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The locker room was mostly empty now, the noise of the competition still faintly lingering in Alina’s ears as she sat down and began untying her skates. Her fingers worked on autopilot while her mind drifted somewhere else entirely.
Alina thought about her coach first the way she always did after competitions, like a reflex she couldn’t quite unlearn. The expression on Eteri’s face after the results had come in had been pleased. Gold and silver were exactly what she wanted from her and Elizabet. But it hadn’t been clean satisfaction.
Zhenya’s bronze had complicated it.
Not because it wasn’t a medal. Because it was. Because it came from somewhere else now—another coaching team, another system, another version of Zhenya that didn’t belong to their old world anymore.
Alina tightened the lace between her fingers without realizing it.
Zhenya.
Her thoughts shifted without permission, slipping into something more personal before she could stop them. She barely had time to register it when the sound changed as the door opened.
Alina looked up.
And there she was.
Zhenya stood in the doorway for a moment like she wasn’t sure she wanted to be seen there, then stepped inside anyway. Her bronze medal hung around her neck, catching the light when she moved.
Her gaze flicked across the room and landed on Alina.
Zhenya stared at her like she was trying not to feel anything at all and failing.
Alina’s eyes followed her automatically.
She sat there still, skates half untied, watching Zhenya’s back as she moved through the room with that familiar tension in her shoulders—different now, though. Canada had been good for her. That much was impossible to ignore.
Zhenya wasn’t as thin anymore. There was weight in her presence now, strength where there used to be sunken ribs and exhaustion carved into her bones.
Alina swallowed.
This was the last competition of the season.
After this—months of distance she couldn’t easily bridge. She wasn’t used to that. Not with Zhenya. Not with someone who had always been close enough to argue with, even when they weren’t speaking at all.
“Zhenya—”
The locker slammed shut.
The sound cracked through the room that had emptied out without her even noticing, sharp enough to make the silence feel worse afterward.
Zhenya spun around.
At first glance, she looked annoyed—the kind of anger that was almost familiar between them by now. But underneath it, something more complicated: something unsettled in her jaw, something wild behind her eyes that refused to stay buried no matter how hard she tried to hold it down.
“Don’t,” she snapped, voice sharp, already breaking at the edges.
She stepped forward.
Alina tensed up without meaning to, her body reacting before her mind caught up—half-expecting—
Instead, Zhenya reached for her collar and pulled her forward, closing the space between them in a single motion that left no room to think.
The kiss wasn’t gentle.
It was rough, sudden, all force and no hesitation—like whatever had been building between them had finally snapped at the exact moment Zhenya decided she couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Alina stumbled slightly on her skates, nearly losing her balance—
Zhenya caught her, one hand sliding hard to her waist, pulling her back into place before she could fall. Her fingers dug in like she needed something to hold onto. Like she needed to prove this was real.
Alina had imagined this before.
Kissing Zhenya.
When she was younger, it had always belonged to a different version of their lives—after the Olympics, after Zhenya won, after everything had settled into something simple and understandable again.
Later, it changed shape. Maybe after an apology that never quite came out right. Maybe after Zhenya finally forgave her—though even in her own thoughts, Alina couldn’t fully name what she needed forgiveness for.
But it was never this.
Never something that felt like being pulled apart and held together at the same time. Never with Zhenya’s grip firm at her waist, her lips pressing in with a force that bordered on bruising, like she couldn’t decide whether she wanted distance or something sharper than that. Almost desperate—like letting go would mean losing something she couldn’t afford to.
Never with the low echo of the rink still surrounding them, cold air and distant sounds pressing in at the edges like the world hadn’t stopped just because they had.
Zhenya’s hand tightened again, still caught at Alina’s collar, dragging her closer like distance itself was the problem—like she could fix everything unsaid between them if she just didn’t let go.
The door opened.
Zhenya snapped back instantly, as if the moment had physically burned her.
In the abrupt retreat, her teeth caught Alina’s lip—sharp enough to sting.
She stepped away fast, breath uneven, chest rising too quickly, eyes flashing with something wild and furious and not entirely anger. Her lipstick was smeared now, a stark red uneven across her mouth—the moment leaving a visible mark she hadn’t had time to erase.
“Don’t talk to me.”
The first thing she’d said to Alina all week.
Zhenya grabbed her skates with a jerky motion and turned—nearly colliding with Elizabet in the doorway.
Elizabet stopped short, blinking in surprise, her gaze flicking quickly between them like she was trying to understand what she had walked into.
Zhenya didn’t even look at her. She shoved past, shoulder brushing hard enough to make Elizabet step back.
The sound of her skates scraping against the floor faded quickly down the hall, and with it went whatever tension she’d left behind—except it didn’t really leave. Silence rushed in to replace her.
“Sergei said we’re leaving in ten minutes,” Elizabet said, slower now, as if the normality of it might steady the room. Then, quieter. “You okay?”
Alina nodded automatically. “Tell him I’ll be there.”
Elizabet hesitated a second longer, like she wanted to ask something else, then seemed to think better of it. She gave a small, uncertain nod and left.
The door clicked shut.
Alina sat down again, hands moving to her laces like muscle memory was the only thing keeping her steady. Her fingers worked the knots loose.
Her mind didn’t follow.
It stayed exactly where it had been left—somewhere between the slam of the locker, the pressure of Zhenya’s grip, the heat of too-close breath and too-fast everything.
She pressed her tongue to her lip, almost carefully, like she needed to confirm it had been real—
but all she tasted was blood.