Chapter Text
When I was younger, I had a friend who was deaf in both ears. She was born deaf, and her parents got her fitted for hearing aids after she started talking, just in case they weren't around to translate what someone might be saying through ASL. I met her in middle school, and she is, to this day, still the coolest person I know.
Sometimes, during an especially loud class that a sub couldn't get control of, or when people were arguing right nearby, she'd get this almost far-away look in her eyes, like she was floating high in the sky on a cloud, despite being surrounded by chaos.
When I finally asked how she was so relaxed, she just gave me this dazzling smile, pointed to her hearing aids, and said "I just turn them off."
Skating is kind of like that for me.
My entire world is like this angry, swirling whirlpool, and I'm stuck right, smack dab in the middle of it. All the different components that make up my day; hockey practices, coach's instructions, game footage, media interviews, diets, workouts, my family, my teammates, are all circling around me, while I frantically try to keep my eye on all of them, even though it's impossible. Eventually, I lose sight of something, or a few things, and I immediately feel the repercussions.
I underperform and can sense my coach's disapproval. I promise to call my mom after practice and forget. I stumble over my words and make a fool of myself during an interview.
No matter how hard I try to put on a Jester smile and juggle everything at once, one or two balls will always topple, and I'm left picking up the pieces of my mistakes while trying not to fuck everything else up.
But, when I step in the ice, feel the smoothness of it under my blades, the cold air rising up off of the frozen surface making goosebumps raise on my arms, my brain just...stops. It's like I've found the off switch for all my messy thoughts, like for a little bit, I can forget any mistakes I'd made or stupid things I'd said or the pressure weighing down my shoulders that feels nothing short of an entire building, and just be. There are no people in my ear, whispering about stats, or posts on the internet saying I don't deserve to be at the Olympics.
Just me and my skates.
I find myself wishing that's how it always could be, as I skate circles around one of the empty practice rinks at the 2026 Milano Cortina Winter Olympics.
God, I still can't fully believe I'm actually here, at the Olympics, as an athlete. If someone would've told 16-year-old me that one day I'd be travelling to Italy to represent my home country, Canada, at the actual fucking Olympics, I would've thought you were making fun of me. Playing some big prank just to get a reaction. But it's not a prank, and it's actually happening, and I was actually chosen as an Olympic athlete.
I don't think it really hit me until earlier this morning. Not when I performed beautifully at the selection camps. Not when I received the phone call from my head coach that I had been chosen. Not when the official USA Women's Hockey Team roster was announced. Not when my friends and family threw a huge party to celebrate my accomplishment.
No, not until I'd stepped off the plane this morning, jet-lagged and exhausted after an incredibly long flight and caught sight of a small camera crew and a reporter talking to my coach, did it fully hit me.
And it hit me like a fucking bus.
I was at the Olympics. The Olympics. People and athletes all over the world have been waiting four years for this thing. Every news station, sports channel, online journalist is going to be covering this thing. Just by stepping off the plane, I'd become no longer someone dreaming of being the Olympics, but someone standing on Italian soil and preparing to play hockey for my country on the biggest stage in the world.
That building on my shoulders was slowly beginning to feel like the entirety of Milan. Any mistake, no matter how tiny, was now going to be amplified by a hundred and shown to more people than I can possibly imagine. This isn't just some tournament; this is playing for pride, for honor, for the chance to bring home the gold for my country, because my fellow Americans are counting on me.
By the time I'd arrived at my room in the Olympic Village, I thought I was going to throw up.
Luckily, I was rooming with someone I knew very well, my own teammate on the Boston Fleet, Aerin Frankel. I didn't have to worry about introductions or first impressions, and could instead busy myself with unpacking, which I got halfway through before the jet lag really caught up to me, and opting to spend my afternoon napping in hopes of catching up on all the sleep I'd lost thanks to the time difference.
I'd dozed off for a bit, but only after much tossing and turning. Then, I spent the rest of the evening practically bouncing off the walls with antsy energy I wasn't entirely prepared for. It was just the nerves combined with the excitement making me go a bit haywire, but after being stuck in a plane for God knows how long, the thought of spending another minute in the dorm was bound to make me crazy.
Coach had sent out a text about curfews earlier today, something about being in no later than eleven. As I packed up my duffel bag and slipped on my coat at 10:15, I told myself I'd be back by then, which was probably a lie. I'd felt a bit guilty, even though the curfew was mostly to keep us from partying and that if I was caught in the rink I doubted I'd face any repercussions, but I'd needed to take my mind off of everything for a bit.
I was so frantic about getting out of my dorm that I didn't manage to remember my stick, not that I would've used it much anyway. Right now, just skating, the scratch of my blades against the ice, going between full-on sprinting and just gliding, I was completely at peace. The entire world, including my head, was quiet.
"Do you always practice this late at night?"
My eyes, which I hadn't remembered shutting, snapped open, and in an effort to peer into the dimness of the rink in search of the voice I'd just heard, I whipped my head around, ultimately throwing myself off balance, and landed ungracefully on my butt. It wasn't the first time I've fallen on the ice, and will most definitely not be the last, but it still stung.
When I finally locked eyes with the person responsible for scaring the shit out of me, I was fully prepared to give them a piece of my mind for sneaking up on me. Emphasize on 'was'.
Maybe it was because I was still sitting on the ice looking up, or the haziness of the rink lighting since I'd only flipped on the necessary switches. Maybe it was the jet lag and lack of sleep catching up to me, or maybe I was actually seeing things. Either way, collapsed on the ice in a rink in Milan, Italy at eleven P.M. at night on February 1st, 2026, I caught sight of an angel.
An angel on skates, making his way towards me. An angel on skates, lending a gloved hand to help me up. An angel on skates, looking right at me.
"Are you alright? I promise I wasn't trying to scare you on purpose."
I let this entirely ethereal looking entity help me off of my ass, let him ghost a steadying hand along my arm as I got my feet under me, body still a bit wobbly from the adrenaline coursing through me from the unexpected jump scare.
I thought over the question. Was I alright? I still felt like this was some sort of deliberate and obvious sign from God, since I was refusing to believe that a normal human being could be this...beautiful.
The guy standing in front of me, brows knitted together with concern, couldn't have been older than me, with a sharp jawline, porcelain skin, and mauve lips to compliment it. He was a few inches taller, though, clothed in an ordinary set of jeans and a brown hoodie, with black gloves to match his skates.
What was the most fascinating though, was his hair. It was light blonde and wispy, just long enough to conceal the tips of his ears. It was almost like a permanent halo around his head, looking so soft I caught myself wondering what it would feel like between my fingertips, before quickly dismissing the thought.
I couldn't remember, nor even conjure up in my mind, an image of a more breathtaking person. This guy, he was practically kissed by God, looking more like an angel that had taken an unfortunate tumble to Earth rather than one of us humans. He was standing right in front of me breathing, moving, and I still wasn't one hundred percent convinced he was real.
"Uh, yeah. I'm all good. Guess I wasn't expecting anyone to be out this late too." I brushed the ice off my pants, trying to get my wits about me and regain my focus. I almost wanted to physically shake my head in an effort to rid myself of all the distracting and completely irrational thoughts that had been racing through my mind just seconds ago.
The guy shrugged, letting go of my hand and casually giving me some space, which I was thankful for. "I couldn't sleep. Jet lag has apparently turned me into a night owl, now."
I chuckled at that. "Same. Even if the plane ride hadn't royally messed up my sleep schedule, all the excitement would probably keep me up for hours. I swear, I'm like a kid in a candy store here."
"And you're here for...?"
"Hockey. USA women's team. What about you?"
"Figure skating."
The second the words left his mouth, it hit me. My jaw would've hit the floor if I hadn't had half the mind to snap it shut. I was mad at myself for not realizing it before, for not recognizing this guy the second I landed on eyes on him.
"You're...Ilia Malinin." I said, trying and failing to hide the disbelief in my voice.
He cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, you've heard of me, have you?"
"Of course I have! You're like one of the biggest names in men's figure skating right now. My mom is practically obsessed with you." Ilia smirked at that, and I hurriedly tried to re-word what I'd said. "I mean, not in a weird way. She was a figure skater back when she was young but got injured and had to retire. She still keeps up with the sport though, and about lost her mind when she realized we'd both be in Milan."
"Well, tell your mom I say hi." Ilia said, amusement lacing his words.
"I'm so not doing that." I fought valiantly against the smile trying to find its way to my lips.
"Would she like a picture of us together that she can frame and put on the mantel? Or maybe I could sign one of your pucks?"
I scoffed in mock offense. "You are horrible. I regret telling you everything." In an effort to hide my laughter, I tried skating past Ilia, but he turned on his heels and followed.
"Ah, you know I'm just teasing, right?" He shot me this lopsided grin that was stupidly endearing. "Though I'm sure your mom will be disappointed when she hears you met the Ilia Malinin and didn't ask for an autograph."
"I think she'll be just fine." I shook my head and smiled to myself, before settling against the wall of the rink and reaching for the water bottle I'd miraculously remembered to bring. Ilia shrugged, before making his way back out to center ice.
Watching as Ilia mindlessly skated around the rink, I couldn't help but recognize how innately graceful he was, practically gliding on air. As a hockey player, I had to know how to skate well just to have a chance at being good at the sport, but I'd always been more focused on speed rather than elegance. Skating, to Ilia, looked about as natural as walking or breathing felt.
He must've noticed me staring, for he abruptly spun himself around, raising his free leg and spreading his arms out wide in a camel spin. It was nowhere near the technically difficult elements I knew he was capable of, but it was still impressive. Just about any move in figure skating is impressive to me.
"Show off," I joked. "I don't think I could do that if I tried."
"Nah, it's easy. Come here, I'll teach you."
I shook my head. "Trust me, my mom put me in a figure skating class when I was younger, and it went so horribly I immediately dropped out. I'm more of a 'skate straight and as fast as I can' kind of girl."
Ilia tilted his head at me, almost like a challenge. "Just try it once? It's really not that hard if you don't think too much about it."
"I'm just going to embarrass myself," I spoke, but I was already making my way towards him.
"You're going to do fine. You're learning from the best, yeah?"
"I'm telling my mom you're actually insufferably cocky. And that she should never meet her heroes."
We both laughed at that.
Ilia spoke. "The camel spin is really just combining two things into one. A forward spiral and a regular one-foot spin. Both are pretty easy if you follow my lead."
While I'd never had any interest in figure skating, I'd spent enough time on skates that I could spin at about beginner level. My one-foot spin wasn't nearly as tight or as fast as Ilia's, and my hockey skates weren't exactly made for spinning, but it would do. The forward spiral was easy as well, just skating forward with arms outstretched to the sides and your free leg back and parallel to the ice.
"Okay, perfect. Now, just put those two things together." Ilia took two gloved hands and smushed them together to drive home his point. "You're going to start by basically winding up, which is swinging your free leg behind you as you begin to spin. Not too hard, but just enough to get momentum. Once you are going fast enough, raise your leg and spread your arms."
I practiced winding up a few times, just going into a regular spin. Once I had that down, I moved onto adding in the forward spiral. For the first few times, my balance was totally off, and I almost fell face-forward onto the ice. Ilia, a surprisingly diligent teacher, only laughed when I did, and added helpful tips on fixing my balance.
A couple tries later; I actually did it! I actually learned how to do a camel spin, and quickly, too. Sure, it was a bit wobbly, and my rotations were slow, but I was doing it, and that was all that mattered.
"Now who's the showoff?" Ilia smiled. "You're gonna be competing in no time."
"I'm coming for that gold medal, just you watch out. First athlete to win gold in both figure skating and hockey. I'll be in the news."
I extracted my phone from my pocket to check the time and was surprised to see it was nearing midnight. The practice tomorrow would probably be light since most of us players will still be a bit jet lagged, but I still wanted to be there and be awake enough to take it all in; my first ever Olympic practice.
"I've got to head out, actually. Time got away from me, I guess." I began untying my skates. "It was really nice meeting you though. Maybe next time I can teach you how to shoulder check someone."
"Can't wait." Ilia ran a hand through his hair, giving me a two finger-wave as I collected my skates.
I was almost to the doors of the rink when I paused to take a glance over my shoulder, back at Ilia. He seemed to be running through one of his programs, skating to the music in his mind.
I smiled, and walked out the doors.