You’re half on top of him, his arm wrapped around your waist under the blanket.
It’s quiet. Close.
“Stop thinking,” you mumble against his shoulder.
“I can’t,” Ilia Malinin murmurs back.
Your fingers trace slow circles on his chest.
“Yes you can.”
“No, I actually can’t.”
You huff a small laugh, lifting your head to look at him.
“You’re annoying.”
He almost smiles.
“I just don’t want to miss.”
You soften a little at that, shifting closer, your knee sliding between his.
“You might,” you say quietly.
He looks at you.
“And you’ll still be here?”
You don’t answer right away—you just lean in, brushing your nose against his, close enough that he feels it.
“Where else would I be?”
That’s enough.
His grip tightens slightly around you, pulling you in.
“…Love you.”
The free skate
It starts strong.
Fast. Sharp. Him.
Then—
A landing goes off.
Not a fall, but not right.
He keeps going.
Next jump—
A fall.
Your chest tightens.
He’s up immediately, pushing forward like it didn’t happen.
Some elements are still incredible—clean, powerful, unmistakably his—but another mistake slips in later, small enough that most people wouldn’t notice, but you do, because you know exactly what he’s capable of.
By the end, it’s not the program he came for.
Still—he finishes.
Right Off the Ice
His dad reaches him first, and Ilia doesn’t hesitate before stepping into the hug, gripping onto him tightly for just a second longer than usual, like he’s holding back everything he doesn’t want to show yet.
“You rushed it,” his dad says firmly as he pulls back, his voice calm but direct. “You felt it and you didn’t correct it.”
Ilia nods, breathing still uneven, eyes focused but frustrated. “Yeah… I know.”
“You’re better than that,” his dad continues, not harsh, but unwavering. “You don’t let one mistake turn into three.”
There’s a pause, just long enough for it to sink in.
Then Ilia nods again, sharper this time, like he’s already replaying it in his head. “I’ll fix it.”
His dad gives his shoulder a solid squeeze—approval, expectation, both—and steps aside.
And then Ilia turns, scanning for a second before his eyes land on you, and the shift is immediate—not gone, not okay, but softer, more human.
When he reaches you, he doesn’t say anything at first. He just pulls you into him, arms wrapping around you firmly, his face pressing into your shoulder as he exhales like he’s finally letting himself come down from everything all at once.
“I had it,” he says quietly, his voice tight with frustration, like the words have been sitting there waiting to come out. “It was there and I just—rushed it.”