"Still not going to the rink today?" Childe asked, adjusting his winter coat. He's going out to see his friend again, which Scaramouche finds odd that they had to be hanging out so frequently; he shook his head.

"No," Scaramouche responded in a firm tone. Who knows what he might encounter if he broke his promise with himself to never go to the rink? 

It's been four days since had last visited the rink, and he knows full well who is going to be waiting in the arena tirelessly; taunting him if he finally gave in to visit the rink. 

Childe sighed, "Alright. A gentle reminder that your free skate is in three days, better get up and go to the rink soon. It's 9 in the morning, you still have some time." he said, grabbing the car keys from the mini shelves beside the door.

"Okay, I don't need your gentle reminders, I know how long until the free skate myself, bitch." he scoffed, plopping down on the sofa once again to browse through a selection of uninteresting movies. 

He settled on a Netflix nature documentary after he heard a click of the door closing shut, indicating his solidarity in the hotel room. He sighed, watching in awe as his mind drifted to the thought that a monkey was the closest being resembling a human. He wondered what would happen if he ever got thrown into a forest all by himself; would he die from the inability to adapt to the wilderness once more?

He exhaled, throwing his back to stare at the ceiling. His bag of skates lay beside the sofa, waiting for him to pick them up once more to the place they belonged; ice rink.

A familiar silhouette appeared in his mind, disrupting the peace and quietude. 

He smiled, eyes forming an arc. Like he's happy to see Scaramouche; like he has been awaiting his appearance in anticipation. 

Scaramouche put a hand to his forehead, shutting his eyes close to erase him from his mental picture. A British accent emitted from the Television, his brain left unstimulated. 

His choreo half memorized, his free skate coming up in three days. He grunted; not that he didn't want to go skate, it was giving the person he hated the satisfaction he hated the most. His pride way too large to compensate for the Gold medal with, he rolled on the sofa. Head buzzing with an angel and a devil arguing against each other if he should go to the rink or not, he held his head. 

"...It was winter once again," A voice trickled into his ears, "the pond had frozen into a mini ice rink." 

The word "ice rink" was the only one that registered in his mind. Curious of the context, he lifted his head, for once interested in the content that Netflix documentaries had to offer aside from murder analyses. 

"Animals that don't usually hibernate come out to the rink, enjoying the slippery wonderland on their foot." The narrator explained.

Animals, dancing on the ice rink nature has granted them. Smaller animals hopped on the ice like the slippery effects never applied to them, while animals bigger in size barely managed to stand up. 

Some even falling on their backs, Scaramouche's memory traced back to someone familiar. Someone who would always fall on their back, doing quads. Someone that he, at first, thought was naturally talented. Someone that often blurred the line between flying and skating, Scaramouche often thought of him as a crane; soaring on ice. 

Mesmerized by the animals on ice, he hadn't noticed how long he hadn't blinked for until his eyes felt dry; like someone had plastered a film of plastic on his eyes. 

He lowered his head to wipe off the bit of tear that got accidentally squeezed out of his eye, unintentionally noticing his skate bag; lying on the grey, fluffy carpet. 

The blades peeking out, they reflected the snowy encircling environment on the television, casting in Scaramouche's eye. He squinted his eyes, a wave of motivation crashing on him. 

Next thing he knew, he was already dressed in skate-friendly clothes with a fluffy jacket on him, pacing over to his car. He knew what would happen if he got caught by that annoying, snobby kid, but he can't let his golden medal slip away from his hands by the person he hated the most.

Entering the same rink that he had always gone to, the same music played in his ears once more. Familiar slashing of blades against ice, it had drawn him towards the rim of the rink; admiring the artistry from afar.

Feet swinging backward, a pick at the ice could be heard before he spun; his feet landing too soon causing him to flip over, falling on his back. Scaramouche was reminded again of the Netflix documentary, putting a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud.

"Still can't make a quad toe?" Scaramouche taunted, grimacing at Kazuha as he skated towards the entrance, massaging his back. 

"I could," Kazuha let out a laugh, "but you came, so I got nervous." he smiled, face dusted with pink. Scaramouche has no idea if it was the fact he was training so hard or he was blushing. He assumed it was the first reason.

"You got nervous? That's the only excuse you can come up with?" Scaramouche rolled his eyes, unzipping his jacket to take it off.

"Yeah," Kazuha breathed, "I'm always nervous when people watch me do stuff." he let out a singular laugh.

"That's too bad for you. You're an Olympic competitor, there are countless people watching your every move." Scaramouche responded, sarcastically, as he took out his skates to put them on. 

"Well, not really." Kazuha shrugged, "I'm only nervous around you." 

Scaramouche paused, lifting his head to reveal a confused expression, "What do you mean; you're only nervous around me?" he scoffed, "Am I that scary?" 

What the hell did Kazuha mean by 'nervous around him'? Was he trying to imply that he hated his so much he had to make sure Scaramouche doesn't see him practicing? Was Scaramouche simply just too skillful at figure skating, Kazuha thought it would be embarrassing to showcase his awful jumps in front of him? Well, Scaramouche was scary, and pretty distant towards Kazuha; he has every reason to be nervous around him.

Kazuha stifled a laugh until he can't keep it in anymore; and his laughs filled the arena, echoing and bouncing off the walls of the empty room. He rubbed his eyes, wiping off the tears that came out. 

"No, I don't think you're scary at all," Kazuha chuckled, eyes forming an arc, "rather, you make my heart race at the sight." 

A smile drew on his lips, tapping his thighs to remind Scaramouche that his feet were not yet fully in his skate yet. Embarrassed, he pressed them down aggressively, hiding his face from Kazuha. 

His cheeks felt like they were on fire, and the tip of his ears were as if he dipped them in hot lava. Covering his face with his hands, he can feel how warm they were compared to his cold hands.

"Are you alright, Senior Scaramouche?" Kazuha bent down, kneeling in front of Scaramouche to check if he was fine. Scaramouche felt Kazuha's breath on the back of his hands, and refused to set them down. 

"Fuck off, I'm just fine!" Scaramouche scowled, "Go do your stupid quads or whatever, I don't need your caring!" he growled, feet stomping on the plastic floor. Good thing they weren't stupid enough to cover their floor with wood, or else Scaramouche would be the first one to shave all of the wooden pieces off in a matter of time.

He felt an airy laugh from the other side, blowing on the back of his hand. 

"Alright, I've gotten you milk tea as well; feel free to drink them whenever you like," Kazuha informed, placing a plastic cup filled with boba tea and a large straw beside him, "I'll be practicing my choreo with headphones so I don't disturb you when you're doing your choreo, okay?" Kazuha said,

Until he has heard the tapping of blades against the ice was he finally able to remove his hands from his face. Turning his head around, he saw the cup of milk tea that Kazuha promised him. It had a turquoise plastic cover, Scaramouche's favorite color. It reminded him of the expansive ocean on a summer beach, with pink, flamboyant flamingos dotting picturesquely across the coastline of it.

He would be flattered to visit a summer paradise one day. But for now, he's stuck with some idiot, competing in a global figure skating contest. He groaned, stretching his body before stepping onto the ice. 

Maybe it was because he hasn't been on the ice for four consecutive days was his legs shaking a little at the contact with the icy, slippery rink. He exhaled, holding onto the rim of the rink to keep himself from making a fool of himself by slipping on the ice; the place where he had won two sequential gold medals. 

He pushed the rim of the rink, propelling himself. Thus, he was off and skating once more. 

Putting on the music he had selected for his next free skate, he allowed himself to immerse in the eerie sensation of the melody. It was slow, notes of the piano playing one by one. 

Suddenly, all of the notes played at once; and he spun. Spinning out of his idle position, he slid towards his right. Floating on ice, he imagined a story for his performance. His every move, his every step conveyed a tale. If you were observant enough, you'd see the meaning behind his every gesture, his every motion. 

He imagined a spring day. The grass slowly peeking out from the ground, the leaves gradually opening their wings; buds forming on the sides of branches. Clouds cast away, a light blue sky hung over their heads merrily. 

A girl, running up to a boy. It was the perfect weather for expressing her love. She had been waiting for a perfect day just like this one. 

Her mouth, closing, and opening, she darted her eyes around, nervous to express her love. Her feet anxiously tipping around, her hands placed behind her back; her figure twisted and turned, thousands of words stuck in her throat. 

Birds chirped, the gentle spring breeze whirled across their cheeks, caressing their face. 

The boy smiled, and everything seemed to be painted across with a tint of dreamlike. 

Clapping heard from his right, he whipped his head around, wondering who took their time to watch his choreography from afar. 

Kazuha slid across the ice, skating closer and closer to Scaramouche. Scaramouche instinctively backed away slightly, signaling Kazuha to not come too close. 

"Didn't you say you were going to practice your own choreography?" Scaramouche asked, crossing his arms, squinting his eyes at Kazuha. He didn't look let he ever broke a sweat, making Scaramouche suspicious if he ever practiced his performance composition since Scaramouche had started his own.

Kazuha let out a laugh, "Yes, but I got caught in watching you skate," he shook his head with a bittersweet smile.

"You are simply too gorgeous on ice." he breathed, eyes not removing off of Scaramouche. He lifted his hands, but abruptly stopped them from traveling up any further. He tsked, pulling his hands into fists to keep them behaving. 

"Me?" Scaramouche asked, "Obviously, I was the two-time Olympic gold medalist, I hope you haven't forgotten that." he rolled his eyes, and skated off further away from Kazuha while scoffing out a laugh.

Kazuha stood still, confused at why Scaramouche suddenly left him. He lifted an eyebrow, placing his hands on his hips. 

Scaramouche furrowed his eyebrows, "I'm telling you to do another quad toe loop, fucking idiot." he insulted, "You told me you've been practicing the quad for a while, I would love to see your progress, currently."

Scaramouche made up an excuse, an excuse to hide his blushing face away from Kazuha. 

He watched as Kazuha succeeded his Quad toe loop, much cleaner than the first time he had attempted such trick. A few generic praises left his mouth; he hurriedly skated towards the exit, wiping the ice off his skates before hastily pulling them off, pouring his hair all over his face, hiding his pinkish cheeks. 

Kazuha stopped at the exit of the rink, propping his arm up on the rim, watching Scaramouche briskly rummaging his skating bag for his car keys.

"So impatient," Kazuha chuckled, "where to?" he asked, resting his head on his arm.

Scaramouche breathed, "A friend invited me for lunch, I have to go or else I'll be late" he lied as he found his car keys in his skate gloves, putting the ring through his index finger to keep them from getting lost.

"It's only 10:43, though." Kazuha checked his watch, turning back at Scaramouche; grinning.

Scaramouche tensed up, realizing how bad his excuse was, "O-oh, um, he wanted me to accompany him to go somewhere before eating." he stuttered, swinging his skate bag over his shoulders. 

Scaramouche pushed open the arena doors, almost tripping over the part of the carpet that got somehow cut open. Kazuha laughed slightly to himself, exiting the ice rink.

On blades, he walked over to the seat Scaramouche once sat. 

Picking up the cup of milk tea left half-finished that Scaramouche had forgotten, he took a sip for himself. It tasted much better than the other milk teas, he was grateful he had chosen a coffee shop that offered such high-quality milk teas. Despite a single cup costing more than a meal, he feels everything was worth it.

Thinking of the fact that it was technically an indirect kiss, he giggled to himself. 

----

Lmao hi everyone these bastards finally is having some action expect more gay shit from these bitches in the future mua

2318 words