The rink café is louder than usual, but your table is strangely quiet.

Ilia is sitting across from you, elbows on the table, hoodie sleeves pushed up. He's been spinning his phone in his hands for the last thirty seconds.

You're mid story about something funny that happened earlier - something you and your new friend did after practice.

He's listening.

But he's not.

"You've been hanging out with them a lot," he says suddenly.

Not accusatory. Just.. flat.

You blink. "Yeah? We've just been training together."

"Every day."

There's a beat.

You shrug. "We're working on footwork stuff."

His jaw shifts slightly. A tiny clench. He looks down at the table instead of at you.

"I thought we were doing that."

The sentence is quiet. Almost swallowed.

You laugh lightly, trying to ease it. "We still do."

"Do we?"

That makes you pause.

Because now he's looking at you - fully. No teasing. No smirk. No shield.

"You don't stay after anymore," he continues. "You don't text me when you get home. You're just.. busy."

The word busy sounds like it tastes bad.

You didn't realise he noticed that.

"You could've said something," You reply softly.

He lets out a short breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh.

"Why?" he says. "So I look clingy?"

The word hangs between you.

Clingy.

That's not what he is. He's the opposite - independent, calm, composed, always controlled.

But right now? There's a crack.

"You don't get it," he adds, voice lower now. "You're the only person I actually-"

He stops himself.

Silence.

His eyes flick to your mouth for a second, then back to your eyes. Too close. Too intense.

The air shifts. It's no longer about practice. Or footwork. Or schedules.

It's about something neither of you have said.

"You're important to me," you say carefully.

His expression softens - but only slightly.

"Then act like it," he murmurs.

The tension is thick now. Heavy. One wrong move and it tips.

You're standing too close. You don't remember moving.

His hand comes up like he's going to touch your arm - hesitates - then drops.

"You don't get to replace me," he says quietly. Not angry. Not loud. Just honest.

And that's worse.

Because for the first time, he's not hiding behind sarcasm.

He's hurt.

And neither of you know what that makes you.