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Misha couldn’t see the scores from where he was sitting. He couldn’t see the screen. He didn’t know where Ilia was in the standings and - oh.
Ilia was right in front of him, pulling him into a hug for the world to see. “I’m so proud of you sweetheart Well done, you really deserve it.”
“Where were you?” Misha asked tentatively.
“Eighth, but don’t you worry about that right now.” Ilia pulled him closer, letting Mikhail tuck his head into his shoulder. “Put your skates on, and go out and enjoy this. I love you so much, I’m so proud of you.”
“I’ll see you later right? Misha asked, unsure.
“Of course. I’ll meet you back in the dressing room after the ceremony.” Ilia smiled warmly, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
They released each other as Misha’s coaches came over to congratulate him.
He still was in shock. His hands were shaking worse than they had last worlds.
A loud shout from Yuma grounded him, and he whipped his head around to see Shun bawling his eyes out, and Yuma looking as happy as if he’d just won gold himself.
Although he wasn’t particularly close to either Japanese man (having to get by with miming and pointing didn’t make for the most informative conversation), he knew Ilia admired them both greatly, especially Yuma.
He turned away from them to let them have their moment, instead sitting down to retie his skates.
Even while standing backstage, Mikhail couldn’t believe it. Yuma was trying to mime something to him, but Misha wasn’t getting any of the other’s excited flurry of hand movements. Usually, Ilia was there with them to translate using his limited Japanese.
At the thought of his boyfriend, Misha felt a pang in his heart. How he wished he could be with him in this moment.
He wasn’t allowed much time to wallow, as the three medalists were quickly ushered out for the announcer to call their names.
The minute he entered the dressing room he had an armful of blond man.
“Hey there,” Misha smiled and kissed him on the cheek, conscious of other skater’s presence in the dressing room.
Ilia, on the other hand, had no such reservations. “You look so fucking hot when you’re winning,” he breathed out, tangling a hand in Misha’s hair to pull him up for a kiss.
“I can’t do this anymore!” a french-accented voice pulled them away from each other. “Every fucking competition, you two are all over each other. Ilia, is everything he does hot to you? I’m still traumatized from last worlds!”
Ilia let out a wet laugh, turning towards Adam. “Just because you’re not getting anything doesn’t mean-”
He was cut off by Stephen. “Please, babe. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
“You weren’t there,” Adam moaned. “He literally came into the room and pushed Misha up against a wall and told him how sexy his quad Lutz was.” He turned to bury his head into Stephen’s shoulder. “Then the kissed with tongue for like eighteen hours.”
Now it was Stephen’s turn to laugh. “There, there,” he comforted mockingly, but leaned in to whisper something into Adam’s ear that made the older man turn a brilliant shade of red and turn his face further into its hiding spot.
Mikhail didn’t want to know.
“I have to do the press conference,” he sighed. All he wanted to do was gather Ilia up in his arms, make sure he felt safe, and then go to sleep. “Will you please let me go so I can take my skates off and change?”
“Fine,” Ilia pouted, “but I’m waiting for you to finish and you’re coming back to the village with me.”
“Of course,” the Kazakh smiled gently at him.
The press conference felt like it dragged on for a good hour longer than it actually was, Misha actively counting down the seconds until he could go home and cuddle with his boyfriend. When they were finally reunited, it felt like he’d been brought back to life. All his energy returned, and he could (almost) think straight again.
“Oh! I almost forgot!” Mikhail broke the comfortable silence on the drive home. “Where’s your phone?”
“In my skate bag, outside zipper pocket.” Ilia told him easily. “I haven’t checked it yet.”
“And you won’t be.” Misha told him with finality, reaching round to the backseats to fish for the device. When he finally found it, he powered it off and tucked it into his own bag.
This what what Ilia had done for him after the grand prix final. They had gone through any messages together a couple days later.
“Thank you,” Ilia smiled his most genuine smile of the night. “I really love you, I hope you know that.” His brows furrowed, but not in anger. He looked like he was trying to find the right words to come next. “This Olympics doesn’t change that. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to congratulate you on your win properly.”
Mikhail felt his heart break a little. “Ilia. I literally could not ask for a better boyfriend. You received some of the most devastating news of your life, and what are you doing twenty seconds later? You’re congratulating me, despite your loss. I love you so much.” He paused to take a deep breath before continuing. “Also, I know you’ve said it a lot tonight, but I’m proud of you too.”
There was a slight pause where neither of them said anything.
“I wish I wasn’t driving right now. I really just want to cuddle you.” Ilia’s voice sounded like he was about to cry. Honestly, Mikhail had expected he would a lot earlier.
“Only two more minutes,” he affirmed. “Then we can sleep.”
The remaining two minutes of driving and walk up to Ilia’s room felt like torture.
None of the few other athletes they saw broke their little bubble, pretending not to see the two skaters.
Getting to the room and falling into bed felt like winning all over again. Misha felt his sore legs melt into the mattress, turned onto his side for optimal closeness.
He could sense they were both almost asleep, when the American jolted suddenly.
“Wait.” Ilia shot bolt upright in bed. “Are Adam and Stephen dating each other?”
“Obviously. Go the fuck to sleep.”