Chapter Text
1
"That was bad. You did it so many times, and every time I just wanted to pull the trigger, Evgenia. Again."
With tired eyes, the girl skated back to the middle of the rink, the continuous scraping of sharp blades on the ice, echoing in her ears.
"You've rested enough, you're not going home until it's perfect, come on."
Perfect. A word that's been haunting her ever since she won her first major competition, a word that only described the vague facade of her, the version of her, that people admired at the rink. But who was she without skating?
Evgenia took her starting position, muscles flexed, arms elegantly folded in front of her and a witty grin plastered across her face, not quite reaching her big brown eyes. Anna Karenina started playing, the familiar sound activating the girl like a sleeper agent. She had skated this choreography hundreds of times, each time a little bit more obsessive and perfect than the last.
But today wasn't perfect. She felt like the pressure was creeping up on her, waiting for the right moment to make her fail. A feeling she had welcomed way too many times into her mind recently.
All the attention was drawn to her, ever since she remained unbeaten in the last two seasons, bringing home not one, but two world titles in a row for Russia. But a whole country depending on her, was a heavier weight to carry, than she had ever thought.
A loud bang cracked through the rink, sharp and sudden, echoing off the high ceiling.
For a split second, everything slipped.
Evgenia’s head snapped toward the sound before she could stop herself—just a flicker of distraction, barely anything. But at this level, barely anything was enough.
She was already in the air.
Time stretched, warped.
Her body knew the rotation by heart, she had done it hundreds, thousands of times, but something was off. Her axis tilted, just slightly, just enough for panic to spark in her chest. Her arms tightened instinctively, pulling in, trying to fix it mid-air.
No, no—
The ice rushed up too fast.
Her blade didn’t meet it cleanly.
The impact shot through her leg like a shockwave, the sound of it was dull, heavy, like it was lost somewhere between the music and the sudden ringing in her ears. Her body crumpled, momentum dragging her down as her hip slammed against the ice.
For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.
Pain bloomed sharp and hot, starting in her ankle and shooting upward, curling into her knee, her hip. I t was familiar, unwelcome. Her fingers twitched against the ice as if she could push it away, as if she could undo the last three seconds and try again.
Not now.
Her chest rose in a shallow inhale. The music kept going.
Of course it did.
It always did.
Somewhere beyond the haze, she could feel it—the eyes. Watching. Waiting. Expecting. The version of her that never fell, never faltered, never hesitated.
Perfect.
Her jaw tightened, breath catching as she shifted her weight, testing her foot before she was ready.
It hurt.
A sharp, immediate protest that made her vision blur for half a second.
But it was healed. It has to be healed.
Slowly, stiffly, she pushed herself upright, blades scraping against the ice in a harsh, uneven sound that made her stomach twist. For just a moment, her balance wavered—and there it was again, that flicker of doubt, creeping in where it didn’t belong.
From the corner of her eye, she caught movement by the boards.
Alina Zagitova.
Watching.
Evgenia straightened almost immediately, forcing her shoulders back, lifting her chin as if nothing had happened—as if she hadn’t just shattered the illusion everyone came here to see.
As if she was still perfect.
"Evgenia, again. Do better." Eteri Tutberidze's cold voice broke the awkward silence, cutting harshly through the atmosphere. A small nod from the girl, and she was back in her starting spot.
She didn't dare to let her gaze fall in her coaches direction, feeling the disappointment already.
Alina had always admired Evgenia. She was a two time world champion at only eighteen, her winning streak lasting two years, and with the European championships right around the corner, it seemed like everyone knew she'd win after the break she took.
The girl floated across the ice, arms swaying gracefully with the rhythm of the music. Fully captivated by her performance, Alina forgot to actually pack her bag, that was sitting slouchy on one of the benches. She'd been here all day, skating until she either couldn't feel her legs anymore, or until they hurt so bad, they were all she felt. Evgenia's fair skin seemed even lighter under the white neon beams, a strand of dark brown hair falling into her face. She looked beautiful.
"That's what a champion looks like." Alina heard Eteri murmur under her breath.
A champion. All she ever wanted to be, truly an unfortunate time to be a senior skater, she thought to herself. Every competition seeming like it was already decided who'd be standing on top of the podium.
Evgenia Medvedeva.
The locker room was too quiet.
The faint hum of the lights overhead, the distant echo of blades against ice—muted now, like it belonged to a different world. Evgenia sat hunched over, fingers working mechanically at the laces of her skates, tugging harder than necessary.
Her hands were shaking.
She told herself it was from the cold.
"Are you excited for Europeans next week?"
The voice was soft, careful.
Evgenia didn’t look up at first. She pulled one lace free, then another, jaw tightening slightly before she finally answered.
"I don’t know. Are you?"
She slipped her foot out of the skate, flexing it just enough to test it. A dull ache pulsed up her leg. Not sharp enough to stop her.
Sharp enough to remind her.
There was a small pause before the other girl answered.
"I think so."
Evgenia let out a quiet breath through her nose, something almost like a humorless laugh. Of course she was.
Footsteps approached—slow, hesitant.
Evgenia finally looked up.
Alina Zagitova stood a few steps away, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to be there at all.
It almost made Evgenia smile.
Almost.
"I don’t bite," she said, voice lighter now, something teasing slipping in—but her eyes stayed tired, watchful.
Alina huffed a quiet breath, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly.
"It’s the last big thing before the Olympics," Evgenia added, leaning back a little, rolling her sore ankle without thinking. "Of course I’m excited."
The words came out easily.
Too easily.
Alina tilted her head, studying her in a way that made something in Evgenia’s chest tighten.
"You seem nervous."
The smile dropped.
Just like that.
Evgenia’s fingers stilled against the leather of her skate.
For a second, she said nothing. Her gaze drifted away, fixing somewhere on the tiled floor, jaw clenching as that one word settled uncomfortably under her skin.
Nervous.
As if it were that simple.
As if it were something small.
She let out a short, sharp breath and stood up abruptly, the bench scraping faintly against the floor.
"You’d be fucking nervous too," she snapped, voice rising before she could stop it, "if you were in my shoes."
She moved past Alina too quickly, shoulder brushing against hers—hard enough to be felt, not quite hard enough to be called intentional.
But it was.
"I’m competing for Russia too, Evgenia."
The words came out firmer this time.
Stronger.
It made Evgenia stop.
Her hand tightened around the strap of her bag as she turned back slowly, dark hair shifting over her shoulder. For a moment, she just looked at her—really looked at her.
At the confidence.
At the nerve.
Something sharp flickered in her expression.
"Yeah," she said, quieter now, but colder. "You are."
A step closer.
"But you aren’t the reigning world champion, Zagitova."
Another step.
"You aren’t the Olympic hope of Russia."
Each word landed heavier than the last, deliberate, controlled—like she was placing them exactly where she knew they would hurt. Even though no announcement had been made, about the Olympic team, it was pretty clear who'd be up there.
"Don’t act like you know me."
The silence that followed felt thicker than before.
Alina’s fingers curled slightly at her sides, but she didn’t step back this time.
"You’re right," she said, her voice steadier than it had any right to be. "I don’t know you."
A beat.
Her chin lifted just a fraction.
"But don’t act like you’re the most important thing in the world."
That hit.
Evgenia let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, but there was no humor in it—only something strained, something fraying at the edges.
"But I am."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Too fast.
Too honest.
Her throat tightened immediately after, like she wanted to take them back—but she didn’t.
"You have no clue what it’s like," she continued, voice lower now, rougher, "having to be perfect all the time."
Her grip on her bag tightened, knuckles paling.
Not a single mistake.
Not a single weakness.
Not even a fall.
For a moment, it looked like she might say something else.
She didn’t.
Instead, she turned sharply, grabbing her jacket from the hook with more force than necessary. The metal rattled against the wall as she pulled it free.
The door didn’t slam when she left.
But it closed hard enough to echo.
And just like that, the room was quiet again.
Alina stood there, unmoving, the space Evgenia had occupied moments ago now feeling strangely empty.
A shiver ran down her spine—though she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold… or from the look in Evgenia’s eyes right before she walked away.
Stunned by the heated exchange of words Alina was left alone in the locker room, a shiver running down her back.
For the first time in years, she had seen Evgenia Medvedeva crumble, the confident mask that made her seem so untouchable wearing off, for a few brief moments.
Silence had never felt this loud, as Alina now stood, completely alone in the locker room, the scent of Evgenia's dark, vanilla perfume still lingering in the air, clinging to her.
She didn't dare to move, her eyes fixated on the spot where her teammate had rested for a moment.
With every second that passed, the monotone ticking of the clock behind her, the room got colder, and Alina's mind got louder.
Alina frowned slightly.
She wasn’t sure why she was still looking.
With a small shake of her head, she finally moved, stepping toward her own things. Her bag sat half open, laces spilling out, a water bottle tipped on its side. She crouched down, zipping it up halfway before stopping again, her hands going still.
Evgenia's words replayed in her head, her voice echoing in her ears.
Maybe she shouldn't have commented about her, seeming nervous.
Maybe that was too far.
But was she lying? Evgenia definitely looked nervous, or even angry. Alina couldn't blame her.
As effortless as she looked on the ice, carrying her body so gracefully, one with the rhythm of the music, it was a whole different story off the ice.
Alina's fingers stilled.
Her jaw tightening slightly.
Annoying. That's what it was.
It was annoying how easy everything looked for Evgenia, how everyone looked at her, as if she had already won the competition before it had even started.
Annoying how-
For a short moment, something softer tried to surface.
The girl still standing by the benches pushed it away quickly.
She zipped up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.
"Get over it.", she mumbled to herself before leaving.
She wasn't sure if she meant the argument or something else entirely.