Chapter Text
Struggling on his skates before tying the laces into a tight bow, Ogata took to the ice.
It was three in the morning. Hardly most people's ideal time to skate, but this was Ogata's witching hour. The time when he could truly be alone, truly free to just. Skate.
After his disastrous competition season, he was surprised he still came to skate at all. Images of him popping his jumps along with the fall that broke his jaw spun over and over in his head as he glided across the ice. Failure after failure had eventually led to him leaving the sport altogether, but he couldn't really quit. It was part of him. Part of his soul. Skating was his oxygen, and without it he would suffocate.
So, despite being retired, he found himself here.
Skating. With reckless abandon and finally without being trapped under an ever scrutinizing stare.
It felt like spreading his wings and taking flight, the cold wind through his hair the same way it would caress feathers.
Ogata let himself go, let himself be truly free on the ice in a way he couldn't during his career. With a skill he'd always failed to show in competition, Ogata jumped, landing a perfect quadruple toe loop. A grin snuck onto his face. Finally, he was back to nailing his jumps.
As he sped around the outer edge of the rink, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
He hated those big windows. Made him feel vulnerable. Watched.
He shook the thought from his head.
Nobody would be crazy enough to be out here at 3am…
The only person who could be that crazy was tucked away in bed, likely dreaming about the good old days she clung onto with such vigour. He'd made sure of that before he'd snuck out, duffle bag in hand.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that there were suddenly eyes on him.
He'd feel better if he could land more jumps, shake the idea from his mind, so he tried a triple-double-triple combination, but landed a little sloppy. He cursed under his breath and tried again.
It had to be perfect.
Everything had to be perfect.
After what felt like forever spinning and jumping and gliding, Ogata came to a skidding stop, powder-like ice spraying everywhere. He was drenched in sweat. A sign of a good skate.
He took a moment to catch his breath before heading to the gate, where his phone, water bottle and towel lay ready for him as it always did.
First, he dabbed the sweat off his forehead and took a generous swig from his bottle.
Then he snuck a glance at his phone.
Anxiety crept up along his spine as he noticed the time.
He'd spent too much time there, she'd be waking up soon.
Always up absurdly early. Always wired and pottering about, mumbling nonsensical things.
If she realised Ogata was gone again… Last time he couldn't stop her wailing, convinced she was being abandoned again.
Not even recognising who he was half the time, just knowing she was being left alone again.
He ran his hand through sweat-slicked hair and pulled off his skates, covering the blades, stuffing everything haphazardly into his bag and rushing off.
Somewhere off in the darkness surrounding the rink, as Ogata rushed off in the direction of his home, somebody stowed away their binoculars.
***
The morning air had a crisp chill that nipped at Ogata’s pale fingers as he struggled to light his second cigarette of the day. He tried to ignore the other skaters passing by, heavy bags slung over their shoulders and exhausted, but filled with vigour for the work ahead. Instead, he chose to focus on the toxic plumes curling towards the sky.
He’d missed smoking.
Tsurumi had forbidden him from partaking in such a nasty habit, didn’t want him filling his lungs with tar on account of him having to maintain peak physical condition if he wanted to skate at his best. Now he was no longer a professional skater, he could do what he wanted. The corner of his mouth quirked up a fraction at the thought. No more rules, no more boundaries. It was a nice thought. He was shaken free from indulging in it further upon feeling someone take a seat next to him.
“May I join you?” The stranger spoke with an odd pace that gave away his foreignness.
From his cadence, Ogata could only surmise that this stranger was the Russian who’d made this rink his home these last few years. Not that he cared to remember his name. Ogata grunted, flicking cigarette ash onto a frosty floor, “You’ve already sat down, doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice.”
The man let out a brief chuckle.
It was a while before anyone spoke, the silence deafening amongst the general babbling of passers-by. One brief glance cast downwards revealed the anxiously twiddling thumbs of this stranger, legs crossing and uncrossing, squirming like an insect in a cocoon.
“Well? Did you have something to say?” Ogata demanded.
Suddenly, the other man stood, turned towards Ogata and bowed low.
“Please be my partner!”
He gazed up at the stranger, whose face he could only just see through the curtain of copper hair that had fallen in front of it. Bright red, like a cherry plucked fresh from the branch. Ogata let out a dry laugh.
“I'm not interested in a relati-”
“No! God no, I mean skating partner! Will you be my skating partner?”
His smile slipped from his face.
“Did Inari put you up to this, or are you blind?”
“I… I don't understand.”
“Do I look like a woman to you?”
The man stared at him with brilliant blue eyes widening, his mouth opening and closing as if hoping the correct words would come tumbling out, only to betray him by leaving him in stunned silence. Turning his attention to his phone, he frantically typed away before shoving a blaring screen in front of Ogata’s face.
BREAKING: ISU PASSES PROGRESSIVE REVISION TO PAIR SKATING REGULATIONS.
Ogata scanned the article in utter disbelief. There was no way…
“Bullshit,” He said, folding his arms, “there’s no way they’d do something that risky.”
Letting out an irritated huff, the Russian skater went back to the search, where there were articles upon articles related to this historical change in the figure skating world. The proof was indisputable: the ISU had finally lifted the big barrier for pair skaters. Pairs were no longer strictly required to be made up of a man and woman. Two women could skate together if they so wished. Two men could skate together. Never in his lifetime did he think he would see such progress from an institution hellbent on their global image, on perfection, on pleasing a crowd.
“I want to skate with you.” The man said, having finally found his courage.
Ogata looked at the man laid emotionally bare in front of him, staring him owlishly in the eye, bright blue piercing still dark pools. Asking the world of him. Asking for him.
“No.”
“No?”
“You do understand Japanese, right?”
Blinking rapidly, his brows crumbled, the man stood rooted to his spot.
“Are you planning to skate with somebody else?”
“No, I’m not planning to skate at all. I’m done.”
Ogata flicked what was left of his cigarette away.
“That’s a shame,” the man said, “you’re a beautiful skater.”
Ogata scoffed. Yeah, right. He was a fuckup. Nothing but a useless piece of wasted potential. His most recent train wreck of a competition season was proof enough for anyone with eyes that he was the last person on earth this guy should have been begging for.
Without a further thought towards indulging this pair skating nonsense, he turned his back on the stranger.
“Find somebody else.”
***
Every day was hell.
From the moment he had met this man, he couldn't seem to shake him, no matter how rude and detestable he made himself. Every time he dragged himself to the rink, the Russian was there, wearing that tooth-rooting sweet smile as he waved. He was in the changing rooms after the session, hanging around the entrance. He was even at the same gym. On a number of occasions, he had attempted to call Ogata over, only to be left ignored.
The man was getting under his skin, but that didn't disturb him quite as much as the latest development: every day, at the same time, he received a text from an ‘unknown number’, though he knew exactly who the culprit was. Disturbed, and more than convinced that at this point he would be liable to sue for harassment, Ogata blocked the number, hoping to put an end to the harassment once and for all. But alas. Peace was fleeting.
Whilst digging into a meagre dinner of rice and fish, a message lit up Ogata’s phone, a glowing beacon in his dingy abode. Curious, he put his bowl aside.
A message on Telegram, of all places? He didn't even realise he still had the app installed, having thought he'd left an empty inbox behind a long time ago, but there was a solitary message waiting for him, clear as day.
Василий Павличенко: пожалуйста, пожалуйста, я тебя умоляю, пожалуйста 🙏🏻
Ogata blinked rapidly, not believing the audacity of the message. This guy is insane! He thought, why is he so desperate? And why was he messaging him in Russian now?? As if begging in Japanese wasn't bad enough…
He ran a hand through greasy hair and hovered over the block button before an idea came to him.
尾形 百之助: Отъебись от меня, пожалуйста.
With a satisfied smirk at having had the last word, Ogata cast the phone aside. There. That would put an end to the annoying bastard’s incessant begging.