Chapter Text
Ilia struggled for a moment before finally forcing his eyes open.
For a brief instant, he couldn’t even tell whether it was the pale light of early morning or the fading glow of sunset outside. The young American had slept undisturbed for a long time. A few times he had half-woken in a haze, but each time he rolled over and slipped straight back into heavy sleep. It wasn’t really his fault. Ever since arriving in Milan, nerves, excitement, and disappointment had kept him from getting a proper night’s rest. After the Olympics came a nonstop run of ice shows. He wasn’t complaining—he genuinely loved being able to share his passion and the beauty of figure skating with the audience—but it hadn’t exactly helped him recover. The exhaustion kept piling up, and the moment he returned home he practically collapsed into a deep, unconscious sleep.
Reuniting with his bed after so long felt heavenly. Wrapped in his blanket, Ilia rolled around happily a couple of times, still reluctant to leave the warm comfort of it. He knew he had plenty of things to do. There was the Olympic debrief with his parents, preparations for the upcoming World Championships, messages waiting for replies, his sister had said she wanted to show him something interesting… And of course, Mysti and MiuMiu. God, he missed those two adorable cats so much. He was an adult now, someone who could act independently and take responsibility. He shouldn’t still be lying in bed like a kid refusing to get up.
But he was so tired. Every task seemed to demand more energy than he had, forcing him to gather his focus and deal with it. Let him escape for just a little while longer. Like any ordinary teenager on Earth who found it hard to stay away from electronics, what Ilia actually did was simply grab his phone, blink sleepily, and swipe the screen awake.
He hesitated for two seconds. Should he check Instagram first, or scroll through some short videos on Tiktok? Even though more and more people kept telling him to stay off social media, The competition was over, wasn’t it? It was just a way to pass the time. No big deal. But a fresh notification popped up and pulled his attention toward his message app, and in the end he tapped the app icon.
Chatting with someone didn’t sound like a bad option.
Ilia first skimmed through a few familiar names, then reluctantly gave up. At this early hour, his friends in U.S. were probably still fast asleep, and he didn’t want to disturb them. It was daytime in Asia and Europe, but when Ilia looked at the red unread signs next to those chats, he hesitated again. He knew exactly what his friends were like. Once a conversation started, it would quickly turn into a flood of messages. Usually he loved that, jumping into the discussion with enthusiasm and filling the screen with colorful emojis. But right now he wasn’t sure he had the energy for it. Replying to messages still took effort. What he wanted was something simple, light, casual. Just a few lines with someone. No buildup, no follow-up.
As the sky gradually brightened, sunlight began slipping into the room. It reminded him of a golden afternoon back in Milan. Ilia scrolled down with his thumb and stopped at a name near the bottom of the list.
Almost no one knew that after that disastrous free skate, he had run into Mikhail once. It would be more accurate to call it an accidental encounter. Ilia had been looking for somewhere quiet to clear his head, while Mikhail had stepped out hoping to breathe some fresh air in the middle of a packed schedule of interview events. When he left the building, Ilia had deliberately not worn his glasses. He didn’t want to notice every look from passersby quite so clearly, whether they were kind or cruel, and he definitely didn’t want to catch glimpses of replay clips on screens around the city. The world around him stayed intentionally blurred. By the time a familiar figure entered his vision, the person was almost right in front of him.
They were close enough that even Mikhail, whose eyesight wasn’t exactly great either, noticed him.
The brunette froze where he stood. Instead of looking like the triumphant Olympic champion, he looked more like a startled young deer. The fallen favorite who had slipped from the podium and the newly crowned gold medalist—an encounter like that was bound to feel awkward. Of course Ilia could have pretended not to see him and walked away without hesitation. He knew Misha would understand and wouldn’t take offense. But that wasn’t how Ilia operated. He wasn’t rude, he didn’t want to lose control, and he had no intention of fleeing the scene. Besides, Misha didn’t deserve to be treated like that.
So Ilia walked over and greeted him first. He hoped his voice didn’t sound too terrible, and that the smile on his face didn’t look too forced.
As it turned out, nothing disastrous happened.
Mikhail was a genuinely friendly and interesting person. They talked for quite a while. They shared some laughter, and maybe a few tears too. Since it could no longer affect the competition, Ilia boldly bought himself a drink. He ended up frowning at the unfamiliar taste of alcohol. Mikhail shook his head, took the glass from him, and thoughtfully handed him a new one filled with juice instead. Ilia couldn’t help grinning like a kid, because a scoop of vanilla ice cream sat on top of the juice, looking absolutely delicious.
They wandered down an unfamiliar street without any particular destination. When Mikhail smiled, the braces on his teeth shone brightly in the sunset. Ilia guessed that if he unzipped his jacket, the gold medal inside would shine just as brilliantly. Sunlight fell into the glass of juice, turning into ripples of golden light.
In the end, Misha looked him straight in the eyes and said sincerely, “You know, if you want, just give me a call anytime.”
To some people, that might have sounded like nothing more than polite wording. Not really a promise at all, just a graceful way to end a conversation and signal it was time to part. But Ilia chose to take it seriously.
He opened the chat and hesitated again. With some close friends—he could think of several names right away—he could start a video call without warning. But with Mikhail…
After thinking it over, Ilia simply typed, in the most proper way possible: “Do you have a minute?”
The reply came faster than he expected. Ilia guessed Mikhail wasn’t training at the rink. His answer was yes, so Ilia called immediately.
Only when he saw his own face in the front camera did Ilia realize he looked like a complete mess. His hair stuck up like straw, his cheeks were flushed from sleep, and the collar of his pajamas sat crooked on his shoulder. He definitely didn’t look presentable. Maybe he should rush to the bathroom and fix himself first?
Ilia spent about two seconds rejecting that idea. He would definitely wake his parents if he did that. Besides, not long ago, in Milan, Misha had already seen him looking much worse.
Within a few seconds, Mikhail’s face appeared on the screen. The brunette didn’t seem prepared for such a sudden call and was still adjusting the angle of the camera. He smiled a little shyly while the background spun around in a blur. When the image finally settled, Ilia quickly caught a flash of gold behind him.
Right—the other medals weren’t quite the same as an Olympic gold. That one deserved to be displayed somewhere special.
Mikhail hadn’t noticed anything wrong at first, but he quickly realized the background he’d chosen wasn’t ideal. He shifted his position and neatly moved the gold medal out of frame. The gesture was so considerate that Ilia felt a surge of gratitude. At the same time, it was faintly amusing. Misha seemed to think he was some fragile glass vase that might shatter if provoked.
But that wasn’t it at all. Mikhail deserved that medal, and Ilia wasn’t going to lose his mind over it. In fact, he had realized he could look at it now without feeling like his eyes were stung. The trip to Milan had shown him the bitterness of loss, but it had also given him many valuable things.
The Kazakh skater clearly wasn’t at the rink. Given that he wouldn’t be competing again anytime soon, that made perfect sense. The background showed what was unmistakably his bedroom. The sun lighting up the morning in Virginia was casting a warm evening glow on the other side of the planet. Ilia stared at that soft brown hair, and before his brain could stop him, a direct question jumped out of his mouth.
“You withdrew from Worlds?”
It sounded almost like a statement. Mikhail blinked, surprised that this was the first topic of conversation.
“Yes,” he admitted.
The single word felt a bit thin, so after a moment of thought he added mischievously, “That was decided a few days ago. I thought the internet in Zurich wasn’t that bad?”
Ilia burst out laughing with him. Somehow, whenever he was around Misha, he always ended up smiling. The American raised an eyebrow and joked without much restraint.
“You’re scared I’ll beat you at Worlds.”
Anyone who didn’t know Ilia well might have found that remark borderline offensive. But Misha simply shrugged cheerfully.
“If that’s how you want to think about it.” He was always more relaxed in private. “Although I’m confident I could skate two more clean programs, I do think it’s better to end this season with the Olympics. And honestly, I really want to rest for a while.”
“Fair enough.” Ilia nodded. “The privilege of an Olympic champion. I heard you also got an apartment? Wow, that’s nice.”
His casual tone made it clear that everything that had happened in Milan was now a safe topic. Mikhail seemed to relax as well. Perhaps he didn’t want his friend to remain trapped in the shadow of the Olympic loss. He was glad Ilia had adjusted.
The brunette skater blinked. “Oh. You saw that.”
“Hey, have some awareness as a gold medalist,” Ilia said, half wanting to reach through the screen and pat his shoulder. “Your updates are everywhere on social media right now.”
Mikhail smiled shyly.
“It is a nice apartment, but I haven’t decided what to do with it yet. Actually, I’ve barely had time to think about anything these past few days. All those interviews and events… I know they help more people learn about figure skating, and I really do enjoy them. But honestly, they make me a little tired.” He hesitated before adding, “Sometimes I kind of envy you.”
Before Ilia could question that, Mikhail continued.
“I see you doing everything you want on the ice. Trying crazy jump combinations, getting completely absorbed in the music, doing backflips with Adam, and—”
Ilia let out an exaggerated sigh. “And dancing wildly in bars, plus having scandalous rumors with a thousand innocent girls.”
Mikhail burst out laughing. His smile was always adorable.
“So you’ve seen those rumors too. I have to say they’re ridiculous and disrespectful to everyone involved. Haven’t people thought about it carefully? For example, you and Haein are clearly close friends?” He gestured lightly and pressed his lips together, his tone softening. “A few ‘passionate’ performances don’t make you a playboy…right? Besides, who could stop you from showing a little charm?”
Ilia gave him a knowing look. “Sounds like you’re jealous.”
“I—what?”
A faintly wicked smile crept onto Ilia’s face. He tried to keep a straight expression.
“You didn’t get to witness those hot performances in person, so you’re jealous.” The American dragged out the words with playful mischief. “Come on, Olympic champion. You’re literally enjoying a private call with Ilia Malinin right now.”
For the first time in a long while, he felt completely relaxed.
It was obviously just friendly teasing. Ilia knew perfectly well he was deliberately misinterpreting Misha’s words. Before Mikhail could respond to this outrageous claim, Ilia decisively threw off the blanket and pulled out the costume he had packed for the ice shows from the scattered luggage on the floor.
Ilia rarely thought things through before acting. He quickly slipped out of his pajamas and changed into the revealing costume, then returned to the camera. Ilia was always at the forefront of internet. He knew exactly what could ignite the crowd and make fans scream loud. Leaning lazily against the headboard, he propped himself up with one hand while the other slid through his blond hair. His pose was deliberately seductive, his expression playful as he lifted his chin toward the camera.
Mikhail was already laughing so hard he could barely stay in frame.
Before long, Ilia himself couldn’t stop laughing either. There was no passionate music, no proper atmosphere, and not even the right pants. His messy hair only made the recreated move look ridiculous. He rubbed his head and made a mental note to add a haircut to his schedule.
“Well, now you’ve seen it,” Ilia said, clearing his throat and trying to sound serious. “A one-of-a-kind performance.”
Mikhail played along and held back his laughter, giving a small bow. “It’s an honor.”
Ilia twitched his mouth and lost the battle. They looked at each other and burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“But I really am jealous,” Mikhail said after a long moment, still slightly out of breath. “That sbs-backflip with Adam… it was so cool. I keep thinking that if there’s a chance someday, well, you could come to Almaty. It’s a beautiful city, and it would definitely feel different for you.”
“Besides the apartment, I also got a car. A car from Dimash.” His eyes shone brighter as he spoke, and his Russian sped up with excitement, as if he were already planning everything. “I could drive you around the city, and we could go to the rink together and try some crazy jumps. Maybe quad-quad combinations… Seriously, how do you even do that? I need to learn.”
At that moment, Ilia felt doubly sorry that he wouldn’t see Misha again in Prague.
Still wearing the sexy costume on top and casual sleep pants below, Ilia lounged at the edge of his bed and chatted with Mikhail about all sorts of things. The conversation wandered from skating to food. They debated for quite a while about what the best food in the Olympic Village had been. Ilia spent an unnecessary amount of effort describing exactly how amazing Italian pizza tasted. Then they launched into a heated battle over Kung Fu Panda vs How to Train Your Dragon. Misha’s enthusiasm for pandas was unbelievable, and Ilia swore he would fill the man’s new apartment with panda plushies someday.
By the time the sun had fully risen, the call timer on the screen had climbed to an almost unbelievable number. After finishing another topic, they both fell silent at the same moment.
“I’m not sure what the most appropriate thing to say is,” Mikhail said. Outside the window, the evening glow painted his face in warm colors. “But this should be safe enough. Good luck at Worlds.”
“Will you watch?” Ilia asked.
“Of course.” Mikhail’s eyes were still bright. “I’ll watch the competition, your competition.”
They exchanged friendly goodbyes. Ilia set his phone down. From outside the door he could faintly hear his parents’ voices. It sounded like everyone in the house was awake.
He stretched and got out of bed.
Now it was time to do the things an adult was supposed to do.