Chapter Text
Ilia is getting tired of these interviews. They always ask the same thing, and even if they word it differently, season it politely, mask it considerately, it all boils down to, “How does it feel to lose?”
He needs a break from all of this.
He always answers that it was something to learn from and that he can’t let it affect him now. Because obviously, he can't scream and say “It was terrible and I felt the most soul-crushing emotion that I've felt ever and I hated it and I hate everything and I hate myself for hating everything and I'm extremely disappointed in myself,” in an interview that thousands of people would see. The answer he gave would be the true one only if he isn’t scrolling through TikTok sad-posting and breaking down every night after the free skate. Well, the responses aren't entirely incorrect, but Ilia thinks they'd be more accurate if he was mentally healthy.
After finishing up what seems like his millionth interview asking the same questions, Ilia heads back to his hotel room and collapses on the bed. The day isn't over yet. The women's short program is today, 6:45 PM, and Ilia plans on going to cheer for his teammates. He glances at the clock. 4 PM. He has some downtime to spare, which is used scrolling listlessly through social media.
He opens TikTok and reads through some of the comments people had written under edits of his skating. All the comments from the days before the dreaded free skate said he'd definitely win gold easily, and the amount of confidence they had in him gives him whiplash. After that day, they said that he would come back in 2030 and win. Ilia appreciates those comments, and yet he feels like something is missing from them. There is something that doesn’t sit right with him, but he can't quite place a finger on it.
He sees the hate comments. Things like he's all jumps, nothing artistic about his skating, and he was too arrogant. He deserved to lose. They were followed by many other people rebuking them and defending him, which should make him feel better, and yet those negative comments stick to his consciousness like flies on glue.
Finally, it becomes too much. Ilia shuts off his phone and throws it down on the bed. He covers his face in his hands, as if trying to prevent the tears from falling in front of people who aren't even in the room.
“This is stupid,” Ilia mutters to himself. He doesn't really know who or what he is calling stupid, but he feels the need to say it out loud and reaffirm it. The clock reads 5:36 PM. He should get going if he doesn’t want to miss anyone’s skate.
Ilia takes a moment to compose himself and make him seem presentable to the world. But when he looks in the mirror, he can only see a tired and worn-out version of him staring back. He tries lifting the corners of his mouth a bit. The smile doesn't reach his eyes.
Whatever. Smiles aren't everything, anyways.
Ilia arrives at the stadium and makes his way to his seat. Some fans stop him and ask for a photo or autograph and give encouraging words. He smiles and thanks them and hurries on his way. He finds his seat, and soon after the event starts.
When Alysa skates, there is something about her that is different from everyone else. She is so…happy. Unburdened. Free. A stark contrast from nearly every other skater.
How does she do it? Ilia wonders. He himself had crumbled under the pressure. Amber had missed one of her jumps and placed thirteenth, and Isabeau skated beautifully but placed eighth. There was so much weight and expectations and-
Ah. That's what it was. Expectations. Expectations of him, to succeed, to win, to be nothing less than perfect. Even those supportive comments that were meant to lift him up still crush him. They expect more from him, more than what he already gave. It was exhausting. He feels like he already gave everything he had, but it wasn't enough.
Later, after comforting Amber and Isabeau, Ilia finds Alysa. She is in good spirits, as usual. When she spots him, she immediately waves and runs over.
“How do you do it?” Ilia asks her when she stops. He's aware that he should greet her first and then congratulate her, but he needs to know this. It is selfish, yes, but he can't bring himself to care right now.
Alysa is nothing if not understanding, though. She smiles and says, “Well, my self-worth isn't tied to winning.”
Ilia furrows his brow. “Mine isn't either.” He’s not sure how much of that statement is true.
“Nope. Yours is tied to the views of other people. You skate for them. I skate for myself.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but stops. Was he really skating for other people? He thinks about it. The first time he’d seriously considered the quad axel was after he didn't get chosen for the Beijing Olympics. He'd wanted to prove everyone wrong. He'd wanted to show the world how great he could be. Was that skating for other people?
Alysa sees him contemplating and shrugs. “It's not black and white, y’know. Just… think about it a little.”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
“Also, we’re here for you,” she says gently. “Me, Amber, Isabeau, Team USA, heck, Japan is probably gonna support you. You're not alone. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” Ilia breathes. “I know.”
“Good.” Alysa wraps him in an embrace.
He says his good jobs and Alysa goes on her way. When he exits the arena, the cold air sweeps over him and ruffles his hair. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts walking. Soon, he realizes he is wandering with no direction. And yet he feels the need to do something, but he doesn't know what.
Before he can think too much about it, Ilia pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts. He taps on the one labeled Misha 🐼 and types out a message.
You
where are you staying?
He doesn't know what he’s doing, let alone why. What reason does he have for contacting him this late at night? It probably seems suspicious. Ilia is about to take his message back when he receives a reply.
Misha 🐼
1221. Same building as yours
Why?
Ilia doesn't know how to explain. So he simply asks:
You
can i come over?
He watches the three dots as they bounce, waiting anxiously for the response.
Misha 🐼
Sure