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Misha is trying not to cry. He's been on the verge of tears the whole evening, some of them spilled despite his best efforts. He knows he's allowed to, but he doesn't want to be seen... like that. And he doesn't even want to think what he'll look like in all the photos.
"Winning the Olympics does that to a man," Alexei smiles, noticing his futile efforts.
"Did you cry when you won?" Misha asks.
"Let's not go down that road," his coach laughs and just hugs him again.
His team is ecstatic and Misha is infinitely grateful that these people are his team, he couldn't have done it without them. But right now he wants to sneak out of the celebrations. He did all the obligatory media duties, made all necessary phone calls, smiled so much that his face started to hurt and felt so much he's now almost numb. Everything still seems absolutely surreal and absolutely the same somehow.
Never being the center of attention has its advantages. Even with the gold medal around his neck Misha manages to make all the way to Ilia's room unnoticed. It's a miracle, really, but this day (night already, if he'd bothered to check his watch) is miraculous, so it doesn't surprise him much.
Misha stops in front of the door. He quickly takes his medal off and hides it in his pocket.
He's ninety percent sure Ilia won't open the door. Hell, Misha himself wouldn't want to see anyone after that result. (It's a lie, of course; he would always want to see Ilia, no matter what). But with his luck today he's going for that one percent and still knocks. Quiet and hesitant at first, then a bit louder.
The door swings open.
"What?!" Ilia hisses, half-hidden in the suffocating darkness of the room.
He sounds like an angry cat. Looks like one, too.
His eyes are bloodshot though, and Misha wants to cry again.
Ilia's face quickly goes from pissed-off to surprised.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, quieter and much softer.
Misha doesn't have a good answer to that particular question.
"I just," he stutters, waves his hand helplessly. "I just... Are you okay?"
What a stupid thing to ask, god.
He spent the last two years trying to be Ilia's friend and now, at the most important moment, he's acting like a stranger.
But it seems to work somehow, because Ilia grabs his arm, forcefully drags him into the room and shuts the door behind them.
Misha is now surrounded by pitch-black darkness, but it's painfully obvious that Ilia is alone and for a second Misha feels angry - at everyone who left him here and at himself for not coming sooner even if he couldn't.
Rationally, he knows that Ilia probably kicked everyone out as soon he got to his room, but it's always nearly impossible for him to stay rational around Ilia, so Misha feels this anger and it pushes him forward, until he practically collides with Ilia in the darkness and hugs him tighter than he would usually dare. Tighter than he should, definitely. But Ilia exhales audibly and hugs him back.
"I'm sorry," Misha whispers somewhere into those messy blonde locks, because he doesn't know what else to say to make it better. "I wish it was... I'm so sorry."
Ilia lets out a broken laugh.
"And then you always call me melodramatic."
It sounds almost like his usual teasing. Almost.
Misha should let go, but his hands are still clutching Ilia's t-shirt like a lifeline and he just... can't.
"You are supposed to be celebrating now," Ilia says, but he doesn't let go either.
Misha doesn't answer, just smiles. He has all the time in the world to celebrate and it's not what he wants right now.
"I kept thinking about you", he admits. "And I was worried".
It's too honest. Misha expects Ilia to go defensive, say he isn't that fragile or laugh it off, as he usually does when Misha accidentally (or not-so-accidentally) spills out something that reveals his feelings. But it's not happening now.
"Okay," Ilia simply says and rests his head on Misha's shoulder. "Stay with me, then."
It feels like a win. Not a competitive one, something else entirely, but it's still exhilarating and Misha wants more.
Today is definitely the longest day he's ever had and he's exhausted, but, with the gold medal in his pocket and Ilia in his arms, Misha thinks it's just the beginning. They can win everything.