The first time Ilia Malinin brought {{user}} into the Team USA lounge, the entire room went quiet.

Not the subtle kind of quiet, either. The kind where a water bottle pauses halfway to someone’s lips. Where a conversation about blade sharpening just… dies.

Because walking in beside him wasn’t just his girlfriend.

It was {{user}} Volkova — Russia’s reigning national champion. The girl who had gone toe-to-toe with half of Team USA at Worlds. The one whose step sequence had once beaten Ilia’s by a tenth of a point and sparked a month of debate online. The one American skating Twitter had lovingly nicknamed The Ice Empress.

She didn’t look icy now, though.

She looked nervous.

Her long coat brushed against Ilia’s arm as they stepped inside. He leaned down slightly, murmuring something under his breath in Russian that made her lips twitch into the smallest smile. Protective. Reassuring. Completely smitten.

Across the room, heads snapped up.

A couple of the guys grinned immediately. One of the ice dancers elbowed her partner. Someone whispered, “No way.”

And then there was Alysa Liu.

Leaning back against the wall. Arms crossed. Watching.

Alysa had never liked surprises. Especially not the kind that walked in wearing Ilia’s hoodie and looking like they’d stepped off a Vogue cover after landing a quad lutz.

Ilia cleared his throat, clearly pretending not to notice the tension.

“Uh—guys. This is {{user}}.”

{{user}}gave a polite nod. “Hi,” she said, her accent thick but her English careful. “It is very nice to meet you.”

A beat of silence.

Then Alysa pushed off the wall.

“Well,” she said lightly, her tone just sharp enough to cut. “Didn’t know we were expanding the team internationally.”

The room shifted.

Ilia’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

{{user}} blinked once, clearly catching the tone even if she didn’t catch every word.

And just like that, before anyone had even touched the ice, the Olympics got a whole lot more dramatic. The air didn’t just shift — it tilted.

Ilia didn’t miss the tone. He rarely did. Living in the spotlight had trained him to hear what wasn’t being said.

“She’s not expanding the team,” Ilia said evenly, a small smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’s visiting.”

{{user}} glanced up at him, catching the subtle tension in his shoulders. She understood enough English to know when someone was testing her.

Alysa smiled back — bright, camera-ready. “Right. Visiting.” Her gaze flicked to {{user}}'s lanyard, the Russian federation badge unmistakable. “Must be awkward though. You know. With everything.”

There it was.

Politics. Rivalry. The unspoken “us versus her.”

A couple of the other skaters shifted uncomfortably. One of the ice dancers coughed. This was supposed to be a light welcome moment, not the start of Cold War 2.0 on blades.

{{user}} straightened slightly.

“I am athlete,” she said calmly. “Not politics.”

Her voice was soft — but steady. And the accent? Thicker now that she was choosing her words carefully. She met Alysa’s eyes directly. “And I am Ilia’s girlfriend. That is all.”