Work Text:
It had been three months since the Olympics and two since Worlds. The off season had technically arrived, but it didn’t feel like it. Between Stars on Ice, media appearances, and sponsor commitments, their schedules were still packed.
The spotlight had started to fade for Amber but not for Alysa.
Winning Olympic gold had changed things. Alysa had thought the attention would stay online, something she could scroll past and ignore. Instead, it followed her everywhere. Recognition in public, people staring a little too long, interruptions when she just wanted to exist quietly.
Thankfully, she wasn’t dealing with it alone.
Alysa, Isabeau, and Amber, the Blade Angels <3, were wandering through the busy streets of Osaka, looking for somewhere warm to eat.
“Are we actually picking a place or just… walking forever?” Isabeau said, slightly ahead of them, scanning the street like she was on a mission.
Alysa barely heard her. The feeling had crept in again that quiet, prickling sense of being watched.
'It’s just in your head. Calm down.'
She glanced over her shoulder.
No one.
Still, she let out a small breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding.
“Lysa, you okay?” Amber’s voice came instantly, soft but alert.
Alysa blinked. “Yeah yeah, I just- I thought I felt someone watching us.”
“Wow,” Isabeau said dramatically, not even turning around. “That’s literally how every horror movie starts.”
Alysa frowned. “It’s called intuition.”
“It’s called paranoia.”
Amber huffed out a quiet laugh, but her attention stayed on Alysa. She slowed slightly so they were walking side by side.
“You sure you’re good?” she asked again, more gently this time.
Alysa shrugged. “Just a bit jumpy lately.”
Amber didn’t look convinced. She reached over, lacing their fingers together without making a big deal of it.
“We need to stop watching horror movies,” she said. “This is what they do to you.”
Alysa scoffed, squeezing her hand. “I am not thattt scared of them.”
“Yeah, okay,” Amber teased. “Big tough guy over here.”
Alysa rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now.
Ahead of them, Isabeau suddenly stopped.
“Wait this place looks good!”.
Half an hour later after what Isabeau insisted was "crazyyy long" they finally sat down in a warm, crowded restaurant.
Bowls of ramen, plates of gyoza, and takoyaki quickly filled the table. They dug in almost immediately, too hungry to talk.
The silence that settled between them wasn’t awkward it was easy. Comfortable. Broken only by the occasional
“Okay, this is so good.”
“Wait, try this—”
Then..
“Hey! I’m a really big fan of you, Alysa. Could I get a photo?”
Alysa froze mid bite, eyes widening. For a split second, she didn’t know what to do, spit the noodles out or risk choking trying to answer.
Before she could decide, Amber stepped in.
“Hey, sorry,” she said calmly, offering a small polite smile. “We’re just trying to eat right now. Maybe another time?”
The person hesitated, clearly annoyed. “Uh… yeah. Sure.”
They walked off.
There was a beat of silence.
Then..
“Oh my god” Alysa wheezed, laughing.
“Mid bite is insane,” Isabeau added, already cracking up.
Amber shook her head, smiling now that the tension had passed. “They really couldn’t wait five minutes, huh?”
“I almost died,” Alysa said dramatically. “Like actually choked.”
“Tragic,” Isabeau deadpanned.
Alysa nudged Amber lightly under the table with her knee. “Thanks, by the way.”
Amber glanced at her, softer now. “Don’t worry about it love.”
There was something steady in the way she said it like it wasn’t even a question. Of course she would.
Isabeau made a face. “Okay, I’m still here, by the way.”
Alysa snorted. “Jealous.”
“Disgusted,” Isabeau corrected.
Amber just laughed.
- - - -
The rink had that in between feeling again.
Not competition pressure, not fully relaxed either. Just the steady rhythm of training for something that mattered in a different way. The kind of practice that came with group numbers, choreography, timing, and the knowledge that everything would eventually be performed in front of an audience that wasn’t there to judge jumps, but to watch a show.
Stars on Ice had a way of changing the atmosphere like that. Less about scores, more about presence. Still demanding, just differently.
Alysa pushed into her step sequence, blades carving clean arcs into the ice. Across from her, Amber Glenn matched her timing perfectly, as always. That part never failed. Even when everything else around them shifted, Amber moved like she understood Alysa’s rhythm better than Alysa did sometimes.
Around them, other skaters moved through their own sections of choreography. Music played in bursts from a speaker near the boards, stopping and starting as someone ran a section again. Coaches called out corrections. Laughter echoed in short moments between drills.
And above it all, there were still people watching.
Not a packed arena, but enough. A few invited guests, some staff, a couple of early promotional viewers. Phones held up every now and then. Enough presence to make it feel like something was always being observed.
Alysa tried not to think about it.
She focused on the steps. The spacing. The transitions.
But then she felt it again.
That shift in the air that came whenever attention moved.
She glanced up briefly without meaning to.
A small group near the barrier. One guy leaning forward slightly too much, watching her instead of the group choreography happening around her. Not unusual on its own. She had learned that by now.
She looked away.
Keep skating.
But a minute later, he was still there.
And now he was closer.
Not on the ice, but speaking to a staff member, gesturing toward her.
Alysa slowed instinctively, just enough to lose a beat in her sequence.
Amber noticed immediately.
She always did.
“You okay?” Amber called quietly as she came back around in their formation.
“Yeah,” Alysa said, but her voice was distracted.
The man was being let a little closer to the barrier.
Alysa’s stomach tightened slightly before she even understood why.
He called out her name again, louder this time. “Alysa, right?”
She skated closer to the boards, still cautious. “Yeah.”
He smiled. “I just wanted to say I’ve been following your skating for a while. You’re incredible.”
Alysa gave a polite nod, already trying to angle back toward the ice. “Thank you.”
But he kept talking.
“And I was wondering if maybe after practice you’d want to grab coffee or something. I could show you around the city a bit.”
Alysa hesitated. “Oh, I’m not really—”
She stopped.
Because Amber was already there.
Not rushing. Not interrupting in a loud way. Just suddenly between them like she had stepped into that space without thinking twice about it.
Her skates slowed until she was right at the barrier, one hand resting lightly on it.
“Hey,” Amber said, calm and controlled. “We’re in the middle of practice.”
The guy looked slightly taken aback. “I just wanted to ask her something.”
“And she heard you,” Amber replied.
Still polite. Still steady. But something about her tone had shifted in a way that made the space feel smaller.
Alysa watched from just behind her.
Amber was facing forward, but Alysa could see her posture. Slightly straighter than usual. Focused in a way that wasn’t about skating anymore.
The man laughed a little awkwardly. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought I’d try.”
Amber nodded once. “I understand. But she’s working.”
A beat.
Then, more firmly, “So the answer is no.”
Silence stretched for a moment.
The guy glanced between them, then finally stepped back with a muttered apology before walking away.
The air loosened again almost immediately.
But something didn’t reset the way it normally did.
Alysa pushed closer to Amber, skating slowly beside her as the choreography continued around them.
“That was fast,” Alysa said quietly.
Amber didn’t look at her right away. “It needed to be.”
Alysa studied her. “You didn’t even let me answer.”
“I know,” Amber said.
There was a pause.
Alysa tilted her head slightly. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
Amber finally glanced at her. “Doing what.”
“Deciding things before I can.”
Amber exhaled through her nose, something between frustration and restraint. “I’m not deciding things for you.”
“It kind of feels like you are,” Alysa said gently.
They continued skating while they talked, weaving through their section of the routine almost automatically. Muscle memory carrying them even as the conversation pulled attention elsewhere.
Amber’s voice dropped slightly. “I just don’t like people pushing.”
Alysa gave a small hum. “He wasn’t pushing. He asked.”
Amber didn’t respond immediately.
That alone was enough to tell Alysa there was something else under it.
“You’ve been kind of… tense about this stuff lately,” Alysa added.
Amber’s jaw tightened just slightly. “I’m fine.”
Alysa didn’t push back right away. She just skated alongside her for a few seconds, letting the silence stretch.
Then, carefully, “Is this about him, or about me?”
That finally made Amber look at her properly.
There it was again.
That flicker of something Alysa had started noticing more often.
Not just protectiveness.
Something sharper underneath.
Amber looked away first. “It’s nothing.”
Alysa raised an eyebrow.
Amber sighed, slowing slightly as they reached the edge of their pattern. “It’s just annoying when people think they can show up and act like they have access to you.”
Alysa blinked. “Access to me?”
Amber shook her head. “Forget it.”
But she didn’t skate away this time.
She stayed close.
Alysa’s voice softened. “You’re jealous.”
Amber scoffed immediately. “I’m not jealous.”
But it came out too quick again.
Alysa smiled slightly. “You are.”
“I’m not.”
A pause.
Then, quieter, almost reluctantly, “I just don’t like it.”
Alysa slowed beside her. “Don’t like what.”
Amber hesitated.
Then, finally, “When I feel like I’m not the only one looking out for you.”
That landed differently.
Not dramatic. Not loud.
Just honest in a way Amber didn’t usually let things be.
Alysa didn’t tease her this time.
Instead, she nudged her shoulder lightly as they reached the end of the sequence.
“You are,” she said simply. “The only one I want looking out for me.”
Amber looked at her for a long moment.
Then nodded once.
“Good,” she said.
And this time, when they pushed back into the routine, the space between them felt steadier again.
_ _ _ _
The hotel room was quieter than it should have felt.
Outside, Osaka was still alive in that distant, muffled way cities never fully lose. Neon signs flickered somewhere beyond the curtains, traffic hummed faintly, and yet inside the room everything felt paused, like the world had stepped away for a moment and left them behind.
Stars on Ice had filled the day with motion, noise, and attention. Skates on ice, music cutting in and out, coaches calling corrections, and the constant awareness of being watched even during something as familiar as practice.
Now that it was over, Alysa Liu felt none of that structure to hold onto.
She sat on the edge of the bed, jacket still on, hands loosely clasped in front of her. Her gaze wasn’t focused on anything in particular. Just somewhere on the carpet where nothing expected anything from her.
Amber Glenn closed the hotel room door behind them more quietly than necessary, like she understood without being told that loudness didn’t belong in this moment.
She didn’t speak right away.
Instead, she set her bag down, kicked off her shoes, and gave the room a second to settle around them. Only then did she glance toward Alysa.
Her expression shifted immediately.
Not alarm. Not panic.
Just recognition.
“You want to talk about it?” Amber asked softly.
Alysa shook her head once. “Not really.”
Amber nodded like that was a complete answer. She didn’t press. She never did when it mattered.
Instead, she walked over and sat on the other bed first, giving space without making it feel like distance. Her hands rested loosely in her lap, posture relaxed but attentive.
A few seconds passed.
Then Alysa exhaled slowly, like she had been holding her breath since she left the rink.
“It wasn’t even the interview itself,” she said finally.
Amber looked up slightly. “What was it then?”
Alysa hesitated.
Then, more quietly, “The way they kept trying to get me to say something about my dad.”
Amber’s expression sharpened just slightly, but her voice stayed even. “What kind of things?”
Alysa gave a small, frustrated breath through her nose. “Just… questions that didn’t feel like questions. More like they already had an answer they wanted from me.”
She shook her head faintly.
“They kept circling it. Like if they pushed enough, I’d say something negative.”
Amber’s jaw tightened for a moment, but she didn’t interrupt.
Alysa continued, voice quieter now.
“It felt like I had to defend him the whole time. Like whatever I said wasn’t enough unless it was what they wanted.”
A pause.
Then she added, almost to herself, “I hate that part of it.”
Amber nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Alysa glanced at her. “You get it?”
Amber didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
That simplicity seemed to ground something in Alysa’s expression, just slightly loosening the tension in her shoulders.
“I didn’t say anything wrong,” Alysa added, almost like she needed confirmation.
“You didn’t,” Amber said immediately.
No doubt. No qualification.
Just certainty.
Alysa let out a quiet breath and leaned back slightly on her hands.
“It just follows you everywhere,” she said. “Even when you leave the rink, even when you think you’re done for the day, it’s still there.”
Amber tilted her head slightly. “Yeah.”
A beat.
Then, more honestly, “That part doesn’t really stop. It just gets quieter sometimes.”
Alysa gave a small, tired laugh. “That’s not exactly comforting.”
Amber huffed softly. “I’m not good at fake comforting.”
That earned a faint smile from Alysa, the first real shift in her expression since she’d come back.
The room settled again after that.
Not heavy anymore.
Just still.
Amber shifted slightly on the bed, then stood up and moved closer. Not abruptly. Just enough that she was beside Alysa instead of across the room.
She didn’t ask before sitting down next to her again, but she didn’t crowd her either. Just close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
“You’re okay?” Amber asked after a moment.
Alysa hesitated.
Then shrugged slightly. “I don’t know.”
Amber nodded. “Fair.”
Another pause.
Then Alysa leaned back a little more, letting her shoulders drop for the first time since she’d come in. The tension wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t holding her as tightly anymore.
Amber noticed that too.
“You did handle it,” she said quietly.
Alysa glanced at her. “It didn’t feel like it.”
“It doesn’t have to feel like it to be true,” Amber replied.
That made Alysa go quiet again.
After a moment, she let her head tilt slightly, resting it lightly against Amber’s shoulder. It wasn’t a dramatic movement. Almost like she hadn’t fully decided to do it.
But Amber didn’t react like it was unusual.
She just adjusted a little so it was more comfortable, steadying herself there too without thinking too hard about it.
The silence that followed was different now.
Not empty.
Just shared.
Alysa spoke again after a while, softer. “It’s exhausting.”
Amber hummed lightly. “Yeah.”
A pause.
Then, quieter, “You don’t have to carry all of it alone.”
Alysa let out a breath. “I know.”
Amber glanced down slightly at her. “Do you, though?”
That got a faint, tired laugh out of Alysa.
“Sometimes,” she admitted.
Amber nodded once like that was honest enough for now.
“I can sit through interviews with you,” she said after a beat. “If it helps.”
Alysa lifted her head slightly to look at her. “You’d get us both kicked out.”
“Probably,” Amber said.
Alysa smiled properly this time. “Definitely.”
Amber’s mouth twitched. “Worth it.”
The room stayed quiet again after that, but it was easier now. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel like pressure.
Alysa leaned back again, her shoulder still lightly against Amber’s, her breathing slower than before.
After a while, she spoke again, almost drowsily.
“Thanks,” she said.
Amber didn’t ask for clarification.
She just replied, steady as ever, “Always.”
And neither of them moved for a long time after that, letting the city outside keep moving while the room stayed still, shared, and quiet in a way that finally didn’t feel heavy.
- - - -
The lights inside the arena in New York City were still dimming when the applause finally started to fade.
It had been the kind of night people talked about afterward, music swelling, spotlights cutting across the ice, the cast of Stars on Ice delivering performance after performance that felt effortless from the outside.
But not everything that looked effortless actually was.
Backstage, the air felt different. Quieter. Thicker.
Amber sat on a bench, elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped tightly together. Her skates were still on, blades dull against the rubber floor, but she hadn’t moved to take them off yet.
She just sat there.
Still.
The fall replayed in her mind on a loop.
It hadn’t even been a complicated moment. Not the hardest jump, not the riskiest transition. Just a step sequence she’d done a hundred times no, thousands. And yet, her edge had slipped at exactly the wrong second. One misalignment, one fraction of hesitation.
And she’d gone down.
Hard.
Not dramatic enough to stop the show. Not catastrophic.
But visible.
Unmistakable.
She squeezed her hands tighter, jaw setting. The worst part wasn’t the pain, though her hip was already beginning to ache. It was the feeling. That sharp, sinking drop in her chest the second she hit the ice.
The awareness.
Everyone saw that.
The door creaked open.
“Hey.”
Amber didn’t look up right away. She knew that voice.
Alysa stepped inside, still half in costume, a jacket thrown loosely over her shoulders. Her hair was slightly out of place, like she’d rushed instead of taking the time to fix it.
She closed the door gently behind her.
For a second, she just stood there, watching.
Then she walked over and sat next to her shoulders touching, their hands not too close, not too far. “You disappeared fast.”
Amber let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Yeah. Didn’t really feel like hanging around for the highlight reel.”
Alysa didn’t respond immediately. She studied her, quiet but attentive.
“It wasn’t even a hard part,” Amber muttered after a moment. “That’s what’s so stupid about it.”
There it was.
Alysa grabbed her hand softly and slowly. “Hey,” she said softly, “it happens.”
Amber shook her head, sharper this time. “No, it shouldn’t. Not like that. Not when everything else was going fine.”
Her voice tightened, frustration bleeding through. “I know better. I felt it before it happened, I just didn’t fix it fast enough.”
Alysa didn’t interrupt, she just listened.
Amber exhaled hard, leaning back slightly, staring at the floor. “And of course it’s the one thing people are going to remember. Not the jumps, not the choreography. Just—” she gestured vaguely, “—that.”
“That’s not true,” Alysa said.
Amber glanced at her, skeptical.
“It’s not,” Alysa repeated, more firmly this time. “You think everyone out there just erased the entire program because of one fall?”
Amber didn’t answer.
Alysa tilted her head. “I watched your whole skate. You know what I remember?”
Amber raised an eyebrow slightly, like she didn’t quite believe there was a good answer.
“You performing the hell out of that step sequence before it,” Alysa said. “The way you hit the music in the middle section. The crowd couldn't take their eyes off of you.”
Amber’s expression didn’t fully soften, but it shifted.
“And yeah,” Alysa added, gentler now, “I remember the fall too. Because I know how that feels. But it doesn’t cancel everything else out.”
Amber looked away again, quieter now. “It just… messes with your head.”
“I know.”
Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t empty. It was the kind that made space instead of closing things off.
After a moment, Alysa nudged her shoulder lightly. “You didn’t stop, though.”
Amber frowned slightly. “What?”
“You got right back up,” Alysa said. “No hesitation. You hit the next phrase like nothing happened.”
Amber let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s kind of the bare minimum.”
“Is it?” Alysa asked, genuinely.
That made Amber pause.
Alysa leaned her head on Ambers shoulder, interwining their fingers. “You’d be surprised how many people let one mistake take over everything.”
Amber squeezed her hand gently. “Yeah. I’ve done that before.”
“Exactly.” Alysa glanced at her. “But you didn’t tonight.”
Another quiet moment passed.
Amber’s shoulders dropped just slightly, tension easing a fraction. “Did it look bad?” she asked, more quietly now.
Alysa considered the question honestly. “It looked like a fall,” she said. “But it didn’t look like you fell apart.”
Amber huffed out a breath, some of the tightness leaving her chest. “That’s… something, I guess.”
“It is,” Alysa said. “More than you’re giving yourself credit for.”
Amber finally leaned back fully, resting her head against Alysa's head. “I just hate that feeling. When you know you could’ve done better.”
“Yeah,” Alysa said softly. “That part never really goes away.”
They sat there for a while, the distant sounds of the arena fading further as the building slowly emptied out.
After a minute, Alysa spoke again. “You know what nobody in the audience is thinking right now?”
“What?”
“‘Wow, Amber Glenn is suddenly a bad skater because she fell once.’”
Amber let out a real laugh this time, small but genuine. “Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”
“Because it is.”
Amber shook her head, but there was a hint of a smile now. “My brain does not work like that in the moment.”
“Yeah, brains are kind of the problem.”
They both smiled at that.
Alysa nudged her again. “Also, for the record, your program still ate.”
Amber groaned. “Please don’t say it like that.”
“I’m serious!”
“I know, and that’s worse.”
They fell into a lighter rhythm after that, the heaviness slowly dissolving.
Amber finally reached down and started untying her skates, fingers moving more easily now. “You really don’t think it ruined everything?”
Alysa shook her head without hesitation. “Not even close.”
Amber slipped one skate off, then the other, flexing her sore foot slightly. “It just sucks, you know? You want to give people something perfect.”
Alysa tilted her head. “People don’t come to shows like Stars on Ice for perfect.”
Amber glanced at her. “No?”
“They come for real,” Alysa said. “For moments. For connection. Honestly? Half the time the imperfect stuff is what makes it memorable.”
Amber considered that.
“You falling doesn’t erase the performance,” Alysa continued. “If anything, the way you handled it is part of the performance.”
Amber let out a slow breath, like she was finally letting the thought settle somewhere deeper.
“Besides,” Alysa added, a little grin creeping in, “now you’ve got a comeback narrative for the next show.”
Amber rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now. “Oh my god.”
“I’m just saying. Redemption arc.”
“Please stop.”
“Never.”
Amber shook her head, laughing under her breath as she stood up carefully, testing her weight. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet, I’m right.”
“Debatable.”
They moved toward the door together, the earlier tension now just a faint echo instead of something overwhelming.
Amber paused with her hand on the handle. “Hey,” she said, a little more serious again.
Alysa looked at her.
“Thanks. For… you know. Not letting me spiral.”
Alysa shrugged lightly. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Amber studied her for a second, then giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
She opened the door, the hallway light spilling in.
The night wasn’t perfect.
But it wasn’t ruined either.
And somehow, that felt like enough.