Chapter Text
Alysa is thirteen when she’s standing at the very top of the U.S. National Figure Skating Championships podium, next to smiling girls who seem so much older than her, like they know what they’re doing with their lives. Her gold medal hangs heavy around her neck, but she holds it up next to her face, bites it like she means it.
Everything’s so loud, & it’s only getting louder — the frenzied screams of the standing crowd, the announcer’s voice, the buzzing in her ears that hasn’t let up since she finished her final skate. The arena spotlight shines directly in her eyes & for the first time that day, she realises her stomach has been cramping with hunger. Her hair is pulled back so tightly against her scalp, hairpins stuck in every which way, she can feel the beginning of a headache start to form.
Her gauzy grey-&-blue costume scratches her skin, digs into the crevices of her ribs. She doesn’t even like the colour but Laura swore up & down that she looked like an angel during the fitting session, & she didn’t argue further. Looking like an angel, a princess, an ethereal being is good. It’s all good.
The euphoria of victory touches Alysa like a breeze, light & fleeting, barely felt. What runs through her blood, through every sinew in her body, is more akin to pure relief. So she breathes deep, for the first time — in, out, in, out, letting her shoulders relax as much as she can. She skated clean, completed every jump she trained for, & hasn’t let a single person down today.
She turns around to wave to the screaming crowd behind her, like she did last year at the junior championships, making sure she keeps her smile up. The crowd’s cheering as loudly as they did before, fit to raise the rafters of the arena.
Two triple axels in combination, right at the start of her long program routine, no less, & the commentators went crazy — you just don’t do that, it just doesn’t happen, look at her technical score! That girl will be one of the greats someday.
Here she is, then. Alysa Liu, queen of the impossible, the future of U.S. women’s figure skating.
(Maybe now everyone will get off her back. Maybe now she’ll be allowed to drink water at training, or go to a sleepover with her best friend, or try the special pizza at the new Italian place that opened right down her street.)
The other two girls — Bradie & Mariah, Alysa only vaguely knows them — envelop her in a bone-crushing hug, cooing over how well she did, how she’s so young but already such a superstar. The air is knocked out of Alysa’s lungs, & she winces at the sudden affection, but only briefly.
Following the photographers’ cues, the three of them link arms, cheeks pressed together as they show off their medals for the camera.
Mid-smile, Alysa lets her gaze drag across the boards — there’s her father, clapping & beaming with pride, & Laura, who hasn’t stopped grinning since the kiss & cry.
Then… there’s Amber! It’s really her!
Amber, who got seventh place here, & yet Alysa had still been spellbound by her skate, her clean lines & strong jumps. Amber, who can be ten times better than everyone else when she tries, who she sees year after year at the national training centre in Colorado, who unashamedly brings snacks to training & shares them with everyone.
The blonde waves at Alysa excitedly, mouthing Congratulations, I always knew you could do it! She clasps her hands to her heart, looks genuinely proud, almost tearful, like she’s won the gold herself. Even from here, Alysa can see Amber’s mascara is smudged a little at the edges, which makes her look like a happy raccoon.
Something deep inside Alysa swells with happiness, as if Amber had managed to unearth that part of her. Her heart thunders a mile an hour, to the rhythm of the clapping crowd, & she waves right back.
✮⋆˙🤍⋆♡ ⛸️
Then Alysa is fifteen, & she pops her jump in the Canadian arena, the triple axel she’s been nailing flawlessly in every competition since her days as a junior. It was barely noticeable, a mid-air stepout that still had a solid landing, but she’s in fifth place & the whole world seems frustrated at her.
The word’s going round now: skater to skater, commentator to viewers, a mildly disappointed crowd whispering to each other. If she hadn’t screwed up she’d get podium for sure.
It’s nothing, for God’s sake, this isn’t even the most important competition, everyone will forget this once she pulls off a perfect program at the Beijing Olympics next year. She could care less that she didn’t win, she’s just mad at herself for making that silly mistake.
But Laura won’t let her hear the end of it, & Alysa’s simply… tired. She’s had competition after competition this season, a whirlwind of hotel rooms & packed food that’s barely there both volume & taste-wise, & all she wants is to go home so she can sleep properly for once.
She brought this up in training a few months ago, & Laura had been faux-kind about it, squeezing Alysa’s hands, her eyes pleading. Alysa, please listen to me. You’ll be done with your career in a few years & have the rest of your life to go to the movies with your friends. You can eat all the pasta you want then… no, darling, don’t cry. You’re so lucky, you don’t understand. People would kill to be you. You have so many medals & friends from all over the world, & you will have the rest of your life to look back.
Alysa had nodded then, focusing more on the laces of her skates. She realised she had no idea what the rest of her life might look like — she didn’t know anything besides getting to the rink at six-thirty every morning, then leaving three hours later sweaty, exhausted & full of rage. An unknown future would be extremely scary if she let herself dwell on it — which Laura & her father are determined to prevent.
Alysa sits on the benches by the boards, watching Laura brag about her to a gaggle of reporters a few metres away. Something along the lines of, Alysa is doing exactly what she wants to do. Oh yes, sometimes she breaks down but it’s over in fifteen minutes… she’s my strongest girl, this is a small setback. I have no doubt she will become someone very special someday.
“Shut up,” Alysa mutters into her lap, balled fists bundled in the pockets of her Team USA jacket. She grits her teeth so she doesn’t say anything that the press might hear, & leans into Amber’s hold fully, inhaling deeply so she doesn’t start sobbing. Amber smells like orange blossoms & faint sweat, which go together in a strangely pleasant way.
Amber tightens her hug from the side, briefly breaking it to pass Alysa a small bottle of water & a packet of tissues. “Ssssh, it’s okay. I’ve got you, all right?”
Her voice is low, calm, reassuring, the exact thing Alysa needs right now.
Alysa cracks open the bottle, takes a tentative sip of it. She resists the instinct to gargle & spit it out, like she does in training. It tastes clean & pure, soothing the back of her throat.
& when she thinks about how Amber has sat with her since the end of her skate, she thinks she might choke it all back up & cry.
She looks up tearfully, between gulps of cool water, & puts her arms around Amber in return, both of them embracing in the midst of the post-competition chaos. “Thank you, Amber.”
Amber smiles back, a radiant guardian angel. She shoos away a nosy photographer with a brief flapping motion & a threatening glare, & then turns back to Alysa. “Of course.”
She reaches up to run her fingers through the younger girl’s dark hair with all the tenderness of a saint, & Alysa subconsciously lets out a low hum in her throat. Suddenly, the world seems so much bigger than all this, & the future doesn’t seem that impossible after all.
✮⋆˙🤍⋆♡ ⛸️
Alysa is sixteen, fresh off the World Championships when she has a new, strange idea — borne out of all the days she’s been locked in her dorm in Colorado, surrounded by a dead, crushing silence.
“What if… what if I don’t want to do this any more?” she says uncharacteristically softly, winding the blue ribbon of her bronze medal around her hand. Cautiously, like she’s trying on a expensive new jacket for the first time. As if the air in Montpellier has freshly solidified her thoughts about how life these days has felt like skating on the thinnest ice.
Her voice echoes off the sterile white walls, & she waits for a response.
Amber leans against the wall of the otherwise empty locker room, letting her hair down from its ponytail. “What?” she asks gently. but not in a sorry, I didn’t hear you way. It sounds more like a what do you mean by “this”? way.
She looks the tiniest bit confused, & for a second Alysa thinks about taking it all back, about playing this off as a joke. She hasn’t told anyone about this yet, afraid nobody would believe her after she’s come so far in the sport, hoping against hope that she won’t meet with too much resistance from everyone who’s invested so much in her.
“I mean… all this, it’s getting too much for me.” She gestures around the room broadly, somehow knowing that Amber will understand immediately. “I dunno, man. I’d probably be the youngest person to retire ever, but…”
Then Amber’s in front of Alysa in a few strides, her presence warm & all-encompassing as she’s always been. Alysa realises how much taller & stronger Amber is than her, so much more noticeable from up close.
Amber hugs Alysa hard, patting the younger girl’s back twice, then holds her at arm’s length, before pulling her in one last time for good measure. Loving. Sisterly. The perfect older mentor.
“I’ll support you no matter what you choose to do, Alysa,” Amber says, & Alya can hear her sniffle. “But I will say, I’ll miss you so much if you leave.”
A lump forms in Alysa’s throat, her heart skipping every other beat. She has no way to phrase how she feels right now, without sounding silly or childish: miss me in another way, please. Miss me like - like -
Like -
She has no words, so she throws her arms around Amber, & the two of them embrace in the middle of this sweet, sweet liminal space, with Alysa’s face buried in the crook of Amber’s neck. The older girl still smells like orange blossoms, a heavenly, familiar scent that feels like spring, like a fresh start is possible.
Moments stretch into hours, & Alysa’s mind is racing. Finally, for real, she’ll fly home to California at the end of this week & think, really wonder what she wants out of the one life she’s got.
✮⋆˙🤍⋆♡ ⛸️
✮⋆˙🤍⋆♡ ⛸️
Alysa is eighteen when Colorado calls her back.
This morning, the very start of her comeback season, she stretches her arms above her head as far as she can, revelling in how good it feels. Fingers curling in the chilled rinkside air, wrists turning & clicking, elbows straining, shoulderblades shifting. She feels strong & perfect & satisfied, for no particular reason (other than the fresh blueberry muffin & hot chocolate she had for breakfast). The familiar rinkside sounds of many pairs of blades cutting into ice, the swoosh & drop of jumps (& the occasional grunt of frustration as someone falls over) music to her ears.
She ties her hair up into a ponytail with the black scrunchie she keeps around her wrist. She knows what to expect this time, knows what the season has in store for her. Worlds are coming up in half a year & she’s got growing to do, now that skating has come sneaking back through the wide-open door of her life.
Most importantly, she doesn’t fear stagnation any more, of losing her jumps within the span of a day. Expectation is a quieter weapon than blame, but it cuts ten times deeper & she’s got the scars to show for it. She’s heard it all from her father, Laura, even from her own head when she was younger. Now that she’s bandaged up her wounds & hauled herself to her feet, she’s done having people decide who she is, who she can be.
It’s taken her all this time in & out of college classes, in coffee shops & mountain camps & even in the quiet of her own room, to detach herself from the mechanics & emotional burden of skating. To understand that while the basic principles of training remain constant across every aspect of life, the real joy begins when you start doing things for yourself. That pauses aren’t always the split second of airtime in a complex jump; they can be little plateaus of contentment.
Sitting down to tie up the laces of her skates, Alysa gently runs her thumbnail over the edge of the blades, watching the little white shavings of the nail surface gather against her cuticles.
Good. They’re still sharp.
She lets out a little nod of satisfaction, watching her reflection do the same.
It’s been two & a half years away from the ice. Two & a half years of finding herself, of hanging out with her friends for once, of being… well, “normal” has never been the most accurate word for the youngest-ever U.S. figure skating champion, but it sure felt good to get her driving license last year.
Tying her laces is a calming pre-skate routine: right over left, then again. Double — no, triple bow, tuck the edges away. She’s been doing it the same way since she was three, & her fingers now move on their own.
When she was younger, being extraordinary was more tiring than it could ever be worth — but now she’s back on the ice. Not because she has something to prove, but because she has absolutely nothing to prove any more & she’s all the happier for it.
Between the serious talks with her dad about how she wants to run the show from now on, & the encouragement from her coaches to follow her heart, she knows even if she doesn’t win anything this year, there’s still no way to lose. For real — she’s been practicing in Oakland for a month now, with Philip & Massimo who actually listen to what she has to say. The fact is, she got most of her jumps back in one morning. A combination of muscle memory & determination, the knowledge in her blood that her years of hard training would never betray her.
This is freedom with no caution tape. She’s Alysa Liu first, everything else second, & it’s good to be back.
When she steps onto the ice, her train of thought is completely derailed when she sees a flash of blonde hair from the periphery of her vision.
Her gaze snaps up to the ice & there’s Amber gliding forward right in front of her eyes, building momentum foot by foot, then propelling herself off the ice towards a beautiful triple lutz-toe loop combination that’s almost too perfect to be true. There are a few others surrounding her on the ice, but they’ve all faded into the background.
Alysa’s heart does its own loops in her throat. Amber is more beautiful than she remembers, with all her curves & the sleek lines of her straining muscle, showing through her open-back leotard. The lights around the rink illuminate her blonde hair, make her look like an angel.
Amber twirls back to the entrance of the rink, arms outstretched gracefully, letting her own momentum slow until she’s finally facing in Alysa’s direction. Blue eyes narrow in confusion, then widen in confirmation.
“Holy - Alysa?”
Alysa startles at the sound, but quickly breaks into a grin. She’d told Amber she was coming back here but she hadn’t said when, which garnered the best possible reaction. It’s like nobody actually expected her to be crazy enough to come back to the international level.
She opens her mouth to call back, but she’s rudely interrupted by everyone at the rink noticing her at once. Before she knows it, she’s swarmed with her old friends.
“Alysaaaaa!” Ilia bounds up first, like the golden retriever he is (if a golden retriever was absolutely obsessed with perfecting quadruple axels). He envelops her in a tight hug, patting her on the back hard. “Oh, God. You look so crazy now.”
“Yeah, yeah. I missed you, too.” Alysa grins, pulling her lip up to show off her smiley piercing.
Ilia whistles in admiration. “Siiiiick.”
There’s other people lining up to talk to her too, pepper her with questions about life. How was your break? Why’d you return? I love your hair, where’d you get it done?
Alysa answers everyone honestly, briefly. She feels like a celebrity & for the first time in the longest time ever, she doesn’t mind.
Amber stands at the side, waiting her turn even though she was the first to notice Alysa here. Her smile is bright & open, eyes welcoming, like she’s been waiting years for this moment.
Alysa’s breath catches in her throat. She’s… different now, that’s it. She imagines herself from the eyes of someone who last saw her when her waist-length hair was obediently gathered in a bun, not in a choppy striped wolfcut that brushes her shoulders. When she was a skinny kid devoid of sunkissed freckles, when she wasn't dressed in all black with leopard-print tights, when she didn’t have her smiley piercing or her back tattoo, when she wasn't — as full as she is right now, in this exact moment.
When their manager arrives, claps his hands for silence & asking for everyone to give Alysa some air, the team obediently gathers to the centre of the ice to listen. The rest of the reunion hugs can come later.
Amber leans close as they join the huddle, her breath warm next to Alysa’s ear. “Let’s grab coffee later, okay?”
Alysa nods eagerly — she’s never wanted anything more, & it’s like she never left.
They agree to meet at a modern coffeehouse in a historical building right across the street from the training centre, widely known for its handcrafted drinks. Amber’s been there a few times with her parents. She swears up & down that the matcha there is the best she’s tasted outside of Japan.
Amber will be a bit late. She has to discuss a few things with the team managers about the timing & choreography of her short program this season. Hey, don’t wait up for me. You can go in & have a look at the menu first. You’ll love it, I promise.
Alysa slides into a booth with an antique oak table. She browses through page after page of lovingly illustrated coffee & pastries, trying to decide on one single item, but her mind keeps going back to Amber, with her quick winks & easy hugs.
You’ll love it, I promise.
Alysa shivers in anticipation. It almost feels like a proper date.
Maybe it could be one, if she lets it.
She senses Amber more than she sees her, all blue eyes & half-smile wrapped up in a light coat with a blue scarf that matches her eyes — & freezes up momentarily. Amber’s as much an angel off the ice as she is on it, which shouldn’t be a surprise at all but somehow Alysa’s still left speechless.
“Alysa!” Amber sits down opposite her with an apologetic look, effortlessly breaking the tension in Alysa’s mind. “Ohhh, my God. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to talk to you just now.”
“All good,” Alysa replies eagerly, & she truly means it. “I wanted to sit down with you too, you know?”
“I forgot to tell you.” Amber immediately points at the halo (“ferret”, Ilia had said, earning a hard slap on the back) stripes in Alysa’s hair. “That is seriously cool.”
“You like it?” Alysa flips her hair behind one shoulder, grinning.
“I love it.”
They look through the hand-drawn menu together, hands brushing as they turn the pages. Alysa orders an apple cinnamon roll with an iced matcha.
They talk a little about everything, both old & new: Jujutsu Kaisen & how Gege Akutami should go straight to jail without passing go, Alysa’s new superpower (cooking sesame chicken noodles), Amber’s consultant role on the latest Yuri on Ice spinoff which has been her dream since day one.
Their food arrives quickly. Alysa sips at her matcha — it’s bitter, but rounded off with soft, semi-sweet almond notes. It’s absolutely as good as Amber says, & then some.
Amber nurses her cappuccino & salmon bagel, leaning forward seriously. “What brought you back?” To Colorado. To skating.
Alysa breathes: she’s ready for this, she can pinpoint exactly what she has.
She talks about her ski trip a few months back, being ankle-deep in snow, the burn of lactic acid in her muscles as she sped down the slope, everything a blur in her periphery. Then earlier memories still: the view of the sunrise from the Everest summit camp. The exhilaration of being able to reach any height she dreamed of. The feeling that she could have all that back from skating.
Amber listens with her chin propped in her hands, nodding in all the right places, gasping at others. She takes about a minute to process the story, before pulling back & nodding.
“That - that’s really something. I - wow, I - I’m so proud of you, Alysa.”
“Thanks.” Alysa looks down at her food in something like embarrassment, then allows herself to meet Amber’s steady gaze again. “I thought about it. It felt like the right thing to do, you know?”
“Oh, absolutely.” The blonde stretches her legs under the table, her feet brushing against Alysa’s briefly. “Remember when we first met?”
“Yeah. I was ten & starving & I sat in your lap during the break time during training. You gave me -“
“- Goldfish crackers,” they say at the some time, & laugh at the fact that they both still recall the moment, how innocent they were back then.
Alysa cuts into her roll with the side of her fork, watching it flake apart neatly. taking a bite. It’s sweet, but not cloying, & the weight of the cinnamon flavour is just right in her mouth. “Well, I told everyone that if they want me back, they can’t do that to me any more.”
& that’s all I have to say about it. She puts down the fork with a sharp, definitive clink.
“Oh, you’re all grown up now,” Amber says, almost wistful.
“I mean -“ Alysa shakes her head, neither agreeing with or denying the statement. “I was trying so hard to fit in for years, because everyone said I should be like this, like that. & you know, I stepped back & it kind of stopped becoming an option.”
She tilts her head, grinning, something to lighten the mood. “Also, I’ll still eat your snacks any time, so watch out.”
What she means is, I’ve never fit into anything without breaking it.
What she really means is, I can be anyone you want me to be.
She imagines gargling her matcha & weighing herself immediately after, like she’s thirteen all over again. The thought makes her snort in derision, & she takes another big bite of her food. Because she can now, because she won’t be tied down by demands on her body.
“So, what are your plans?” Amber keeps it genuine but light, deliberately vague.
Oh, here it comes. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’m trying to focus on the now. One thing after another, you know.”
“How abouuuuuut… the Olympics?” Amber presses, playfully.
“Oooh, fun.” Alysa says, half jokingly. She genuinely hadn’t thought that far ahead; she’s more intent on focusing how the ice feels under her skates, the ecstasy of absolutely crushing a new routine. Self-contained, undefiled — & any competition is just a platform for that. “Maybe if you’re there.”
“Oh, believe me, I’ll try my best. For you.” Amber replies, holding both Alysa’s hands over the table. She squeezes gently & it feels like a promise.
Something in Alysa’s brain short circuits, & she can’t help but nod. She’s suddenly determined to make it to the Olympics no matter what it takes.
Amber picks up the check after the (?)date, despite Alysa’s constant insistence she pay for her own share.
No, no. It’s fine. I’ve got it. You can pay for me next time, all right?
Something in Alysa’s brain short-circuits, fizzles bright — Next time?
After exiting the cafe, they stand outside in the cold air, facing each other for about half a minute. There’s something in Amber’s eyes that Alysa can’t quite place, a maelstrom of feelings in those bright blue eyes. Something soft like affection, but edged with… confusion? Guilt? Alysa’s trying to figure out what it means, but Amber is so close, & so comforting, & -
“Alysa?” Amber says, in the gentle yet firm tone she uses when she’s about to say something important. She puts her hands on Alysa’s shoulders firmly, leaning forward so their foreheads are pressed together. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
Something tight & hot blooms in Alysa’s chest, as if her body is lighting up with the fire of being seen as someone who didn't survive the hell of her teenage years for nothing.
— Okay, okay.
As they walk together back to their dorm, Alysa tries her best to breathe so she doesn’t collapse beside Amber on the side of the road.
Goldfish crackers, water bottles. The locker room in Montpellier & the lines of Amber’s body. These are all part of the same story & Alysa’s threading them together through her heart, her mind, in her blood, pulling herself together with a force she didn’t know she had in her.
Her future is still hazy but she knows one thing: she wants Amber to be in it.