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When Tango tells Jimmy he's traveling again, leaving that night. There is silence.
He had just gotten back from the last competition a few weeks prior, and although they were separated by just a wall, they barely had the time to spend together apart from rushed dinners and chats in the hallway.
Jimmy had tried, really, but when all Tango was doing was heading out to go to the rink, or rambling on about how he really had to meet with his coach to talk logistics, his efforts just slipped through the growing gap between them. Jimmy missed him.
He just smiles sadly at the news and pats Tango on the back as he passes, "Win something for me."
"I always do!" Tango calls after his retreating body, and widens the distance with the closing of his door.
Jimmy enters the kitchen of their shared apartment wanting anything to take Tango off his mind, so he busies himself with cooking. He decides to go simple this time—letting water for gnocchi boil in a pot as red sauce simmers beside it.
Last time he tried to do something fancy and it, well, didn't turn out as expected. He figures that if the gnocchi is cooked too much it'll still taste good, and it's hard to mess up a simple sauce (even if he adds too much heavy cream and has to spend minutes fixing the ratio).
He will admit the recipe is made up on the spot and it's far from perfection, though, when Tango is going away and this is all Jimmy can give him. It has to be enough.
The rich aroma wafts through the house as the sauce is dipped over the gnocchi and served in two bowls.
Jimmy immediately regrets this surge of impulse as Tango's door creaks open and footsteps bound into the room.
"You're not done packing," Jimmy notes as Tango leans over his shoulders to glance at the source of the smell, his earrings a cold whisper skimming Jimmy's neck.
He can feel Tango's face spreading into a grin as he loops a hand around to grab one of the plates. Jimmy smacks it away with a scowl, "Nope."
"You can't deny a hungry man food!" Tango retorts, stomping back on his heels to glare at Jimmy. "I'm almost done anyways, I just can't find my short program costume."
Jimmy scoffs, "Idiot. It's hanging up in your closet." He pauses to pointedly explain, "On the left. Behind your one from two years ago."
Tango's mouth hangs open as if he was going to deny said preposterous claims, but quickly snaps it shut as he realizes. "I, may have forgotten to check there."
"Food after," Jimmy tuts at him.
"Yeah yeah," Tango shouts, already disappearing around the corner.
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Tango does not like airports. He does not like airplanes. And he most certainly does not like when he looses a checked bag, which never appears out of the baggage claim.
There's nothing he can do besides arrive at his hotel like normal, hauling his singular bag up the stairs so he doesn't have to sit in a tightly packed elevator and wonder why he's even in Prague. He doesn't want this to be the time he questions his devotion to figure skating, not when his free skate in the World Championships is just a couple days away.
When he finally makes it to his room, he wants out. He doesn't want to sleep on a bed that isn't his, in a room that isn't his, only separated by thin walls away from people that aren't known. The clock counting the minutes down to twelve can't stop Tango from going anyways.
The practice rink his coach told him about is just a few minutes walk from the hotel. Without bothering to change into different clothes he grabs his skates and rink pass so he can get out, he needs out.
He runs the whole way there, only stopping for breath to lace up his skates up as tight as they can and take to the ice.
He skates until his feet run red, swollen in his boots as he jumps higher with each coming breath. He is falling more than he is succeeding. His feet aren't the only things that come out bruised and battered.
He doesn't have to think if he is skating. So he skates until he tries to get up again and his knees won't support his weight. Until he is tumbling over himself with every step, until his breathes come in bursts, lungs unable to support his muscles pulling him up again, and again, and again.
Tango doesn't stop until his head breaks in two, until his feet won't propel him upwards any longer, until his mind can only focus on the pain, and nothing else.
He is led out of the rink by the staff, who give him sympathetic looks as he ducks his head in goodbye. He walks back to the hotel, he takes the elevator up to his room, and he sleeps in the bed that isn't his.
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It is 3:30 in the morning and Jimmy is awake, huddled under a exorbitant amount of covers in his bed as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes to try to focus on the various moving shapes on his phone screen.
He jolts wide awake when they show the faintest glimpse of the person he's looking for, vibrant red hair and speckled arms swim into the cameras view before the broadcast cuts to the man about to perform on the ice. Which is very much not what Jimmy wants to see.
He changes tabs and shoots a quick text to Tango, "Can't wait to see the new costume on the ice!" Jimmy had helped pick one out from the the supply Tango's coach had provided him with after the bag with his seasons costumes had been lost in transit. Jimmy loves it.
He kicks his feet when it dings with a notification in less than a second.
"<3"
Ah. His phone drops as Jimmy buries his face into the covers and exhales a quiet scream, he sends a heart back before he can change his mind. It still startles him, sometimes.
He loves Tango so much that it hurts. He thinks about Tango's laughter, bright and golden, and he turns giddy. He sees the sky outside and knows Tango is seeing the same and his heart skips a beat. He has an overwhelming amount of love to give, so he gives it.
Before he met Tango he thought his love wouldn't reach far enough, that all people wanted was romantic love, something he couldn't give.
Jimmy met Tango and his love could spread it's wings. He met Tango and he flew.
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After not being able to skate for the past view days—his coach forcing him to take it easy and spend time on things besides worrying about the competition—Tango is excited. That type of buzzing nervousness that blossoms into exhilaration encaptures his brain, he will thrive.
He takes the ice and the stadium riots, thousands of people cheering for him. Tango knows Jimmy is one of them. Knows that he's awake, face pressed up against the screen as if he'll be transported through it. Tango grins wide at the thought of it.
He's at the center of the world, and time falls still. His arms wrap around himself, winged fabric draping down in a similar fashion. He is the fire rising from the ashes, his black skates fading into embers into a burning flame. Tango hopes Jimmy can see his smile.
The music starts and he skates.
This is his rhythm. When he jumps there is nothing else. When he crosses leg over leg everything falls away except the press of his blades into the ice and the reverberating noise of his heartbeat, pounding the beat of the song.
Tango raises his arms and soars.