Chapter Text
Ilia Malinin is not a superstitious person. He doesn't believe in things that are supposed to bring bad luck in case they happen to you on a Friday that is the 13th day of the month. He's used to working hard, has been disciplining himself from his teenage years onward to get where he is now in his profession and doesn't concern himself with why you shouldn't be walking underneath ladders on that day or if a black cat is crossing the street in a certain direction. He loves black cats like his Mysti and is sure that they bring only the best of luck to him, thank you very much.
Then comes Friday 13th February 2026. The day starts much like any other day at his first Olympic Games so far: he gets up, showers, dresses himself in his Team USA gear and heads to breakfast at the cantina of the Olympic Village in Milan. Since it's quite early in the morning not a lot of athletes are here yet and Ilia enjoys the quiet hum of only a few other people talking in the room. First, he gets himself a mug of the good Italian coffee. He puts it down on a free table to cool down a bit while he goes to the buffet and fills his plate with food. Before he makes himself comfortable at the table, he shrugs out of his jacket and that is the moment the day starts turning against him. The sleeve of the white garment gets caught on the handle of the coffee mug, wich topples over and hot black liquid spills over the table and his jacket as fast as he does one of his signature quadruple jumps.
Ilia curses under his breath. He looks around and luckily spots some paper tissues. He mops up the mess on the table with them but his team jacket is full of wet brown stains. Groaning inwardly, the figure skater goes back to the buffet to refill the mug that has magically not shattered. The incident really isn't that bad, he knows it's absolutely not the end of the world. But still, a nagging feeling settles deep in his stomach while he sits down and starts eating his breakfast.
And the day does get worse. It's only little things that he wouldn't pay no mind to on any other day. But on this Friday they add up: stubbing his toe while packing his bag for the training session, his focus being kind of off while he's on the ice, strange dreams during his post-lunch nap and then he finds a small but very visible hole in his costume when he he takes it from the locker at the arena in the evening. Having to find his teammate Madison Chock somewhere in the audience takes a while, precious time that he had wanted to spend on his pre-performance routine. Thank god she always has that tiny travel sewing kit on her person on competition days, even when she's not participating herself.
Madison fixes his costume problem faster than he thought it would take and suddenly his mood picks up a bit. Ilia gives her an unusually fierce hug and kiss on the cheek, then tells her to go back to her seat and enjoy the competition. After a look at the clock in the changing room he starts undressing, puts on his freshly mended outfit and gets ready for the free skate. When he bites into his Hershey bar, the delicious chocolate melting in his mouth draws a soft moan out of him and his mind finally starts to calm down. By the time he has consumed the sweet treat completely, his stomach feels full and that is exactly the routine he needs right now.
Shortly afterwards, there's a knock on the door and Ilia's dad calls him to get ready with his warm-up group. One last check on his skates and laces, then he leaves the changing room and joins his competitiors on the ice for 6 minutes before everyone goes backstage. He watches the other guys perform on a TV screen in the gym room next to the rink and is a little baffled at how many of them struggle on the ice. Everyone makes at least one mistake. Everyone, except Mikhail Shaidorov. His friend is on fire as he delivers jump after jump and spins so fast he seems to blur in the spotlight. When the Kazakh skater nails his signature triple Axel/Euler/quadruple Salchow combination, Ilia's heart stutters shortly and his stomach does a backflip without asking for permission. His gaze lingers on Misha's long, fluffy hair for a few moments before he forces any further thoughts to the back of his mind because he can't allow his brain to drift off now like he has done so many times this season. Not today, not mere minutes before the most important skate of his 21 year old life.
After the well-earned high score appears on the screen, Ilia tears his eyes away from the TV and does some final moves and stretches to get ready for his performance. When he glides onto the Olympic rink, he feels confident. But all of a sudden, he's surrounded by noise. The audience hums like a beehive while he skates around and takes position at centre-ice. As he raises his arms for his starting pose, he's blinded by the bright spotlights and they trigger memories of the difficult times in his life. Together with the pressure and expectations from the media and spectators they flash inside his head and he tries not to let his control slip, tries to keep his breathing relaxed. He doesn't know why, but suddenly he feels unsure whether he's ready to go for the gold medal like everyone seems to expect of him. But the time is up, he has to perform right now and all he can do is fold his gloved hands in front of his face to shield himself from the lights and the noise. He takes a deep breath when he hears his own voiceover and as the music begins, he starts to move in sync with it.
The only true wisdom is in knowing: You. Know. Nothing.
Ilia blew it. He'd already known he'd blown it after his second fall. From that moment onwards, he had to force his body to finish the programme, to do his signature backflip which miracuously still made the audience cheer for him. The moment he'd finished he had to force back the big crocodile tears that his eyes were brimming with, not completely able to keep the hurt and disappointment from showing on his face while he bowed to the audience. The blonde could see the shock on their faces and felt undeserving of their applause. He felt like he had led everybody down.
He's never beeen more glad to be allowed to leave the ice like he is now, only shaking his head at his dad who immediately tries to console him. He moves on autopilot, putting the protectors on his blades and taking the seat in the Kiss & Cry area. Ilia is aware he's blown it but when his score is finally shown on the screen, he is still shocked. He had expected to lose the gold medal, had maybe even expected to land just out of range for any medal on rank 4. But dropping down to 8th place feels cruel. He needs a few seconds to swallow this bitter pill and feels his throat tighten around his emotions. Right now he just wants to leave the arena, to lock himself into his room at the Village, wants to drown in the silence there.
Luckily his instinct kicks in and one look to his right is enough to know that there's one more thing left to do. Misha's panda plushie lies on the floor forgotten because he stood up and it fell from his lap, half his face is hidden behind his hands but Ilia can see the shock in his beautiful brown eyes. Without any hesitation the American walks over to the leader's chair and pulls his friend into an embrace. He buries his hand in the Kazakh's soft hair and uses his last remaining self control to not also bury his face in the crook of Misha's neck on live international television. Still, he's able to inhale the unique mix of his friend's sweat and favourite cologne and feels his heartbeat calm down a bit. But at the same time that traiterous organ wants to flutter due to their bodily closeness. It's a strange sensation and Ilia uses the last of his willpower to pull away a bit and say some nice words to the new Olympic gold medallist. Even to his own ears they sound a bit forced but he truly means them because Mikhail does deserve this after all the effort he's put into his career. When his friend grabs his hand and goes for another embrace, he dodges it and simply bumps their shoulders together before he ends their contact because he just can't take it anymore. Ilia turns around and quickly grabs his water bottle, then heads for the changing room and finally, the noise doesn't ring in his ears anymore.
The moment Ilia closes the door to his room he feels the tension that has been holding him upright for the last hour leave his body and he immediately flops down onto his bed. He takes a few minutes to just breathe, although his chest feels kind of constricted, the weight of his messed up free skate pushing down on his ribcage. A notification reaches his ears and even though he knows he shouldn't, he takes his phone out of the pocket in his jogging pants and unlocks it. For the next hour or so he scrolls and scrolls, reads and watches reaction after reaction on tonight's performance and gets lost in his own head. Thoughts of expectations, pressure and insecurity chase each other in his head. But worst is the doubt. Ilia doubts his training, his achievements in the sport so far and his abilities on the ice. He's not aware anymore that he's spiraling, the constant flow of new notifications about comments mentioning him sending him further down the rabbit hole that is social media.
The figure skater doesn't hear the knocks on his door until they turn very insistent. Confused he finally tears his eyes away from the phone, vision a bit blurred after staring at the screen for such a long time. When he gets up he can already feel where the bruises are beginning to form on his body from his two falls. He winces but drags himself to the door.
"Who's this?", he asks.
"Ilia? Finally! It's me, Misha. Please, will you let me in?", comes the muffled answer from the other side.
The blonde hesitates for a moment, not really sure if he can handle being in a room with the guy he has had a crush on for the 2025/26 season. But before he can think about it too much his traiterous, traiterous heart makes the decision for him and he opens the door.
"Ilia, I..." Misha starts, then looks at him with big eyes and adds "... have you been crying?"
Ilia scrunches his eyebrows in confusion and only now feels the tear tracks on his cheeks. Embarassed, he raises his hoodie-clad hand and wipes it over his eyes a few times. Then he looks at his friend and is at a loss for words.
Mikhail swallows and quietly asks: "May I come in?"
The American only nods, steps aside and closes the door again after his friend has entered the room. He doesn't know what to do or say. At least the gold medal is nowhere in sight and he is glad about that, not sure if he could bear it being in the same room at the moment.
"Ilia I..." Misha starts again, a little nervously carding his hand through his long hair. "I wanted to check on you... it's probably a stupid question but I would still like to know how you are doing?"
And there goes his heart again, notching up its rhythm at the Kazakh's care for his wellbeing.
"I, well..." he has to clear his throat once because his voice is a little scratchy. "It's been... a tough night. But I don't want to burden you with my feelings, it's not that important. I guess it happens to everyone, some time."
Now it's Misha's turn to scrunch his eyebrows. "But today it happend to you and it was completely unexpected. Your feelings are important and you should work them out, or else you will carry this around with you for days."
Ilia is a little surprised at his usually shy friend's directness. Selfconsciously he rakes his fingers through his hair and mumbles in response: "I'm not sure I'm strong enough to do that right now. I've had the worst skate of my life, I've disappointed every fan and let down everyone who helped me get to this point... I've failed them."
"Ilia, stop!" Misha interrupts him and takes a step towards him. "What makes you think that? Yes you had a bad skate and I'm sure it must feel horrible at the moment. But you're not weak, you're not a disappointment and you're not a failure!"
And great, now the blonde's eyes are welling up with tears again. "But they say..." he starts quietly and then has to interrupt himself because he doesn't trust his voice anymore, the words get stuck in his throat as he glances back to his bed where his phone lies on the duvet.
His friend follows his gaze and raises a single eyebrow. "Have you been on social media? Ilia you know that is not a good idea..." Misha only hesitates for a second, then steps around him and without much fanfare snatches the device, closes all apps and locks the screen. Afterwards he says: "Close your eyes."
Ilia gives him a confused look. "What?"
"Close your eyes, please. You trust me, yes?" Misha tries again.
And how is he supposed to say no to this? He can't so he just does as he is asked and closes his eyes. He hears Misha walk through the room and moving a few things around, having absolutely no idea what the other guy is doing.
"Okay, I'm done" he then hears that soft familiar voice right next to him and Ilia has to suppress a little shiver at the proximity. When he slowly opens his eyes, his phone is nowhere to be seen. At first he wants to protest but before he can utter a single word he suddenly feels a bit lighter, like the weight on his chest has lifted a fraction and breathing becomes easier again for the first time since he stepped off the ice earlier during the night.
Ilia exhales slowly and feels his shoulders relax. He slightly turns his head to the side and looks at Misha from under his lashes, mumbling "Thanks! I guess I needed that."
The smile Misha offers him in return is sincere. "You're welcome. Wanna sit down?" He points to the plain bed with the rumpled sheets.
Ilia just nods, takes a seat and when Misha sits down next to him so close that their knees and shoulders touch, his heartbeat spikes yet again. His friend doesn't ask anything, gives him time to sort out his thoughts, is just there for him, a steady and calming presence. Somehow that's all it takes for Ilia to open up. He starts slowly but soon the words are simply tumbling out of his mouth and he tells Misha about all the little things gone wrong on this Friday 13th, about how much pressure he felt when stepping onto the ice for his free skate and about how torn he feels now because on the one hand he grieves the loss of the gold medal and on the other hand he wants to be happy for his friend.
Misha nudges Ilia's shoulder with his own and gives him a small but warm smile. "You know, it's okay to feel conflicted about this situation! I can only imagine how much it must hurt for you at the moment to have lost the medal like that and... how it can't be easy to spend time with me of all people right now. But... that's okay. And for me, it doesn't change anything about our friendship!"
Ilia swallows around a lump in his throat, looks at Misha and quietly says: "It's always easy to spend time with you! Yes I'm hurting, but I'm glad not to be alone right now. I like being around you."
He can hear the brunette next to him suck in a breath at his words.
"Thank you!" Misha answers and then, after a few seconds of hesitation, he quietly adds: "How much do you like being around me, exactly?"
The American's eyes widen at this question because he absolutely didn't expect it. He needs a moment to get his mouth to work. "Um... I... what do you mean by that?" He isn't sure how his heart manages to still beat a little bit faster than before, but it does.
Misha takes a deep breath and looks down at his fingers. "I, er... do you only like me as a friend or... maybe something more?"
"Oh..." Ilia needs a moment to sort his thoughts. Does Misha really mean what he thinks he means with that question? Could it be that the Kazakh is interested in men? Is there maybe the tiniest chance that his feelings for the other figure skater are actually requited and he hasn't misread all the little moments they shared during the season? The laughs, the joined training sessions, the hanging out together in hotel rooms between competitions... And with everything that has happened to him today, Ilia decides that it's now or never because the things you want in life can slip away from you so easily.
He clears his throat and looks at Misha: "Obviously, I like you as a friend! But... maybe also as something more? Er... may I ask how you got that idea?"
While he's speaking, the brunette is looking at him hopefully but at his last question he suddenly blushes: "Wow! Oh, er... because maybe I found something earlier? When I hid your phone..."
The blonde questioningly raises an eyebrow: "What could you have possibly found that hints at me liking you more than just a friend?"
Misha almost looks a bit guilty as he combs his delicate fingers through his hair. "Well... I didn't mean to snoop around, really! But when I tried to find a good hiding place for your phone I checked a few spots..."
Ilia watches him get up, walk to the small desk space next to the closet and taking some kind of paper from underneath a tourist flyer of Milan. When the other holds it up to show him, realisation dawns on him and he gasps, feeling heat spread on his cheeks. He hasn't thought about this in days!
"This is a Valentine's card, right? And... well, it has my name on it..." Misha says and returns to the bed, standing directly in front of him.
All Ilia can do is confirm because now the cat is out of the bag and there's no denying it anymore. "Yes, it is. And yes, it's for you. I meant to somehow sneak it under your door or into your backpack tomorrow because I was convinced that winning gold would make me confident enough to finally tell you that I really like you..."
At that the sweetest smile graces Misha's lips, braces sparkling underneath and his voice is all soft when he asks: "May I read it?" He quickly glances at the watch on his wrist. "It's past midnight already, so it would even be legal now since it's the 14th February?!"
The knowledge of that doomed Friday finally being over somehow relaxes Ilia and let's him nod his approval. "Yeah, that's okay."
Carefully, the brunette opens the card and his brown eyes move over the handwritten lines.
Dear Misha,
I really like you! You're cute <3
Wanna go out with me?
□ yes please
□ maybe? Want to talk about it first
□ no thanks
Ilia
The American can't help but bounce his leg nervously as he waits for his friend's reaction. But Misha doesn't let emotions show on his face right away. Instead he turns around, his eyes searching the room and when he finds what he's looking for he fetches a pen from the desk. Bending over the surface the brunette draws a cross on the card. Then he returns with it to stand in front of Ilia again and extends the card.
Ilia's hand is actually shaking a little bit when he takes it and he's sure his heart is just seconds away from bursting his ribcage as he opens it to see the result.
x yes please
A happy smile spreads on his face when he reads it and then looks up at the other skater. "Really?!"
Misha grins and nods. "Absolutely! I really like you too, Quadgod." And then he does something that Ilia could never have anticipated. He bends down and kisses him.
It's short and chaste, just a quick peck on the lips, but the gesture is so sweet that it melts Ilia's heart on the spot.
When the contact breaks and Misha stands upright again, Ilia looks at him in disbelief at first. But then the tingling feeling on his lips tells him that this actually just happened and jumpstarts his heart back to life. A big grin forms on his face and he huffs out a quiet laugh. "Wow! Who knew the night would end like this?"
The brunette grins as well and simply shrugs his shoulders. "I think the Olympics are full of surprises for everyone and have their own kind of magic!"
Ilia nods, takes his friend by the hand and pulls him back down next to him. "Yeah, I think you're right", he agrees quietly and decides to be brave by resting his head on Misha's shoulder. Apparently it pays off because Misha sighs, entwines their fingers and rests his own head gently on top of Ilia's.
They stay like that for a few minutes, simply enjoying the others company in comfortable silence. But then Ilia can't suppress a yawn and Misha asks with a smile: "Time to finally get some sleep?!"
Reluctanty Ilia nods and sits upright. "Probably best if we want to look presentable during our scheduled interviews and don't want to fall asleep in front of the microphones!"
Grinning, Misha agrees. "Yeah. Right, I'll leave you to it... see you later?", he asks as he gets up from the bed. Immediately, the blonde misses the warmth of his body but he knows that they really have to go to sleep.
"See you later!", Ilia answers and smiles at his friend. "I'm already looking forward to it. And thank you for today! For just... being here. Being you. And... also the kiss..." At this point he can feel the heat in his cheeks again and unconsciously bites his lower lip.
Misha looks at him softly, like he's something special, playing with the Valentine's card in his hands. "Let's go out after the interviews! Maybe a trip to the city center? I want to spend more time with you. And... maybe share another kiss."
Ilia grins stupidly and nods enthusiastically. "It's a date!"
Misha beams at him, waves goodbye and only then he slowly retreats to the door and leaves the room.
And finally, hours after his free skate performance, does Ilia actually feel like the motivational words of his choreography are true for himself.
You are something, but not nothing.