. Somehow, the short phrase perfectly encompasses this strange reunion—it doesn’t specify whether it’s good or bad that she has found herself back here, but it does make the journey itself seem…inevitable. Like she was always fated—or doomed—to return someday.

Back home.

“This is quite good,” she comments, ignoring how intently Giyuu watches her for her reactions. “Not to mention surprisingly bold, especially for you. I do wonder what your idea of ‘home’ is.”

“I—”

She cuts off his answer by hitting Post. She doesn’t care about whatever explanation was about to spring from him. 

Shinobu sits back with a sigh. “No going back now.”

“I could still back out,” Giyuu shrugs. 

Her eyes sharpen into a glare. “You—”

“Relax, Kochou. I already agreed. I won’t go back on my word.”

Her mouth hangs open. “Why, you little—how dare you tease me like that! Haven’t I been through enough lately?”

You won’t go back on your word, huh? That’s what you said before too. 

She bites back the reply.

For the next forty minutes (and over even more coffee), Shinobu and Giyuu discuss what their first practice sessions will look like, complete with a messy itinerary filled with question marks in her Notes app. The first few sessions will be tough, with him needing to get back into a professional state and with her still needing to take it easy with her ankle, but she's determined to get through it without causing herself even more problems. Or spraining anything else. Or wanting to burn the building down. This experience will truly be an exercise in patience and self-restraint.

“We can review and re-learn an old routine before choreographing a new one,” she suggests. “That way, muscle memory can help you get back in shape.”

He nods. “We should post videos of practice. It will make people nostalgic.”

“Well! Nice to know there’s still some good ideas floating in that head of yours.” She stiffens at her own words. How did that teasing comment slip out so casually? “Ahem, I meant that that’s an excellent idea, Tomioka.”

He scoffs and motions towards her phone instead. “How’s your post doing?”

“My, my, and here I thought you were never interested in the numbers.” All he had cared about back then was reaching her goals.

“I don’t. We just need to know if people are buying your story.”

“Our story,” she corrects. “You’re stuck with me now, Tomioka.”

She opens the post’s comment section before he can try refuting her.

loverlyyy: no. freaking. way. is that who i think it is???

lay_landry: Reunion b/w my two fave skaters was NOT on this year’s bingo card OMG!!!

krystalkrista: Cute, but the timing is hella convenient

loverlyyy: @krystalkrista can’t we just enjoy the reunion?

krystalkrista: @loverlyyy What, you don’t think it’s suspicious that she’s suddenly back with him after her career hit rock bottom? 

sewcuuutie: I’m with @krystalkrista on this, she’s probably planning to use him like she tried to use Douma 

kha111: look who went crawling back lol 

“Well?” Giyuu’s voice interrupts. 

Shinobu closes the app and drops her phone onto the table. “Not bad but definitely not all good.”

“Hmm.” He takes out his phone. “Let me see.”

She raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “You have an account? You never told me that.”

He shrugs. “You never asked.”

“You—ugh, forget it.” 

She never asked because she knew he hated social media. Where she saw it as a necessary evil, he thought of it as a waste of time; back when they were together, her profile was the only spot he could be seen. 

Until now, it seems. 

“It’s private anyway,” he adds. “I don’t have any posts.”

Then why have it at all? she wonders but doesn’t ask. She doesn’t want this pointless argument to continue. She already feels on thin ice. 

She watches as he scrolls through the comments, his face betraying none of his thoughts, thereby torturing her with his indifference. 

Finally, a few minutes later, he looks up from his phone. “Can you make another post?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Obviously, but what will that accomplish?”

He glances off to the side. “Do you remember what our coach used to say?”

“Ha, you’ll have to be more specific than that, I’m afraid.”

“About image. When she said people come for the performance but stay…”

He doesn’t finish the quote but Shinobu’s eyes are already wide as she remembers, the words echoing through her mind so clearly that their coach may as well be right beside her.

“People will come for the performance. They’ll stay for the chemistry. Whether they know it or not, everyone craves a love story.”

“A love story? ” she repeats aloud, her little outburst earning a questioning glance from another patron and the barista. Then Shinobu turns her stare to Giyuu so sharply that she swears she sees him flinch. “You’re not suggesting what I think you are. Surely not.”

He opens his mouth to speak but falls short and clears his throat instead. “Just an idea.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, feigning frustration to hide her trembling hands. “Spell it out for me.”

He nervously scratches the back of his neck, allowing her to momentarily relish in causing him some uneasiness. “You know what I mean. We fake it. Like before.”

This time, Shinobu can’t stop the loud scoff and harsh comment that escapes her. “Faking it ‘like before?’ How funny, I seem to recall those years quite differently.”

“Not that time,” he sighs exasperatedly. “Before that, when we didn’t know…how we felt.”

I knew all along, she thinks. But despite her stubbornness, she understands what he’s referring to—the speculation, their charm, the unmatched chemistry that bewitched thousands of viewers.

“It won’t work again,” she argues. “People will see right through the what if? dynamic.”

“So let’s make it real.”

Shinobu is suddenly relieved that she finished her coffee ages ago, or she would have definitely choked and coughed up a lung right about now. 

“M-my my, Tomioka, is this your idea of a romantic declaration? You’ll have to do better than that if you hope to win me over again…”

Shinobu wouldn’t mind if the entire building collapsed on her right now. 

“Kochou,” he says sternly. 

“Relax, you’re too stiff.” She needs to stop digging herself deeper. “I’m just teasing. I know you’re suggesting we merely pretend to be in a real relationship so I don’t seem like a pathetic girl desperately trying to hatch a publicity stunt, although I suppose that’s exactly what I am. No matter.” She taps her head. “Unlike you, my brain is quite quick at catching onto things!”

“Yes. But you’re not pathetic, Kochou. You’re just in a bad spot.”

“I can’t do it!” Shinobu yelled after failing her solo jump for the fifth time in a row. “I can’t even do this stupid jump without stumbling! Ugh, I’m awful, I’m the worst skater ever.”

Giyuu paused his own exercises and skated over to her. “You’re not. You’re just having trouble with one jump. You’ve done every other move perfectly.”

Her eyes burned with tears of frustration. “Then I should be able to get this one!”

“Don’t you remember what Coach said? Even gold medalists struggle to get it right.” He extended his hand towards her. “You’re a great skater, Shinobu. When you figure out the jump, you’ll be even better.”

On her next attempt, she had nailed it and had felt prouder than ever. Then she did it again and again and again until it became one of her signature moves. Even as a soloist, fans and judges alike looked forward to it in each of her programs.

And all it had taken were a few motivational words from Giyuu, just like the ones he gave her now. Not that she would admit it. 

“What pose did you have in mind for the photo?”

He stares at her head-on, the weight of his blue eyes so heavy that it’s as though he can see through to every buried spark she once felt for him. It makes her shift uncomfortably—she wants to look away, but she can’t dare to give him the satisfaction of bothering her. 

He extends his fingers. “Give me your hand.”

“Hello everyone, this is Icy Insights bringing you the latest updates on all the smiles, tears, and drama of the illustrious world of ice skating! While we’re still hard at work editing our next full-length video, this is some juicy news we could not ignore!”

“That’s right! There’s been an insane update on Shinobu Kochou, who you’ll all remember as our recently disgraced solo skater, that has the entire community in an uproar. Two of her latest posts show her on a cafe outing with a certain someone from her past…can you guess who?”

“None other than her ex—ah, we mean former partner, Giyuu Tomioka! While she technically didn’t confirm it was him in the first post, that photo of a purple and dark blue mug couldn’t possibly be about anyone else. To top it off, she gave it a super cute caption to remind us all poor single people that ‘you always find your way back home.’ Totally adorable!”

“Fans immediately went ballistic and started discussing a much-anticipated reunion, but nothing could’ve prepared them for the next post an hour later! It came from Shinobu’s story, but she might as well have posted it on every billboard across Times Square considering how much it’s been screen-recorded and reposted everywhere! Including by us…oops!”

“How could we not? It’s a short but swoon-worthy video where Giyuu takes Shinobu’s hand—as proven by that gorgeous butterfly charm bracelet she always wears—and kisses it—yes everyone, kisses it! —before pressing it to his cheek with a smile. Now, I don’t know how many of you remember the golden days of this pair, but seeing him smile was rarer than seeing a comet pass through the sky!”

“For our uninitiated viewers, we can’t stress how huge this is! Back when these two skated together, their on-ice chemistry was so intense that everyone wondered whether they were secretly dating behind the scenes. Although they never confirmed it—heh, or denied it—there’s no doubt now: these two are together together.”

“But don’t worry, dear viewers. We at Icy Insights will never just leave you hanging with speculation. We’ll land an interview with this much-beloved pair if it’s the last thing we do! On the off chance that Giyuu and Shinobu are watching this right now, congrats on the announcement and expect a message from us soon! This is Icy Insights signing off for now, catch you at the next scandal!”

lay_landry: omg. omg. OMG.

loverlyyy: i'd like to take this moment to talk to the ppl who doubted me: HAHA!

sk8d8: Hmm idk this still seems too good to be true

siren_s0ng: @sk8d8 literally b/c why now? Why not when they were still skating together?

pr1madonna87: @siren_s0ng WHO CARES MY SHIP IS FINALLY SAILING

somedayay: Maybe true love really does exist ToT

Shinobu drops her phone on her bed in stunned shock. 

It worked. That single, 8-second clip that Giyuu somehow came up with in the cafe was enough to convince the skating world that the romance they were once obsessed with was reality. She can’t believe it. 

But it won’t end here. Fans will expect more. Critics will expect even more. Icy Insights will come knocking for an interview soon. Skeptics will be analyzing their every move. She doesn’t just need to get herself and Giyuu back in professional shape, choreograph and learn a new routine, and save her career anymore—she needs to keep up a fake, believable romance with someone whose mere gaze makes her so bitter that she feels the need to scream. 

She digs her fingers into her hair. What is she getting herself into?

Chapter Text

“Give me your hand.”

Shinobu stared at Giyuu’s hand as if it could somehow bite her. “Tell me your plan first.”

He sighed but relented. 

She recoiled further, pressing her back into the seat so forcefully that she wouldn’t be surprised to find creases in the leather later. “You—that’s crazy. You’re crazy!”

“They’ll only believe something crazy.”

“Well yes, but still! Goodness, Tomioka, you’re acting like you suggested something mundane. Even when we were together, you—” she cut herself off and took a second to clear her throat. “Even before, you never did anything so bold.”

“This is different from before,” he countered, thankfully ignoring her slip-up. “You said it yourself.”

She hated it when he was right. It didn’t happen often, but the brief startling clarity was nothing short of frustrating. 

So she gracefully accepted her loss with only one (one!) grumble as she prepared her camera. "Fine. Ready when you are.”

Except she hadn’t been ready. Not really.

Shinobu stares blankly at her kitchen wall, absentmindedly chewing her cereal as she relives those few minutes over and over—the heat of his skin, the lines of his palm, the sudden softening of his eyes. All so familiar, yet foreign. Once hers, now no one’s at all. Or, at least, she hoped not—it would make her stay here terribly awkward if she ran into a new girlfriend. No woman would want to share her partner’s affections, much less with an ex of all people. Perhaps that was where he learned to run his thumb along her knuckles, where he practiced the brush of his lips on her fingers, and experimented with the smile that ghosted across his face…

“Ow,” Shinobu winces, accidentally biting her tongue while furiously chewing. Stupid Giyuu, hurting her without even being around. 

Instead of dwelling more on that, she opens her social media to check her latest comments. More people have noticed and accepted the news of her supposed relationship, including some former opponents who comment heart emojis and flood her inbox with messages filled with ecstatic congratulations! and smug I knew it all along’s. 

Even Douma, who oh-so-kindly sent: Really, Shinobu? If you were this desperate for a comeback, I was right here :( 

She rolls her eyes. It would be smarter to leave him on ‘read,’ but she can’t possibly give him the last word:

I’d rather tear my hair out! Thx :)

Right after she hits send, a buzz snatches her attention. 

Giyuu <3: Bad news

Anxiety punches Shinobu in the gut, though she doesn’t know if the worst of it comes from his message or the sight of his name with a heart next to it. Three years and she never got around to changing it? What was wrong with her? And why did she even name him something so juvenile, was she really such a lovesick idiot back then that she gave in to such a cliché?

Giyuu <3: You need to come over

Shinobu opens their chat with a raised eyebrow. 

Shinobu: Details, Tomioka 

Giyuu <3: Breakfast 

Shinobu: Going to need more details than that, I’m afraid

Shinobu: I’m already eating anyway

Giyuu <3: Tsutako insists 

Giyuu <3: She hid the arena keys and won’t give them back unless you come over 

She sighs in annoyance but drains the rest of her cereal anyway. If Tsutako is anything like the way she was before, she really will hold Giyuu hostage until Shinobu shows up, which would put a serious damper on today's plans.

Shinobu reaches the Tomioka house with the same muscle memory that brought her back to the arena.

Just like her family’s place, the house still sports the same porch furniture and tulips—even the pots she helped Giyuu and Tsutako paint still line the staircase. The only proof of time’s ruthless passage is the maple tree, which stands taller than she remembers but still features the wooden swing she once spent her summers lazing around on. 

Welcome home, the mat in front of the door still reads. 

Shinobu rings the doorbell. 

Giyuu quickly swings it open, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. “I’m sorry, I know you want to start right away—”

“It’s fine,” she replies even though it isn’t. “I know your sister.”

As if on cue, Tsutako appears from the hall with all the speed and chaos of rushing horses, her dark ponytail bouncing behind her as she brakes to a stop. 

Standing just an inch shorter than Giyuu and with an athletic build only achieved by a lifetime of sports and protein shakes, Tsutako Tomioka is and always has been a force of nature—a hurricane with a hockey stick and a red bow in her hair. Although she has always looked like she could swing her own brother over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Shinobu knows the only body part bigger than Tsutako’s muscles is her heart. 

“Shinobu!” Tsutako greets before tackling her with a bone-crushing hug, her ribbon swaying as her body still works on settling down. “You should’ve said you were in town!”

“Well,” Shinobu manages to get out. “I didn’t know if I was staying long—”

“Of course you are!” Tsutako finally releases Shinobu, allowing her to catch her breath. “What, did you think I would’ve let him reject you? He was a wreck after—”

Giyuu coughs into his fist. “We need to go.”

“And skip breakfast?” Tsutako challenges with a raised brow. “I think not. Take Shinobu to the table.”

“Actually, she already ate—”

“Giyuu Tomioka, take our guest to the table. Now.”

Although the order is directed at Giyuu, Shinobu finds herself moving first. She doesn’t think she can survive a battle starring Tsutako, even if Shinobu isn’t the one at the helm. 

Giyuu, awkward and quiet as ever, follows behind her. 

Tsutako plops onto the kitchen chair, balancing her plate of eggs and blueberry muffin in one hand and a glass of orange juice for Shinobu in the other. 

She pats her pockets, then turns to her brother. “Hey. Get my phone from upstairs, I need to show Shinobu all the flattering photos of you that I took in her absence.”

He rolls his eyes but follows her order, likely because he's itching to escape. Traitor.

As soon as his footsteps disappear upstairs, Tsutako redirects her attention back to Shinobu.

“I thought he’d never leave.” She leans forward and raises a forkful of her breakfast. “So, that doping thing was a load of bullshit, right?”

Nice to know Tsutako is still as straight to the point as ever. As someone who hates pleasantries, Shinobu has always found her bluntness refreshing, especially now that it's so clearly in her favour. 

Her body relaxes in relief over Tsutako still supporting her in her strange brash way, even after everything that has happened. Although Tsutako never quite understood the intricacies of figure skating, she had always been there to cheer Shinobu on from the stands, her voice often louder than the announcements on the speakers. She couldn’t count how many bouquets she received from Tsutako, nor how many words of support and colourful threats to the judges. She was definitely the most boisterous and gruff of cheerleaders, but Shinobu loved having her in her corner. 

Only to have her ripped away from her too.

Giyuu’s steps echo above her. 

“Yes. All of it," Shinobu finally replies.

“Ha, of course it was! No Kochou would be caught dead on steroids. Even if you were taking that stuff, your mom or Kanae would have killed you! Or me,” she grins. “Then if I didn’t kill you, Giyuu definitely would’ve.”

This time, Shinobu doesn’t bother to conceal her harsh scoff. “Please, he wouldn’t have even cared. He didn’t know about it until I told him.”

“Is that what he made you believe?” Tsutako laughs heartily, her fork clattering onto her plate. “He knew as soon as the news broke out! He was so upset about it that you’d think he was the one on the chopping block. He even said—”

“I couldn’t find your phone,” Giyuu states, suddenly appearing in the hall to rejoin them. 

Tsutako smirks knowingly at Shinobu. She pats her pocket again and, surprisingly, pulls out her phone. 

“Oh, here it is. My bad.”

Giyuu sighs deeply but sits next to her, quickly avenging himself by stealing her muffin and taking a large bite. 

“Wh—I was saving that!” Tsutako objects. “You no-good, little…”

As Tsutako argues at the blank wall that is Giyuu Tomioka, Shinobu reflects on her words. 

He was so upset about it that you’d think he was the one on the chopping block.

Shinobu doesn’t know which idea is worse—Giyuu lying straight to her face about not knowing yesterday or him finding out right when it happened and not sending a single word of support when she needed it most. 

She knows she isn’t an open book; she doesn’t have a warm and fuzzy exterior that invites people to understand her as Tsutako and Mitsuri do. Shinobu has a bad temper and a high level of pride, leading to her being called a whole slew of creative names over the years—an Ice Queen if there ever was one. 

But she wasn’t that way with him. She was different, she was open and he knew it. He had to have known how badly it hurt her to fall from that high. 

If you fall again, I’ll catch you. What a joke. 

She glares at Giyuu, furious over being unable to understand him. He’s a walking contradiction, allegedly caring about her one second, then acting indifferent the next. Why did he even agree to help her? Who even is he anymore?

Giyuu catches her stare and visibly tenses, quickly swallowing whatever he was chewing. 

“We should go,” he says.

Tsutako pauses her tirade and glances at Shinobu. “You’re right. Make sure not to poke a sleeping bear, especially since I’d help her hide your body.”

Shinobu manages to laugh but can’t shake off her unease. 

What stranger did she agree to skate with?

Shinobu drives them to the arena in total silence, maintaining a strictly professional façade the entire time it takes them to change and lace up. Giyuu, as per usual, doesn’t object. 

As they decided yesterday, he’s the first one to take to the ice while she observes from the stands. She feels high and mighty like this, ready to judge his skating ability like a vengeful deity.

“Begin with a few laps,” she commands as she sets up some instrumental music. “Let me see your stamina, then try a few jumps.”

He nods and begins skating around the arena, gradually increasing his speed with each lap in time with the music.

Good speed, there’s enough momentum for jumps. 

Your form is still great, but your technique needs a lot of refining. 

Oh, that hand placement problem is still there. Honestly, Tomioka, all these years later and you still have that habit?

“Get creative!” she orders over the music. “Let me see what a routine would look like.”

He nods and prepares to skate into his first proper jump. 

Although she was ready to critique him like a seasoned coach, her throat goes so dry that she can’t muster a single word.

He’s a little rusty. Of course he is, he hasn’t needed to skate like this in years. Still, his stamina and abilities are impressive and clear products of continued dedication and hard labour. But that isn’t what renders her mute. 

What leaves her so stunned that she can barely draw breath is that his style is the same, the flourish of his limbs and the concentration on his face so identical to the boy she once skated with that she can easily imagine herself gliding alongside him, completing the moves he can only leave half-finished. She can feel his hands against her waist leading her into a jump, on the back of her head as he brings her back down, around her ankle to lift her from a death spiral…

This isn’t the man she walked in on cleaning the arena or the stranger in the cafe who kissed her hand—this is the boy who bought her ice cream after exams, who tied her laces before every performance, and who always lent her his blazer on chilly autumn mornings. 

This is who she wanted to skate with. 

This is who she left behind.

This is…

“Giyuu,” she finds herself saying aloud, the syllables strangely at home on her tongue. 

And because she’s just so lucky, it slips out right when the song ends. 

His gaze snaps to her as the arena fills with echoing silence. 

There’s the boy whose wild hair never stayed in place during winter’s punishing winds, the boy whose eyes were made of glistening ice, and whose hands were of comforting firewood. 

“Yes, Kochou?”

The brief flare of warmth freezes in Shinobu’s chest. 

There’s the man who broke her heart. 

“Not bad, Tomioka,” Shinobu says, resting her head on her hand and turning away. “It’s quite impressive that you can still do all that despite not skating professionally for three years. Don’t show off too much or I’ll think you lied to me.” Again.

He shakes his head, still catching his breath. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Shinobu tries—she really does—not to scoff, but fails miserably. “We both know that’s not true, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Careful Shinobu, or your mouth will get you in serious trouble someday, her mother always warned. It seems the time has finally come. 

“Kochou,” Giyuu states with surprising seriousness. “I know our history is complicated. But nothing will work if you keep mentioning it. Let it go. Just for now.”

“‘Let it go?’” she laughs bitterly, rising from her seat and hobbling down the stands’ stairs. “Easy for you to say—you’re the one who let go of me.”

“Kochou—”

“My entire career depended on us skating together and you let me go," she continues, punctuating each jab with a loud step down the stairs. "I moved to the city by myself and since they didn’t know what to do with me, they had me waste my time with mediocre skaters who either couldn’t keep up or simply hated me. After that failed, I was forced to rebuild my entire career by myself as a soloist, uncertain of whether I’d be good enough to survive it, all while my peers speculated about us behind my back.”

She reaches the rink’s entrance, where Giyuu quietly stands still. She marches right up to him, looking him straight in the eye as she prods his chest with her finger. 

“You stole every bit of comfort I had. I couldn’t come home anymore because you were here, I couldn’t talk to Tsutako anymore because you would know, and I had to relearn how to skate on my own because you let me go. So pardon me if I’m still somewhat bitter.”

He remains quiet, leaving Shinobu to throw her hands in the air. 

“Like a cherry on top of all that, I’m forced to crawl back here, back to you, in the vain hope that you’ll save my career because even after all this time apart, it somehow still relies on you. And yet, I barely know who you are anymore.”

Her violet eyes slice into his with barely contained fury. Her hands squeeze into fists, and although she knows she would never hit him, she definitely feels like hitting something. 

“I think we should stop for today,” he says coolly. 

“Finally. A good suggestion,” she huffs. 

She doesn’t wait for more before storming out of the arena, too proud to grab her shoes and take off her skates. She drives to her family house cold, shoeless, and royally pissed off.

It takes about three and a half hours and a very angry sandwich for Shinobu to reluctantly admit to her idiocy. She didn’t just sabotage her career—she ripped it apart, lit the pieces on fire, and tossed them into a volcano. 

She falls onto her bed with a groan, the scene tragically similar to her initial days of misery. All this emotional turmoil, only to end up right where she started. 

Well, almost. There’s one piece still missing and right now, Shinobu needs her more than ever. 

It only takes two rings for Kanae to answer. 

“I thought you’d never call!” she greets, the TV murmuring in the background. “You need to tell me all about those sneaky posts, I want the full story from beginning to end.”

Shinobu fidgets with the corner of her duvet. “Can we skip to the end? I think I ruined everything.”

The TV’s murmur stops. “Talk to me.”

Shinobu tells her everything, from her tense reunion with Giyuu to his strange boldness in the café to the horrific events of today. 

“I don’t think I can dig myself out of this, Kanae. I don’t know how to get through to him anymore—I barely know who he is.”

“Oh, Shinobu,” Kanae gently chides. “Your problem isn’t that you don’t understand him anymore, the real problem is that you keep looking to the past for answers to your present.”

Shinobu’s brows knit together in confusion. She needs advice, not her sister’s attempts at sage wisdom. “What does that even mean?”

“I can just picture you popping a vein right now,” Kanae laughs. “What I mean is that you’re still clinging to what you and Giyuu used to share—how you used to talk and practice and act together—but that also means you still can’t let go of how things ended.”

“Of course I can’t!” Shinobu argues, heat rising to her cheeks. “It came out of nowhere and he—”

“—is a different person now. And so are you. You can’t expect everything to return to the way it was just because you said so. That would be like expecting the skates you wore when you were thirteen to fit you the same way now.”

“…You sound like a fortune cookie.”

“That means you know I’m right.”

“I won’t admit anything,” Shinobu replies despite it being true. If she gave Kanae the satisfaction, she’d never hear the end of it. “Just tell me what I should do.”

“Easy: start fresh. Forget the Giyuu you knew and everything that happened before and treat him like someone you just met. Get to know who he is now and let him learn who you are all over again. Don’t bring up the past unless you absolutely have to.”

Start fresh? Is that even possible? The years she spent with Giyuu shaped so much of who she is, as a person but especially as a skater. If it weren’t for him, she would be a very different girl in a very different place—likely a closed-off, self-centred soloist who never learned to work with others, much less trust them. 

Then again, how far removed is that version of her from her reality anyway?

“Sounds difficult,” Shinobu finally groans, using her annoyance as a shield. 

Kanae gasps. “Shinobu Kochou complaining about something being too hard? Tsk, tsk, and here I thought I knew you. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of what could happen.”

“Of course not!” Of course, she is. I only need to think about it.”

“Better think quickly.” The murmur of the TV returns. “Competition season will come running at you before you know it.”

Instead of staying in bed to reflect on her situation like any normal person would, Shinobu picks up her skates and returns to the arena. 

The sun has already set for the day, leaving the building illuminated solely by its emergency lights and nearby streetlamps, but unlike the harsh orange bulbs of the cityscape, these fluorescents offer a welcoming silver glow, as though mimicking moonlight. 

Luckily, the spare key is still hidden behind a loose brick near the door, just as it always was. The interior is extremely dim, but Shinobu is certain she’d be capable of finding her way even in darkness. 

How funny, she thinks. She can’t even say the same about her childhood home. 

This time, there are no sounds of skates or distant footsteps—she really is alone here, perhaps for the first time in her life. 

She laces up and opens her music app, scrolling all the way down to her forgotten playlists until she finds the right one. It used to sit right at the top, like so many of her memories, with one song in particular being played more often than the rest. 

She takes a deep inhale and, still holding her breath, hits play.

The sombre notes begin gently resonating in her ears, tranquil in their fragility. As the song gradually grows fuller, she feels herself opening up, each note melting away a layer from her icy exterior. 

She hasn’t skated this routine—or even this song—in three years, but her muscles still remember the moves, her skates still feeling the rhythm. She glides slowly across the ice, swaying in time with the song as it builds. 

Finally, she pauses and raises her arms. As the music breaks, so do her memories. 

She skates across the arena, practically dancing as her legs carry her through the steps she once practiced so intensely that they became part of her subconscious. All the while, she imagines her phantom partner skating alongside her, ghostly hands lifting her into jumps she must now make on her own. 

With each twirl, she finally allows herself to not just remember but re-live everything. 

The first time he lifted her with wobbling arms, her toes barely off the hideous shag carpet of her family basement. 

Their first routine and the wild thrill after finally nailing it following weeks of gruelling practice. 

The sleepover the night before their first competition, him holding a flashlight under the blankets and listening intently as she whispered about her ambitions. 

Memories of getting older. 

Racing to the arena after school as though it would somehow disappear, their homework and backpacks forgotten in his mother’s office. 

Notes passed in class signed with silly doodles of skates and snowflakes instead of their actual names, naïvely believing no one would ever connect their words back to them. 

The first bashful glances passed between them, ideas of him possibly meaning more to her beginning to spring up in her juvenile mind. 

Older. 

His knuckles brushing hers and electrifying her skin. His hands lingering around her waist for no reason. Flickers of jealousy and possessiveness, then worry and fear. Wondering if he wanted her that way too. Embarrassment if he didn’t. 

Then finally, blissfully, their first kiss. Their second. Again and again, until she briefly wondered if it was possible to melt from happiness. Keeping their newly realized relationship in hushed tones as though their coach couldn’t see right through them. Laughing at and poking fun at the speculation surrounding them as their popularity grew.

Blossoming. Feeling on top of the world even with her feet firmly planted on solid ground. 

Blooming when they won first place with this very routine. The cheers around the arena, the weight of the medal on her neck, the bursting pride of standing on the podium. 

Withering. Something in him changing after that win. The distance, the frigidity, the silence until finally…

Plummeting. The snowstorm. The bridge. The cold. 

Shinobu twirls more frantically now, both in time with the music and the erratic drumming in her chest. She feels a tear escape her but she doesn’t wipe it away. She’ll let it run this time, get it out of her system before freezing herself all over again, just like she did the first time. 

Her heart twists and pulls, tugging at its own seams. In the back of her mind, she hears his soft voice, once whispering praise and encouragement, then cutting through her with biting words she didn’t think he was capable of uttering. Words he couldn’t possibly mean, surely not—

The ghostly hands leading her through this turn suddenly turn warm. In the haze of her memories, they feel an awful lot like coming home to a comforting fire.  She allows herself to follow them, giving her heart permission to beat alongside the sound of another pair of skates. Just like before. 

The hands shift to her waist and she readily gives in to the lift. She spins thrice in the air and when she comes back down, it’s into an embrace that holds her as though nothing has changed. 

And the song ends. 

She slowly opens her eyes, unaware of when she shut them, and stares at the boy she once loved. 

“I didn't think you still remembered the moves,” she murmurs, reluctant to break the silence. 

“I remember everything from back then,” he replies just as softly. Perhaps he doesn’t want to break it either. 

“The problem is, so do I,” she sighs. “I thought I would skate it out of my system.”

“Did you?”

Despite the dire situation, she chuckles. “I’m not certain. Ask me in the morning…if you’re still willing to see me, that is.”

He nods to himself. “I pushed you too far today. I’m sorry.”

“Idiot,” she huffs amusedly. “I should be apologizing to you. I let my temper control me, as per usual. I’m sorry.”

She skates a few feet away from him, breaking a bit of the spell but not all of it, not just yet. Still, she faces away, fixing her stare on the glowing red Exit sign. She doesn’t trust herself to keep looking into his eyes with so many of her old feelings at the surface. 

“I’ll be here at ten tomorrow if you’re still willing to help me. If so, we’ll begin anew—no past, no memories. Just two skaters trying to make their new partnership work.”

A beat of silence. 

“Okay.”

Though she tries to still her pounding heart, hope surges in her chest. “There’s no need to agree right away. You’re welcome to sleep on it, you know.”

She hears his skates approach her, stopping a small distance away. “I said I would help you. And I will.”

At his words, a memory from that night hits her like a stray bullet. He has already broken his promises before...what's to stop him from doing it again?

She freezes the thought before it can take root. The clean slate begins now. 

She turns her head slightly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Then, I suppose I’ll see you in the morning, Tomioka.”

As 9:59 turns into 10:00 the next morning, Shinobu opens the arena doors with sweaty palms. 

He said he would be here, she reminds herself as she walks across the desolate lobby accompanied solely by the hum of some distant radiator. Although the lights are on, there’s no guarantee he came at all—perhaps the Tomiokas invested in some automatically timed generators. Or something.

He said he would be here. She pushes the door to the rink open, feigning nonchalance even as anxious sweat begins coating her forehead, soothed only by the rush of cold air. 

He said he would be here. 

And he is. 

Giyuu skates around the middle of the rink as though there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Light piano music trickles from a hidden speaker as he stretches his arms above his head, as diligent with his exercises as ever. 

Shinobu drops her bag onto the stands with an amused huff. “You’re early.”

Giyuu simply shrugs. “You’re late.”

They both look up at the digital clock near the scoreboard, the red numbers blinking 10:02 A.M.

Shinobu playfully rolls her eyes. “I see my new partner has a sense of humour. Not a very good one, but a sense of humour nonetheless.”

She stops next to the plastic partition separating the stands from the ice, where Giyuu soon joins her from the other side. He stares at her intently, likely waiting for her next move. The reins for this new dynamic of theirs—whatever it will be—are solely in her hands, it seems. 

She clears her throat, choosing to ignore how blue his eyes look even through the plastic cracked by years of hockey games. This is a fresh start and it wouldn’t be very beneficial to develop an attraction to her partner, even if she is pretending to date him. 

“I’m Shinobu Kochou,” she introduces. “Yes, sister to Kanae Kochou and daughter of Kasumi Kochou, but I like to think I’ve made a name for myself by now.”

If he finds this notion silly, he doesn’t show it. “I’ve heard of you, Kochou. I’m Giyuu Tomioka.”

She smiles sweetly, just as her sister taught her to do with new people. “Good. I look forward to our partnership, Tomioka. We have a lot of work to do.”

There. That wasn’t so bad. If she had done that from the start, she would have avoided all that anguish. Maybe one day, she’ll learn. 

Shinobu stretches in the stands as Giyuu works on the ice, the two of them exercising in a calm quiet she didn’t think would be possible with him. She deserves a pat on the back for her efforts this morning; perhaps last night’s catharsis was exactly what she needed. 

Her phone’s ringing disrupts the peace.

She glances at it, intending to put it on vibrate, only to see Mitsuri’s gleeful contact photo smiling up at her. Requesting a video call. 

Shinobu swears under her breath. If she doesn’t answer now, Mitsuri is likely to keep calling until she does. Her record is 23 calls and 47 texts the day after Shinobu announced the termination of her partnership with Giyuu—

She answers the call. 

“Oh, I’m so glad I caught you!” Mitsuri greets cheerfully. “We have so much to discuss! But I have to say, I’m a little offended that I had to find out through Icy Insights when you and I are supposed to be besties. Don't worry though, I’ll forgive you in return for all the details!”

“Ah…right.” In all the rush of emotion, Shinobu had forgotten to consider Mitsuri when concocting the fake romance plot. Mitsuri is a self-proclaimed “human love detector” and, unfortunately for Shinobu, actually lives up to that title. Back when she and Giyuu were together for real, Mitsuri had been the only one amongst their peers to see right through their façade. 

“There’s nothing to tell,” Shinobu attempts. “It just happened.”

Mitsuri bursts out laughing. “‘Nothing to tell?’ Come on, Shinobu, I’m not an idiot! These reunions always come with tearful confessions and emotional declarations of love. Was there rain? Music? Oh, cherry blossom trees?”

On the ice, Giyuu stares at Shinobu in confusion, no longer skating. 

She sighs. “Sorry Mitsuri, right now isn’t a good time. I’m at the arena and—”

Mitsuri gasps so dramatically that it’s a miracle she has any air left. “Oh my gosh, are you practicing with him? Who am I kidding, of course you are! You two were practically glued to each other back then, you have to be skating together now. Let me see him, I wanna say hello!”

Giyuu hangs his head but starts towards the stands, ignoring Shinobu’s frantically gesturing for him to stop. 

“He’s busy right now, but I’ll tell him you called,” Shinobu says apologetically. “Anyways, I should go.”

“Oh, desperate for some alone time, are you?” Mitsuri asks with a wink. “Still haven’t gotten your fill?”

Shinobu’s pride curls into itself. “Ha ha…you got me!” 

“See, what did I tell you? I can see right through you, Shinobu! Just let me see him and I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Mitsuri, I—”

Shinobu nearly jumps when a warm weight descends over her shoulders, pulling her close to a head of dark hair. 

“Hi, Kanroji,” Giyuu greets. 

What are you doing?  Shinobu wants to yell. 

But she knows what he’s doing—he’s trying to help her. He likely remembers Mitsuri’s shameless prodding as well as she does and knows that if they can’t fool her into thinking they’re a couple, they’ll never get the entire community to believe them. 

So much for the blank slate plan. She made this bed, it’s time to lie in it. 

Shinobu leans into Giyuu’s side as though nothing has changed, nuzzling her chin into his shoulder like she used to do on long car rides. Meanwhile, Mitsuri excitedly barrages him with questions that he, thankfully, answers coolly and succinctly. 

When the interrogation is over, Mitsuri sighs dreamily. “You guys are as cute as ever. I can’t wait to see you skating together again, it’ll be so magical!”

“I hope you’re right,” Giyuu replies calmly. “We better get to work.”

“Of course, of course, thanks for indulging me! And don’t think you’re off the hook yet, Shinobu. I better be the first to hear about your updates from now on!”

“Noted, it won’t happen again. Bye, Mitsuri,” Shinobu smiles.

Mitsuri enthusiastically waves at the camera. “Goodbye!”

After she hangs up, Shinobu puts her phone on vibrate and stuffs it deep in her bag. 

“We survived,” Giyuu comments, releasing his hold on her.

Shinobu shivers involuntarily. “Barely. I should have known she would subject us to interrogation. You didn’t need to come up here, I’m sure I would have found a way out of it.”

He shakes his head. “She wanted to see something romantic. She wouldn’t have given up otherwise.”

“Ha, I suppose you’re right. All these years and she hasn’t changed…”

“Tell me everything!” Mitsuri demanded as soon as the last girl left the locker room, leaving her and Shinobu alone.

Shinobu raised an eyebrow while tying her sneakers. “Everything about what?”

“You and…” Mitsuri lowered her voice, “Giyuu.”

Shinobu’s breath halted. They had been careful and she knew it—she’d cleaned her lipstick off him, even going so far as to use makeup remover instead of a simple wipe, she’d fixed her hair before getting out of the car, hell, she’d even changed her lock screen photo before coming here today! How could Mitsuri even suspect something was going on?

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Shinobu smiled. “He’s my partner and we’ve been friends forever. There’s nothing else to tell.”

Mitsuri grinned knowingly. “You two are dating, aren’t you?”

Shinobu’s cheeks ignited. It wasn’t the first time she had been asked that, but answering nosy reporters and prying fans was different from replying to her friend. She had never learned how to lie to Mitsuri, had never needed to until now—as different as they were, Mitsuri was the only other female pairs skater to be nice to her for the sake of being friends and not to inch into her spotlight. Shinobu didn’t want to deceive her. 

“Y-yes, but…how did you know?”

Mitsuri gasps before breaking out into a joyful squeal. “I knew it, I knew it! I have an affinity for this kind of thing, you know. I can sniff a romance from a mile away—I’m like a human love detector!”

Shinobu stifles a laugh. Only Mitsuri would say something so imaginative and mean it. 

“You can’t tell anyone about it.”

“Of course not! My lips are sealed.” Mitsuri mimed zipping her mouth closed. “But in return, you have to tell me everything!”

Shinobu smiles at the memory. Mitsuri never told anyone about their relationship and had even asked for permission before confiding in her partner. Shinobu never thanked her for keeping her promise. 

But there are things more pressing than sentimentality at the moment. She can extend her gratitude to Mitsuri the next time they meet—for now, she has a reputation to save. 

“I’ll meet you on the ice,” Shinobu announces. “I just need to lace up and—”

“Is there any actual skating going on here?” a harsh voice interrupts, the door nearly slamming shut behind it. “To think that you woke up so early and they’re not even around!

She knows that voice, but it can’t be him. It’s impossible, she must be hearing things. 

But when she locks onto Giyuu’s panic-stricken eyes, she’s no longer so sure it’s her imagination playing a cruel prank. 

“Calm down,” a second voice soothes. “They were always quite diligent.”

The first voice angrily huffs. “They were, but who knows what we can believe given the recent circumstances.”

Before Shinobu can figure out a place for them to hide, the all-too-familiar duo comes into full view. They pause in front of the ice, still distracted by their discussion, until the taller one finally turns around.

“Oh, here they are. Good morning, you two,” she greets. “I hope we haven’t interrupted anything.”

“What could we have possibly interrupted? They’re just standing there yapping instead of running drills.”

Each word Shinobu could possibly utter gets lost on its way down to her mouth, leaving her gaping and dumbfounded. Giyuu, tragically, isn’t any better.

Because the very last duo they expected to walk through the door today was their former coach and her ever-irritable assistant.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude not to return a greeting?” Yushiro seethes. “And pick your jaws up from the floor already, we have work to do!”

“It’s alright, Yushiro, they were simply caught off guard. No need to shout.” Tamayo extends her hand towards Shinobu. “Come down; I believe we have plenty to discuss.”

So much for a fresh start.

Chapter Text

"There's a disturbance in the air," Shinobu said gravely. 

She was only ten, but she had come to know this arena enough over the last two years to sense an intrusion—someone strange was here. 

Giyuu looked at her with wide eyes, spooked by her sudden seriousness. Before he could add to her statement, her mother called them from the stands.

Shinobu skidded to a halt, Giyuu's steady hand on her elbow the only thing stopping her from teetering to the ground. Good thing he had quick instincts, otherwise she would have embarrassed herself in front of the strangers beside her mother. He held onto her during their entire trek to the plastic partition separating the rink from the stands, where Kasumi Kochou beamed at them with pride. 

She motioned to the pair beside her. “Children, this is Miss Tamayo and her assistant, Yushiro. They want to watch you skate today.”

Shinobu frowned as she took in their visitors. Tamayo, with her dark braided bun and dark purple cardigan, looked friendly enough, but her scowling assistant had an extremely punchable face. 

Perhaps sensing the growing animosity, Tamayo smiled softly. “We look forward to watching you two. Act as though we aren’t even here.”

Shinobu slightly softened her brow. “Okay.”

She skated back to centre ice. From the corner of her eye, she saw Giyuu bow to them before hurrying back to her side.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he murmured when he rejoined her. 

She rolled her eyes. “They’re probably skating teachers or something.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I don’t know,” she huffed. “Maybe. I just don’t like being told what to do.”

“What if they’re here to make us better?”

The corner of her mouth slowly tugged up into a smirk. “‘Make us better?’ Don’t make me laugh, Giyuu. We’re already the best.”

And the proof sat in the trophy case just outside this room. Two years of triumphant wins were nothing to sneeze at and they had done it all on their own.   

Giyuu sighed but still smiled softly. “You said that even before we won anything.”

“Obviously. It’s us we’re talking about here.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into position. “We’ll always be the best.”

They started performing as soon as the music from their latest routine began humming through the speakers, ignorant of the watchful eyes in the stands. All they ever saw when they skated together was each other—mainly because if they didn’t, he would probably drop her.

And he had a really big head. It was hard to ignore. 

After they finished their routine with a (nearly) perfectly executed set of jumps, Shinobu’s mother sent them to the bench to catch their breaths. 

“I’ve been teaching them the last two years,” she heard her mother explain to their guests as Shinobu took her seat. “They’ve done well in their district, but they would greatly benefit from having a proper coach.”

Giyuu nudged Shinobu. “You were right.”

She lightly elbowed him back. “Of course I was. Now shush, I want to hear what they say. Just come closer so they think we’re talking.”

Giyuu scooted himself closer and ducked his head down. 

“—what do you think?” Shinobu’s mother finished.

“You were correct over the phone—they certainly do possess great potential,” Tamayo replied. 

“But so do plenty of others,” Yushiro added. “Right now, they aren’t anything we haven’t already seen.”

Shinobu scoffed. “That jerk!” she whisper-yelled at Giyuu. “What does he know about skating anyway? How could anyone be at our level?”

Giyuu said nothing but eyed her wearily. “Shinobu—”

“Don’t look at me like I’m wrong.”

Above them, the adults’ conversation continued. 

“Kasumi, have you asked them how far they wish to go?” Tamayo asked. 

A beat of silence passed before Shinobu’s mother answered, a smile evident in her voice. “As far as they can. My daughter has always been incredibly…spirited, as you likely observed earlier. As a result, her ambition knows no limit—once you tell her that a higher feat exists, she won’t rest until she attains it for herself.”

“I’ll say,” Yushiro huffed. “She was extremely rude to Miss Tamayo earlier, so—”

“Yushiro,” Tamayo reprimanded. 

Shinobu’s mother only laughed. “No, I’m afraid he’s right. She’s quite the spitfire but far more determined than I was at her age.”

If it weren’t for her mother’s compliment, Shinobu would have stomped up there and shown Yushiro how rude she could be. 

Giyuu, who likely noticed her growing anger, handed her a granola bar. She tore the wrapper open, ripped off a piece for him, and took a big, angry bite.

“And her partner?” Tamayo continued.

“Ah, yes,” Shinobu’s mother nervously laughed. “Well, Giyuu is so quiet that I’m often clueless as to what he’s thinking. He’s a bit chattier with her, but not by much—they’re so different that I used to wonder why she took such a strong liking to him. Thankfully, she has the strange ability to decipher his thoughts and lay them out so plainly that you’d think she could read his mind. I’m not certain of his personal ambitions, but I have no doubt he’ll go as far as she wants. Whether that’s the World Skating Competition, the Olympics, or simply down the road, he’ll be beside her.”

Back on the bench, Shinobu stared at Giyuu as they both chewed on their granola pieces. She didn’t ask him if it was true. She already knew the answer.

However, unbeknownst to either of them until much later, Tamayo paid closer attention to their interactions and Kasumi’s words than she had to their actual skating. Yushiro had taken detailed notes, but the notoriously picky Tamayo didn’t even need them to make her decision.

“You have quite the way with words, Kasumi. Very well; if they are truly interested in committing to this industry, I will be honoured to coach them.”

Shinobu continues staring blankly at Tamayo, still unsure how to take her sudden return. 

Has every step of Shinobu’s impulsive plan been shocking? Yes. Should she have learned to expect the unexpected at this point? Probably. But never in a million years could she have predicted that her former coaching duo would return to her and this arena that always seemed too small for them. Tamayo was always too dignified for its simple walls and Yushiro, well, Shinobu was always impressed that his giant ego could even fit through the door. But most of all, after how their last meeting ended, she didn’t think they wanted anything to do with her anymore. She hadn’t been kind, but then again, neither had they.

Since then, her memories of them have always been accompanied by a sour tang in her mouth, which roars back to life now. 

Tamayo offers a sympathetic smile. “I can imagine your shock. You must be quite surprised to see us here.”

“Just a tad,” Shinobu bites out, bitterness seeping into her tone.

Yushiro scoffs. “Well, imagine our surprise when we saw that little display of yours plastered across social media! It takes a lot of audacity to make us learn of your reunion through Icy Insights of all people—do you know how bad that makes Miss Tamayo look? You people have no thoughts of self-preservation!”

Shinobu bites her inner cheek, the bitterness freezing into the hard wrath that has lingered within her for three years. “Then I suppose we’re even.”

Yushiro immediately opens his mouth to retort, but even he finds himself at a loss for words. “That was different! We had perfectly suitable reasons and—”

Tamayo set her hand on his shoulder, effectively silencing him. “Hush. She makes a valid point, Yushiro. There’s no sense in debating this any further. What matters is that we’ve returned, ready to hear the truth.”

Shinobu raises an eyebrow. “The truth?”

Yushiro rolls his eyes. “You don’t think we actually fell for that romantic nonsense, do you? We didn’t suffer through all those years of your actual relationship to believe what you’re selling to the public. Miss Tamayo is sharper than that.”

A dozen arguments die on her tongue at the casual reference to those years. “If you want to talk about suffering, I can give you an even better idea of what that feels like.”

“Enough,” Tamayo commands, slicing through their pointed jabs with a single word. “I had hoped that the years spent apart would be enough to stop your bickering, but it seems I was mistaken.”

Yushiro stands so straight that it’s a miracle he doesn’t strain his neck. “I was simply defending you, Miss Tamayo. Regardless of our history, it isn’t right for her to disgrace you that way.”

Tamayo sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Thank you, but now is hardly the right time. As I said, we have much to discuss and it cannot get done if you two plan on fighting the entire time. Giyuu, please go with Yushiro to your mother’s office; I’ll stay here with Shinobu.”

Giyuu doesn’t waste a single moment and leads a grumbling Yushiro away. Finally. 

As soon as they’re alone, Tamayo’s dismay turns into a serene smile. “Now then. Shall we speak here or on the ice?”

Shinobu’s bravado melts back into bitter nerves that squeeze her torso. Bitter about the past or not, this woman has always scared her a little. “Ice, please.”

They quietly put on their skates and glide onto the ice, casually skating as though they’ve done so every day and not like they haven't seen each other in three years.

“I suppose we should begin by addressing the rather large elephant in the room,” Tamayo says. 

Which one? The awkward tension between them? Her fake relationship with Giyuu? The false accusation that started this entire mess?

Shinobu rubs her temple. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Tamayo laughs to herself. “I suppose I do. Begin with the one you think is most important.”

“I didn’t take what they’re accusing me of,” Shinobu immediately replies, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t know how it ended up in my bag, but I’m innocent.”

“I’ve no doubt you are. You were always much too prideful to stoop so low. And I’d like to think I taught you better.”

A flutter of warmth brushes Shinobu’s chest. “You did.”

Shinobu remembers being completely against the idea of getting coached. As a little girl, she was confident that she was already perfect and, by default, Giyuu was too. When her mother informed her that the strange but pretty woman who watched them skate one afternoon was to be her coach, Shinobu kicked and screamed for days. 

But as she reluctantly followed Tamayo’s instructions and saw herself becoming better as a result, Shinobu realized that guidance and mentorship were exactly what she needed. Reluctance gave way to acceptance, then respect, until finally, she learned to trust Tamayo (and yes, even Yushiro, though not as far as she could throw him) completely. 

As Shinobu got older and began seeing her and Giyuu’s names in headlines, she realized just how fortunate they were. 

Unlike most coaches, who mentored several skaters at once and required them to move closer to their home arenas, Tamayo refused to coach more than one pair at a time and always relocated to where they were. Getting her attention was an accomplishment in itself and Shinobu and Giyuu had done it without even trying. 

It had all been so perfect. Too perfect, some might say. Perfect partner, perfect coach, perfect record. Perhaps she had peaked too early, resulting in this gruelling fall from the top. She wouldn’t be the first—in skating, it was a tale as old as the sport itself. 

She frowned. It was something that only happened to other skaters; it was never meant to happen to her. 

Tamayo glided to a gentle stop in front of Shinobu, forcing her thoughts and her body to halt. 

“How far do you wish to go, Shinobu?” she asked.

Shinobu’s insides freeze alongside her body, squeezing as she recalls the same question leaving Tamayo’s lips twelve years earlier. Although Shinobu was younger then, she was as certain then as she was now.

Shinobu faced her coach head-on. “As far as I can. As far as possible.” 

The corner of Tamayo’s mouth tilted upward. “With him or without him?”

With him, Shinobu would have once said without hesitation. Back then, she had thought that succeeding without him wasn't success at all. Oh, how the times have changed. 

"Whatever it takes," she answers now. “I made it far with him, then I did it all over again without him. Regardless of the circumstances, I'll make it.”

As she says the words aloud, they feel startlingly right. She has always been confident in her capabilities, but voicing it only cements the truth: fresh start or not, forgiveness or not, she will return to the top.

Tamayo smiled gently, seemingly pleased. “I’m quite glad your ambition hasn’t changed, it was always one of your finer attributes.” She skated towards the exit. “Continue your stretches; I’ll call Yushiro and Giyuu back. If we’re to go about this correctly, we must strategize, especially about your romantic ruse.”

Embarrassment flushes Shinobu’s face. “It seems to be working so far.”

Tamayo chuckled. “You may be able to fool the rest of the world for now, but if you wish to dupe the judges, there's much left to do.”

After warming up, Tamayo had Shinobu and Giyuu stand in the middle of the rink like a pair of hockey players waiting for the puck to drop. She instructed them to face each other with only a few centimetres of space between them as she circled them like a hawk. 

“We’ll be attempting a different exercise today,” she explained, nudging Shinobu closer to Giyuu. “After all, there’s more to skating than skating itself.”

Shinobu raised a skeptical brow. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It will,” Yushiro added curtly from the sidelines, annoying as ever. 

Shinobu shot him a glare. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Now, now,” Tamayo chided, going so far as to tilt Shinobu’s face back towards Giyuu. “Keep your attention on each other. Look into each other's eyes and do not turn away, not even for a fleeting second.”

Shinobu sighed but followed the order. 

Sure, she and Giyuu had looked at each other a million times in the six years they’d known each other, but these few silent seconds felt…strange. She had never stared at him this long (at least, not while he was aware of it). She shifted her weight from leg to leg, waiting for Tamayo to finally tell them to stop.

Instead, she only doubled down. “Good. Shinobu, note of every detail of his appearance, from the shape of his features to the colour of his eyes. Describe them, either aloud or in your head, but absorb them.”

Shinobu knit her brows in concentration. How could she describe Giyuu? He was just…Giyuu. The boy she felt as though she’d always known.

Sure, he was starting to change now that puberty had taken over—his cheeks were less rounded and his jawline a little sharper than the eight-year-old she'd met—but other parts of him remained the same, from the slope of his nose to the curves of his eyes. His eyebrows were still naturally downcast, giving him a permanently serious expression, and he’d probably get frown lines when he was older, the same ones as his mother. 

Shinobu squinted as she noted other details she hadn’t noticed before. 

He still had a faint scar on his cheek from where Tsutako had accidentally whacked him with her hockey stick when he was five. His bangs, despite being a deep, inky black, had lighter strands in some places. And although he wasn’t smiling, she could still faintly make out the exact spot of his dimple. There were also flecks of clearer blue scattered throughout his irises, making his eyes resemble a piece of stained glass directly in the sunlight, each angle showing off a different colour.

His lips were chapped despite the dozen tubes of chapstick Tsutako handed down to him. Not that Shinobu minded. 

Her eyes widened. Why would she care about the state of his lips?

“Excellent,” Tamayo praised, setting a delicate hand on Shinobu’s shoulder. “Maintain eye contact. Giyuu, it’s your turn to do the same.”

Shinobu watched entrancingly as Giyuu’s careful blue eyes skated across her face, gliding from her eyes to her nose, then lower to her mouth before soaring up once more. It lingered in certain places, such as the mole tucked along her jaw and the curve above her lips. 

When they locked eyes again, the light blue she noted in his eyes earlier had seemingly turned darker. 

A shiver ran through her, though it likely stemmed from the temperature. She’d have to ask Mrs. Tomioka to raise the thermostat an extra degree. 

“Excellent,” Tamayo announced, her voice cutting through the block of tension. “You may look away now.”

Shinobu and Giyuu darted their eyes away at the same time, clearing their throats and skating a little further away. Gosh, why were her cheeks so warm? Was the thermostat actually broken?

She caught Tamayo giggling into her hand from the corner of her eye, even going so far as to share an amused glance with Yushiro. 

“What was the point of that?” Shinobu huffed.

“I’m glad you asked,” Tamayo answered. “Tell me, what is the most important aspect of a pair skating routine?”

“Technique,” Shinobu quickly answered. 

“Important, yes, but not the most important.”

Shinobu whipped her head back towards her coach. “But all these years, you said—”

“Giyuu?” Tamayo asked, making Shinobu fight off an eye roll. 

“Passion,” he answered. 

“Very close.”

Shinobu threw her hands up in frustration. “Artistry then. I don’t know.”

Giyuu shot her an exasperated look over Tamayo’s shoulder. 

“All excellent answers, but not the one I’m seeking.” 

Tamayo skated to the head of the arena like a professor at the front of the classroom, just as she always did when she wanted to teach an important lesson. 

“I don’t appreciate getting called out every time,” Shinobu grumbled as she and Giyuu skated over to her.

“You bring it upon yourself,” Giyuu replied, brushing his knuckles against her sleeve. “You always insist on being right.”

“Because I am always right. Most of the time.”

Giyuu snorted and shook his head in disbelief. “You’re stubborn. There’s a difference.”

“Rude. I thought you were supposed to be the nice one.”

They quieted as they reached their coach. 

“Listen carefully—especially you, Shinobu. Technique is vital to any professional skater, but it can be learned. If the practice is thorough and rigorous enough, even the clumsiest skater can achieve perfect technique. Passion is innate, but anyone willing to subject themselves to this often heartless industry possesses it in spades. Artistry is more difficult, but under the right guidance, it can be taught, or at the very least, feigned. Sweeping musical pieces, glittering costumes, and the right choreography are capable of turning the least creative athletes into believable artists.”

Shinobu briefly wondered if Yushiro would agree with that, not that he would ever disagree with Tamayo. She could say artistry has no place in the sport and he would still look at her like she was a goddess among mortals—even now, he was staring at her with puppy eyes, enthralled by every word. 

“The true answer—” Tamayo said a bit more forcefully, likely noticing Shinobu’s straying attention— “is chemistry. The electric current between two skaters’ gazes, the innate connection they possess, and the devotion they hold towards one another cannot be taught or faked. It must be natural or it’s worthless.”

“Chemistry? Really? Seems a bit too cheesy, no?” Shinobu countered. “Not every pair of skaters ends up together. Most of them don’t even date!”

“Yes, that’s true. Many are merely friends who go on to be with non-skaters, others attempt relationships, only to decide romance isn’t the right fit for them, and some even have strictly professional bonds—but on the ice, none of that matters. Technique and artistry are vital, but they only count for half your score. The remainder is based on creativity, originality, and, though they never say it outright, emotional connection. Chemistry.”

Giyuu nodded in understanding, but Shinobu remained confused. “This is too abstract.”

Yushiro scoffed. “Of course, you don’t get it.” 

“You shut it.”

“Allow me to explain in simpler terms,” Tamayo asserted firmly. “Most people can easily be drawn in by the spectacle of skating—the lifts, the turns, etc.—but what keeps them watching? The judges have seen a thousand lutzes and toe curls; the average viewer barely knows the difference. How do the greatest duos keep them engaged time and time again? Chemistry. Presenting them with something they can’t turn away from, lest they miss a fleeting moment, a brush of skin, a lingering stare that tells them everything and nothing at the same time. Whether the skaters are together off the ice rarely matters—the key is to make every spectator believe there is something more while they skate. If the two of you gaze at each other the way I just had you do, you’ll do just that. It will leave quite the impression on casual viewers and judges alike, I assure you.”

Tamayo raised her chin high. “It all comes down to one thing: want. Always keep the audience wanting. Give them a fantasy.” 

The fantasy. That’s what Shinobu has focused on since that day in the cafe. That fantasy is the key to her salvation. 

But before she can fully realize that, she and Giyuu need to get back into competitive shape. Although she is significantly closer to that state than him, her healing ankle means she still can’t give it her all without risking another injury. Which is annoying. 

Despite her initial hesitation to rely on Tamayo’s help, Shinobu reluctantly admits that she likely wouldn’t have recovered this quickly without her. Though she always hated stretching off-ice, the exercises helped her feel less like thorns were strangling her ankle and more like she was just wearing an anklet that fit a little too snugly. Uncomfortable, but not unbearable. 

(She never told Tamayo about the night Giyuu found her skating. She would have thrown a fit and Shinobu never would have heard the end of it. No thanks.)

Thankfully, Yushiro sticks to helping Giyuu. He always got along better with Yushiro than Shinobu ever did, likely because Giyuu knew how to keep his thoughts to himself. Silence has its benefits from time to time, she supposes. 

The first week passes by in a blur of physical therapy (her), detailed reviews of jumps and technique (him), and long warm-ups (both). Although they’re meant to be skating as a pair, nearly all of their sessions are solo as they regain their bearings. Tamayo and Yushiro never leave them alone together and their few interactions are mostly greetings in the morning, brief comments in the afternoon, and farewells in the evening. 

It’s probably for the best. Despite their truce and short-lived promise to begin anew, Shinobu doesn’t trust herself to hold a long conversation with him without tearing into old wounds before tearing into him. Maybe she should have followed Kanae’s advice and taken therapy. Tamayo never speaks of it, but Shinobu is certain she’s temporarily keeping them apart on purpose. She always had an eerily good reading of their relationship, dating or not. 

Or so Shinobu thinks until one particularly gruelling day. 

With her ankle nearly back to normal and Giyuu’s abilities much improved, Tamayo oh-so-graciously decided to make today a stamina day.

Shinobu and Giyuu hate stamina days. 

Stamina days were days of nothing but intense endurance exercises run by Yushiro, who likely derived heinous joy from their suffering as he managed them like a drill sergeant. Shinobu knows the efforts will pay off, but she has not missed them. Her legs feel heavier than lead, her heart is pounding through her temples, and she knows her body will be little more than jelly tonight if it can even stand on its own.

A shrill whistle rings through her ears. “Enough! Take five!”

Shinobu braces herself against the railing and skids to a halt. Her lungs burn as she gasps for air. 

“If he makes us do another lap, I’ll shove that whistle down his throat,” she mumbles between breaths.

Giyuu stops a few steps away from her. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face tells her that he’d likely help her. Maybe he can hold Yushiro down while Shinobu gets to work. Or help her bury the body.

Two claps echo above, terminating her fantasy of mild bodily harm. 

“I commend you for your hard work,” Tamayo announces, a pleased smile on her face. “You deserve a break longer than a mere five minutes.”

“You’re right, they do,” Yushiro immediately adds, ever the devoted puppy. Shinobu fights an eye-roll. 

“Thank you, Yushiro.” She directs her attention back to Shinobu and Giyuu. “Why don’t you two go for a walk? It’s much too lovely outside to remain indoors.”

A walk. Because that’s the best way to improve one’s skating: a literal walk in the park. 

If it was any other day, Shinobu would throw her hands in the air out of helpless frustration and argue that such an idea is pointless, especially with so much on their plate. But it’s stamina day, so even the most inane suggestion to get her away from this rink is welcome.

For once, Shinobu doesn’t waste time leaving the ice, kicking off her skates, and rushing to the exit.

Tamayo’s voice stops her in her tracks again. “A walk together. Consider it team building.”

And suddenly, bodily harm sounds like a great idea all over again.

A few minutes of annoyed sighs and pained groans later, Shinobu and Giyuu find themselves on the trail outside the arena. The pebble-lined path leads to what was once considered the nicest park in town until the rusting play structures and questionably safe swing sets snatched the title away. Not that she or many of the town’s teenagers had minded—less safety meant fewer children running amok, leaving the playground for teenagers to frolic and scream to their heart’s content. 

However, it has likely only gotten worse over the last three years.

“Have they fixed the park?” Shinobu asks when the sound of their footsteps proves to be more boring than she can handle.

Giyuu shakes his head. “They fixed some things. Most of it’s the same.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs.

Great.

“Feeling sore?” she attempts again. 

He nods. “A hot shower will fix it. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

For the third time today, she ponders the benefits of bodily harm—not against him, but against herself, anything to escape this heinous awkwardness. 

You can always go back to the arena and run more stamina drills, her mind taunts.

Okay, anything but that. Maybe she needs to take a different approach. They never did get their fresh start after Tamayo’s appearance, so maybe she should re-attempt it. 

What do people do when they meet for the first time? Most of the people she meets either do so professionally or already know plenty about her, so as embarrassing as it sounds, she’s out of practice. How do people become acquaintances? Friends? How do they get to know each other—

“An icebreaker,” she gasps, drawing a confused glance from Giyuu. “That’s what we should do.”

He blinks at her. 

“Don’t look at me like that, I’ve had worse ideas. Work with me here.”

“Okay…” he draws out, still unconvinced. “How?”

Valid question. Shinobu, like most people, hates icebreaker games. They’re always far too cheesy: share a fun fact about yourself or reveal your top 3 movies or describe yourself with a word starting with the same letter as your first name. She already knows all that about him. 

But there’s one typical icebreaker game that has never failed them. 

“Two truths and a lie,” she says with newfound confidence. “Specifically about what we’ve done since we last saw each other.”

He considers the proposition but merely punctuates his silence with a shrug. “I haven’t done much.”

“I don’t believe you,” she replies before she can stop herself. That isn’t the best way to break the tension. “Ahem. What I meant to say is that I’m sure you’ve done something of merit—unless you truly spent all three of those years staring at a wall, which even if you did, still counts as doing something.”

He lets out a breath that vaguely resembles a laugh. “Only you would think so. You go first.”

“Fine. Hmm, let’s see…alright. One: I came in second in my first competition as a soloist. Two: I began taking pre-med courses. Three: I nursed Mitsuri back to health when she got the flu two days before regionals.”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and ponders for a minute. “The first one. You always come in first.”

“Wrong!” she announces with a grin. “I wish I could take pre-med courses, but I simply don't have the time. As for the competition, I did come in second, but I was quite proud of myself. We all start somewhere, Tomioka. Second place meant that there was room for improvement.”

He goes quiet for a few seconds longer than she expected. Does he think she’s being cocky? She can’t have that—for the sake of their partnership, that is. If they can’t get along on such a surface level, there’s no way they’ll make it anywhere.

“If it makes you feel better, it was somewhat of a fluke. I suspect the judges were only glad to see me back in some capacity. I only came in fourth or third after that,” she shrugs, feigning nonchalance as though she hadn’t nearly ripped her hair out when it happened. As someone so used to coming in first, anything less was catastrophic. 

But she moved past it, just like she will now. 

She gently prods him with her elbow. “Your turn.”

“Oh. Right.” He rubs the back of his neck, staring straight ahead as though the trees lining the street somehow hold his answers in the leaves. 

“Don’t think too hard, Tomioka.” Otherwise, your head will get even bigger. 

She bites back the teasing remark. They haven’t reached that point yet. 

“Okay,” he finally says. “One: I got a certificate in business administration. Two: I took a trip overseas. Three: Sabito got me to ride motorcycles.”

“Ha, the last one, of course!” Shinobu laughs. “You’re terrified of motorcycles.”

“Wrong. The second one was a lie.”

Shinobu stops mid-stride. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not. I have my own bike now.”

Shinobu raises an eyebrow, still not believing this strange twist. While Sabito had always loved motorcycles—or anything offering him spikes of adrenaline—Giyuu had hated them, agreeing with Shinobu when she called them death traps with wheels. Now he had gotten over that fear and bought one of his own?

“I won’t believe you until I see it,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “Pictures won’t suffice.”

“Sure. Your turn.”

“Change the subject all you want, but I won’t forget this.” She sighs and raises a finger. “One: I nearly dyed my entire head blue after buying the wrong box dye. Two: I got snowed in while staying at a remote cottage. Three…” she pauses, the desire to be slightly diabolical rising within her as she thinks of a lie. “I dated Douma for a few months.”

This time, it’s Giyuu’s turn to stutter to a halt. “But you hate him.”

“Perhaps there was a time when I didn't. Then again, I could be lying.”

He turns to stare directly at her, blue eyes searing into her to gauge her honesty. She shifts her weight to one foot and stares back.

“You’re lying.”

“You are…correct!” she smiles. “Pity you couldn’t see the look on your face. Anyone would think I had confessed to a crime rather than a short-lived relationship.”

“It’s Douma,” Giyuu frowns. “There isn’t much of a difference.”

Touché.

She laughs at the line forming between his brows. “Relax, Tomioka, my feelings towards him remain as charged as ever. I’d still prefer touching barbed wire with my bare hand than touching him with a highway-long pole. I only wanted to tease you a bit.”

“I’m glad you’re entertained,” he deadpans. 

“Oh, extremely. You may not say much, but your eyes have always given you away. It’s alright, you’ll recover.”

Their paces finally sync up as they reach the playground. Sure enough, the same play structure still stands as its centrepiece, its rusted and paint-chipped limbs filling the air with a familiar metallic tang. Though she’s no longer the same short and stubby child she once was, it still looms high above her.

Especially the long fireman’s pole.

As a child, there wasn’t much that scared her—she swung as high as she could, rode the tallest rollercoasters her height would allow and raised her arms as she rushed down the incline, and even dared to sneak out of detention and into recess just to prove that she could beat the boys in her class in a foot race—but the one thing that always intimidated her regardless of how daring she became was this cursed metal pole. 

For years, it taunted her from the centre of the playground. She had climbed the play structure itself countless times, but she could never bring herself to slide down the pole, not even with her mother or sister’s arms open and waiting at the bottom. It always felt too risky, too high, too likely to end with her face down on the ground with a mouth full of sand. It didn’t help that trying to slide down burned her hands too. She shivers at the thought.

Giyuu, eternally vigilant at the worst times, notices her lingering stare and redirects himself to her. “Did you ever conquer that fear?”

She sets her hands on her hips and tilts her chin up. “Of course! I’m not a child.”

“Okay. Climb up there and use the pole to come down.”

She stares at him as though he has grown another head. “No.”

“Why not? You’re not scared anymore.”

“...And what if I still am? Would you still have me do it?”

He shrugs but she notes the glint entering his eyes. “I entertained you. Now it’s your turn.”

“That is not how it works. You haven’t earned it.” She crosses her arms in protest.

“But I won the game,” he says nonchalantly despite her brewing storm. “I got one right.”

“You—the audacity! We never said it was competitive and even so, this is cruel and unusual punishment.”

He shakes his head. “It won’t be as bad as when we were younger.” 

“Maybe not to you. To me, it might as well be ten storeys high!” 

“You’re taller now. You’ll be closer to the ground.” 

Not by much, she nearly mumbles. 

She looks up at the pole. A piece of cracked paint falls to the ground, an ill omen of the danger to come.

“It might kill me,” she states plainly. “I could break a leg. Or my tailbone. Or I could crack my head open. Then I really wouldn’t be able to skate and it would be all your fault.” 

He touches her shoulder and rubs his thumb along it, the simple gesture bringing her back to another time. “You won’t crack your head open. I’ll catch you. It's practice.”

She hates it when he makes good points. Stupid Tomioka.

Just think about the gold.

“Fine. Only so we can be even,” she huffs.

She climbs the structure’s metal ladder until she reaches the very top. From here, the distance to the ground doesn’t look so bad, but as soon as she moves over to the pole, it’s as though everything sinks several metres lower. Has the gap between the structure and the pole always been this wide?

Giyuu stands at the foot of the pole and spreads his arms open. 

Shinobu looks between his face and the ground. “If I fall, at least the sand will be softer than ice.” 

“But you won’t fall,” he insists with a cool, level-headed voice. “I’ve never let you fall.” 

It’s true. He hasn’t. She repeats it to herself, reminding herself of what she knows to be true. Even as a scrawny ten-year-old who could barely lift her for a minute, he never let her hit the ground. 

She takes a deep breath. 

Then another. 

She slowly places her hands on the cold metal, instinctively wrapping her fingers around it and squeezing hard. 

She raises one leg and curls her foot around the pole. It leaves her in an awkward split position as her other leg desperately clings to the play structure. 

3, 2, 1.

She drags the other leg forward, her eyes crinkling shut as her body slides down and falls—

—and lands in an outstretched, warm pair of arms. 

She blinks herself back to reality. “Oh. That wasn’t so bad.” 

A small chuckle escapes Giyuu and she can tell he’s fighting the urge to smile. 

She frowns. “Are you laughing at me?”

“A little. You always acted like this pole was life or death.” 

“Because back then it was.” 

“And now?” 

She huffs and crosses her arms. “How about you stop teasing and put me down?” 

She can tell he likely wants to keep teasing her by the slightest lift at the corner of his mouth, but he sets her on the ground just as she asks. 

“We need to keep practicing this,” he says, regaining his usual seriousness. “Until you know I’ll catch you without hesitation.” 

“I do know that.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Tell that to your body. You were tense when I caught you.” 

Was she? But why? Logically, she knows he’ll catch her. He always has. Why is she doubting him now—

Because once upon a time, he didn’t; he plunged her straight into the ice, himself. 

“I’ll mention it to Tamayo,” Shinobu says, shaking off her uneasiness. “She’ll likely have us run a hundred trust falls, though.”

“Or…” He looks up and she follows his line of sight back to the pole. 

“Don’t even think about it, Tomioka.” 

“It was effective.”

“Perhaps, but there are other ways of testing trust levels. Such as…”

Her attention lands on the splash pad a short distance away, its cyan ground populated by brightly coloured tubes and sprinklers. They’re powered off to conserve water now that summer is beginning to pack up for the year, but if nothing has changed, there should be a control box behind the sprinkler resembling a palm tree.

Shinobu points to the area. “There. Follow me.”

She lightly jogs to the splash pad, carefully maintaining distance between herself and Giyuu. Thankfully, the controls are right where she remembers them.

Giyuu stops at the entrance, far enough away from any of the sprinklers. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be here, Kochou.”

“Nonsense. This is for the public and we’re hard-working citizens, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but this is for kids.”

She scoffs. “You weren’t saying that when I climbed the play structure. Changed your mind now that you’re about to suffer the consequences? Tsk tsk, that’s not very sportsmanlike of you.”

He looks up at the sprinklers and sighs. “Tamayo will get upset if we come back soaked.”

“Probably,” Shinobu says more happily than she should. “But she might also send us home for the day, meaning no more stamina runs. A win-win, wouldn’t you say?”

His shoulders slump forward. One more point to her.

“What do you want me to do?”

She grins. “Just walk towards me. Slowly.”

“So you can turn on the sprinklers while I’m walking?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I suppose you have to trust me, don't you?”

She doesn’t know if he truly will. If she were in his place, she likely wouldn’t—after all, she had hesitated before falling into his arms earlier. She can’t blame him if he refuses. 

But he takes a step towards her.

She watches him in stunned silence, her hand hovering over the On button. He trusts her, at least to some degree. It may seem miniscule, but it’s progress.

He takes another step, then another until he’s only three footfalls away from her. She starts commending him—

The sprinklers burst to life, absolutely hosing him down. Her mouth falls open in shock before morphing into laughter she tries but absolutely fails to control. 

“You— ha ha! ” she wipes a tear from her eye. “You know that wasn’t me! They— ha, ha —must have updated this thing with motion controls! Oh, you truly can’t blame me for not knowing, I haven’t been here in years! You should have told me—”

Her laughter breaks into a yelp as he drags her towards him, directly under the dozen sprays of water. 

“How dare you!” she shouts as the water soaks through her. “Haven’t I suffered enough?”

“Now we’re even again,” he calmly states, the hint of a smile gracing his face. 

“...Tomioka, are you trying not to laugh at me? I may have forgiven you earlier, but I won’t be so lenient now!”

He doesn’t say anything, but that ghost of a smile finally turns into a real one as small laughs escape him.

Before he can stop her, she breaks out of his hold and runs back to the control panel, slamming the button to increase the water pressure. More water jets out of the sprinklers and tubes, likely soaking right through Giyuu’s skin and straight to his bones. That’ll show him.

He doesn’t waste a second before grabbing her arm and yanking her back towards him. 

Although they can easily escape the water by running back to the grass, they don’t. They chase each other through it, taking turns aiming the moveable sprinklers at each other and playing like children, either to wash away the sweat of their stamina day or…

Or genuinely have fun.

When they decide they should return to the arena before Yushiro comes to hunt them down, it’s with wide smiles, soaked clothes, and stomachs aching from the force of their laughter. She hasn’t grinned this much in ages—when was the last time she let herself go like this? The last time she allowed herself to forget about skating long enough to return to the carefree feelings of her childhood?

And when was the last time she did it with him?

She glances at him from the corner of her eye. He walks beside her, deliberately taking smaller steps to maintain a similar pace. His dark black hair clings to his nape and shoulders, the ends curling upward as they begin to dry. 

He catches her eye. “Everything okay?”

She nods. “I’m pondering a few things.”

“Hmm.”

She raises an eyebrow at his strange response. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

To his credit, he returns with a stare of his own. “Just that your pondering is what got us soaked. Your ideas are dangerous.”

She pretends to be offended. “Dangerous? I beg to differ, my ideas are often genius, Tomioka. It’ll simply take you some time to get accustomed to them again, which is fine, I understand. Rome wasn’t built in a day, as they say.”

Giyuu shakes his head incredulously. “Whatever you say, Kochou.”

“Much better. See? You’re learning already.”

Maybe this partnership really will work, she thinks. And all it took was an icebreaker game, a metal pole, and a few well-timed sprinklers.

Ultimately, Tamayo does send them home early, though not before Yushiro scolds them for ‘purposely’ sabotaging their training. He threatened them with more stamina drills during their next practice but judging by Tamayo’s exasperated sigh, that idea would likely shrivel and die. Pity. 

Hours later, after a restorative hot bath and plenty of muscle cream, Shinobu lies in bed, her head dangling over the side as she listens to music. She shuts her eyes, perfectly willing to surrender to sleep before returning to the arena in the morning. 

Yet like always, the universe has other plans. 

Her music briefly gets cut off by a pinging notification. She should ignore it. It probably isn’t important. 

But self-restraint has never been her strong suit. To hell with whoever said curiosity kills the cat, a glance at it won’t kill her. 

@icyinsights mentioned you in a video

She takes back everything. Curiosity had killed her, brought her back, and then killed her again. She never learns.

She sighs and opens the video. 

One of Icy Insights’ commentators sits in front of an old photo of Shinobu and Giyuu, her glance quizzical as she begins speaking. 

“You’ve been asking and we’ve been listening, so let’s put the million-dollar question out there: are Shinobu Kochou and Giyuu Tomioka actually going out? Or is it all a PR stunt to distract us from her doping allegations?”

Shinobu’s eye twitches. They cannot be serious. This cannot be happening right now. 

“They haven’t posted since their little cafe ‘date’ and our sources claim that they haven’t even been in contact since their professional split three years ago! We hear you guys, so we promise that Icy Insights will get to the bottom of this once and for all!”

And as though the universe itself cued it, Shinobu immediately gets another notification: @icyinsights sent you a message.

She sighs deeply and rubs her temples to soothe the sudden grating headache that overtakes her. One step forward, three steps back—she really can't catch a break from damage control, can she?

Before she can talk herself out of it, she opens Giyuu's contact and presses the call button.

She sighs deeply and opens Giyuu’s contact, pressing the call button before she can talk herself out of it. 

He answers in just two rings. "Kochou?"

"We have a problem. How quickly can you come over?"

Chapter Text

“Before we let you go, we have one last question your fans are dying to hear the answer to,” the journalist grinned. “No pressure!”

“On the contrary, I think that adds even more pressure!” Shinobu said with a soft laugh. “After all, what if they don’t like our answer?”

Beside her, Giyuu smiled politely, but they didn’t need to look at each other to know exactly what that question would be.

“Oh, I think they’ll like anything you two say! After nine years of partnership, plenty of accolades, and an undeniable chemistry…everyone’s wondering the same thing. The journalist cleared his throat. “What is the true nature of your relationship?”

This time, Shinobu purposely met Giyuu’s eyes, which were already waiting for her. They shared a smile they knew people would read into later. 

“We’re good friends,” Giyuu answered calmly. “We have been for a very long time.”

“That’s right,” Shinobu added.

But, of course, the journalist wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “But friends don’t look at each other the way you do during your routines, do they?”

Shinobu laughed again. “Regardless of what we say, people will see what they want. We’ll allow our skating to speak for itself.”

Behind the journalist, Tamayo nodded in approval. 

“You did excellently,” she commended during their ride home. “Keep them wondering, and their fascination will keep them wanting.”

Shinobu sighed and leaned her head against Giyuu’s shoulder. The constant positivity of interview days always drained her. “Do you think we’ll go public someday?”

Giyuu turned and pressed his lips against her head. “Someday.”

Her mouth curled up in a knowing smirk. “They’ll go crazy that day.”

He smiled against her hair. “Absolutely.”

That day is driving Shinobu far crazier than anyone else.

As she waits for Giyuu to inform her of his arrival, she rereads the unfortunately timed message from Icy Insights:

Hi Shinobu, this is Icy Insights! You’ve probably already seen our recent video about your relationship w/Giyuu. Like we said, there’s tons of speculation going around, and we want to help you set the record straight! We were wondering if you and Giyuu would be interested in an exclusive interview where we address the rumours and tell the real story of your past, split, and undoubtedly amazing reunion. 

No rush since we know these decisions take time. But we also want to remind you that the longer you take, the worse the rumours will get. We’re on your side! 

Shinobu scoffs at the final lines cheerfully telling her to hurry the hell up and say yes or else. She has never been threatened in a more sunny way.

As a soloist, she never had a very positive relationship with Icy Insights—or any other news outlets, for that matter. She had tried in the beginning, but when every interview and press conference inevitably turned into interrogations about a split she still didn’t understand, she refused to speak to any journalist who didn’t send their questions in advance. She could handle anything related to her technique and routines, but spontaneous questions about her personal life purposely intended to catch her off-guard were where she drew hard lines. 

Her sudden shift had caught many sports journalists, who had followed her career for years, completely by surprise. When Giyuu had been her partner, she was sweeter, wittier, even charming as she’d entertained dating rumours and teased him whenever she could—a princess of the press, if there ever was one, and the heir to her sister’s title of the Ice Butterfly.

When Shinobu became harder, meaner, colder, they donned her with her new title: the Ice Queen—unfeeling, professional, and stone-hearted. 

Which was likely why every media outlet jumped at the chance to villainize her after her alleged scandal. They were hungry for her downfall. If she doesn’t play her cards right, they’ll get it. 

She glances back at the chat on her phone. Before she can talk herself out of it, she sends a reply:

Okay, we’ll do it. 

Shinobu sighs deeply and grabs a hoodie from her closet, slipping it on and shoving her phone in the pocket before she is tempted to look at it again. She’ll just wait for Giyuu on her porch. 

But by the time she makes it outside, he’s already there. 

In her driveway. 

On a motorcycle. 

Shinobu can’t stop her mouth from falling open at the sight of the sleek bike, its black paint so shiny that her porch lights are reflected perfectly in its gloss. The only pops of colour are a few dark blue streaks along the motor, which, if her memory serves, resemble the scattered splashes of green on Sabito’s old bike. How cute. 

However, all hints of amusement immediately fade as she takes in Giyuu, who absentmindedly scrolls through his phone. He leans nonchalantly against the bike in a snug red bomber jacket, unzipped to reveal a black t-shirt paired with equally black jeans. 

A memory returns to her mind unbidden, one where she distinctly remembers telling him he looked especially good dressed all in black. Surely he doesn’t remember that, right?

Her cheeks burn.

Of course, Giyuu chooses that moment to look up from his phone. “You’re here.”

She blinks back to reality. “So are you. Now, care to explain this? ” She gestures at the bike. 

“You said you needed proof and that pictures weren’t enough. So, here it is.”

Here it is, he says as if he weren’t terrified of these things three years ago. 

“Fine, I believe you now, but you could have shown me another time. Now you’ll have to take it back home.”

Before he can reply, her phone chimes. She knew she should have silenced the damn thing. 

@icyinsights tagged you in a post. 

Update: great news, everyone! Shinobu Kochou has agreed to an exclusive interview with us to discuss all things break-up and make-up! Stay tuned for more details!

She rubs her temple. These gossip-mongering wolves don’t waste any time. 

“Is that Icy Insights? ” Giyuu asks. 

“Yes. I agreed to their ridiculous interview request.”

He nods slowly, thankfully not upset about her deciding without consulting him. It seems Tamayo’s lessons on public perception stuck with him as much as they did with Shinobu. 

“What’s the plan?”

“That’s what we need to figure out tonight. The sooner the better,” she replies. “First, we need to string together a story about… everything, really. They’ll likely ask for every little detail about our past and present, so we need to be prepared for every possibility. Second, we’ll need to decide on an explanation of our reunion and make it seem as though it was already in progress before my ridiculous scandal. Then, we memorize it all and make everyone believe we’re perfectly mushy and happy and…”

In love, she means to say, but her mouth can’t form the words. 

“…well, you understand. That’s all.”

Giyuu raises an eyebrow. “That’s all?”

“Don’t look at me that way. I’m well aware that this is a herculean task and that my apparent nonchalance is a poor attempt at positivity, but it’s the only way of coping I’m capable of.” She sighs. “Truthfully, I’m sick to death of all this. Each time I feel like I’ve taken a step forward and can finally breathe for a few seconds, another challenge comes crashing down. It’s as though they won’t let me rest until I’ve either climbed so high they can no longer reach me or they’ve buried me in the ground themselves.”

A heavy pause lingers in the air after her confession. She hadn’t meant to say all that, especially not to him, but once the floodgates opened, she couldn’t even attempt to close them again. 

She clears her throat. “So, yes. I know we’re in quite the predicament and that it requires me to drag you even further down with me.” 

“You’re not dragging me, Kochou. I know what I agreed to. We’ll figure this out together.”

Her breath gets stuck in her throat at that word. Together. 

“How should we go about this? We can discuss everything in the living room, but I suspect my mother will try eavesdropping from the kitchen,” she jokes. “I’d prefer the cafe, but it’s getting late, so they’ll likely close soon.”

“We can go somewhere else. I have an idea.”

“A dangerous statement from the best of people, let alone you. Very well, let’s hear it.”

If he’s bothered by her teasing, he doesn’t show it. “Do you remember what Tamayo said about creative blocks?”

Of course, she does. That lecture came after a disappointing practice session when they were teenagers, unable to nail the emotions of their newest routine. Yushiro told them that a pair of boxes on the side of the road had more emotional depth to them. Shinobu nearly threw her skate guard at him. It was a rough day.

But Tamayo came through with her wisdom, as always:

“Although skating relies heavily on one’s athletic ability, there are instances that call for creative nourishment as well. After all, it can be difficult to portray the emotional depth of a routine if you don’t feel any connection towards it. When you find yourself in a creative block—and yes, Shinobu, you will find yourself there at some point, regardless of how good you are—I find that trips to the familiar work wonders.”

“Giyuu, you seem rather confused, so allow me to explain. As you move through life, there are many places you grow familiar with, such as your schools or workplaces. You learn to navigate them perfectly, becoming experts of each shortcut and hiding spot until you’re able to draw a map of them with your eyes shut. However, as you grow older, you eventually leave these places and abandon them to the past. Yes, you’ll remember them and revisit them in your memories, but you’ll never walk through them the same way again. They become nothing more than places of nostalgia. Revisiting these places as mature people who have seen more of this world and allowing yourselves to feel the strange emotions that come with it does wonders for the creative process. I daresay that once you leave them again, you’ll find yourselves changed once more.”

“Oh dear, you both seem more confused than before. Well, no matter. Someday, you’ll both understand, and when you do, you’ll find me quite wise indeed.”

As an impatient and naive fourteen-year-old, Shinobu hadn’t understood Tamayo’s words. “A trip to the familiar” had sounded like something out of a boring philosophy boo, so she’d barely concentrated on the advice at the time. 

Now, as someone more travelled who had left behind the only world they knew, she understood perfectly. “A trip to the familiar” referred to a trip to the past, to places she once knew like the back of her hand that were now foreign to her, as though she’d never stepped foot in them in the first place. Nostalgia embodied. 

“A trip to the familiar,” Shinobu says aloud. “Is that what you mean?”

Giyuu nods. “It’s late, so there won’t be many people around.”

“Okay, we’ll be able to take our time and think out loud. Good idea.” She turns back to the house. “I’ll get my car keys.”

“No need. I borrowed an extra helmet from Sabito. That's why I wasn’t here earlier.”

She looks from him to the helmet in his hand, then to the helmet hanging from the handlebars. 

…He can’t be serious.

“No. Absolutely not, I refuse to ride on that death trap!”

“It’ll be fine.”

“You know, my mother used to tell me to stay away from strange men on motorcycles.”

“I’m not a strange man on a motorcycle. She knows me and so do you.” He holds out the helmet. “Trust me, Kochou.”

Somehow, she doesn’t think he’s solely referring to the bike. 

We need to keep practicing this until you know I’ll catch you without hesitation.

You were tense when I caught you.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Trusting you is one thing; trusting that thing is something entirely different. And trusting other drivers—”

“I won’t go too fast. There won’t be many people on the road at this time.”

Trust me, Kochou. 

“If I die, I’ll return as a ghost and strangle you.”

He cracks the smallest of smiles. “Deal.”

He hands her the helmet and explains how to put it on, but all she succeeds in is tangling the straps in frustration. Sure, maybe it’s a life-saving device, but why does it need to be so complicated?

Giyuu rises from the bike to help her, slipping the top of his hands under the helmet to untangle the straps and pull them through the right spaces. His fingers are warm against her cool skin, an inferno to her ice. 

When he finishes, he pulls away slightly and tugs on the loose strap. “Comfortable?”

Shinobu swallows around nothing and nods.

“Good.” He turns away, allowing her a moment of reprieve. What was that?

But the moment is short-lived—when he faces her again, it’s with his own helmet on, the visor pushed up to reveal dark blue eyes framed by wisps of even darker hair. 

She used to say his eyes were his best features—expressive when his face wasn’t, bursts of ocean blue in his otherwise stoic appearance—but the weight of those words plummets over her now like a boulder. 

“You lied. You are a strange man on a motorcycle,” Shinobu says before he can figure out what she’s actually thinking. 

He scoffs. “Only you would think so.” He pulls a pair of thick black gloves from his pocket and slips them on. “I’ll drive slowly, so you can keep your visor up, but you’ll still have to hold on tightly.”

She hesitantly gets on the bike, careful to keep as much distance from Giyuu as possible without sliding off the seat. 

“Where do I hold onto?” she asks, analyzing the dozens of bumps and ridges along the sides. 

“To me.”

She pauses. “Here…?” She grips his shoulders. 

He shakes his head, the vague sound of a snort coming from beneath his helmet. “Here.”

He takes both of her hands in his and guides them down to his waist. He gives her a light squeeze before letting go. 

The ride hasn’t even started yet and her heart is already racing. “But if you’re not driving quickly, won’t I be alright?”

“It helps with balance. Unless you want us to tip over.”

She glares at the back of his head. “If I weren’t fearing for my life, I would smack you.”

As promised, Giyuu drives at significantly reduced speed, making the trip feel more like a bicycle ride than a motored one. He obeys each sign and checks in with her at every red light, thereby gaining at least a little more of her trust. 

Not all of it, though. Not yet. 

Especially since he still hasn’t told her where they’re going. When she asked him during a red light, all he said was that they were going “where it all began.” She assumed that meant the arena, only for him to drive right past it. 

Then, he turns onto a side street that strikes her with its familiarity—she knows this procession of green maple trees lining the road, the whirring buzz of cicadas, and the buzzing neon of the small convenience store across the road. 

He stops in front of the building that still sports the same faded orange bricks, the colour interrupted in some areas by pastel chalk drawings of flowers and houses. 

Their elementary school.

Giyuu nudges the kickstand and helps Shinobu off the bike.

“While this place is certainly nostalgic, your memory is off,” she chuckles. “We met at the arena, not here.”

“We met there, but the first time I saw you was here.”

Shinobu turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “How? The semester hadn’t started when I moved here—don’t tell me you were stalking me, Tomioka. That would be very uncouth.”

Giyuu shakes his head. “Nothing that interesting.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“I was visiting Sabito,” he says, gesturing at one of the houses across the street. 

“Ah, yes, the only boy to live across the street from his school and still show up tardy.”

The corner of Giyuu’s mouth turns up. “We went to buy candy from the convenience store when we saw you, your mother, and Kanae leaving the school. When I saw you, I thought—”

“That I was wise beyond my years?” Shinobu teases. 

“That you were strange for frowning on a sunny day. You were trying to glare at the sun.”

Her shoulders immediately deflate, but she doesn’t understand her disappointment. Besides her playful guess, what was she hoping he would say? Something poetic like “you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen” or “I knew you would change my life"? He was nine when they met, he wasn’t capable of those types of thoughts yet. Even so…

“How profound, Tomioka. Don’t you know? Every girl longs to be told that their anger affects people, including innocent bystanders.”

His eyes shift from the school and focus solely on her, seemingly trying to peel another layer from her. “But it did.”

A breeze whispers past them, coaxing hairs out of Shinobu’s ponytail and sending a few fallen leaves along Giyuu’s jacket. She involuntarily shivers, and though she blames it on the wind, she isn’t entirely sure it’s the cause. It can’t be from his response—that would be ridiculous. 

But it isn’t the first time he has said something like that. The first time was in the arena, as usual, after she’d stormed in there following an argument with Tamayo:

“Shinobu.”

Giyuu’s voice cuts through her mind’s wildfire like gentle rain, quietly caressing her flames as it douses them. 

She abruptly stops skating, sinking to her knees and sliding to a halt near him. She pants heavily, conscious of the sweat coating her forehead and the back of her neck. 

Giyuu joins her on the ground, wrapping his arm around her heaving shoulders.

She leans into his touch, curling into his chest. The position isn’t comfortable, but neither of them complains. 

“Tamayo and I got into an argument,” she explains, hot tears stinging the edge of her eyes. “She said my emotions are ‘too aggressive’ for this sport and that if I don’t figure out how to rein in my temper, we’ll never make it.”

“Are you sure she said it that way?” he asks, his voice softer than his touch. 

She sighs through clenched teeth. “Fine, she may not have said that last part, but she must be thinking it. That’s all anyone ever says about me: I’m too angry, too emotional, too much.”

Giyuu is silent for a few seconds. She worries that it’s because he agrees. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think that,” he finally says. “Sometimes, your emotions do control you more than you control them, but that’s what makes you who you are.”

She sniffles. “And who am I?”

“Shinobu Kochou: future Olympic skater, daughter of champions…and my best friend.”

A splash of happiness suddenly coats her red-tinged vision. “Your best friend, huh? Don’t tell Sabito that.”

Giyuu laughs quietly. “He’ll survive.”

“Let’s head to the back. I’m eager to see the playground,” Shinobu says, all too eager to escape this strange space they’ve found themselves in. “After all, if we’re to walk this far down memory lane, we may as well go the whole way, no?”

She marches forward without waiting for a reply, the path laying itself out before her as though welcoming her back with open arms. 

Much like the park from earlier, her elementary school playground hasn’t changed much either—it’s still the same pastel play structures, the same rusted swingset, and the same old dirt ground occasionally interrupted by patches of grass. However, there is one glaring change.

“They removed the fence?” Shinobu asks, whipping around to face Giyuu again. 

Ever since she moved here, a tall chain-link fence had separated the elementary school’s playground from the middle school’s courtyard—likely as a poor attempt at curbing bullying from upperclassmen, though it often led to them gaining false superiority complexes instead.

Giyuu pauses a step behind her. “Oh. I guess so.”

She raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “You didn’t know?”

He shrugs. “I must’ve been distracted.”

Distracted by what? It’s not like there’s much to do in this town anyway.

She bites her tongue. She doesn’t know if she truly wants the answer.

She walks along the line where the fence once stood, its presence only vaguely recalled by a few circular indents left in the dirt already beginning to fade. 

For most of her school life, she ignored the fence and the students on the opposite side—she wasn’t interested in engaging with underclassmen or flattering upperclassmen—but for one long year, it stood grander than the Great Wall. 

She had been in her final year of elementary school, whereas Giyuu, ever a year ahead of her, was in his first year of middle school. Since they had spent their formative years glued together, the year of academic separation felt torturous at the time. The fence was a symbol of that, making him appear an entire world away…

Shinobu frowned as the bell commanding her back inside rang just as the middle schoolers began trickling outside for lunch. 

Still, she raced to the fence, ignoring her classmates’ curious glances and teachers’ concerned glares. All she cared about was finding that familiar head of unkempt hair. 

She rolled her eyes as a trio of middle school boys pointed and grinned at her, but at least one of them was useful enough to call Giyuu over to her. 

“You have class,” Giyuu said as he approached the fence. 

“Class can wait,” she huffed. “My multiplication tables won’t disappear if I’m a bit late. Besides, your sister wanted me to make sure you’re eating enough protein. She says you look like a twig.”

Giyuu sighed. “She thinks anyone who isn't built like a tree looks like a twig. I’ll be fine. You should go.”

She crossed her arms. “Why are you shooing me away? Are people talking again? Give me their names, I can handle them! Tsutako will be my alibi.”

“You talk way too much,” he replied with a shake of his head. “It isn’t that. I just don’t want you to get in trouble again. You know Miss Tamayo will scold you if you get another detention.”

“I can handle her too!”

“Shinobu—”

“There you are, Tomioka! Come on!” someone greeted, spawning from the crowd. “Why are you talking to some kid—oh, it’s you. Of course it is.”

A girl with a long and sleek black ponytail stopped beside Giyuu, her hair swaying as she gripped the fence so intensely that it shook beneath Shinobu’s hands.

Yae Matagi. The girl who sat beside Giyuu in his homeroom and thought she owned him because of it. She had looked down on Shinobu since the day they met, which Shinobu knew had nothing to do with their height difference.

“Sorry, Kochou,” Yae said, flipping her ponytail off her shoulder. “Tomioka and I need to discuss an important assignment. Why don’t you run back to your primary class and leave the big kids alone already, hmm?”

Giyuu side-eyed her. “Matagi—”

“What? She’ll see you after school anyway. This is our only chance to plan the presentation!”

Shinobu smiled as sweetly as she could. Yae was lucky that this fence divided them right now. 

“You’re right, Matagi. We have a super important competition coming up that we really need to practice for, but I guess you wouldn’t understand, hmm?” 

“Shinobu Kochou!” a teacher shouted behind her. “Your break ended five minutes ago!”

Shinobu shot Yae one last grin, satisfaction blooming in her at the sight of her red ears and sharp glare. She angrily huffed, then dragged Giyuu away from the fence.

Only then did Shinobu's expression flicker into discontent.

Perfect Yae Matagi, the first rival Shinobu ever had. Even after years of sneers and verbal jabs from other skaters, Yae’s animosity had been the fiercest of them all. Neither of them ever did anything horrific to one another, but everyone knew that putting them in a room together lowered its temperature by several degrees. Shinobu didn’t outright hate her, but she suspects Yae can’t say the same about her. Granted, they were children playing at adulthood back then, but old resentments died hard.

And all because of Yae’s very obvious and very unrequited crush on Giyuu. Shinobu wonders what became of her. 

“You’re frowning,” Giyuu observes despite standing directly behind her.

Shinobu scoffs. “You can’t even see my face.”

“Your shoulders got tense.”

Unfortunately, he’s right. She immediately relaxes them and continues walking forward. “My shoulders are fine, Tomioka. I just had an…unpleasant memory, is all.”

“What was it?”

“Yae Matagi,” Shinobu sighs, kicking a rock as she walks past it. “She always acted as though she owned you during school hours. Granted, I likely acted that way too, but my claim greatly outweighed hers, wouldn’t you say? Say, what is she up to these days?”

But Giyuu doesn’t reply. She can’t even hear his footsteps following her anymore. 

“Tomioka?”

She turns around to find him several steps away, one foot still in front of the other as though someone pressed pause on him in real time. This time, it’s his shoulders that are visibly tense.

Shinobu’s brows furrow in confusion. “What is it? She isn’t dead, is she?”

Thankfully, Giyuu immediately shakes his head. “Nothing like that.”

“Then why are you acting so strangely? I’m only curious about Yae…”

He picks at the cuticle around his thumb, head turned away so his hair shields his eyes from view. Even his jaw is clenched as though he’s using all his strength to stop the truth from spilling out. But why would he—

Oh.

Usually, she knows better than to ask a question she doesn’t want to hear the answer to, but curiosity prods her ribs with its double-edged sword, taunting her with the need to know.

But this walk down memory lane is meant to improve their relationship and rebuild trust between them—she can’t do that if she can’t see the full picture. Especially if…

“You’re with her,” Shinobu says slowly, every muscle straining to stop her voice from shaking. “Aren’t you?”

A breeze brushes past his bangs, revealing a brief flash of blue. “Not anymore.” 

Not anymore. He isn’t with her now. 

But he was. 

Shinobu clears her throat. “Well…that’s good news. It certainly wouldn’t be ideal for anyone if you needed to pretend to be in love with me while dating someone else, and if that got out, you can only imagine the scandal! Forget the storm that brought me here, those vultures would feast on me for years!”

Even as she loses her point, she doesn’t cease her rambling—it’s the only thing keeping her thoughts and the strange clawing in her chest at bay. She doesn’t want to think about how smug Yae must have felt when Shinobu left without Giyuu or how satisfied she must have been when she no longer needed to share his time or…affections. 

Shinobu observes Giyuu through new eyes, her mind roaring to life with the realization that she’s no longer the only person privileged enough to know him so well, that someone else mapped him out the way she did, became well acquainted with the lines and emotions that were once hers.

She blinks. Why does she care so much? During their separation, she was no saint—she did the same, all in the name of moving on. So why does this news bother her so much? Why does she feel…betrayed? 

“When did it end?” she asks at the end of all her rambling.

“Last year,” he answers. 

“Is that why you…” ended things with me?

He immediately shakes his head. “We were only together for a few months.”

Well. That’s somewhat of a relief, though it means the mystery continues. 

“What about you?” he asks. “Are you with anyone?”

“Of course not,” she answers, tucking a stubbornly stray lock behind her ear. “I wouldn’t be here if I were.”

“Was there anyone before?”

She returns her gaze to him, expecting him to still be avoiding her, only to be jolted back to her senses by his stare firmly on her. She’s too far to read the blue in his eyes, but he’s clearly as invested in her answer as she was in his. 

“No one in particular,” she replies truthfully. “Nothing ever lasted very long.”

He nods slowly.

Painfully awkward silence ensues. 

Shinobu continuously shifts her weight from her toes to her heels, observing Giyuu as he appears lost in thought, his body here but his mind light-years away. Could the same thoughts that raced through her mind earlier be running through his now?

She laughs before she can stop herself. Why would he be thinking that? They’re only here because of him. 

“Kochou?”

“We’re being ridiculous, standing here silently like a pair of awkward teenagers as though our confessions were something from another world. We’re both adults, Tomioka. Life needed to go on.”

Her own words surprise her. She’s unsure if she said them for his sake or her own, but she’s glad they came out nonetheless. As upset as she’ll always be at him…she can’t fault him for trying to move on when she did the same (in unhealthier, more impulsive ways).

“You’re not mad?”

“No, I was simply…surprised, is all.”

“You might see her while you’re here,” he warns.

Oh Giyuu, blunt without trying, yet dense when it matters. “I’ll survive. After all, you may see Douma when we compete.”

Giyuu’s face falls into a disgust so obvious that it pulls a giggle out of her. As much as she hates Douma, she enjoys using his name to tease Giyuu even more. 

“It’s getting late,” she says, stepping back towards him. “We likely only have time for one more stop and we haven’t even discussed that interview. Where to go…?”

Giyuu looks up, pondering the sunset with so much seriousness that it almost makes her laugh again. Any passerby would think he’s thinking about the meaning of life.

When he finally meets her eyes again, the seriousness is still very present, which makes his suggestion all the more lucrative.

“What about the lake?”

“The lake? Goodness, Tomioka, I think you’ve finally lost it. It’s at least a 40-minute drive.”

The setting sun suddenly reflects an oddly mischievous glint in his eyes that he absolutely learned from Sabito. It’s nice to see it again.

“I can get us there in 20,” Giyuu says matter-of-factly.

“Ha, unless you can fly, that’s impossible.”

He glances between her and the spot where he parked his motorcycle. “Close enough.”

She closes her eyes and smiles bitterly at him. “If you want me dead, you can just say so. You needn’t go about it in roundabout ways.”

He tilts his head to one side. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“I’m not, though I believe rapidly speeding vehicles are an acceptable exception. You’re welcome to venture to the lake on your own, but there is absolutely no way you’ll get me there on that death trap.”

Shinobu barely manages to stifle her scream before squeezing Giyuu’s waist so tightly that she might crush his internal organs.

While she has never shied away from adrenaline—after all, she does make her living through performative jumps on hard, unforgiving ice—this is wildly different from anything she has ever experienced. Skating gets her heart pounding like a powerful drum, which, combined with the cold air hitting her warm skin, makes her feel thrillingly alive. 

This is making her fight or flight kick in, with flight winning with flying colours. She’s torn between trying to distract herself with the scenery zooming by and squeezing her eyes shut until it’s over. 

She understands why Sabito finds this fun, what with his odd fascination with activities that could get him killed, like skydiving and hockey—but Giyuu? Quiet, shy Giyuu, who winced through every hockey match he attended? Who begged her to practice on gymnastic mats for weeks before lifting her into a jump on ice? That Giyuu?

Gradually, she feels the bike begin to slow down until it settles to a comfortable stop. She hesitantly blinks her eyes open and finally unclenches her sore jaw. 

“Are we here?” she asks, loathing how timid her voice sounds.

“No, only halfway.”

Halfway. Gods above, she’s not going to make it. She’s going to pass out on the road and then he’ll have to drag her unconscious body to the nearest hospital, which won’t be a good look for either of them if they get recognized. 

“Kochou?” Giyuu taps lightly on her visor. “Are you there?”

“Of course…” she laughs, though it comes out embarrassingly shaky. “But why did you stop?”

“Because you were about to crush my ribs.”

“I was not. My arms weren’t nearly that high. It would have been your intestines.”

He huffs out a sound, though she’s unsure of the emotion behind it. Surely, it wasn’t a chuckle, was it? 

“Regardless. You’ve skated on uneven lakes. You shouldn’t be scared of this.”

How dare he echo her earlier thoughts aloud. Coincidence is cruel. 

“That’s an unfair comparison, Tomioka. I’m a professional skater, not a biker trying to tame the road! On the ice, I’m always in control.”

“Exactly. You’re thinking too much. You’re stuck in your head.”

“You’re one to talk. At least I communicate my thoughts aloud instead of internalizing everything.”

He shakes his head. He lifts her visor with a gloved hand, then does the same with his own, forcing her to confront him face to face. His eyes narrow at her in surprising determination.

“This isn’t about communication, Kochou. Other than keeping your balance, you don’t need to think about anything. Let go.”

“Easier said than done,” she argues. “How can I possibly let go of my thoughts when I’m focusing on staying alive? ”

He leans forward, staring at her so intently that she can feel his gaze all over her face despite it being mostly covered. 

“I’ll keep you safe, Kochou. I’ll never let you fall.”

Her chest flares at the firmness of his words. For a moment, she forgets the broken promises that stain their otherwise colourful past; all she knows is what he’s saying now and his eyes on her. 

If he says he won’t let her fall, then he won’t let her fall. 

Let go. 

“...Fine.”

He seemingly searches her expression for any hints of hesitation, but turns away after finding none. He slides his visor back on.

She tentatively follows suit and wraps her arms around his torso again. Let go, Shinobu.

He revs the engine and begins their trek once more. 

At first, her fear attempts to suffocate her again, sending her heart into an uncontrollable frenzy. She takes deep breaths and turns upward, distracting herself with the tinted view above. The sky hangs in a delicate balance between sunset and night, muting the vibrant colours that shone on them in the schoolyard with gentle violets and dark blues. She barely feels the motorcycle anymore.

As though sensing her growing comfort, Giyuu increases their speed. The motion lunges her forward slightly and makes her squeeze him again, but she maintains her composure. Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

Or maybe she’s finally allowing herself to fall under the twilight’s spell, permitting it to lull her as it once did several summers ago.

By the time they reach the lake, night has fully consumed the sky, its nearly full moon shimmering in the placid waters.

The motorcycle slows down, its roar dying down to a quiet purr, then nothing at all as Giyuu pushes the kickstand down. He removes his helmet, then gently takes care of hers. 

Their eyes meet and a loaded pause lingers between them. Shinobu thinks there are a hundred things she could say, but she stays silent.

“We made it in one piece,” Giyuu observes oh-so astutely. “I kept you alive.”

“You did. I suppose you can pat yourself on the back.”

Despite her witty reply, her voice comes out breathless, as though something snatched the air from her lungs. Was it the ride or…?

She redirects her attention to the lake where a familiar scene awaits her—same old dock just big enough for a few fishing boats, same old wood chipping in some places and sun-faded in others, and the same old firepit where they once roasted marshmallows years ago. Unlike most other facets of her life, this place has remained unchanged and unravaged by time. 

The last time they were here, she was eighteen years old, freshly graduated from high school, and eagerly anticipating what the upcoming cold season would bring. Giyuu was nineteen and still standing proud by her side. Together, they were as mushy and affectionate as every pair of high school sweethearts, but far more certain of their future together than any other couple could possibly boast.

It was early September—four months before it all came crashing down.

Shinobu steps off the bike and away from Giyuu, heading towards the dock. She sits on the edge, her feet dangling just above the water. 

Giyuu soon joins her, sitting cross-legged beside her. She wonders if he’s thinking about the last time they were here too. 

“The moon is beautiful tonight,” he whispers.

She gazes up at the moon, their eternal silent witness even after all these years. She only nods in response, unsure if she can trust her voice right now. 

A breeze drifts past them. She shivers involuntarily, suddenly feeling terribly underdressed in the hoodie she threw on earlier.

Giyuu silently removes his jacket and places it over her shoulders. 

“It’s alright, I’ll be fine,” she insists.

He shakes his head. “So will I.”

And that’s that.

The jacket, still warm from his body heat, carries his scent—light and airy pine with a hint of sweet maple. She subconsciously pulls it closer, trying not to recall the glowing dawns she awoke to this scent lingering on her pillow or the gloomy mornings she desperately searched for it afterward. It took her all three of those years to forget its notes and stop looking for it in every boy she met. 

It takes three seconds for her entire being to latch onto it and beg her to never lose it again, this smell from her most golden memories.

“You still use the same cologne,” she sighs. “I’m glad that hasn’t changed.”

“It’s the one you picked out years ago.”

Her brows furrow as she digs around for the memory, only to come up empty-handed. “I did?”

He nods. “I’ve never considered changing it.”

Oh.

The weight of his words rests on her, but it doesn’t feel like a boulder at all—instead, it’s feather-light like the gentle haze settling over her mind.

She peers up at the sky, admiring the glittering stars. She could never see them this clearly from the city, not even in the deep pockets of its park forests. They’re brighter than she remembers.

“Sh-Kochou?” Giyuu says.

“Yes?”

“I…thank you. For asking me to be your partner again. For trusting me to help you.”

She smiles sadly. “You make it sound as though I had a myriad of options.”

“You could have done it on your own. You’d already made it that far.”

“I’m afraid you think too highly of me.”

“You could have asked someone else.”

“Who would have wanted to?”

“Plenty of people would have jumped at the chance,” he argues, though his voice is as soft as the breeze. “They would have lined the streets for you.”

She laughs a little at the mental image. “Perhaps, but I doubt they would have been able to keep up—or handle me for very long.”

“You’re not as hard to handle as you think you are.”

The statement echoes his sentiment from earlier about her grumpiness affecting him ever since they were children. While he’d never voiced such thoughts very often back then, he was one of the few people who never ran away from her anger but ran toward it, braving her storm to get her back. That was why…that was why she fell for him as hard as she did. He saw all of her and stayed. 

She takes a deep breath. “You flatter me, but we both know the truth. I’m hardly the easiest person to work with—I’m a stubborn, hot-headed perfectionist too ambitious for her own good. I’m nothing like my sister and mother, but…” She glances at him shyly. “You never seemed to mind that, even now. So, thank you for never changing in that regard.”

This time, it’s his turn to be stunned, his eyes as wide and blue as the placid lake before them. 

“But—”

“Shush. Don’t contradict me.”

His protest melts into a soft nod. “Whatever you say.”

“Much better. I quite like the sound of that.”

She finishes closing the gap between them, leaning her shoulder against his. He turns his face towards her, the ends of his hair brushing against her cheek in a manner that feels all too familiar. 

Silence sits between them like a comforting friend, calming the storm that typically rages over her head when she sees him. It feels like a scene from before, and unlike earlier, she doesn’t try running from it. Instead, she leans into it, thinking it won’t hurt to pretend everything is okay again, just for a little while.

She’s eighteen again, sitting with him on this pier and pointing up at the stars as if she actually knows where all the constellations are. They’re both still out of breath from their evening swim, stubborn water droplets still clinging to their skin.

The wind rustles his hair, summoning her attention away from the sky and back on him and the reflection of the lake in his eyes. He smiles softly at her, a thousand unsaid words passing between them like nothing. Her heart feels so full of love that if she were to fall into the lake, she would sink straight to the bottom. 

He’s just a boy. She’s just a girl. This is just a lake. No extra meaning. No marred memories. A future ahead of them as boundless as water. 

The line between the past and present blurs as she drops her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes, her body finally relaxing after this long day to the sound of distant cicadas and his gentle breathing. A deep inhale fills her senses with his pine and maple scent all over again.

Just for a little while. 

Granted, things aren’t actually the way they used to be. They’re not in love, they’re not intimate, and they’re not dating. But revisiting their past, joking around, and cutting through all the tension between them reminds her of what they were before any of that: teammates, partners, and above all, best friends.

Chapter Text

She awoke to the smell of sweet maple and pine filling her senses, gently rousing her out of sleep with its gentle notes. The sun shone brightly over her closed eyelids, but not even its warmth could compete against that of the body beside her, of the arm locked around her waist. A heartbeat she knew didn’t belong to her thumped softly against her ear, and the breaths beneath her cheek rocked her like waves leading her to shore. 

Shinobu sighed contentedly. If this was what life was meant to be, this heady space between dreams and reality, she never wanted it to stop. 

But the violent vibration in her pocket has other plans. 

Shinobu’s eyes shoot open, but that still isn’t enough to grant her clarity from the strange daze her mind is in. Truthfully, she barely knows what year it is, let alone where she is. The line between the past and present had blurred a little too well.

The vibrations cease, so she uses the reprieve to figure out her surroundings. 

The morning sun still beats down on her. A breeze blows past her cheek. Water brushes against a shoreline. A bird chirps somewhere in the distance. 

She’s outside. That was easy; now if only she knew why.

“Kochou?”

At the sound of his voice, reality crashes over her all at once. She’s at the lake with him. She fell asleep here. With him. 

She slowly tilts her head up, and there’s Giyuu, observing her with hazy blue eyes and his hair sticking out at odd angles. It’s his arm locked around her waist, his breath tickling her cheek, and his heartbeat against her ear. 

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice coming out deeper than usual. 

Shinobu opens her mouth for a witty retort that never comes as something strange strikes her. Perhaps it’s the sound of his morning voice which, even at the worst of times, always affected her. Or the look of his eyes, still partially clouded by sleep but completely fixed on her. 

Or it’s this sight that’s so achingly familiar, so identical to the bright mornings of happier times, from the comforting weight of his arm to the position of their bodies, one of her legs hooked around his as though nothing has changed. 

Because that’s exactly what this feels like: as though nothing has changed. As though, by falling asleep here, she really was plucked from the present and placed in the past. And, oh, how much she wants to stay…

Her phone begins vibrating again, reminding her of the contrary. Still, she doesn’t reach for it.

“Are you going to answer that?” Giyuu asks.

“No. They can wait.”

“This is the sixth time they’ve called.”

“Then they can wait until the seventh.” 

Giyuu lets out a disbelieving sound. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And that’s what you like about me.”

The flirty sentence slips out before she can catch it, causing her to freeze up. She clears her throat in a poor effort to regain her bearings and looks away. “Anywho, I—”

“You’re right.” 

Huh? 

“Sorry, I’m afraid I might still be dazed from sleep. I think I misheard you.”

His arms seem to tighten around her. “You didn’t, Kochou. I meant it.”

If it weren’t for the weight of his body, still strong and steady beside her, she might truly believe she drifted away, because there’s no way he said that so casually. Perhaps the line has blurred for him, too.

You can’t stay here, a voice deep within her mind reminds her. This isn’t your reality anymore. You’re not here to patch things up with him for the sake of it—you have a competition to win. 

And, right on cue, her phone vibrates again. 

She sighs deeply and reluctantly untangles herself from him. She fishes her phone from her pocket and answers without even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Where the hell are you?” Yushiro screeches from the other end. “We’ve been waiting at the arena for nearly an hour! Do you think this is the time to catch up on beauty sleep?”

Shinobu pinches the bridge of her nose with a groan. Even if it is late morning, it’s still far too early for this. 

“Is that Yushiro?” Giyuu asks, still lying down on the dock and shielding his eyes from the sun. Reality seems to finally be setting in for him, too, as he stretches out his limbs.

“Unfortunately.”

“Are you with Giyuu?” Yushiro yells. “Good, I can give you both a piece of my mind—”

His rant is cut off as the phone is, blissfully, taken from him. 

“Good morning, you two,” Tamayo says calmly. “Pardon Yushiro’s anger, we were simply worried about you when you didn’t arrive for practice. At the very least, I’m pleased to hear that you’re together.”

Shinobu’s grip on her phone tightens at that word. Together. “We’re sorry for the delay. We’ll get there as soon as we can.”

“While I wish I could give you the day off after yesterday’s strenuous session, that would be best. Yushiro and I will fetch breakfast and meet you here.”

They hang up, and Shinobu turns back to Giyuu, who now stands as though nothing has happened. He doesn’t meet her eyes, and although that would normally set her off, she can’t quite manage to meet his either. 

“Let’s get going,” is all he says before walking away.

Reality didn’t just set in—it slammed right over their heads. 

She quietly follows him back to his motorcycle, her head heavy with the sheer number of conflicting thoughts running through it. She tries latching onto one, but they all float away like balloons in summer wind. 

When Giyuu leans over to retrieve their helmets, she finally manages to catch one.

The morning sun is shining down perfectly. His hair is tousled from sleep, but it looks effortlessly good in a way only boys seem able to accomplish. His shirt stretches across his shoulders—

Shinobu unlocks her phone and, before she can stop herself, opens her social media and snaps a photo. 

She cringes as she quickly writes a caption only Mitsuri could be proud of before hitting Post. 

Let this trip have some purpose other than rattling her mind.

Giyuu slowly closes the front door, fully intending to sneak upstairs, change, and disappear to practice. Anything other than dealing with—

“Nice try.”

He winces at the sound of his sister’s voice. So close.

Tsutako spawns from the living room and leans against the wall, her arms crossed with all the authority of an angry parent. Yet there’s no malice in her expression; on the contrary, she seems amused.

“Where were you last night?”

He takes another step towards the stairs. “Out.”

“You don’t say. Out where?”

“...The lake.” 

Tsutako raises an eyebrow. “The lake. Overnight. With no camping gear.”

“I don’t need a tent for the lake.”

She tips her head back with a laugh. “If you think those quick answers will be enough to liberate you, think again. Sit down in my office.”

So. Close.

Giyuu reluctantly follows her to her office—a.k.a. the living room—and settles onto their old striped couch. Tsutako takes her seat in the matching burgundy armchair, turning the cozy piece into her throne. 

She plucks a knitting needle from their mother’s basket and points it at him like a sword. “Talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

She laughs sardonically. “Really. Is that so? Then why did your coach ask me if I had any clue where you and Shinobu were since she couldn’t get a hold of either of you, hmm?”

Giyuu finally spies his phone innocently sitting on the edge of the coffee table, right where he left it last night after hanging up Shinobu’s call.

“You answered my phone?” he asks.

“It was ringing non-stop for 40 minutes. Other people live here, you know. But anyway…” Tsutako twirls the needle. “Were you with her?”

He stays quiet, but the memory of Shinobu last night roars to life in his mind, her wide violet eyes peering up at him through her borrowed helmet. Although she had been scared before they rode to the lake, she transformed after they got there—her cheeks were flushed a bold pink, her hair was untamed, and her eyes were bright and wild with adrenaline and the early evening’s glow.

He swallows around nothing. “No.”

“You’re a really bad liar,” Tsutako grins. She takes her phone out of her pocket, taps it open, and turns it to him with a raised brow. 

Displayed is a photo of him from barely an hour ago, preparing his bike before leaving the lake. He doesn’t have his helmet on yet, leaving no plausible deniability that it isn’t him. 

Morning rides♡ the caption reads. 

Shinobu is getting better at this. He didn’t even realize she took a picture. 

“Still going to deny it?” Tsutako asks. 

Giyuu sighs, admitting defeat. “Fine. I was with her. We went to the lake last night and accidentally fell asleep.”

“That’s it, is it? And why the hell were you there, of all places?” 

For a trip to the familiar. A walk down memory lane. His sister will call him insane.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says instead. “We’re back now. Whatever you think happened, didn’t happen.” 

An amused glint enters Tsutako’s eyes. “Oh? And what do you assume I think happened?”

“You know.”

“I don’t, actually. You’ll have to spell it out for me.”

“Tsutako—”

“Fine,” she grumbles. “Besides that, did anything happen? You two used to love that place.”

“No, but…”

But he wanted it to. Badly.

Yesterday felt like a dream. It really felt as though they’d returned to their previous lives, back when their future together was as obvious as the sky being blue. It felt right.

But not even the sky is always blue. He turned theirs grey a long time ago.

Tsutako sits up straighter. “‘But?’ But what?”

He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He doesn’t know what would have proceeded that sentence and he’s too cowardly to dwell on it. 

He made their relationship what it is now. He knows that, but he finds himself constantly needing a reminder these days. When Shinobu first arrived, it was easy. Now…

Winter wind. Stinging cold. Blurred eyes. 

“Just go, Kochou.” 

Tsutako sucks in a breath. “Don’t tell me you still—”

“No.”

His curt tone gives her pause.

Normally, he allows her to criticize him without interrupting—what else are older sisters for anyway—but this is the one subject he has never taken lightly. 

Despite being caught off guard, Tsutako recovers quickly. “Okay. You don’t. But either way, you need to pretend like you do.” She finally sheathes the needle back in the basket. “Don’t toy with her, Tomioka. You’ve hurt her enough already.”

He knows.

As much as his sister berates him for the choices he made three years ago, he’s glad she still does it—he deserves to be reminded of it every single day he has left on this Earth, regardless of how much it hurts. Truthfully, he deserves a harsher punishment, but that’s something only Shinobu has the right to dole out. 

Even then, it still might not be enough.

When they finally make it to the arena an hour later, Shinobu expects Tamayo to be furious. Instead, she seems oddly…pleased? Regardless, Shinobu doesn’t trust it. 

“Good afternoon, you two.”

“You sure kept us waiting,” Yushiro says at the same time. “Miss Tamayo’s time is far too precious to be squandered on delays!”

Shinobu rolls her eyes. “Good afternoon to you too, Yushiro.”

Tamayo moves between them. “What matters is that you’re both here now and not a moment too soon. Yushiro has an announcement for you.”

Great.

Shinobu sits on the bench with a sigh, suddenly longing for the dock despite her back still aching. 

Giyuu joins her, his descent far less dramatic. Her knee subconsciously leans against his. 

Yushiro stands before them with his arms crossed, already huffing before speaking. “After you so graciously agreed to an interview without consulting anyone and disappeared, I was up all night reworking your old routine so you actually have something to perform while feeding the gossip vultures. You’re welcome. ”

“Rework?” Giyuu asks.

“Old routine?” Shinobu asks at the same time. They exchange equally confused glances.

Yushiro pinches the bridge of his nose and mumbles something under his breath. “Yes. I’ve reworked the tango routine from your last short program by extending it and adding more advanced elements.” He sighs dramatically. “I don’t dare give you something completely new to learn and perfect by winter.”

While Shinobu is more than a little offended by that comment, she knows he’s right. Skaters practice the same routines for most of their professional careers, many of them competing with them and reworking them for years before finally perfecting them. 

She and Giyuu had done the same. They worked on that tango routine for nearly a year, experimenting with it at smaller competitions before developing it into the showstopper that caught the world’s attention and put them in the spotlight.

Although they’d kept at it, they eventually stopped performing it after critics said they were too young for such an emotionally mature routine. She never thought she’d have the opportunity to perform it again.

“It will also tap into the nostalgia factor we’ve been aiming for excellently,” Tamayo adds. “I’m positive everyone will enjoy seeing a remastered version of a routine they loved.” 

And a routine Shinobu loved too. The bold jumps, the epic lifts, the rush of performing something amazing with someone she cared so deeply about.

She sneaks a peek at Giyuu, who looks attentively at their coaches. 

Competing with their old routine doesn’t just mean performing every manoeuvre with the same technique and precision—it also means replicating the chemistry and passion that got them this far in the first place. 

It means trusting him again. Moving as though they’re the same person in one body. Responding to his touch as though it’s the air she needs. Staring into his eyes as though she doesn’t want to be anywhere else. Convincing everyone that they’re in love all over again. 

A shiver runs across her skin.

As though sensing her stare, Giyuu’s eyes meet hers, and suddenly, she doesn’t see this arena anymore—she sees the lake from just a few hours ago, his eyes hazy from sleep and the reflection of the morning sun and seeing her. Only her. 

His scent, his warmth, his voice…

Suddenly, the thought of pretending to be in love with him doesn’t sound as Herculean as before. 

The revelation terrifies her.

As though sensing Shinobu’s inner conflict from cities away, Kanae calls later that night.

“Things seem to be going well!” she happily proclaims as a greeting. “And to think you were so worried.”

Shinobu shuts her eyes and smiles until she feels her cheeks stretch. “Kanae, I fear I may be on the verge of a mental collapse.”

Kanae has the audacity to laugh at her pain. “You’re being dramatic.”

Shinobu’s eye twitches. “Am I? Because, as far as I’m aware, my professional future hinges entirely on my ability to convince the world that I’m in love with the person who broke my heart.”

“You are being dramatic. The circumstances of your situation haven’t changed.”

“They have,” Shinobu argues. “Icy Insights is breathing down my neck, and the interview I promised them will determine how well I can convince everyone.” She sighs deeply. “And today, Yushiro told us he reworked the old tango routine, which means I need to be able to convey whatever I did five years ago, or it’ll never work.” 

“I’m hearing a lot of ‘I’ and not enough ‘we.’ You’re not alone in this, Shinobu. Don’t forget that.”

On the contrary, it would be easier if she were on her own. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about the emotions warring in her mind, conflicted over whether she wanted to pull away from Giyuu or go closer, to test the waters and see how deeply she could wade before…

Before what? She’s not even sure.

“I think that’s the problem,” she whispers.

The other end is quiet enough for her to believe Kanae didn’t hear her, but her sister’s crystalline voice comes through clearly.

“Don’t force yourself into feeling what the world wants you to feel. You’re your own person, not their doll.”

Shinobu sighs. “That’s the problem, it doesn’t feel like I’m forcing myself. It feels…”

Like returning to my childhood room after avoiding it for years. Entering the arena and feeling that same chill that welcomed us here 14 years ago. Venturing through this town that cradled me throughout my youth. 

Her trip to the familiar. 

She shuts her eyes, but his image simply reappears behind her lids, more familiar to her than any routine. 

“…Right,” she finally finishes. 

“Oh,” Kanae replies. “Does this mean you’ve finally discussed what happened?”

Her words cleave through the haze in Shinobu’s mind, slicing through the warmth and nostalgia with ugly claws. 

Shinobu fists the blanket beneath her. “We haven’t.”

“Shinobu,” Kanae replies, the amusement fully drained from her voice. “You can’t restart a relationship like that without discussing what happened; otherwise, it will follow you like a dark cloud forever.”

Shinobu knows, but confronting him will likely dissolve all the progress they’ve made so far. She doesn’t trust herself or her volatile emotions to hold herself together yet. 

She doesn’t know if she can stomach losing him a second time.

“I can’t. There’s too much at stake.”

“And there will be more if you wait too long. Do it before you fall even further.”

It may be too late for that too. 

As two weeks pass and summer finally surrenders to autumn, Shinobu puts every bit of her energy into practice. Each nervous breath, anxious thought, and feeling she’d rather not acknowledge gets channelled into her movements. 

And considering how intimate this routine is, there’s plenty of frantic energy to pull from. 

Granted, Shinobu is a professional, and every professional knows that during a routine, they’re merely playing a character in a fictional scenario, not their real selves. Even if there are connections, a professional never allows too many of their own feelings to bleed through, lest they become sloppy. 

But like so much in her life, fate has other plans.

After a seemingly endless back and forth between Icy Insights, who wanted their exclusive tell-all immediately, and Tamayo, who wanted them to have something from their routine prepared before presenting them to the public, the fateful interview is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Not wanting to disgrace their beloved arena with gossipers, they booked an hour at a rink in the next city over.

Although Shinobu and Giyuu have rehearsed the version of the story Tamayo prepared for them, anxiety still eats at Shinobu. So much is riding on this interview and the possibility for failure is far higher than she’s accustomed to in any context.

What if she forgets a detail? What if she slips up and contradicts herself? What if she winds up sharing too much about the boy beside her and reveals too much of herself in the process? 

It doesn’t help that said boy hates speaking, leaving most of the talking to her. He’ll likely smile and nod along with whatever she says, but she knows people will be watching for any millisecond of hesitation—anything to prove that she’s the liar they paint her as. 

But even that nervousness pales in comparison to the jitters she feels at practice every day.

She thought learning the new choreography would have been the hardest part, but she was dead wrong.

It’s him. Not getting along with him, which she has done surprisingly well since their lake trip. Not trusting him to catch her, which he has easily done. Not waiting for him to catch up to her level, which he has been doing shockingly quickly. 

It’s working with him this closely, this intimately, as though everything is fine.

In the three years since their split, she has gone from clinging to the ghost of his touch to nearly forgetting it completely—now, his touch is everywhere. Along her arms, down her legs, around her waist, in the threads of her hair. His fingers guide her chin and pull her in, and despite being a professional, dammit, it electrifies her every time, making her skin feverish.

“Pause the music. Run the lift again, please,” Tamayo commands.

Shinobu bites back a curse.

She and Giyuu return to their respective positions from a few seconds ago, with her repeating the earlier moves to gain enough momentum for the jump. She leaps into a twirl—

Giyuu’s hands ensnare the back of her thighs, then slide up her hips to her waist as gravity pulls her back down. One hand rises to the back of her neck, nearly tangling itself in her hair, while the other helps guide one of her legs back to the ice. 

“Excellent, continue!” Tamayo praises over the music. 

But Shinobu barely hears her beyond the roar in her ears—that has to be the speaker, right? Surely that isn’t her heart pounding…

She continues the choreography, but she can still feel the shape of his hands on her legs and hips, their imprint seemingly seared through the layers of spandex and fleece. 

During their next pairs element, she meets his eyes, expecting his usual neutral expression or some performative stare. 

Instead, she finds his irises nearly swallowed whole by his pupils, the thin ring of blue blazing around the black, pulsing in time with her pounding heart. 

She forgets how to breathe. 

She loses track of her movements and nearly stumbles. In an instant, his arm is back around her, holding her up before she can even process her mistake.

Everything stops around her—the music, the air conditioner, Tamayo and Yushiro’s commentary—leaving her senses nothing but him to wrap around. His maple pine fills her nose, his cool breaths stir her ear, and his eyes, those damned eyes, consume her vision as he refuses to look away. 

Her gaze darts lower. All that’s missing is taste—

“I agree, a dip would be a wonderful addition,” Yushiro’s voice chirps. “Your intuition is as stellar as ever, Miss Tamayo.”

Shinobu blinks back to reality, suddenly horrified by where her mind went for those few seconds. Taste? What was she going on about?

She clears her throat and pulls away from Giyuu. “Thank you, Tomioka.”

He says nothing, as usual, but his gaze still doesn’t leave her; even as she puts some distance between them, she can still feel it on her like an open flame. 

“Very well, let’s call it a day,” Tamayo says as she gathers her things. “We’ll meet outside at noon tomorrow to drive into the city together.”

“And don’t even think about keeping us waiting,” Yushiro adds, back to his usual grouchy self. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Majesty,” Shinobu quips, earning a quiet but amused snort from Giyuu.

Tamayo sets a hand on Yushiro’s shoulder before he can explode. “Have a good evening, you two.”

“I’ll stay a little longer,” Giyuu says softly. “I want to practice a bit more.”

The decision doesn’t surprise Shinobu as much as it does Tamayo, who looks at him with a pleased expression. Shinobu knows he does his best practice when no one is watching.

“Except you,” he once told her. “I don’t mind if you watch me.”

“I’ll stay as well,” she decides rather impulsively. “After all, it’s hard to practice a pairs routine without a pair.”

Giyuu’s eyes widen in surprise before softening. “Okay.”

Tamayo nods. “Very well. Don’t stay too long, you’ll both need a good night’s rest. We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

A few minutes later, Shinobu and Giyuu are completely alone together for the first time since the lake.

Despite him standing several feet away, she feels his presence as though he’s standing right behind her, his breath ghosting across her neck and his warmth pulsing against her back. She swallows around nothing, her mouth achingly dry as she prepares to restart the music. 

“Let’s run through the whole thing as best we can,” she suggests. “No pausing. We’ll see how much we can manage on our own.”

He nods and they get into position. 

As the music starts, he takes her outstretched hand and pulls her into a tight embrace, beginning their dance. The first minute of their choreography relies on them being entirely in sync with each other, from their hand motions to the direction of their skates. They aren’t there just yet, but they’re definitely closer. 

Although she has noticed, Shinobu hasn’t fully acknowledged how quickly Giyuu picked up professional skating again after a three-year hiatus. She knows of several skaters who struggle with routines after skating non-stop for years, yet here he is keeping up with her as though he never stopped. It’s truly awe-inspiring. 

She wonders if he would be able to do this with another skater or if this miracle is limited solely to her. She hopes it is. 

The first lift comes. Although his footing is slightly off when he picks her up, he’s right where he needs to be when she comes back down, helping her easily return to the ice. 

The rest of Yushiro’s careful choreography passes in a blur. Although there’s a stumble (him), a botched landing (her), and other technical errors Tamayo would be pointing out if she were here, the emotions of the routine feel on point. 

Attraction. Passion. Tension. Wanting someone you shouldn’t, someone who every cell in your body screams is a bad idea, but who every nerve craves endlessly more. 

Someone who broke her heart once before and can easily do it again. 

Someone who let her fall when she needed him to catch her the most. 

Someone who agreed to help her with nothing to gain.

Someone who’s still so similar to the boy she loved that she can’t differentiate the two anymore. 

Someone who’s looking at her like she carries the stars in her eyes. As though he can’t believe they’re here either.

Through their many mistakes, they make it to the final move. The music roars with life, each impassioned note crescendoing to a feverish climax. He picks her up, his fingers intertwining with hers as her legs curl around his waist. She leans her forehead against his, closing her eyes and breathing him in as they both spin. 

The song ends.

A minute of nothing but their panting breaths and the whirring of the air conditioner goes by. They still don’t move. 

Her eyes flutter open, her lashes brushing his cheek.

If he looks at her as though her eyes carry stars, then his hold the moon, silent and omnipresent like a watchful guardian. She can’t turn away. 

She doesn’t want to. 

“Giyuu,” she whispers.

He leans in closer as though the syllables of his name were a string that pulled him to her. Closer. Closer…

His lips brush hers and only one thought springs to mind. 

She’s a fool.

Because how could she leave this behind? How did she honestly believe that she could find this somewhere else, in a different set of lips and a different pair of eyes? How could she think anyone would be better?

Because the simple kiss, so soft and simple compared to what they did as teens, makes sparks burst behind her closed eyes. It’s the same ferocity from when she skates with him, the same flame associated with feeling alive. There are no mellow expressions, no hollow chests, no shades of dull grey here—her entire being is a golden wire. 

But those sparks of life are intertwined with the feeling of coming back home after a long trip away—the immediate comfort of the familiar, the relief of the sudden safety, the confusion over why she bothered to leave in the first place.

She sees memories from her childhood and teen years that she had nearly forgotten: hearing the tinny tune of the ice cream truck and racing across the park with him, his family’s annual apple-picking trip that she and her sister were always invited to, the dozens of nights spent under the same blanket in front of her fireplace with mugs of warm hot chocolate in both their hands. 

And she sees…

Their stolen moments in the locker room before meeting Tamayo and Yushiro for practice. Their hiding spot in the stairwell behind the school auditorium during lunch break. Her dark bedroom after her family had already gone to bed. Places she hadn’t wanted to remember before today, where their friendship transformed into young love. The stuff of fairytales and romantic comedies, as Mitsuri once told her.

But there’s none of the clumsiness from back then as he kisses her now, the years of experience working their magic on her as she blossoms at his touch. 

His grip on her waist tightens, squeezing her to him and practically clawing at her lower back. He wants her badly and it fills her with fire.

She wraps her arms around his neck and tangles a hand in his hair, deepening the kiss and drowning in him for as long as he allows her. 

But even the most adept swimmers need to come up for air eventually.

When they reluctantly pull away, their breaths are heavier than earlier.

“Two truths and a lie,” she pants. “One: I liked that. Two: if you wanted to do something else, I would let you.”

He parts his lips in surprise and she can’t stop her eyes from flicking downward at the movement, unable to shift away.

“Three: I…really hate mint chocolate ice cream.”

“Mint chocolate is your favourite,” he whispers, leaning in a little more.  

“Yes, it is. Now, are you going to do more or do I need to do it myself?” 

Say yes. Please, say yes.

“I…” he begins, his voice dipping lower. “I want—”

A phone rings in the stands.

For once, it isn’t hers, but the effect is all the same.

Giyuu tenses as though she poured a bucket of ice water over him. His grip loosens on her as though he’s come back to his senses, setting her back down on the ice like he can’t escape her quickly enough. 

“It’s probably Tsutako,” he says plainly as though nothing has just happened. “I need to go.”

He zooms past her towards the exit, propelling himself so quickly that he nearly crashes into the barrier. 

“Gi—Tomioka! ” she yells. “You can’t simply walk out after something like this!”

Not again.

He shakes his head adamantly as he removes his skates. 

“You’re being quiet because you know I’m right, as always.” She skates towards him. “You can’t keep running away from me. We need to talk.” 

“Not tonight,” he finally says, packing his things away in his duffel bag. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she scoffs. “Tomorrow, before we interview with Icy Insights and need to convince everyone that nothing is wrong? Or after, when we’ve already lied to everyone?”

“I don’t know. But not right now.” He pushes the door open. “Good night, Shinobu.”

Shinobu. Not Kochou but Shinobu.

Whether it was a slip of the tongue or not, it paralyzes her, stopping her from chasing after him.

Because, as angry as she is with him for walking away, the single utterance of her name feels like an embrace from the past. 

Like she isn’t the only one under its spell.

Shinobu returns home with her chest numb yet feeling everything at the same time.

After her shower, she stands in the dim lamplight of her bedroom, facing the wall beside her window. The bedsheet she hung on her first night is still up.

She grabs the ends and tears it down, unveiling the corkboard of photos she refused to look at. 

You can’t restart a relationship like that without discussing what happened; otherwise, it will follow you like a dark cloud forever. 

Do it before you fall even further.

Her past stares back at her with its arms outstretched, every memory, happy and sad, offering to welcome her back.

She takes a deep breath, shuts her eyes, and takes its hand.

Chapter Text

Truth: Shinobu Kochou didn’t believe in fate, but she knew their bond could have only been written by the stars.

13 years ago.

Shinobu defiantly crossed her arms, huffing the entire path from the parking lot to the ice rink. Sure, she liked the cold, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be stuck at the arena with her mom and sister, a hat on her head, and a scarf around her neck in the middle of August. She wanted to go to the pool like every other kid her age, not watch Kanae practice the same routine over and over. 

“Settle down, Shinobu,” was all her mother said as she pulled gloves on Shinobu’s hands. “We need to see if the rink is adequate for your sister.”

“Who cares?” Shinobu pouted. 

Her mother laughed. “I care, and so does she. She isn’t practicing too intensely today, so you can skate with her. And, if you behave, we can get ice cream on the way home. Would you like that?”

Her ears perked up. “Fine.”

By the time her mother finished lacing Shinobu into her skates, Kanae was already twirling around the ice, perfectly jumping and landing on only one foot. 

Shinobu watched in awe. She didn’t think she could do something as cool as that on her own, though her mother insisted it was in her “genetics.” Whatever that meant.

Shinobu’s feet wobbled as she walked from the stands to the ice. Her mother offered her arm for support, but Shinobu only swatted it away. The arena’s owner, who had greeted them on the way in, had offered her a skating aid too, but she’d refused.

“I’m already eight, I’m not a baby!” she insisted. 

Her mother sighed. “Then, be careful. Call me if you need help.”

“Hmph. I’ll be okay. I can keep up with Kanae by myself.”

Or so she thought until Kanae zoomed past her and into another leap.

Shinobu skated forward, tensing up her ankles as she raised her leg in an attempt to imitate her sister. She managed to jump—

Her foot landed at the wrong angle, sending her tumbling forward with a loud yelp. She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for impact against the freezing, hard ice. 

A pair of thin, small arms wrapped around her, pressing her into a warm body and saving her from cracking her head open.

She hesitantly opened her eyes, squinting at the overly bright ceiling lights before turning to her saviour.

A young boy stared at her like a scared baby deer. Although he looked concerned, his voice was calm and level.

“Are you okay?”

She slowly blinked up at him, the sight of him distracting her from the pain shooting up her leg. “Yeah, I—”

“Shinobu!” Kanae shouted as she skidded to a stop beside them. 

“I’m—”

“Did you get hurt?” her mother added, suddenly appearing in front of them. She took Shinobu from the boy’s grasp, though her hold was significantly colder. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone! Oh, why didn’t you take that skating aid…”

“I’m fine!” Shinobu insisted, despite her ankle now feeling like it was on fire. “I didn’t even hit the ice. He caught me.”

She pointed at the boy, who stared at her with wide eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. He was surprisingly pretty for a boy.

“What’s your name?” she asked. “Mine’s Shinobu.”

“Giyuu,” he answered shyly. 

“Oh, you’re the owner’s son, aren’t you?” her mother said, her hand still over her heart. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Yes, thank you,” Kanae added. “She gets reckless when she’s mad, so who knows what would’ve happened if you weren’t here!”

Shinobu would have stomped if they weren’t on ice. “I’m right here!”

Despite her insistence that she was fine, her mother ordered her to stay off the ice for the rest of the day. Shinobu groaned and reluctantly plopped herself down in the stands, preparing to die of boredom.

But, to her surprise, Giyuu joined her. He said nothing as he approached and sat down in the row in front of her. 

He waved an ice pack at her in a silent offering and gestured for her to put her leg up. 

Her brows knitted together, but she did it. Quiet company was still better than no company. 

“So…” she began. “This is your rink?”

“It’s my mom’s.”

“Same thing—ow! ” Shinobu yelped when the ice pack made contact with her ankle. 

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve only done this for my sister. She plays hockey, so she gets hurt all the time.”

“Hockey,” Shinobu shivered. “I don’t know how people can like playing that. Do you play too?”

He shook his head. “Too scary.”

The scrape of skates drew both their gazes to the rink as Kanae performed another perfect set of twirls. 

“Is that what you were trying to do?” he asks.

“Yes. I can usually do the jump, you know,” she bragged despite only doing it once. “Just not the spinning part.”

“I can show you.”

Her head whipped to him. “You can do that?”

He nodded. “One of my sister’s teammates taught me. It’s hard.”

“Hmph. Nothing is too hard for me!” she said as if she hadn’t nearly fallen face-first fifteen minutes ago. 

He cracked a shy smile. “It’s okay. If you fall again, I’ll catch you.”

Lie: He kept his promise forever.

Weeks passed as the Kochous adjusted to their new small-town life. Aside from the noise and surroundings, their life wasn’t far removed from the one they’d lived in the city, with Shinobu forced to follow Kanae to practice nearly every day. While she’d grumbled at first, she eventually grew eager to visit, hoping she’d run into Giyuu again.

She always did. Every evening after dinner and homework, he was there. Sometimes, he was with his older sister as she ran hockey drills; other times, he was skating in circles while his mother worked in her office. He was such a constant fixture that Shinobu briefly believed he lived there.

Each time she visited, they skated together. He was a year older than her and a better skater, but he never acted stuck-up about his experience. Instead, he helped stabilize her and showed her how to jump without hurting herself. He was patient, quiet, and kind. 

He didn’t speak much, but that didn’t bother her—she filled the silence and he always seemed happy to listen.

“I like skating with you,” she told him one night as he tied her skates for her. She still hadn’t figured out the knots.

She didn’t expect much of a reply, but he looked up at her with gentle blue eyes and said, “I like skating with you too.”

Simple as that. Neither of them knew they would become a pair practically attached at the hip—they just knew they enjoyed each other’s company and wanted to skate together for a long time.

One day, Kanae showed her a video of a recent gold-winning skating duo. 

Shinobu watched with wide, starry eyes, mesmerized by the way they moved, their perfect sync, and their spectacular jumps. They reminded her of trapeze artists at the circus. Although she had seen old videos of her mother performing similar tricks, Shinobu was fascinated by a duo working together to achieve the same feat. 

She gasped after one particularly daring stunt. “How does she know he’s ready to catch her without looking? Isn’t she scared he’ll drop her?”

“Of course, she is!” Kanae replied animatedly. “But she trusts him enough to know he’ll keep her safe. That’s why they only skate with each other. You’ll never see them with anyone else.”

Shinobu thought about that for a few seconds. “Like Giyuu? He said he’d always catch me. I haven’t fallen since we met.”

Kanae turned away from the video and looked at her strangely. “Yeah, like that. You trust him a lot, don’t you?”

Shinobu nodded. “I wouldn’t want to skate with anyone else either.” 

She glanced back at the video. The performance was over and the skaters were on a couch, waiting for their score. After it was announced, they immediately jumped up and hugged each other.

“Maybe we could be like them,” she wondered aloud. 

Kanae grinned, but Shinobu was too distracted by the video to notice. “Maybe. That sounds like a great idea.”

Although Shinobu hadn’t thought for very long before saying that, she soon realized she really did like the idea. She and Giyuu could be just like the pair from the video—better, even—and win trophies, just like her sister and mother. 

“Is that what you wanna do?” Giyuu asked when she suggested it to him.

“Yes! We’d be the best, I know it!”

His eyes shone as he nodded. They were pretty, those eyes of his.

“Then, let’s do it.”

And that was that.

Truth: Falling for him never crossed her mind, but Kanae—and everyone else around them—knew it was inevitable. 

Lie: She was immune to Giyuu’s strange charm. And face. And eyes. He did not affect her whatsoever.

8 years ago. 

There was a box of chocolates on Giyuu’s desk that Shinobu did not give him.

She scowled at the stupid pink box and its stupid red bow and the stupid tag with a heart drawn on it, wondering who dared to pull a stunt like this. After all, Giyuu was practically hers—

“Looks like someone beat you to it, Kochou!” a shrill voice bragged. 

Of course.

Yae sat atop her desk, swinging her legs back and forth and looking annoyingly smug. “Better luck next year.”

Shinobu smiled icily. “No problem. I’ll just give him my chocolate when I see him after school. Practice and all.”

Yae’s grin twitched. “You do that. It’ll give him plenty of time to enjoy my homemade chocolate.”

Homemade. Of course it was, Yae couldn’t miss a chance to be over the top. 

Shinobu squeezed her own box of chocolate in a way that hopefully wasn’t noticeable. Hers were store-bought—the one time she’d tried making them from scratch, she’d nearly burned her kitchen down. Never again.

The bell rang, but she couldn’t leave without having the last word. “At least there’s no risk of my chocolate giving him food poisoning. You can never tell with homemade food.” She waved. “Bye, Matagi.”

But as the school day went on, Shinobu couldn’t stop worrying about how her gift would compare to Yae’s. Sure, Shinobu monopolized most of Giyuu’s free time, but what if Yae’s chocolates finally earned her more of his favour? What if he gave her a chance and they started dating? Then he would have less time for practice and competitions, then for their homework sessions and hangouts, and—

“Shinobu? Are you okay?” Giyuu asked as he finished tying her skates later that day. “You’re quiet.”

“Aww, is this your way of saying you miss my voice?” she asked, attempting to sound witty but falling flat. 

“Sure, but you’ve been acting strange all day. What’s wrong?”

Curse him for knowing her so well. 

She sighed deeply, too tired to beat around the bush. “How was Matagi’s chocolate?”

If the question surprised him, he didn’t show it. “Fine. It tasted a little overcooked, so I only had one. I gave the rest to Sabito.”

Relief cut through her anxiety so quickly that she almost didn’t believe it. 

“He didn’t get enough sweets today?” she laughed.

Giyuu chuckled a bit too. “I don’t think it’s ever enough. He’s like a vacuum.”

That was the thing about her relationship with Giyuu—despite not being the most expressive, he could always put her at ease without even trying.

When she finally gave him her chocolate, his eyes lit up. She knew his favourite, after all. They took a break from practicing that day and ate it together in the stands, joking around until their mothers called them home.

The next day, she asked Sabito what he did with Yae’s chocolates.

“Huh? Oh, the ones Giyuu gave me?” Sabito grinned. “His loss, that was some of the best chocolate I’ve ever had! I finished them in fifteen minutes.”

Shinobu raised a brow. “They weren’t overcooked?”

“Nah, they were perfect. His taste buds must be broken or something because he only had one. Guess he didn’t want them.”

Shinobu’s heart beat a little faster.

7 years ago.

She didn’t fall for him right away. 

In the beginning, he really was just a friend, a comfort in the idyllic town she learned to call home. A quiet companion who listened to her ramble and entertained her grandiose ambitions. A partner who tied her skates and always caught her.

She didn’t fall for him right away, but once she started, it was as quick as a dive into the pool on a hot summer day. 

It came to her in flashes, in brief explosive moments that sent her mind and heart racing in tandem. 

First, in middle school, whenever Yae attempted to stake a claim on him. The way she always tightened and swung her ponytail whenever he was around. The way she smirked at Shinobu through their classroom window, gesturing at the small distance between her desk and his. It made an ugly feeling twist in Shinobu’s chest, her entire body on fire with the desire to throw an eraser at her. Or the whole pencil case. Maybe even a chair.

Then came the year Giyuu started high school while Shinobu finished her final year of middle school. The fence that once separated them had been bad enough—now, he was an entire street away. It felt like a string tugged her heart to that building, demanding that she be beside him, like she was so used to being. Although she could manage perfectly fine on her own, the long hours without him glued to her side were torturous. She found herself gazing out the window all day, wondering what he was up to and if Yae was being annoying. If he was thinking about Shinobu, too.  

Then came the summer between her middle school graduation and the start of the new school year. The trips to the lake, the dips in the pool, the relieving chill of the arena on a humid day. All things she had done with him before that felt different now, each step somehow more intentional, more meaningful. 

A lingering stare, a longer touch, a softer whisper of each other’s names. Her fingers tracing the water droplets running down his arm after a swim. His knuckles brushing her legs after lacing her skates. His eyes burning with something she couldn’t understand but desperately wanted to. Her eyes doing the same. They were trapped in a dance neither of them knew the steps to, but wanted to continue all the same. 

Until finally, it hit her. 

They just finished running through their new routine, a Swan Lake-inspired performance that would mark their official debut in major junior competitions. After endless weeks spent practicing the moves and their chemistry—which really meant hours of Tamayo making them stare at each other—it was their best run-through yet. 

It was the end of the routine and, like the ballet’s main character, she’d just dramatically died in his arms. They were both out of breath and exhausted, their limbs trembling from exertion and their hair plastered to their foreheads despite the arena’s chill. Even so, his arms were sturdy as he carried her bridal-style, never making her fear their collapse.

“Perfect,” Tamayo said. “I’m immensely proud of the work you’ve done…”

As Tamayo continued her commentary, Shinobu raised her head and leaned against Giyuu’s shoulder, which rose rapidly as he caught his breath. Although he no longer needed to hold her, he still didn’t put her down.

Instead, he turned to her, meeting her eyes. Despite the exhaustion lining his face, his eyes were like bright blue flames. He gave her a small smile, the type that only she could see. 

And in that moment, all she could think of was how breathtakingly beautiful he was. Breathless, sweaty, but still vibrant, still so alive and eager for more.

All for her. Only her.

He wasn’t anything beyond a friend and partner, but she knew it like she knew snow was white and the moon was silver: he was hers. Completely, entirely hers. No one—not even perfect Yae Matagi—would take him away. She wouldn’t let them. 

The thought remained in her mind even after he put her down and they started preparing to go home. It only amplified as he untied her laces, his hands on her ankles as he removed her skates shooting warmth to every cell in her body.

When he gazed up at her through sweat-coated bangs, another thought became crystal clear.

She wanted more. She needed it like she needed oxygen. 

She wanted all of him. 

Truth: She learned how to tie her skates properly when she was ten. He knew. He kept tying them for her anyway.

6 years ago.

Despite the certainty of her feelings, Shinobu didn’t act on them right away. Instead, she tried to fight them, like usual, which only made them grow and turn her into a nervous wreck. Truly, the most spectacular thing for a teenage girl to be.

She didn’t tell anyone, not even Kanae—though she eventually learned that her sister already assumed she had had a crush on Giyuu the entire time they’d known each other. Or, at least, Kanae acted like she’d known all along.

Giyuu, on the other hand, didn’t have a clue. Whether that was luck or misfortune was up for debate. 

But just two months after Shinobu’s epiphany, there was no more room for doubt between them. 

They were out of town for a competition and staying at a hotel in the city. Normally, she always roomed with Tamayo while Giyuu stayed with Yushiro, but she was hanging out in his room while the other pair was out for dinner. 

Well, to be more accurate, Shinobu was sparring with Giyuu in his room. As friends often do.

She had often tackled him when they were children, but he had usually won embarrassingly quickly. Tonight, however, was different.

“Gotcha!” she yelled as she finally pinned Giyuu down. “Seems like all those years of karate failed you, after all.”

“It was only two years…” he mumbled. Still, he made no effort to escape despite the admittedly weak grip she had on his wrists. “You’ve gotten stronger.”

“Of course I have. I haven’t suffered through Tamayo’s cardio for nothing.”

“I don’t think cardio makes you stronger.”

“It does because I say it does,” she retorted with a devilish grin. “Besides, it worked right now, didn’t it? You’re trapped.”

“Am I?”

“Wait, what’s that supposed to m—”

Her words were interrupted by a squeal as he easily freed himself and flipped her over, leaving her pressed against the mattress instead. 

“I win.”

“You—cheater!” Shinobu accused, though her frustration quickly dissolved into giggles. “This isn’t over. I’ll get my revenge.”

“Sure.” He leaned down, his face nearly brushing the tip of her nose.

Her breath caught in her throat at his closeness. She could see each detail of his face so clearly, each perfect blemish and atom that made him who he was. It reminded her of that strange staring exercise Tamayo made them do when they needed to work on chemistry.

Since then, Shinobu had learned nearly every detail of his by heart, but even so, her chest threatened to burst at the feeling of him against her.

No, what was she thinking? This was her best friend, her partner-in-crime for seven years. She had seen him at his best and worst. She knew him better than anyone, including herself.

And right now, his eyes were telling her something his mouth couldn’t say.

She feared her eyes were replying with the same thing.

She raised her head slightly and smacked a quick kiss to his cheek, her lip gloss smudging onto his skin.

“There. Consider us even,” she attempted to say boldly, only for her voice to shake towards the end.

His eyes widened before settling back down, a strange emotion she couldn’t quite name filling their blue. It was the same one that he had worn at their practice sessions these last few months and whenever he took the other half of her granola bar. Tsutako had said something about it, but…surely not. Right?

“Are we?” he asked, jolting her out of her mesmerized state. “I think you need to do worse.”

“Like what?” she whispered, her voice suddenly breathless.

“I don’t know.”

But she knew he did. He was just waiting for her to take the lead.

He knew her so well. 

“Fine. How about this?”

She raised her head again and aimed for his lips instead. She attempted to imitate what she had seen in movies and on TV, and although it didn’t seem quite right, it definitely felt…good.

He followed her lead. 

She lost track of how long they lay there, exploring each other and learning in the way only young and inexperienced lovers could. All she knew was the feeling of his warm, slightly chapped lips on hers, uncertain of where to go, unsure of what to do, but still making her heart burst beyond its seams. 

“Tamayo is going to kill us,” Shinobu laughed during a brief pause for air. 

Giyuu shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Before she could ask him how he could be so sure, his mouth was back on hers.

She thought she would die if he reciprocated her feelings, but it was the exact opposite. 

Through him, she came to life.

Truth: Tamayo was quite pleased with the news of their relationship. Yushiro nearly exploded.

Truth: They went from friends to lovers as easily as completing a warm-up. Aside from the kisses, nothing really changed at all.

5 years ago. 

After learning what Giyuu tasted like, Shinobu couldn’t get enough. She was obsessed, addicted, and all over him every second she could get. She never imagined she would be like this in a relationship, clinging to her boyfriend like a koala and craving him, but perhaps it was because it was him. 

Initially, she held back her affection, thinking he wouldn’t like it or push her away. He didn’t, which only made her more insatiable.

Absolutely no one was surprised about the news, though Sabito, to his credit, pretended to be shocked for a few seconds before breaking into a grin. 

“About time!” he said with a playful smack to Giyuu’s shoulder. “It’s funny, he was with you all the time and he still wouldn’t shut up about you whenever we hung out—”

Giyuu elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Ow, excuse me for trying to congratulate my friends!” Sabito laughed. “At least Matagi will finally back off now. She’ll have to find someone else to annoy.”

“She doesn’t like me that way. We’re just friends,” Giyuu replied.

Shinobu loved him. She really did. But sometimes he was so unbelievably (and somewhat adorably) clueless.

It was fine. She planned to annoy Yae enough for both of them.

Although Shinobu couldn’t risk being too affectionate at school, lest she and Giyuu get written up, she definitely went as far as the limit would allow whenever Yae was around. Hugging him from behind at his locker. Giving him a quick peck on the cheek before they separated for class. Sneaking a kiss at lunch when she knew no one but Yae would be watching. Oh, yes, Shinobu was diabolical, but after all the years of side-eyed glares and snide comments from Yae, nothing was more satisfying.

If Giyuu noticed or had an issue with it, he never said anything. On the contrary, he always indulged Shinobu and wrapped his arm around her shoulders in the hallways, allowing her to stake her claim on him as often as she wanted.

Everything was perfect.

Truth: Being friends with Giyuu felt as natural as breathing. Loving him felt like flying.

4 years ago.

“Thank you for having me,” Giyuu said to Shinobu’s mother with a polite bow. “Have a good night.”

“So formal even after all these years,” her mother laughed. “Get home safe, Giyuu.”

Shinobu waited until her mother returned to the kitchen. As soon as she was certain she was out of earshot, she wrapped her arms around Giyuu’s neck and pulled him to her level.

“See you tomorrow,” she whispered, an adoring grin plastered on her face. 

Giyuu returned a soft smile of his own. “See you.”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently. Funny how she’d spent the entire evening with him and it still wasn’t enough. 

She reluctantly pulled away, but the promise to meet again hung like a golden thread between them, connecting them even after she waved him goodbye and shut the front door. 

She leaned against the wall and sighed contentedly, heat rising to her heart and cheeks as she relived the last few hours.

“Wow,” Kanae giggled from the top of the stairs.

Shinobu jumped and glared at her sister. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to see my stubborn little sister turn into a mushy ball of fluff. You’re so cute.”

“Shut up…” Shinobu grumbled despite knowing it was true. “Don’t you have an early practice? Go to bed.”

“I was on my way, but I couldn’t miss the show!” Kanae waved innocently. “Good night, Mrs. Tomioka.”

“You—” 

If her sister hadn’t disappeared into her room at that very second, Shinobu would have thrown her slipper at her.

As Shinobu prepared for bed an hour later, her phone buzzed.

Giyuu <3: Still awake?

The corner of her mouth went up without her even realizing it. 

Shinobu: Yes. Can’t sleep?

Giyuu <3: No

Giyuu <3: Are you the only one awake?

She raised an eyebrow.

Shinobu: What a strange question

Shinobu: I think I am. Kanae went to bed after you left and my parents just turned off their lamp

Shinobu: Why?

Giyuu <3: I’m outside

She nearly dropped her phone. She rubbed her eyes, briefly thinking she might have fallen asleep and started dreaming without noticing, but the message remained.

She paced to her window and carefully drew back the curtains.

Giyuu stood below her window, phone in hand. He waved.

Shinobu immediately burst into laughter, though she quickly smacked her hand over her mouth to avoid waking anyone. 

Shinobu: Giyuu Tomioka, you are insane

He shrugged boyishly and tucked his phone away. 

She wasn’t sure how he did it, but he successfully climbed her mother’s garden trellis until he reached the windowsill, then pushed himself into her bedroom.

When they found themselves lying in her bed, she wrapped her arms and legs around his torso. He let out a low laugh and wrapped his arms around her too. 

She took a deep breath, inhaling his signature scent of cinnamon and sweet maple. She let it waft over her, cocooning her like a blanket.

She tugged lightly on his hood. “This is your payment for staying at Hotel Kochou. I want this sweater.”

He smiled against her hair. “You could’ve just asked.”

“I am. This is me asking.”

“Then, it’s yours.”

“Huh, you didn’t even fight me on it. I’m almost disappointed.”

“No point. You would’ve won.”

“Smart boy,” she grinned, unable to contain her giggle. 

She heard a sound down the hall, forcing her to stop mid-laugh.

“We shouldn’t talk,” she whispered, her tense shoulders easing under the weight of his arm. “Kanae isn’t a light sleeper, but these walls aren’t very thick.”

“So we won’t talk.”

“Then what will we do? I’m incapable of sitting still, no matter how relaxing this is.”

“I have an idea…”

She peered up at him. His eyes were fixed on her, burning even through the darkness. Instead of shielding him from her, the shadows merely enhanced his features. 

“Oh?” she asked with a growing smirk. “What did you have in mind?”

In typical Giyuu fashion, he didn’t bother with words—instead, his lips quickly found hers, perfectly tuned in even without light.

She tightened her arms around his neck and pulled him closer with a contented sigh, shifting them so he could be on top of her. She loved having his weight over her, having his scent fill her lungs, and having his warmth consume her skin. She’d be happy to stay here forever.

His hands found their home at her waist, though they soon started trailing higher, his fingertips dipping beneath her tank top.

The heat of his skin jolted her, but not in a bad way. No…not in a bad way at all.

“Sorry,” Giyuu whispered solemnly. He started drawing his hand away, only for Shinobu to firmly grab his wrist.

A blush burned in her cheeks. “I never said I didn’t like it.”

His eyes widened, their size somehow increasing as she guided his hand back beneath her top, then higher…

Neither of them got much sleep that night, both far too preoccupied with mapping each other out like constellations. It was funny—throughout their career, they’d seen and touched so much of each other, yet there were still uncharted waters. Even if she succeeded in memorizing every part of him, she’d never grow bored. He was beautiful, and he was all hers. For forever, it seemed.

But forever was something that existed only in fairytales. Reality didn’t believe in such notions. She just didn’t know it yet.

Lie: She saw it coming.

3 years ago.

In hindsight, the tumble had been less of a crash and more of a gradual fall, like the leaves slowly abandoning the tree that had grown them in autumn. Small hints were warning her of what was to come, little signs that she chose to ignore. She’d thought it was a rough patch they would soon bounce back from. 

How foolish of her. 

As they became more renowned within the skating community, their presence began to be requested more, both at competitions and at the occasional fundraiser or event. She adapted rather quickly, but it was a struggle for Giyuu, who had spent his entire life in a quiet little town that couldn’t compare. 

But they got used to it. She dealt with most of the conversations and interviews, smiling along with the press and gritting her teeth through the snide comments of their fellow skaters. He offered her silent support with an arm around her shoulders and a calming gaze to rest in. It was their dynamic, and people loved it. Crowds oohed and ahhed during their routines, then speculated about their relationship online. People clamoured for more, more pictures, more videos, more performances, eager for every crumb they could find.

Could it be more perfect?

After they celebrated the tenth year of their partnership, their career soared to new heights that could no longer be contained within their small town. Tamayo suggested that they move to the city, which was only encouraged by Shinobu’s mother, who had done the same at her age. It was decided that the move would happen right after Christmas, before the new year. They’d stay with Kanae, who had moved out earlier that year, until they found a place of their own.

It should have been the start of a new and glorious era. 

But the more competitions they did, the more events they attended, and the more they spoke with other skaters, the more Giyuu continued retreating. She’d assumed he was just escaping into his shell and thought nothing more of it. 

But he wasn’t. He was pulling away from her, bit by bit, one thread at a time. Until…

Truth: The scene only ever appeared to her in fragments, in crystalline shards tinier than the snowflakes that smothered her that night. A single sentence, a cutting word, a mournful glance, and nothing more. Now, she sees it before her just like back then, in stunning colour and sharp definition. She feels the cruel wind slicing the tips of her ears and the cold stabbing through the layers of fleece. 

It was the most freezing night of the year. 

The howling wind blasted snow in every direction, showing no mercy to any structures or unlucky passerby. It was the type of cold that seeped through dozens of layers and into one’s very bones, chattering one’s teeth and singeing any exposed skin. The local news called it the worst winter storm in nearly two decades. 

On that painfully pitch black night, they were at the bridge at the edge of town, the thick waves of tension between them somehow colder than the shrieking wind. She should have been at home, wrapped tight in her blankets and staying up far too late texting him. Calling him. Anything other than this freezing cold. 

Instead of her phone screen, the only illumination came from the headlights of her family car idling on the street, the glow tainted by the thick snowflakes that crashed past. 

Giyuu had texted her, saying he was outside her window and that they needed to talk. She’d thought it was normal, aside from the storm he’d braved to reach her, but when she’d looked outside, it became abundantly clear that tonight would be anything but normal. 

He hadn’t wanted to speak in her room or in her front yard, not wanting to risk her family members interrupting them. So, they got in the car and drove, drove, drove until they reached the bridge. 

She thought he’d stay in the car. It was warm, comforting, and familiar. A shared space. But as soon as she’d stopped driving, he burst out into the cold, leaving her to scramble after him.

She called his name, but he never turned around, either because he couldn’t hear her over the wind or chose not to. She couldn’t fathom the latter.

She felt powerless; his mind was suddenly such a mystery to her that it startled her. Why had he called her? Why were they here?

Why did she feel like the world was about to end?

“Giyuu!” she called again, her voice trembling. “We shouldn’t be here, let’s go home.”

He shook his head. 

She reached out to touch his shoulder, hoping to turn him around—

“It’s over.”

Although the wind shrieked all around them, she heard those two words clearer than day. 

Her hand froze mid-air. “What? What are you talking about?”

“This is over. Us. Our partnership. Everything.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing but a puff of icy air came out. Her heart pounded in her ears, in her throat, her fight or flight kicking in as though her very life was at stake.

Truthfully, it was.

“Y-You’re being ridiculous!” she finally managed to say in disbelief. “Come on, Giyuu, you don’t know what you’re saying. Let’s go home and sleep, the packing must have tired you out—”

“I mean it, Shinobu,” his cool voice sliced through the blizzard, immediately silencing her clumsy attempts at making sense of this. “I’m done. I don’t want this life anymore.”

She rapidly blinked through the snowflakes pelting her face—surely that was the source of the sudden wetness in her eyes, surely. 

Surely, he wasn’t saying what she thought he was. He couldn’t be.

“This is everything we’ve worked towards for years,” she insisted. “This is our dream!”

“This is your dream. I’m tired of pretending it’s mine too.”

A glacier crashed atop her chest. “Pretending? When were you ever pretending? You wanted this as much as I did.”

“I didn’t. I never did.” He looked down and sighed like a parent tired of their child’s endless prattling. “I can’t give you what you want anymore. Stop asking questions.”

“You…” her voice shook. Falling into the icy river beneath them would have hurt less than this. “You’re…you’re so selfish!”

In the distant echoes of her mind, she faintly remembered what her mother said when she first brought Tamayo to watch them skate: “I’m not certain of his personal ambitions, but I have no doubt he’ll go as far as she wants. Whether that’s the World Skating Competition, the Olympics, or simply down the road, he’ll be beside her.”

Was he just indulging her all this time? Going along with their career because she wanted it? Was he lying all along?

But she couldn’t pause to reflect on it, not when he was slipping so far out of her reach that she could barely feel the flickers of his warmth anymore—that beautiful warmth that had cushioned her for so long, caring for her as though it was crafted specifically for her shape. He couldn’t be throwing that away.

“What about us? ” she asked. “Did my feelings ever matter to you, or were you pretending then, too?”

He couldn’t have been. The way he’d looked at her all those years was too raw, too real to ever be fake. Right?

But if he was saying all this now, how well had she known him at all?

He only shook his head. “I’ve only ever considered your feelings. Now, I’m considering mine. I’m finished.”

“Like hell you are!” Shinobu yelled, fire flaring into her stinging cheeks. “You know my dreams won’t be held back by anyone, not even you!”

“I’m not stopping you. But I won’t be there to help you anymore. You’re on your own.”

On her own?

The path to her future, so bright and vibrant a mere few hours ago, suddenly dimmed, its final destination shrouded in darkness. She couldn’t see through it, couldn’t even see her own shadow beneath her.

“If you want me gone…” her voice trembled, “then just say it. Look me in the eyes and tell me it was all an act. That you’re sick of me. That you don’t love me anymore.”

She hoped he wouldn’t. That by finally turning around and facing her, it would shock him back into his senses. That he would start apologizing profusely and return home with her, both of them prepared to treat this moment like a strange nightmare tomorrow.

But, as Shinobu would soon learn, hope was just another form of delusion.

When Giyuu faced her, his eyes were icier than the frozen water below. They weren’t the eyes of the boy she loved, the boy with all her firsts who could see right through her. They weren’t the eyes that snuck glances at her through crowds or gazed at her through darkness. 

They were the eyes of a stranger.

“Just go, Kochou.”

The world went mute.

He hadn’t said what she’d asked him to, but it didn’t matter—like always, the few words he chose to say spoke volumes.

“F-Fine. I’ll be gone before you know it, Tomioka. ”

She marched back to the car, fighting the instinct to offer him a ride home. He wasn’t her concern anymore.

With the slam of her door, the red thread binding them snapped.

As she drove home, the storm calmed to a lull, the scathing winds and pelting ice replaced by gentle snowfall glowing under dim streetlights. Quiet, picturesque, soft.

Insulting.

The ice had been her ally her whole life, never cracking under the force of her anger or melting under the heat of her rage. Where others looked to pillowy grass to ground them, Shinobu had always looked to firm ice.

How dare it betray her now, taunting her with this facade of serenity as her entire heart sank like a ship, glaciers maiming her with points coated in sweet words and quiet moments. They dripped with the crimson of her blood and the blue of his eyes, a puddle of her signature purple forming cruelly at her feet.

She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs were missing from her body and the abyssal cavern in her chest ached from her struggle to inhale. She tried to remember Tamayo’s breathing exercises, but they were little more than a distant shout in the wind. 

It’s over.

I didn’t. I never did.

Just go, Kochou.

Go.

Shinobu curled tighter into herself, fighting the urge to scream. She clawed her fingers into her knees, struggling to stifle her hyperventilating. 

A light tap at her door was the only sign of the world still turning.

“Shinobu?”

She couldn’t answer. 

“Are you okay? I thought I heard…”

She couldn’t speak.

“I’m coming in, okay?”

She buried her face in her arms, unwilling to be seen like this by anyone, not even her sister. 

But she couldn’t hide the snow melting in her hair. The tremble of her shoulders. The sound of her sobs.

Kanae rushed to her side, dropping to her knees and pressing Shinobu into her chest. 

“What happened?” she whispered urgently. “Where did you go?”

Shinobu couldn’t say his name, fully believing that her heart would finally finish breaking under the weight of each syllable.

“The bridge…” she murmured. “The bridge…”

That night, she barely slept at all. Each time she managed to drift off for a few minutes, she jolted awake with the vain hope that everything had been a nightmare and nothing more. But each time, she would find Kanae still curled up beside her and her jacket dripping in the corner. 

It was real. He was gone.

None of it made sense. He was supposed to stay with her. That was what they’d planned. That was what he had promised her.

Truth: It was supposed to be the two of them together, forever. 

The next day, Shinobu left town with Kanae, just as planned. 

Kanae attempted to persuade Shinobu to stay, insisting that the city could wait until she fixed things. She had been with Giyuu for so long; they would repair their relationship and go back to normal.

Shinobu only shook her head. Deep down, she knew this was different. ‘Normal’ was gone and would never return.

New Year’s Eve arrived a few sleepless nights later, with Shinobu finding herself in Mitsuri’s apartment with dozens of strangers. Although Kanae had offered to stay home with her, Shinobu shooed her off, not wanting to be coddled. 

She’d hoped the party would distract her, but with Mitsuri busy playing hostess, Shinobu wound up having more time to think.

As the clock ticked to midnight, she numbly picked up a champagne flute and wandered out of the room, away from the crowd gathered by the TV and balcony.

She settled in a dark corner, hidden beside a bookshelf stuffed with romance novels. Behind her, a breathtaking city view sprawled out exclusively for her. Thousands of celebrations dotted out with sparkling lights across the cityscape, with thousands of girls her age in glittering clothes, toasting the evening and searching for their midnight kiss. 

She glanced at the front door.

She was born here. This city was where she had taken her first steps, had said her first word, and had made her first memories. She should have felt some kinship or sense of belonging looking at it.

Instead, all she felt was hollowness.

She glanced at the door again. In the living room, the countdown was starting. 10, 9, 8.

She held her breath. Maybe he was in the elevator, anxiously clutching his phone and watching the number go up.

7, 6, 5. Almost at the door now, surely. What kind of person was late to New Year’s Eve?

4. She tapped her nails against her glass.

3. Now he was really late.

2. She couldn’t keep waiting.

1.

“Happy New Year,” she mumbled before downing the rest of her champagne.

Fireworks exploded into the night sky behind her, a colourful cacophony of lights illuminating the world in celebration. 

She didn’t even turn around.

Lie: She didn’t miss him. In fact, she never thought of him at all.

“I thought you hated Valentine’s Day,” Misturi teased, elbowing Shinobu’s side.

Shinobu frowned and stared at the Valentine’s display in the window, sneering at the dozens of pink paper hearts, Cupid drawings, and cocoa brown teddy bears with their perfect velvet bows. The perfect gift set for that special person in your life, just $24.99!

“I do hate it.”

“Really?” Misturi laughed. “Then, why are you admiring those gift baskets so intensely?”

“I’m not admiring, I’m glaring.”

It wasn’t as though Shinobu actually wanted the frilly heart cushions or a dozen red roses—they were overpriced and the total opposite of her style. She didn’t need them. She had no desire for them. They were little more than cheap cash grabs.

So why was she still staring?

Because she still had a light purple bear with a lopsided smile and an embroidered heart on its chest in her closet. Because she had a faded pink rose pressed between the pages of an old book she refused to finish. Because the childish cards with poorly drawn hearts and stars were still tucked between years of birthday cards. Because the holiday and its silly trinkets were given to her by the person who had sworn to always be there.

Mitsuri wrapped her arm around Shinobu’s shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay to say you miss him.”

Shinobu sucked in a pained breath. “I don’t.”

Mitsuri squeezed her tighter.

Everyone asked her about the ending. Even if they never spoke the words aloud, she constantly saw it in their eyes and read it between the lines of their messages, the proverbial question of how did it end? on the tip of every tongue. Eventually, it became a mystery speculated about online by the same people who’d once speculated about their relationship status, going from are they in love? to what the hell happened? 

No one asked what happened directly after the storm.

Other than Kanae and Mitsuri, no one ever asked about the cold mornings, the grey afternoons, or the endlessly dark evenings. No one asked about the deeply lonely nights when she felt as though the abyss had opened up in her room, in the centre of the bed where she lay curled up like a child. 

No one asked how she picked herself up each day, how she prepared breakfast for one instead of two, or how she skated with the new knowledge that no one would catch her if she fell. 

It took her two weeks to stop pouring two bowls of cereal. A month to stop instinctively opening their chat. Six months to stop looking over her shoulder to ensure he was behind her. A blurry year to pull herself back together. 

In the meantime, she was prodded with questions about what her future would look like. Would she find someone else? Would she go solo? Would she quit altogether?

She considered quitting, abandoning the spotlights to become someone normal. She thought about going to university and learning to live a quiet existence.

But each time she thought about it, she felt like she was cutting off her own life support. As much as skating had taken from her, as much as the sport had sucked her dry and drained her, she couldn’t fathom leaving the ice for good.

She couldn’t allow him to take even more from her. 

That left two options: find a new partner or go solo.

With Mitsuri’s help, Shinobu auditioned a few skaters hoping to become her partner, but she quickly realized she’d never be able to work with them. She didn’t want their hands on her. She couldn’t trust them. She barely knew them.

If the world of pairs skating was cutthroat, the world of solo skating was akin to a constant game of Russian Roulette. Her mother and sister had found success, but there was no guarantee Shinobu would be the same. Skaters transitioned to pairs skating—they didn’t voluntarily subject themselves to becoming soloists.

Then again, nothing about her situation was voluntary.

So, she announced she’d go solo. 

Two years ago.

When Shinobu reached the arena with only one coffee in hand instead of two, Tamayo was already there.

Shinobu breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her. She had never been very affectionate with her coach, but she nearly ran and hugged her. 

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Shinobu greeted. “I was worried everything was going to change. I need some familiarity.”

But for the first time since they’d met, Tamayo seemed uncertain. Her eyes shifted, and although her hands were hidden in the sleeves of her cardigan, Shinobu could tell she was squeezing her fingers. Even Yushiro, always ready to bark out some criticism or order, was silent behind her.

“I’m afraid that fear was somewhat justified,” Tamayo finally said, her voice soft but firm. “As of today, Yushiro and I can no longer coach you.”

Shinobu nearly dropped her coffee as her heart flew into her throat. “What? But…it’s been eight years. You can’t seriously imply that you only stayed because of him.”

She still couldn’t bear to say his name.

Tamayo swallowed but stood tall. “I only coach pairs, Shinobu. You’ve known that from the beginning.”

“Well, yes, but…” She scrambled to find the right words, her pride at war with her desperation. “I thought this could be an exception. That I could be an exception after all this time.”

“There is no such thing as an exception in this cutthroat world of ours. I’m sorry.”

No. No, no, she couldn’t lose someone else who had promised to support her. How much more was she expected to survive before the crushing weight finally overpowered her?

“What if I don’t go solo?” she offered. “What if I find another partner and—”

“No, Shinobu. We’ve already discussed it. Our choice is final. I’ve recommended you to another coach who will be happy to train you, regardless of where your new path takes you.”

Shinobu scoffed. “‘New path?’ You make it sound as though I had a choice!”

Tamayo stiffened. It was the first time Shinobu had yelled at her since she was a child. 

Yushiro cleared his throat and finally spoke. “This is where our partnership ends, Miss Kochou. We wish you all the best in your future endeavours.”

Have you no shame? Shinobu wanted to yell. Abandoning me when I need you the most? Stranding me in the middle of this city I no longer know in a world eager to devour me? 

She said nothing, not even a proper goodbye, before bursting out of the arena, slamming the doors behind her. 

You’re on your own.

She gripped the steering wheel with snow-white knuckles, just like she had that night. 

She smacked the dashboard as hard as she could, but not even her stinging palm was enough to distract her from the fury rushing through her veins.

How much more was he going to take from her? 

As the months dragged by and she rebuilt her career from scratch, something in Shinobu Kochou snapped. 

During the day, she channelled every emotion and snippet of impotence into her training, grinding her anger into fuel for her new life. This time, no one would be around to catch her, so she needed to work thrice as hard to stick her landings and ensure her technique was impeccable. 

Her new coach was impressed. She’d said that although she’d known a former student of Tamayo’s would have perfect technique, she was pleasantly surprised by the dedication alongside it. If she suspected it had something to do with the split—like everyone else did—she never asked. 

Although Shinobu was grateful for her, she never allowed herself to get too close. 

That became the new norm: never get close, never get attached, never get hurt. Aside from Mitsuri—who wouldn’t have let her go even if she moved to a different continent—Shinobu distanced herself from every old acquaintance and shut herself away from any potential friend. She didn’t allow anyone in, and even when she began participating in minor competitions and shared locker rooms with a dozen girls, she didn’t engage with them. Not even when they stared at her with saucer-like eyes and whispered when they thought she wasn’t listening.

Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s really her!

Why do you think they split up?

Look at her, she’s probably too cocky for her own good. Why get the gold with someone else when she can win it on her own?

The press wasn’t any better. The journalists who once adored her now reviled her, saying she was too difficult and calling her all kinds of names, with one sticking out above the rest.

The Ice Queen. 

She didn’t fight it, not even as her fellow competitors said it to her face. Having everyone assume she was some egotistical monster was far better than anyone seeing the fragile, overemotional girl underneath the surface. 

Let them fear her jagged edges instead.

By the time she debuted in her first major competition—nearly one year after the split—she was unrecognizable. Gone was the girl who’d smiled at cameras and stared starry-eyed at spotlights—now, she silently glared at reporters and intimidated the crowds she’d once dazzled. 

But behind the facade, she was falling apart. 

While the other girls stretched and listened to last-minute pep talks, Shinobu knelt on the frigid bathroom tile and threw up what little she’d managed to eat earlier. 

Kanae squatted beside her, holding back her hair and ensuring her costume remained spotless.

“It’s okay, Shinobu,” she soothed. “Everyone gets nervous before a big competition, especially a debut! Remember mom’s story about the night before the Olympic qualifiers—”

Shinobu dry-heaved again. She knew what pre-performance nervousness felt like and this had nothing to do with it—no, it had everything to do with feeling like her organs had been ripped out of her barely-breathing body. 

She had survived the small competitions of the previous months because they didn’t feel quite real to her. All along, they’d felt like interludes or nightmares she would soon wake up from. The reality of her new life hadn’t quite set in.

But tonight’s competition was important, which made it feel startlingly real. Going forward, she would always go on the ice alone. She would warm up alone, get dressed alone, and deal with the press alone. 

She was on her own.

Shinobu clutched her stomach again, groaning as another wave of nausea rolled over her. 

“It’s not the same, Kanae. I still…still don’t know how to do this by myself.”

“Sure you do. You’re the most independent person I know. You can do this.”

Shinobu hung her head, her voice barely coming out as a whisper. “I don’t want to be independent right now.”

Kanae rubbed soothing circles on her back. “You’ll get through this, okay? You might be skating on your own, but you’re not alone. No matter what happens, I’m there for you in the stands.” She smoothed down a stubborn strand that had escaped Shinobu’s bun. “Now, come on. It’s nearly time.”

Kanae helped Shinobu off the floor, helped her clean up, and reapplied the makeup that had rubbed off. She didn’t leave Shinobu’s side until the last moment.

“I’m sorry,” Shinobu whispered. “For being this…messy.”

Kanae smiled sadly. “It’s alright. Besides, messy emotions often make for the best performances.” She winked. “Now, go show them what Kochou girls do best.”

Twenty minutes later, Shinobu skated to centre ice with shadows hanging over her head. Although she could faintly hear the crowd murmuring above her in the filled stands, she hardly paid them any mind, not even as their curious stares attempted to burn through her. 

Instead, when she raised her head, she imagined him standing amongst them, his dark blue eyes fixed on her as though he’d die if he looked away. Just like before.

Her heart surged forward like a rogue wave. He was supposed to be beside her, not watching from the stands like some cold stranger. Like someone who didn’t know her secrets and dreams, who knew the deepest parts of her and had loved her through all of it. Before he tossed her away.

The music began. Slow, soft piano notes played on the highest scale, absent of any chords. Melancholic. Solitary, even when the lower bass notes came in to round out the melody.

Her coach hadn’t understood why Shinobu had picked such a sombre piano piece when most skaters chose sweeping orchestrations from ballets and operas, pieces that gave them space to show off. 

Shinobu couldn’t tell her that the way the tranquil notes started sadly before escalating into a frenzy calmed only by the grounding bass chords and introduction of a second melody mirrored her tumultuous mind. She couldn’t tell her that the fact that half the song was a duet meant something to her. That the emptiness it held without the other half invoked so much longing. That was something that needed to be experienced to be fully understood. 

She glided into a slow circle, gradually drawing up her left leg behind her, then twirled. Although her execution was technically perfect, she barely felt in control of her own body. Instead, her limbs felt tied to puppet strings piloted by her riotous emotions. Not even the soft scrape of her skate blades calmed her.

Tamayo would have told her it wasn’t a good thing; Shinobu’s emotions couldn’t be trusted. They were powerful, volatile things that led to impulsivity and disaster. 

But Tamayo wasn’t here anymore. She had left, just like he had.

You’re on your own.

It’s over.

Just go, Kochou.

Each word pierced Shinobu’s heart with arrows, but she did her best to carry on as the music picked up. Triple toe loop. Double lutz. Her arms outstretched in performance, curling and bending as though she was trying to push someone away and lure them towards her at the same time. No good routine existed without a good story, after all, and this one was achingly familiar.

She didn’t know if she was doing well or using proper form anymore, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. All she wanted was to let everything out, to free herself even slightly of the boulder crushing her body. It was the only way she could hope to be understood. 

Before, interviewers had asked them to describe their relationship in one word. Shinobu had always laughed off the question—if a whole dictionary couldn’t describe their feelings, how could one word carry the weight? What they’d shared was beyond any kind of verbal expression.

What she’d felt over the last year was the same; not a single word in any language could properly describe the gaping absence or the darkness that consumed her mind. Most people likely saw what happened as a nasty breakup, but to her, it was no mere separation—it was the loss of half her soul. 

How could she sever the ties to someone she’d known her entire life? How could she cut that red string, as seemingly thin and invaluable as it seemed? How could she give up the person who knew her better than she knew herself?

How could she go through the rest of her life knowing that her other half lived apart from her, creating memories she would never be a part of? Writing stories she would never read? Living a life she would never see?

How could she forget him when he was engraved across every facet of her life? 

As the music turned soft again, the answer became clear: she would have to leave him here, on the ice. Every piece, every memory, every shard she’d clutched in her bloodied palms for nearly a year. She needed to bleed him out and teach herself to live without thinking of him ever again.

So, she did. With every spin, twist, and jump, she shed more of him, releasing him like a hurricane of winter wind. 

The song neared its emotional climax in a surge of strings that desperately clamoured for their missing melody, loud and passionate and anguished. She squeezed her eyes shut as she prepared for the final move.

For a second, perhaps even less than that, she felt phantom hands around her waist, ready to lift her to victory. 

She stuck the landing all on her own. 

She hit her final pose as the music ended, but she could only hold it for a few seconds before falling to her knees. She was completely drained, unshed tears burning behind her eyes. She fought the urge to dig her fingers into the ice in a vain attempt at retaining what she had shed. 

The crowd was silent for only a moment before erupting into applause. 

Later, she was praised for her emotional performance and innate technique. She came in second place, an incredible feat for her debut. 

But as she stood on the podium that had once given her such a rush, she felt hollow. 

She looked up at the stands and imagined him watching her one last time. 

And she whispered her final goodbye. 

A few weeks later, on her second New Year's without him, she let someone else kiss her at midnight. Even when it felt wrong, she tried again. Then again. And again. After all, if she had felt those rushes of affection with someone as inexperienced as him, then surely she’d feel it elsewhere. Surely.

But she didn’t. Not that it stopped her from pretending that she did. 

As the second year away from him went by and her list of partners grew longer, she realized she couldn’t recall his kisses with absolute certainty anymore, or remember his scent on her pillow after a midnight tryst, or the way the strands of his dark hair felt between her fingers. Every detail she spent the better part of her youth trying to memorize slipped out of her grasp until only the ghosts of his touches remained.

As she lost him, she lost the flames of life within her, the rich colours of her world turning dull as she learned to live without him. Even her skating, once praised for its passion, turned rigid—her technique was always flawless, but there was a gaping hole where the heart of it should have been. 

Until she saw him again. 

Spending virtually every day with him over the last two months, feeling his touch and being under his gaze as though she never left…it brought every memory flooding back, overwhelming her with everything she had shut away, everything she had let slip through her fingers, and the sense of life that she had lost. 

And now that he had kissed her again, she couldn’t fathom trying to forget him all over again. 

Back in the present, Shinobu falls back into her bed, clarity still so painfully out of reach. She thought revisiting all her locked memories would help her, but instead, the introspection has turned her mind into more of a jumbled mess. Her heart is divided, torn between the anguish of losing him and the golden glow of having him.

Losing him had felt like dying, like being buried deep under the earth without sunlight and forgotten for centuries.

Loving him and being loved by him had felt like soaring through an endless sky, free of any burdens and shadows. With him, she had believed in happily ever after. 

Although she’s too old and cynical for that now, she is certain of something: being with him again, even with this horrific uncertainty burning between them, has helped her feel the sparks of life again. Their practices, their conversations, his touch, that kiss…

How strange that, despite all the change and misfortunes, he still feels the same, as though she were merely gone three days and not three years. It’s a cruel trick on her psyche, which clings to the feeling like an infant to its mother, searching for sustenance and comfort. 

After revisiting every memory she swore she’d never return to, she’s more uncertain than ever before. How can that boy be the same one from that night? How can everything be different, yet feel so familiar? 

And how can she justify wanting him this badly after swearing off him forever?

She doesn’t know what to feel—or rather, she does, but she can’t face it. She doesn’t want to feel it, doesn’t want to submit to it, despite how tempting it is. 

So, instead of confronting that, she falls back on their old game.

Two truths and a lie:

1. She hates him for what he did. She hates him with every cell that once loved him.
2. She wishes she could go back. How far, she doesn’t know. To that night, so she can tell herself to turn around and go home. To their last competition, so she can freeze time and stay in that bliss. To her teen years, to beg herself to stop falling for him. To the beginning, so she never meets him at all.
3. She still loves him, and it’s stronger than any of the wrath in her bones. Her body knows him, remembers him, yearns for him like it never did for anyone else. She hates it.

She doesn’t know the answer. It seems that after everything, she has even learned how to conceal the truth from herself.

Chapter Text

Despite falling asleep way after midnight, Shinobu wakes up just past 7 a.m.

Her eyelids feel heavier than lead, but she blinks them open anyway, her mind racing far too quickly to grant her the reprieve of sleep again.

She immediately regrets it when she sees the corkboard in the corner, still uncovered from last night. She makes a mental note to cover it back up, but knows she never will. 

She stretches out her tired limbs and slips out of bed, fighting to ignore the morning chill. She can’t fall asleep, but she also can’t spend another second facing those photos, meaning no more bed for her.

But the photos’ reach extends past her room, stretching down the halls and throughout the house. Every room holds a memory, a stolen kiss and a knowing smile, a child’s giggle, and a whispered dream. She can't stay here either.

Shinobu winds up throwing on her jacket and walking down the street. She abandons her car and its heated seats in favour of the autumn wind and rustling leaves, which crunch under her boots. Summer really is over.

Across the street, students walk arm-in-arm, their books in hand as they eagerly catch up with each other. For a fleeting second, she sees her younger self strolling amongst them, her plaid uniform skirt swaying above her knees and her oversized cardigan keeping her warm. 

Maybe the cardigan was never really hers to begin with. Maybe he pretended he never needed it back. Maybe it hangs in her closet, still smelling of maple like all the other souvenirs she stole from him over the years—a winter scarf, a pair of gloves, and the hoodie she claimed that one night…

Shinobu turns away from the students, taking the path away from the nearby schools and into town. At least here, she’s surrounded by rushing adults buying breakfast and overpriced coffee. Nothing that reminds her of him.

She decides to join them and wanders into the cafe that replaced her beloved Maple’s. A dozen people stand inside, some waiting for their drinks and others dispersed across the various tables. Some glance at her, a flash of recognition passing through their eyes before looking away politely. Others stare without shame. She may not know everyone in town, but unfortunately, most of them know her. 

After she places her order, she waits near the wall, mindlessly scrolling through her phone to avoid any further eye contact. 

Icy Insights has a countdown clock to today’s interview. Although she doesn’t linger on it, the few seconds she watches tick down fill her with dread. 6 hours, 30 minutes, and 27 seconds to go…26…25…

Alongside it, they’ve posted an old photo of her and Giyuu, reminding people to check back for updates. It was taken four years ago on the podium of a competition she doesn’t even remember the name of; in it, she beams up at him and, although the angle hides most of his expression, she remembers him smiling back, his eyes soft and vibrant.

Her heart burns with the memory, either out of happiness or yearning. She isn’t sure which would be worse, but regardless, she can't bring herself to click away.

She thought that last night’s reflection would grant her some clarity, but she still can't comprehend how he was able to cut her off so swiftly, to close himself off and become the ghost of a person she found skating aimlessly when she came back here. A person who looked at her like she was a stranger despite knowing all her secrets.

Not that he looked at her like that last night. No, he looked at her as though he remembered exactly what it was like to have her. To love her.

What if he still cares?

The thought comes to her unbidden but clearly. Half of her instinctively wants to answer no, of course not, to remind herself that he likely only agreed to help her out of pity or compassion for what they once were. The other half remembers the kiss with toe-curling detail.

Stop, Shinobu. You’re in public. 

It can be argued that the kiss was merely an impulse brought on by the high emotions of their routine. It would be reasonable to think so—except Giyuu isn’t impulsive. He never has been, and the way he gazed at her before logic shot back into his eyes…it was as though he’d never stopped wanting her. 

But that can’t be possible. He made his stance on her abundantly clear three years ago. He doesn’t care.

“Please, he wouldn’t have even cared. He didn’t know about it until I told him.”

“Is that what he made you believe? He knew as soon as the news broke out!”

Shinobu’s breath catches as her first conversation with Tsutako re-enters her mind. At the time, she had been offended and had taken Tsutako’s words as proof that Giyuu no longer cared since he hadn’t even sent her a supportive text. Now, it stands as proof that maybe he cared long after she was gone.

She needs to talk to Tsutako. She absolutely needs someone who won’t beat around the bush, someone who will be brutally honest about his time without her—

“Kochou?” a disturbingly familiar voice calls.

No, it can’t be. 

Shinobu turns around slowly, hoping that it was just a sleep-deprived hallucination and not actually her.

Except Yae Matagi really is standing behind her. Perfect Yae Matagi in her perfect pressed pantsuit and perfect slicked back bun.

“It is you,” Yae says, seemingly reeling just as much as Shinobu is. “I heard you were back in town, but I’d assumed it was a rumour. You know how people are.”

“Well…here I am,” Shinobu replies, suddenly self-conscious of her appearance. Here’s Yae, all sharp lines and pristine angles, whereas Shinobu still looks like she just rolled out of bed. Which she did, but no one, least of all Yae, is supposed to know that.

Yae picks up her order from the counter. “Would you like to join me for coffee? I’m not due to get to the office for another half hour.”

Not really, Shinobu thinks, but before she can think of an excuse, the barista calls her name. 

Likely noticing her hesitation, Yae offers a polite smile. “I know we’ve had our issues in the past, but we’re adults now. We can catch up without biting each other’s heads off.”

Despite the awkwardness, Shinobu manages a light laugh. “I don’t know, I think we’re still pretty vicious.”

Yae’s smile widens. “Absolutely. But we’re ladies now, we can hold it in.”

Which is how she ends up at a table with her former worst enemy and first-ever rival.

“So…” Shinobu attempts. “What do you do now?”

Yae takes a sip of her coffee. “I’m a law clerk at a nearby firm. I’m working on becoming a prosecutor.”

“Of course you are,” Shinobu replies before she can stop herself. “Sorry, that was rude. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you did,” Yae laughs. “It’s okay, you aren’t wrong. I made your life impossible back then; now, I’ll be doing the same to criminals. And you? What are you up to these days?”

“As if you don’t know.”

Yae shrugs. “It’s polite to ask. I’d rather hear it from you than town gossip or social media.”

“Are you interrogating me?” Shinobu asks with a raised, but amused eyebrow.

A slow smirk adorns Yae’s face and suddenly, she’s no different from the teenage girl who taunted her all those years ago. “Sure. After all, I don’t think you were actually taking enhancers, were you?”

“Of course not!” 

A few curious patrons look at Shinobu. She clears her throat to save face. “I was framed. Now, I’m stuck working my way back up.”

“With Giyuu back by your side.”

His first name rolls off Yae’s tongue so smoothly that it nearly makes Shinobu’s eye twitch. What right does she have to address him so casually as though she has some claim over him—

“We were only together for a few months.”

Her eyes fall shut in reluctant understanding. Right, they dated. Only for a little while, but enough to make a difference in their dynamic. Of course, Yae calls him by his first name. She does have the right. She likely used it in happier contexts too, in intimate moments where it was just the two of them in darkness, his arms around her like they once wrapped around Shinobu…

“He told you, didn’t he?” Yae asks, her voice cutting through Shinobu’s wandering thoughts. “About the two of us?”

Shinobu’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “How did you know I was thinking about that?”

“For a moment, you looked ready to jump across this table and strangle me. Call it a hunch,” Yae laughs, taking another graceful sip. “You don’t need to worry, we broke up last year—if you can even call what we had a relationship. I’m more than over him.”

Shinobu blinks in surprise. She expected to make it to the Olympics before Yae ever moved on from Giyuu. “What do you mean? You were crazy about him.”

Yae sighs. “I was, but daydreaming about someone and actually dating them are shockingly different things. I’m the one who ended it.”

A strange look enters Yae’s eyes, but she blinks it away before Shinobu can decipher it. 

“I realized we were too different,” Yae continues. “You made understanding him seem so easy, but when I attempted it, it was like learning a different language. Not that he helped very much.”

“Tell me about it,” Shinobu grumbled. “I don’t understand him anymore either.”

“Ha!” Yae squeals before quickly smacking her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I just can’t believe it. I thought he’d be an open book for you.”

“More like a diary with a dozen locks,” Shinobu sighs. “To be honest…I’m not sure he was happy to see me again.”

She immediately wishes she hadn’t admitted that, but it’s too late—the confession already billows between them like black smoke, marring any colourful perception Yae may have had of their supposed reunion.

She shakes her head in disbelief. “That doesn’t make any sense. It seemed like ever since you left, he was just waiting for you to come back.”

Shinobu’s eyes widen and her breath stalls in her throat. Her entire body feels numb, because surely Yae isn’t hinting at what Shinobu thinks she is.

Well, she wanted someone to finally be honest and upfront with her on what Giyuu was like during her absence—who better than the girl who never sugar-coated anything? 

“What do you mean?” she asks, praying that her voice doesn’t betray her desperation. 

Yae’s eyebrow goes up. “I thought he told you everything.”

Not for a long time. “Not this.”

“I see.” 

Yae blinks and glances down at her mug. She takes a long drink, then takes her time dabbing her mouth with a napkin. If this were another time, Shinobu would assume Yae is purposely stalling, but there’s no arrogance to her motions. She seems hesitant. Unsure.

 “After you left, people barely saw him. He was so reclusive that I thought he really did move away with you, until I saw the news about you going solo. It took a year until I bumped into him here, of all places.”

She scratches the ceramic with her perfectly manicured nail.

“We talked for a while, just like this. Then, he asked me on a lunch date. Naturally, I was thrilled. One thing led to another and we started dating, but…there was always something in the way. At first, I thought it meant I wasn’t trying hard enough to get through to him. I started overthinking, but whenever I brought it up, he acted like everything was just fine. I believed him then, but in hindsight, I was in denial.”

She bites down on her lower lip. “I thought it was just a bump in the road; after all, all couples have difficulties, right? But no matter what I did, nothing ever changed. Four months in, I finally realized what it was: you.”

Her eyes shoot up to Shinobu, who sits so still that she barely breathes. There’s a sadness in Yae’s gaze intertwined with frustration, a sight Shinobu recognizes from her own reflection. 

“You’d been gone for over a year, but it still felt like I was sharing him with you. Or rather, like I was still competing with you for his attention—and losing, at that. So, I ended it.”

She squeezes her mug with white knuckles and finishes her coffee with one last gulp. When she places it back on the table, it’s with a delicate tap.

“For his sake, I’m glad you’re back, Kochou. Truly. He was lost without you.”

Giyuu grits his teeth as he revs his motorcycle, increasing his speed so drastically that the country road blurs before him. 

Yet not even the roar of the engine is strong enough to drive the thoughts of Shinobu away—he can even feel her iron grip around his waist again, as though they’re still on their way to the lake. 

It doesn’t help that he leans into the imaginary weight of her body pressed against his back, her face tucked into the crook of his shoulder as though she wanted to be with him and not just holding on for dear life.

He shakes his head. He deluded himself that night, too drunk on happy memories to remind himself of the reality of their situation. She doesn’t want him. Not like that, anyway. Not anymore. 

“I won’t be there to help you anymore. You’re on your own.”

He brakes so hard that his bike screeches. He narrowly manages to kick the stand down before collapsing over the handlebars, his head hanging low. 

He hates remembering that night, but he still allows the scene to replay whenever it comes to mind. Although the tape must be worn out, he can still see everything as though it’s playing out in front of him. 

He shudders through each breath until it finally passes.

It’s quickly chased by another memory, though he doesn’t know if it’s his mind’s poor attempt at comfort or another jab to his heart.

When their routine ended, he didn’t want her to open her eyes. He didn’t want her to see him. He didn’t trust himself to do the right thing if she did. His skin was on fire, his heart racing faster than his motorcycle ever could, and his control over his emotions was slipping with each breath against his cheek. 

Put her down. Yes, that was what he needed to do. Put her down, say goodbye, and go home. Hope she didn’t notice his blush and pray Tsutako didn’t make fun of him for it. Easy enough.

Shinobu opened her eyes. 

Everything stuttered to a halt: his breath, his thoughts, and his pulse, his logic and better judgment dying a quiet death beside them as her lips parted. 

She gazed at him through hooded eyes framed by dark lashes. Her eyes were violet flames that threatened to set him ablaze, though he wasn’t sure if her fire was intended to save him or put him out of his misery. 

He didn’t care which one it was, so long as she consumed him. 

She whispered his name, sending sparks racing across his body. How many times had he imagined this during her absence? How many times did he desperately cling to the memories of it? 

Why had he given it up in the first place? He couldn’t remember.

Maybe that was what finally severed his self-control. 

Giyuu shoves his visor up and takes a deep breath, but the fresh air isn’t enough to cool his burning skin or erase the memory of her scent, sweet and familiar. 

He shouldn’t have done it. He has no right to her anymore. He can’t forget that.

Although the reminders pile up, they’re becoming too difficult to hold onto the more he sees her. It’s only a matter of time until he selfishly gives in again.

Stop. You can’t do it again. Pull yourself together. She isn’t yours.

It doesn’t help that, in just a few hours, he needs to convince the world that she is his. That she still loves him. That he’s worthy of standing beside her. 

Acting like he wants her is the easy part. Acting like he deserves to may be impossible.

Shinobu can’t stop replaying Yae’s words as she gets ready for the interview.

The image she painted of Giyuu contradicts everything he led Shinobu to believe. How can the person who seemingly tossed her away and reluctantly agreed to save her also be the boy who shut everyone out after she left? Who couldn’t stop missing her even after he started anew? Who let his fresh start slip away because he couldn’t let her go?

Then again, what Shinobu went through wasn’t very different, was it? 

She briefly wondered if Yae was exaggerating their split or misinterpreting her experiences, but it made even less sense than her confession did. Even if she has moved on, Yae has never had a reason to validate Shinobu’s position in Giyuu’s life; if she claims that he was lost without her, it’s because she saw something that genuinely proved it. 

Shinobu desperately wanted to ask what that something was, but she thought it would be rude to continue picking at Yae’s old wound. It must have hurt her pride to admit that much defeat, and it would only be a matter of time until she asked Shinobu what happened between them. 

It’s bad enough that Icy Insights is planning to interrogate her about it anyway.

She tightens her ponytail for the eighth time and mentally runs through Tamayo’s carefully prepared answers again. 

Keep it short. Give them just enough information to make them believe they successfully pulled something out of you. Do not tell them everything; they don’t need the truth. All they need is a story.

She can do this. After all, she’s been braving the press by herself for the last three years. This is just another interview. So what if it’s intended to pry into her secrets and suck out her soul in the name of journalism and light entertainment? 

Nope, that’s enough overthinking. Time to go.

By the time Shinobu reaches the parking lot, Tamayo and Yushiro are already there. 

His eyes narrow as she approaches them. “Don’t tell me you’re sleep-deprived too. What is wrong with you people?”

Tamayo smiles patiently. “It’s alright, Yushiro, they’ll survive. They’re probably very nervous.”

“Who cares about them, what about you? Their performance reflects on you and I can’t tolerate them tarnishing your name…”

Shinobu ignores Yushiro’s ranting and gets into their car with a tired sigh. Maybe she can nap until they get to the venue.

She freezes as she realizes she isn’t alone. Giyuu sits beside her, staring at her with wide eyes lined with dark shadows, just like hers. 

“Good afternoon, Kochou,” he awkwardly greets.

Kochou. As if he didn’t say her first name perfectly fine yesterday.

She clears her throat. “Good afternoon.”

They both sit ramrod straight and as far away as they can get in the small confines of Tamayo’s back seat. Neither of them says another word for most of the trip.

Shinobu can’t stop herself from sneaking occasional glances at him, her new revelations about him at war with what she sees right beside her. 

He nearly catches her when her eyes accidentally linger on his mouth, but she quickly glances at the upholstery instead. Funny, the seats are the same colour as Tamayo’s old car.

Wait. This is the same car Tamayo had three years ago. That means this is the same backseat where Shinobu and Giyuu used to take naps and sneak kisses when they thought the adults weren’t looking.

She leans against the window and lightly smacks her forehead against the glass. This is going to be a painfully long drive.

When they reach the arena, Tamayo and Yushiro head inside first to ensure everything is ready. Shinobu and Giyuu are ordered to stay in the car until they're called.

Alone. Together.

“So…” Shinobu says, fiddling with her seatbelt. “Are we going to discuss what happened yesterday?”

Giyuu shifts in his seat. “No.”

She scoffs. “Really? So we're…what? Pretending like it never happened?”

“That would be best. If you want.”

“If I want.” She rolls her eyes. “We're already going to be doing plenty of pretending today, must we really add more to the list?”

“What's one more?”

“And if I don't want to pretend it didn't happen? What then? Will you still grant my wish?”

He glances outside, likely waiting for Tamayo to spawn and save him, but no reprieve comes. So, Shinobu decided to push harder.

She unbuckles her seatbelt and inches closer to him. She doesn't touch him, but she's near enough to feel the whispers of his body heat through her sweater. 

“Well, Tomioka?”

He shakes his head, still not looking at her. “I did something selfish last night, Kochou. I'm sorry.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Something selfish? So you admit you did it self-indulgently.”

“I do.”

“Which implies that you wanted to do it very badly,” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “didn't you?” 

Silence. 

“I suppose you'll have to make it up to me then. Just to make things even.”

She hooks one finger under his chin and tilts his face towards her. If there's any actual hesitation in his expression, she'll drop it and move on, but she's certain there won't be.

Sure enough, his eyes are consumed by the same need as yesterday as he drinks her in, his gaze tracing all over her face before settling on her mouth. 

Checkmate. 

“You're breathing quite heavily, you know. We haven't even done anything.”

“So are you.”

Is she? She barely noticed.

She twirls a lock of his hair around her finger. “Maybe I'm selfish too. Tell me, will you entertain my self-indulgence too?”

He says nothing, but his hard swallow gives him away. Yes. He will.

Can this really be the face of someone who doesn't care? Should she really keep pushing to find out? Is that even what this is anymore? Or has it truly morphed into complete self-indulgence?

Does it even matter?

Before she can think about it for any longer, she presses her lips to his impulsively, recklessly, just like she's been wanting.

His reaction is immediate. He gives in right away, surrendering to her control and allowing her to lead him wherever she wants. Just like before. 

She shouldn't be doing this. Logically, it was a mistake last night and it's a mistake now—but she can't stop. If she does, she may never get the courage to do it ever again.

If she's going to do something she'll regret later, she might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

She increases the pressure behind the kiss and he readily responds, his hands sliding from her arms to her back to bring her closer.

Not close enough, she thinks before shifting onto his lap, her legs on either side of his. She wraps her arms around his neck, crushing him to her and delving deeper, deeper, as deep as she can until she can’t pick her own breath apart from his. 

For these few minutes, he’s hers again. 

One of his hands moves from her back to her leg, clutching her thigh to pull her closer, just like their tango routine. 

No wonder critics said they were too young to perform it all those years ago—at that age, she never could have fathomed this electricity racing through her, sending sparks to every nerve in her body from her mouth to the very tips of her fingers. How could she have understood this want?

Maybe that’s all this is. Maybe she doesn’t still have feelings for him and this is just some misplaced lust, a craving for someone familiar who she knows will treat her well in all the right places. Maybe this is just a lapse in judgment that will pass now that she’s gotten it out of her system. Maybe.

But lust has nothing to do with wanting him to look at her like he used to, as though she was some brilliant, perfect thing he couldn’t believe was his. It has nothing to do with yearning for his warmth, not like this in the heat of a passionate moment but in an embrace assuring her that everything will be okay. It has nothing to do with desperately wanting to trust him again as blindly as before or this longing to return to what they were. No, lust has nothing to do with that at all.

"I’ll keep you safe, Kochou. I’ll never let you fall."

"You’re not as hard to handle as you think you are."

Things he has said recently that sound so similar to his words from those years ago that it makes her heart ache. Maybe it makes her sound delusional, but she’s certain it proves that, deep down, he’s the same boy he once was. 

The same boy she loved.

A single tear escapes its confines, slipping down her cheek without warning. 

Before she can start praying he doesn’t notice, he briefly pulls away from her. She nearly tugs his collar to distract him, only for him to gently press his lips against her cheek, the whisper of his touch so tender that she barely feels it. 

Her eyes flutter shut. Even when her phone finally dings with Tamayo’s message, she keeps them closed, determined to stay in this moment just a few seconds longer. Giyuu, to his credit, doesn't move either.

Giyuu narrowly remembers to wipe Shinobu’s lip gloss away before entering the arena. 

After mentally berating himself all day for kissing her yesterday, the very last thing he should have done was kiss her again. Granted, she had taken the lead, but he was supposed to pull away and sit in awkward silence until they were called inside. Easy.

But as soon as she forced his gaze back on her, he felt drawn to her like a magnet, unable to resist her pull even if he tried. And he has been trying with every fibre of his being. Desperately, since seeing her again. 

He sighs deeply and rubs the back of his neck. 

“What took you so long to get out of the car anyway?” Yushiro asks angrily as he leads them inside. 

“Method acting,” Shinobu responds. She walks ahead of Giyuu, her expression hidden. 

Yushiro’s step nearly falters. “Ugh, forget I asked. Just pull yourselves together before we get in there. The performance starts before they even point a camera at you.”

“We’re aware. We know what we’re doing, don’t we, Tomioka?”

Giyuu nods despite feeling far from confident.

Yushiro groans and stops in front of the rink’s doors. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Shinobu’s shoulders rise as she takes a deep breath. “Agreed.”

She turns around and transforms into someone else, her eyes falling shut and her cheeks rounding. She wears a smile that reveals nothing, her expression so sweet that he can barely connect her to the breathless Shinobu of just a few minutes ago. The only thing that betrays her is the tiniest hint of a tear track just under her eyelid, but it’s so faint no one would notice unless they stood this close to her.

He did that to her. He made her cry. 

He digs his fingers into his palm, squeezing until his knuckles turn white.

Shinobu holds out her hand. “Are you ready, darling?”

His eyes snap back to hers. Her tone drips with the same sweetness as the word darling, but he knows her well enough to recognize the venomous current that runs beneath it. She’s mad, and she has every right to be.

Still, he takes her hand. She intertwines their fingers right as Yushiro opens the doors. 

Breathe, Giyuu tells himself. Just breathe. Don’t blow this. You owe her this much.

Two chairs are set up in front of the rink, another chair facing them with a camera set up beside it. One of Icy Insights’ hosts, a short brunette with shoulder-length hair and a chunky pink sweater, speaks animatedly with Tamayo. 

Yushiro clears his throat, announcing Giyuu and Shinobu’s presence. 

The host gasps when she sees them, light filling her eyes as they approach. 

“Wow, it’s an honour to finally meet you!” she greets with a polite bow. 

Shinobu nods demurely. “Thank you for having us.” As usual, her tone doesn’t betray how annoyed he knows she was to do this in the first place.

The host gestures to the chairs. “Please, sit down and get comfy! We’ll begin in just a few minutes. You don’t mind if I start recording some audio now, though, do you? I want to make sure we don’t miss anything!”

Shinobu side-eyes Giyuu for half a second before regaining her composure. “Of course not. Go right ahead.”

“The performance will begin as soon as you walk through the door,” Tamayo had said during their preparation. “Don’t let your guard down for a second. Everyone will watch your every move.”

“Thanks!” the host says as she starts fiddling with the camera. “I never like to enter an arena without recording. You never know what exciting tidbits you can pick up.” She winks.

“How invasive. No wonder they’re able to find everything out,” Shinobu mumbles, just loud enough for Giyuu to hear.

As they sit down, he mentally reviews the answers Tamayo prepared. Although Shinobu is meant to do most of the talking, he needs to be prepared to add something other than simple agreement. 

Another breath. Do it for her. 

The host settles into her chair and begins her introduction, expressing her enthusiasm over being with them.

“Now, this is a pair with some wild ups and downs. Despite having a highly successful junior career and an extremely promising future, they mysteriously split for unknown reasons three years ago. As many of you likely know, Shinobu Kochou went on to become a successful soloist, though more recently, her name hit the headlines for more…unsavoury reasons. Then comes the bombshell that not only is she returning to pairs skating but also reuniting with her former partner…turned boyfriend? That’s right, everyone, we’ll be discussing the doping scandal, the split, the reunion, and so much more in today’s tell-all!”

Shinobu’s smile grows more strained with each word. Without thinking, Giyuu squeezes her hand a little tighter. 

With the focus of the interview now directed to them, they give quick greetings before the host delves into the questions.

“Let’s start with the question on everyone’s mind,” the host says, turning to Shinobu. “A few months ago, performance enhancers were found in your bag at the national qualifiers. Your former coach said you never used them, but Douma says you even encouraged him to use them during a brief stint as your partner. What’s the truth?”

Giyuu’s jaw twitches at the mention of Douma and the heartless rumours against Shinobu. To her credit, she answers as gracefully as she can. 

“The truth is that I have never, nor will I ever, take performance enhancers, especially not for skating. I’m still unsure of how they ended up in my bag, but they weren’t mine.”

“Are you suggesting they were planted there?” the host prods with eager eyes. “Could it have been a rival?”

Shinobu shuts her eyes with a smile. “I’m not accusing any of my fellow competitors of anything. All I can say for certain is that they weren’t mine.”

Behind the camera, Tamayo nods, pleased. 

“And Douma’s statement?” the host continues. “Is it true you nearly became partners?”

Shinobu laughs, likely on instinct. “Everything he said was fabricated. While he did reach out to me with an offer of partnership, I had already decided to go solo by that point.”

The host grins. “Interesting.”

Giyuu battles between keeping his expression neutral and breathing a long sigh of relief. When he had heard Douma’s comments about Shinobu, he knew they couldn’t have been true, not only because she never would have used enhancers but also because she never even gave him the time of day. She’d always found him arrogant and annoying.

But sometimes, desperate hopes lead to desperate measures. That was enough to leave Giyuu with a sliver of doubt that maybe she did consider Douma’s offer of partnership. 

Giyuu nearly shudders at the thought of them skating together. That can never happen.

Not that he has the right to say that.

The rest of the interview continues just as Tamayo predicted. The host asks about Giyuu’s reaction to the news (shocked, but doubtful), their first meeting (in his family’s arena), and the early years of their partnership (clumsy, but fun).

When she asks when they fell for each other, Shinobu blushes so convincingly that he nearly thinks it’s genuine before remembering Tamayo’s advice to act bashful. Surely, that’s all it is. 

“We both knew we had feelings for each other as teenagers,” Shinobu answers. “However, we knew that dating at that age would be too risky. There was so much at stake, so we waited.”

A half-truth that comes out as smoothly as the real thing. 

“Well, you had the rest of us fooled!” the host jokes. “You had every viewer wondering when your wedding would be!”

Shinobu giggles along with her, but her fingers instinctively curl into Giyuu's palm. “Yes, I suppose we did, didn’t we?”

She directs her gaze to Giyuu, and for a moment, they really are teenagers trying to hide their relationship all over again, determined to protect it from all the prying eyes clamouring to either see it end or claim it for themselves. The longer he sits through this interview and the host’s attempts at dissecting their every breath, the more he realizes they were right to hold their relationship so closely. It was never meant to belong to the public; it just had to be theirs.

He meets Shinobu’s eyes, still glowing with affection, not that he can tell if it’s real or feigned. Regardless, he knows one thing: he still wants to protect her, as best as he can.

Giyuu nods. “It was hard to contain it, even when we knew we were supposed to.”

The host’s grin grows. “You mentioned the risk of dating at that time, but relationship or not, things still didn't turn out as planned, did they? Because just a few months after the 10th anniversary of your partnership…you split.”

Without giving them space to respond, the host opens her phone to show them a photo.

It’s shockingly candid, clearly having been taken after one of their last competitions ended. They had already let their guards down, no longer performing for any camera or spectator. 

Shinobu stands on her tiptoes with her arms around his neck, pulling herself up to his height. He has one arm around her waist and the other near her face, a lock of her hair between his fingers as he gazes at her in nothing less than adoration.

He looks like a man in love.

“Another competition in the books,” Shinobu said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Next time we compete, we won’t be juniors anymore.”

“Does that scare you?” Giyuu asked, his hand naturally finding her waist. “Because it terrifies me.”

Shinobu laughed, the sound of it more musical than any classical piece. “A little…but we’ll have each other, so everything will be perfect.”

Nothing was capable of being perfect, but he didn’t want to tell her that now—not while she was smiling like this, still glowing in post-competition bliss.  After a decade, this was still his favourite version of her: rosy cheeks, wild hair, and slightly breathless. To him, this was the real Shinobu Kochou.

Without thinking, he took a loose lock of her hair and held it between his fingers, simply feeling its softness. It amazed him how easily she took his worries away, his earlier anxieties momentarily quieting at her presence. He wished they could stay like this forever.

But just like perfection, ‘forever’ wasn’t attainable either. He knew that. He just didn’t have the heart to tell her quite yet.

At that moment, all he wanted was to pretend like everything was okay.

The host zooms in on their faces. “This photo was taken at your very last public appearance. Just a few weeks later, you announced your split. Now, I don't know about you, but that doesn't make sense at all, does it? You two had it all: success, prestige, a bright future, and, clearly, the type of bond people would kill for. Why did you end it?”

They knew the question was inevitable, but the host's blunt wording gives him pause. Even Tamayo crosses her arms behind the camera, concern lining her face.

Beside him, Shinobu freezes. Her shoulders go rigid and her hand suddenly squeezes him so tightly that he feels his circulation cutting off. She still wears her smile, but she's straining harder to keep it on.

Tamayo's brows knit together. She urgently motions for Shinobu to answer, but she can’t seem to get anything out. Her focus is locked on the photo, her mind years away and her voice trapped in her throat.

The host stares at her with hungry eyes, her expression pulling into a satisfied smirk like a predator trapping its prey.

“It was…complicated.”

Everyone’s attention snaps to Giyuu as he breaks the tense silence. Even Shinobu turns to him wide-eyed, still unable to speak. 

Tamayo told them to keep this answer short, reducing the entire tragedy to “personal reasons” and somehow segueing to the next topic as quickly as possible—but he isn’t creative enough to pull that off without drawing more attention to Shinobu, whose name has already been smeared so heavily by circumstances out of her control. 

The worst irony in all of this is that he’s the only one who actually knows the answer to this question.

He takes a deep, steadying breath. “We wanted different things. She wanted to keep going, but I…I didn’t.”

“When were you ever pretending? You wanted this as much as I did.”

“I didn’t. I never did.”

He nearly winces at the memory, barely managing to maintain composure by biting his inner cheek. 

“Why not?” the host prods, freeing Shinobu and turning him into her prey instead. “You were at the top of the world together!”

“This is everything we’ve worked towards for years. This is our dream!” 

Shinobu’s distressed voice echoes across the years and it takes everything in him not to react. He can’t let her down again, not even as the complex doubts from back then begin crawling up his spine as though they never left. 

Pull yourself together, Tomioka.

“I couldn’t handle the pressure anymore,” he says. “But I didn’t want to hold her back. Splitting was the only option.”

He can feel Tamayo and Yushiro’s stares burning holes through him, likely hyper-analyzing him to see how much truth his words hold. Everyone who watches this interview will do the same.

But that’s better than how Shinobu’s eyes feel beside him, unable to tear themselves away. She still hasn’t said anything, but he knows a hurricane must be whirling through her mind right now. Where Tamayo’s gaze scalds him, making his skin itch under her scrutiny, Shinobu’s makes him want to curl into himself. 

The host nods in understanding. “Yes, this sport definitely isn’t for the faint-hearted, is it? But that begs the question: why return to the ice now?”

“Because she asked me to,” he admits before he can stop himself. “And I missed it.”

The second half of his answer earns a relieved sigh from Yushiro, who looked ready to throttle him just a second ago.

The host smiles. “I think I speak for your fans when I say we missed you too. Glad to have you back!”

The interview carries on without any other surprises, though it takes a few more minutes for Shinobu to regain her composure. She goes on to answer questions about her transition back into pairs and their current routine with so much practiced grace that no one would assume she nearly cracked at all.

“I think that does it for the question portion of this interview!” the host announces with a clap. “We have about ten minutes before our time together ends, so what do you say to giving us an exclusive preview of your routine, hmm?”

Tamayo nods.

Shinobu follows suit. “We’d be honoured to.”

WATCH: Shinobu Kochou and Giyuu Tomioka break their silence! 

pr1madonna87: everyone shut up, my show is on

lay_landry: OMG IT’S FINALLY OUT

siren_s0ng: woah…maybe I was wrong about them

go-lucky: hmm still seems too good to be true

clovey: @go-lucky I thought the same thing but I think this convinced me lol

starryskye: Same here. Did you see the way they looked at each other? You can’t fake that kind of thing

lover-girl: is it just me or did she seem kinda sad after they showed that pic?

siren_s0ng: @lover-girl seems like there’s still more than meets the eye…

nightingayle: oh, how i’ve missed theorizing about these two

Instead of feeling relieved that the interview is finally over, Shinobu feels like she’s losing her mind. 

She was already on edge before the interview started, evident by how her lips still tingled from her impulsive actions in the car, but she quickly slipped into a familiar rhythm as she spat out each of Tamayo’s prepared answers. 

Until that photo caught her completely off guard. 

She knew they would be asked about the split. She knew she was supposed to blame it on “personal reasons” without elaborating further. She knew Icy Insights would press anyway. What she didn’t know was that the host had a wild card up her sleeve.

Shinobu had never seen that photo before—she hadn’t even known it existed before today. On the surface, it was just another picture of them during happier times, blissfully unaware of the fate that awaited them. That wasn’t what seized her breath, preventing her from answering— no, it was what the photo depicted.

Giyuu’s gaze on her, completely unguarded, his rich blue eyes consumed with affection. It wasn’t the practiced stare of their routines or the adoring glances people pointed out during interviews…it was the gaze he gave her in private, when they thought no one was watching. 

When he told her that he loved her. 

The sight seized her tongue, preventing any word from slipping through, regardless of how hard she tried. 

Then, Giyuu saved her, but his answer did nothing to soothe her. It was the closest thing she had heard to an explanation, but she knew it wasn’t the whole truth either. A vast ocean lurks beneath his words, its murky depths still concealing everything that led to that fateful moment. She’s getting there, but it still isn’t enough. No matter how far she wades or how hard she swims, he still won’t let her in. 

“I thought he told you everything,” Yae had said. What a joke.

When Shinobu returns to her bedroom, she doesn’t bother turning on the lights. She just drops her bag to the floor and stands in front of her closet.

She shouldn’t do it. It will only make things worse...but truthfully, how much worse can things get? 

She opens the door. It’s almost laughable how easy it is to find what she’s looking for: an oversized navy blue hoodie so dark that it’s nearly black, somehow still smelling like maple and pine. 

No longer wanting to think anymore, she slips it on. The hem falls to her knees. 

She curls into bed with a long sigh and wraps her arms around herself. If she tries hard enough, she might be able to convince herself they’re someone else’s.

Elsewhere, Giyuu sits on the edge of his mattress, running his hands through his hair. 

Shinobu barely said anything on the way home. Her few words were nothing but short replies to Tamayo, who seemed torn between praising them for a job well done and reprimanding them for nearly losing control. Shinobu kept her body pressed against the window, maintaining as much distance from him as possible. He doesn’t know how he’ll face her tomorrow.

It seems like upsetting her is the only thing he’s good at. How strange that he was once capable of making her happy.

In the corner of his eye, his bedside drawer glares at him.

He should’ve gotten rid of it three years ago. Everything in it should have disappeared when she did, cast from his life forever either as a punishment or a mercy.

But he didn’t. He held onto everything. It was the only piece he had left of her after she left—the only proof that, once upon a time, his heart knew how to beat.

He opens the drawer.

Fragments of the life he lived with her look up at him: dozens of photos and faded receipts from old get-togethers, torn movie and carnival tickets, old birthday cards and now-meaningless notes passed in class. Each one holds a different memory, representing countless insignificant moments that have kept him alive these last three years.

In the centre of it all sits a dark purple hair ribbon with a silver butterfly chain dangling down its middle. The colour is slightly faded and the ends have curled, but it still outshines every trophy they’ve ever won.

It was her favourite. She accidentally left it behind on Christmas Eve three years ago.

He runs his fingers down the chain, tracing the shape of the butterfly pendant and shutting his eyes. 

After years of pretending to be unaffected by the past, he can’t take it anymore. Like an ocean breaking through a dam, the memories finally burst free, drowning him in wave after wave. This time, he succumbs to the flood, allowing them to drift him to a different time, when he still had the honour of being hers.