Chapter Text
If she’s being honest, it’s always been there. Well, maybe always is a bit of a stretch, because there’s definitely times before–gaps in her memory that have been filled in by others–and she hadn’t felt this way then. At least, she doesn’t think she had. She’d been too young, then, conditioned to be a machine, a doll. A prop. Things like crushes hadn’t factored in for several more years.
But after that, when she’d come back to all of this, there’d been a little bit of something every time she’d been around Isabeau. Which is a lot.
Alysa hadn’t named it, though, had made a commitment to herself that she’d skate and only skate until the quad was over. No relationships. No distractions.
And it’s fine. She’s not in a place to dedicate a huge part of herself to someone else. Even if she were, Alysa thinks Isabeau is maybe the last person to ever reciprocate her feelings. So she’s fine with the little crush and keeping her mouth shut and masking the way her stomach does a little flip when Isabeau touches her, or looks at her, or laughs. Which is, like, the entirety of their existence together unless one of them is sleeping. And Isabeau, unfortunately, looks stupidly, perfectly adorable then, too. But it’s manageable.
Until Milan and the Olympics and the birth of the Blade Angels. Until they are together nonstop for weeks at a time and the in between is filled with an endless stream of messages in the group chat and facetimes and them all riding the collective high of achieving the dream they’ve all spent their entire lives striving for. Doing it together, not as rivals, but as best friends.
Then, Alysa feels like she’s going completely insane. Maddened by all of it. So she resolves to come clean. It seems easy enough. Not much deters her. Except, apparently, from this.
As it turns out, there is never really a good time to tell Isabeau Levito that you’re kind of in love with her.
The Olympics slip by before she can blink. The promise of Prague looms so the goodbye isn’t as heavy as it could be. Reality, however, means Alysa is less than 48 hours out from Milan before she realizes, kind of suddenly, that Prague is a pipedream.
What would be a simple choice any other time, in the moment feels like she’s being strangled. Her life is an utter whirlwind and she absolutely loves every second of it. The chaos is what she’s built for. But pushing back the timeline again on the one thing her brain won’t stop fixating on, feels like a cruel message from the universe.
She isn’t meant for you.
The phone lights up on the bedside table in some anonymous hotel room that is swankier than anywhere Alysa’s ever slept. She’d take back the Olympic village in a heartbeat. The hotels are the hardest part, because no matter how cushy they are, she’s always alone.
Isabeau’s name lights up the screen with her stupidly adorable picture and Alysa’s foolish heart does the stupid little skip she’s grown to expect.
“Home yet?”
Isabeau laughs like the question is absurd and Alysa smiles, closing her eyes, conjuring the other girl here, or maybe both of them somewhere else. No distance, no loneliness.
“I’m at Amber’s.”
Jealousy roars to life, sharp and ugly. Alysa’s grip on the phone tightens.
“It’s weird being here without her.”
Oh.
Amber’s in Texas. She knows that.
“I bet,” Alysa says, realizing she should probably say something.
“Are you okay? Oh God, is it too late? I didn’t even think…I’m just used to us being in the same place,” Isabeau explains, her voice softening.
“Beau,” Alysa murmurs. “I will always answer the phone for you.”
“Always?” Isabeau’s smile is as radiant from a hundred miles away as it is when they’re in the same room.
“Always. What time’s your flight?”
“Six hours. I just…needed to hear your voice,” Isabeau says and, fuck, Alysa almost confesses on the spot. But this isn’t the kind of thing to be blurted on a whim from several states away. Alysa bites her tongue.
“Well, you’re in luck,” she says, grinning so hard, her cheeks hurt.
“Does that mean I get a story?”
Sometime in the past year, though Alysa can’t quite recall when or how, she’d been roped into telling bedtime stories. They were mostly Chinese folktales she’d grown up hearing. They’d always lulled Isabeau to sleep.
“Oh, so I’m only good for my stories now?”
“Obviously.”
The stupid thing is, Alysa knows she’s joking. But the doubt creeps in around the edges anyway.
She’s not for you.
Like poison. Like truth.
“English or Chinese?” Because sometimes, Isabeau just wants her voice and sometimes, she wants the story.
“Chinese,” Isabeau yawns. Alysa lets herself be drawn back into the world where they’re in the same room.
She begins the story and barely makes it two minutes before Isabeau’s quiet snore interrupts.
“Goodnight, pretty girl,” Alysa murmurs. She ends the call and falls asleep, dreaming of a world where she isn’t a coward.
___________
Alysa at least has it in her to tell them she’s not going to Prague before the news breaks. She does it in the groupchat, which is maybe a cheap choice, but lately, she feels like she’s letting people down, because saying yes to every possible opportunity means saying no to her friends, her family, her skating.
Texting doesn’t afford her much of a buffer. Isabeau facetimes her almost immediately. For the briefest of seconds, Alysa considers not answering. But she’d promised.
“Hey.”
“Some things are deserving of a call, you know,” Isabeau says and Alysa can feel the weird thing her face does, not quite quick enough to mask the disappointment.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that…”
“Alysa. I was kidding. Did you think we’d be mad?” Isabeau sounds absolutely scandalized at the implication and it’s enough for Alysa to laugh as the knot in her chest loosens.
“I just hate cancelling,” she says. The truth, but also not. Beyond obligations and competition, it means more time before she sees Isabeau again.
“Don’t be silly. You need to take care of yourself,” Isabeau says. “You’re a national treasure now.”
“Shut up,” Alysa snorts, shaking her head.
“I’m being serious,” Isabeau says. “About taking care of yourself. We’ll be just fine without you. And then we have Japan.”
“I know. Just miss Amber, that’s all.” She watches the incredulous indignation dawn on the other girl’s face and grins. “And you, too, I guess.”
“I should hang up on you right now.”
“But you won’t,” Alysa murmurs. “Miss you, Beau.”
“I can hardly stand it,” Isabeau whispers and again, Alysa finds herself on the verge of a confession that deserves so much more than facetime.
“It’ll be over before you know it,” she says instead. It’s easier.
“We’re fine,” Isabeau reminds her, the hint of vulnerability gone again in a flash.
Someone knocks on the door, calling for her, and Alysa sighs.
“I have to go. Text me!”
Isabeau blows her a kiss and Alysa grins as she ends the call. It’s enough to get her through. It has to be.
__________
The next few weeks are an absolute whirlwind, but it’s exactly what Alysa’s made for. She’s not even tired, really, always fueled by the idea of the next event, the next flight, the next city. All of it is exciting.
To her horror, Prague materializes without her even realizing. With a sort of franticness that is entirely out of character, Alysa scrambles for her phone and calls Isabeau.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she chants to herself and then there’s Isabeau’s familiar voice, breathless, backed by the din of the rink on competition day.
“Thought you forgot about me,” she says and Alysa winces.
“I did. I mean, I just lost track of the day. Did you skate yet?”
“Soon,” Isabeau says. “It’s fine, you know. I told you, we’re okay.”
“I know. I’m just…I didn’t mean to forget. It’s important. To me. You’re important,” Alysa says, still caught up in the frantic feeling of missing something critical, her words rushed and not properly thought through.
“I know,” Isabeau says, her voice almost too soft against the background noise.
“You’re gonna be amazing,” Alysa murmurs. “I miss watching you skate, princess.”
“You can’t just call me that, you know,” Isabeau chides.
“What’re you gonna do about it?”
“You’re so annoying.”
“But you love me,” Alysa teases, her stomach only dropping out after the words have left her mouth. It’s not even a big deal. She’s told Isabeau she loves her and heard it back dozens of times. Amber, too. But it feels heavier now, coupled with the weight of the secret she’s been trying to unload for what feels like an eternity.
“Unfortunately,” Isabeau sighs, but it’s laced with so much affection, it makes Alysa’s chest ache. “Hey, I have to go. Call me later, okay?”
Alysa doesn’t get to reply before the call ends.
Later, after yet another event, Alysa watches her friends skate without her. The results don’t even matter. For what feels like the millionth time since Milan, she wishes like hell there were two of her, so she could stop missing out on the things that matter.