Chapter Text
…Seven, eight, nine, and… ten. There I go.
Chiyo let her legs relax, knees bending slightly under the pressure of the machine she was sitting on. A hand ran over the smooth muscle of her left thigh, pressing down a bit in a massage-like motion. She had always enjoyed exercising her body – gaining strength and muscle had a way of making her feel confident – powerful, even. Unfortunately for her, however, her sport was not very accepting of muscular women.
A real shame. Now that Chiyo was competing in the big leagues, working out always came with a certain anxiety – a fear of doing too much, of getting too big.
But the teen had no choice. And so, shifting in her seat to adjust her form, she continued with the next set on the leg press, the burn in her legs all too familiar. She loved it.
But before she could even make it to the sixth rep, the low hum of the house music in her headphones was interrupted by a loud ‘ping! ’.
“New message from Hayashi: Good Mo–”
Chiyo didn’t even wait for the voice assistant to finish reading before clicking the side of her earbud to shut it off. She wasn’t exactly sure what her coach was thinking, texting her when he knew full well she disliked being disturbed during gym sessions, so whatever it was, it could probably wait until after she had showered.
‘Or it might be the exact opposite, you brute. He wouldn’t text you now unless it’s something urgent.’ Chiyo mentally scolded herself, but even so, she could not be bothered to stand up and find her phone. She had to finish at least this part on the machine first.
The gym room in Paris’ infamous ‘Institut National du Sport, de l'Expertise et de la Performance’ – INSEP for short – was surprisingly empty on Wednesday morning. Only one other girl, not much younger than Chiyo herself, was quietly pedaling away on a stationary bike near the back wall, earbuds in, legs moving in a rhythm that felt more stubborn than driven. The air was cool, humming faintly with the low thrum of fluorescent lights and the steady mechanical pulse of machines ticking beneath idle feet.
Dust hung in the beams of sunlight slicing through the high windows, catching in the pale rays like powdered gold. The place smelled like rubber matting and old chalk, with a sharper undercurrent of detergent Chiyo despised. Initially, she had been anything but delighted to spend nine whole months of her life training in Paris. After her application to the Ice Academy of Montreal had been ruthlessly rejected by their head coach, her team had done everything it could to come up with a good alternative.
The first few weeks in France had been tough. Her contract required her to stay in the accommodations of the INSEP for at least the first two months, which was awfully inconvenient given that the centre didn’t have its own ice rink. Instead, Chiyo was forced into a daily 1-hour commute to the nearest Olympic rink. It was awful. She couldn’t wait to move into her little apartment closer to the city centre, from where the transport to both the INS–
‘Ping!’
Ugh. Not again. This time, the athlete didn’t even bother to see who was messaging her before shutting out the annoying robotic voice. What a pain. She should really start putting her phone on ‘do not disturb’ when working out. Why was it that she couldn’t even finish a set without being interrupted?
She eventually reached ten, which meant she was done with the leg presses for the day. The very moment she moved to lift herself from the machine, though, her music was interrupted yet again, for the third time in five minutes.
“Hayashi, I swear if this is not a ma–”
“Chiyo! Finally!”
She exhaled loudly through her nose at the sound of his relieved tone. He was always so upbeat and cheerful, even in the early mornings.
“Yeah, hello to you, too. So what’s the matter? You know I hate my gym time being interrupted.” The girl spoke as she grabbed her towel with her free hand, keeping the phone at a reasonable distance to avoid it touching her sweaty face. Her tone was monotonous, just a step away from plain irritated, but the man on the other end of the line didn’t let that dim his light.
“Oh, right, apologies. You see, you didn’t respond to that email I sent you yesterday evening, so I just wanted to make sure you know where we’ll be parked.”
Chiyo’s jaw clenched with her growing irritation. That was it? He spammed her at 7.30 in the morning because of a simple schedule change?
“Do you really think I’m that unreliable?” She spat. “Sorry I don’t reply to every single reminder you send me, but I seriously don’t have the time for that. You should know I’ve never forgotten an appointment, so seriously, I’m sick and tired of you treating me like some dumb child.” Finishing the rant with a huff, Chiyo almost felt a sliver of regret pressing on her chest. The words had come out a little harsher than intended, but god was she tired of this routine.
Meanwhile, after a short pause, a chuckle reverberated from her phone, only further fueling her anger. He was only proving her point, wasn’t he? Laughing at her like she was a little girl, like he didn’t take her seriously at all. And at the same time, Chiyo could not be mad at him–not really. He was her greatest pillar of support, after all. Tall and steady, a constant .
“I know, I know. Again, apologies. You know I’m just worried.”
“Well, you should have no reason to be.” Chiyo put the phone down, volume high enough to hear him even without putting it on speaker, to start gathering her things – a towel, a water bottle, the case for her earbuds – and temporarily stuff them into her bag. “I’ve got this. I even have an outfit ready on my bed and all, because I know I won’t have the time to pick one out when I get back. You need to stop babying me.”
“Right, right.” The ever-so-calm man repeated, definitely to reassure her more than himself. “I’ll see you in an hour, then.”
“Yeah, see you.” With one last grumble, she hung up and tossed the phone into her bag with the other things. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder and stepped toward the door, still half-thinking about what she should’ve said instead. The glass swung open before she could reach for it, and she nearly collided with someone coming in—taller than her, lean and athletic, a duffel slung over one shoulder and airpods tucked in.
He stopped just short, cool-eyed and unreadable, gaze flicking over her. She didn’t return it; she barely registered him, being completely honest.
Chiyo walked right past without breaking stride, the early summer heat hitting her as the door shut behind her. Her bag thumped against her hip with each step as she made her way to her accommodations on the other end of the facility.