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Ivan's schedule is only a single event off track, but an uneasy, antsy feeling crawls under his skin anyway. It urges him to practice like he's supposed to on Wednesday afternoons, when he's told it multiple times that he logistically can't. He has to drag himself to the mall. If nothing else, at least he has time to do some shopping, and stock up on clothes while the off season clothing sale lasts.
By some benevolent twist of fate, Ivan spots Sua at Uniqlo. It swings his low mood back up almost immediately — seeing a familiar figure, and especially Sua. He could never turn down the chance to talk to Sua.
He hurries over, sneakily, before suddenly grabbing her shoulders, and greeting her brightly. "Hey Sua! Fancy seeing you here!"
Sua physically freezes under his grasp, her grip tightening a little on the light pink Mofusand sweater in her hands. Ivan doesn't let that deter him.
"Are you getting that?" he asks, peeking over her to look at the small cat design on the front. "It's cute."
Sua folds it neatly and puts it back on the top of the pile, like she never even touched it. She turns around and looks up at him, her head tilted back almost comically so in the small space he's left between them in the narrow aisle. She's so short.
"Ivan," she greets. "What are you doing here?"
"Shopping, like you." He gestures to the grey hoodie he's picked out, held casually under one arm.
Sua looks at it, her expression twitching, and then to a similarly coloured hoodie she's holding herself. It's funny, because Ivan swears she's wearing the exact same hoodie, but in white. Not like Ivan could judge her for it either way — likewise, he's wearing a different sweater in the exact same shade of grey.
"I guess we have similar tastes," Ivan states, delighted. "We'll match!"
Sua bites her lip, perhaps to stop herself from saying anything. Ivan grins a little at that. He's winning at this game. Provoking Sua is its own sport, one he's grown more and more proficient in over the short few years he’s known her.
He continues on the offense. "Speaking of matching, I never see you wearing that Adidas tracksuit that Mizi got for all of us. Why not? You love matching with Mizi, don't you?"
Sua looks away, and Ivan knows her answer. 'Just not with you,' she doesn't say.
But defying his predictions, she does respond to his prodding. "It's too hot to wear a hoodie and the jacket at the same time," Sua reasons with him.
"I do it all the time," Ivan argues.
"You live at the ice rink. Also, you roll your sleeves up when you do."
"You noticed? Aw, I didn't know you cared."
Sua sighs. "You looked ridiculous, so I remembered it."
The cogs in his brain churn to life. Ivan has never won harder in his life, not when he's made it to the podium in nationals, not any of his high placements in any championships. No, this is his biggest achievement — being engraved in Sua's memory and deemed ridiculous. He's freshly determined to double down on it, if only to earn more of Sua's ire. He only really owns plain, monochrome clothes, but if he could manage to pull off a subtle colour clash that people on the street won't notice, but Sua will, he'll win again. He could watch Sua's eyebrow twitch when they inevitably sit down together in the audience at Mizi's next match, and be exuberant in the knowledge that he's the exact cause behind it.
Sua frowns a little. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I just-" She cuts herself off, horror flashing through her eyes. Will wonders never cease? "Oh, no."
"What's wrong?" Ivan asks, tone soft, but the obvious grin split across his face breaking the illusion.
Sua smartly chooses to ignore him, and walks off, squeezing past him to get to the cash register. Ivan trails behind her happily.
And even though neither of them play a sport that works like that, Ivan hears the ding of the scoreboard. Ivan one, Sua zero.
"You're not buying that sweater?" Ivan asks her from the neighbouring self serve station.
"No."
"But you'll look pretty in pink."
Sua sighs, again. "You're thinking of Mizi."
"You look pretty with her."
Sua flushes, like she hasn't been dating her girlfriend for half her life. It would be impossibly endearing if it weren't for Ivan's traitorous heart, the monster clawing behind his ribcage that whispers, 'unlike you'. He wishes it could stop, especially considering Till is technically his boyfriend now, but all he can do is hide it behind a fond smile.
They exit Uniqlo together with their respective plain grey hoodies. Sua hovers awkwardly by the entrance after they step out.
"Don't you have practice now?" she asks, fiddling with the hem of her hoodie.
Ivan stops for a second. He doesn't exactly hide his schedule, but he doesn't talk about it openly either. She remembers? It knocks him out of it so much that he can't even tease her like he does usually, instead answering frankly. "The rink's down for extended maintenance. I was thinking of hitting the gym."
"Oh. I won't bother you, then." Sua nods at him once, a small gesture that he watches happen in disbelief. "Bye."
Ivan stands still, gobsmacked. He feels like — what would Till call it? Like he's been dunked on? Faintly, Ivan hears the scoreboard ding again. Ivan one, Sua one. The tie feels like cosmic imbalance. Ivan's stare follows her retreating figure down the street as the world tilts on its axis. She doesn't even know that they're playing.
As he's staring, he notices two girls pointing at Sua and whispering to themselves. It's one of the hazards of the trade, being occasionally recognised on the street. It should be flattering, but to Ivan, it feels all too revealing. It's an admission that they've seen him at work, watched him at his rawest, a thin costume barely concealing him as he's always one misstep away from tearing himself up on the ice. If he feels that way, then what could Sua think?
He can practically feel Sua seize up as she notices them. She pulls the hoodie over her head, pulling the drawstrings, and ties them together in a knot. It's not a new sight, and he already knows exactly why she does it, but it's another thing to see it in action. It only makes her stand out more, in his eyes.
It prompts Ivan to go after her. His legs go forth on their own, and stride by stride, he's already caught up to her before he fully realises what he's doing.
"Take these," Ivan says, taking his glasses off and handing them to Sua. "Don't worry, the lenses are fake."
The scoreboard dings with a point to Ivan, ending their overtime. Maybe he's just done this to get the upper hand again. Maybe he just needs to win whatever they have going on between them, his childish little game with her.
Sua takes the glasses, and stares at it in her hands. They're a regular, plain pair of glasses, neat, black frames that don't stand out unnecessarily. Ivan knows that's all they want, at the end of the day.
"Thank you," she mutters, and puts them on. They're a little big on her, but everything she wears is slightly too big on her small frame. Pitiful things have their draw. "What about you?"
"I'll survive." He flashes a smile at her. "It makes me look dumb, anyway."
Sua shakes her head, but concedes, matching his smile with her own. It's small, slightly awkward, and completely out of left field.
They say their goodbyes again, but the scoreboard's stuck in place. Physically, Ivan starts making his way to the gym, but his mind is caught on this.. technicality. Is it a point to him for provoking a reaction? Is it a point to Sua for leaving him, once again, without explanation? He made her smile. Is there any ballgame that scores for both sides simultaneously, or penalises both sides? Is there any analogy for what just happened?
It's probably Ivan's fault for using the ballgame as a metaphor in the first place. There's a reason why he leaves it to Till.
Maybe he just can't take the loss.