"Today's the day," Childe chuckled a little as he drove Scaramouche to the arena, his eyes peeled onto the road. He had visible eyebags puffing out, it was clear he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep yesterday. Scaramouche wonders why. After all, it's not him that's forced onto the ice to perform a series of tricks to win the Judges' hearts. 

Scaramouche peered out the window, "Yeah..." he breathed, fog forming on the glass. 

He touched the fog, drawing a smiley face with his finger. He promised himself everything will be okay, he'll receive the points he deserved and take back the Gold medal for his country's pride. 

"Loosen up, will ya?" Childe pat Scaramouche on the back, "You've never been so serious-looking for a figure skating competition." he jested. 

"Yeah, that's because I've never gotten a score lower than a hundred in the short program." he scoffed sarcastically, then giggled to himself. 

Usually, Scaramouche would be the one to bash Childe's head out, and Childe would be the one who speaks louder than a plane engine. 

Today, the atmosphere was calm. Neither one of them burdened each other. It was just a calm car ride, with the soft scraping of the tires on the road and the slight breeze of the air slamming onto the car window outside. 

"Have you brought your water bottle? What about your towel? Did you bring any snacks? You know the Olympics go on for a good while, right?" Childe's expression suddenly morphed into weary. Listing everything that Scaramouche would always bring on a typical practice day, his voice quivered. 

"Check, check, and check." Scaramouche rolled his eyes, "This is the third time you've asked me if I brought everything, I know what to bring with me." he held up three fingers, each representing an item he needed to bring. 

"Just checking," Childe exhaled, shutting his eyes for a brief second, "I'm just worried you might forget something and end up dying in the arena, you know." he let out a dry laugh, running his hand through his ginger hair. 

"More importantly," Scaramouche sighed, "I'm more worried about if I'll make a mistake today. I know I did well last time, but I still earned a pretty low mark. If I even make one mistake today, I know I'll never see the podium ever again." he put a hand to his forehead, shutting his eyes to hopefully get some rest. 

"You'll do good," Childe assure him, "After all, the judges' opinions don't matter if the audience knows you did your best." he gave him a weak smile. 

Scaramouche grunted, his stomach sinking as the sophisticated Arena came into view. 

At the same time, another familiar figure also penetrated his vision. His tension loosened. 

"Kaedehara? What are you doing here?" Scaramouche raised an eyebrow when he saw Kazuha approach his seating area.

"This is our country's seat, remember?" Kazuha let out a laugh. He pointed behind Scaramouche, a Japanese flag plastered onto the wall behind them.

"Fine. Sit wherever you like, then." Scaramouche scowled, glaring at Kazuha before looking away into the crowd. He was feeling stressed, and he didn't need Kazuha to ruin everything for him.

"Thank you, Senior Scaramouche," Kazuha mumbled. Scaramouche rolled his eyes and shook his head, internally sickened at Kazuha's formality. He wondered if he'll ever drop that fake, overly cautious exterior of his. 

Scaramouche felt a tug beside his Olympic jacket. He whipped his head around to see who was bothering his peace and quietude. 

Kazuha scooted closer to Scaramouche, until their arms touched. 

Scaramouche immediately bounced back a little, but Kazuha only scooted closer. 

"Are you sick in the brain or something?" Scaramouche furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head away from Kazuha's face. 

They were too close. WAY too close. 

Close enough to feel each other's breath, close enough to feel the heat emitted by each other. Scaramouche felt a hot sensation creep up his neck, he squeezed his eyes shut to suppress the heat. 

"No," Kazuha shook his head, "I just want to be closer to you," he whispered, flashing Scaramouche a sweet smile.

His ears immediately burst into a shade of red. He cursed Kazuha in his head, gritting his teeth at the tickling sensation in his ears when he felt Kazuha's breath blowing into them. He turned his head away from Kazuha. He wanted to see Kazuha. But at the same time, he didn't need Kazuha to see him shamefully flustered.

"Stop!" Scaramouche warned, putting a hand up in Kazuha's face, "Don't distract me. It's my turn on the ice soon, after all." 

Kazuha grinned, "Fine, I'll stop."

"Scaramouche, Tokyo, Japan. Men's Olympic figure skating. Currently number 14 in the Winter Olympics Figure Skating." The woman in the microphone speaker announced. The declaration of his embarrassing rank echoed in the large stadium as he skated his way into the middle, dreading every second that passed on the ice. 

He heard chants of boos' from the Arena, which only poured oil on his already horrible mood. He just prays that they were booing at the low, unfair rank, and not Scaramouche himself. 

He didn't dare look up towards the audience. He was too scared to. He didn't deserve to look at them, he had failed their expectations. This time, he was cast away. Thrown away like the second option, he sighed.

He took a deep breath as he placed himself on the ice. His eyes glued to the white ice, he allowed himself to become one with the ice.

Singular piano notes slowly trickled from the speakers, Scaramouche immersed himself into the tune. Like he's become the music himself. He bobbed along to the notes, singing the tune inside his head.

Then, a cluster of notes all played at once, and he spun. He spiraled out of his resting position, and the ice took him. 

The same story replayed in his mind. He's imagined the exact same storyline a million times, it was almost second nature to him. 

It was pleasant weather. The sun was out and shining, the clouds were cast away. Leaving a blue, perfect sky hanging above their heads. The wind was soft, it tickled your face. 

The perfect weather for confession, he knew already. The little girl was going to confess to the love of her life, but she can't seem to speak her love out loud. She'd only keep her hands behind her back, opening her mouth, then closing them again. Thousands of words, stuck in her throat. 

Strangely, this time, he was the little girl. 

He imagined himself wobbling out of the comfort of his own house, and began searching for the large tree he was supposedly meant to confess his love to the boy in the story. It wasn't a difficult task, since the large tree was peaking out from the park not far away. He paced his way towards the tree.

He expected to see the same, dark-haired boy, waiting for the little girl under the large oak tree. But instead, the large contrast of hair color baffled him. 

He bore no dark hair. Rather, platinum hair that shone under the sunlight flowed into his vision. 

Scaramouche's eyes widened, his face starting to heat up the longer he laid his eyes on him. He swallowed.

He wanted to run up to him and give him a bear hug. He wanted to tell him a thousand times how much he loved him. But he was pinned to the ground, unable to move an inch. 

He tried opening his mouth, telling him that he loved him. But a rock seemed to be stuck in his throat, bottling everything deep within him. 

He wanted to run back, back to the comfort of his own house. Where he didn't need to face him, where he didn't need to worry about rejection. His lips quivered, tears starting to circle in his eyes. 

He wanted to tell him he loved him. But everything seemed to be stuck in place, stuck in time. He didn't want to see him fade away from him. He wanted to keep him by his side. 

Scared for rejection, yet even much scared for the departure of the other. 

Kazuha took a step closer towards Scaramouche. He smiled. Lips curled up slightly, they looked as if they knew everything. As if they knew Scaramouche's love for Kazuha, as if they knew was he was going to say. 

A soft breeze of spring wind blew between them, and everything seemed to melt away at that moment. 

He didn't even realize that he was crying until he snapped away from his imaginations. His free skate already ended as he remained in his finishing pose, panting for air. He was standing on the ice. Tears unwillingly flowed against the curve of his cheek, he wiped it away with his skating gloves. 

"Scaramouche, Men's Figure skating free program." the woman in the microphone announced once again as Scaramouche took his bow towards the judges and the audience. Loud cheers came from the small audience. He wasn't used to receiving few cheers, but he accepted them either way.

He skated towards the exit, his breath hitched. He never liked crying on camera, he tried to hide his face as much as cameras all gathered around him as he exited the arena, greeting his coach. 

His coach gave him a big hug before patting him on the back, urging him to put on his jacket and wait for his score to be plastered onto the screen. 

"Stressed?" His coach whispered to him as he sat down on the bench, playing with the stuffed doll one of his fans threw him. 

"Kind of," Scaramouche admitted, lowering his head, "I don't know if I did well." he breathed, running a hand through his hair.

"Don't worry," his coach assured him, "you were amazing. I was jaw-dropped by your performance this free skate, you were so immersed into your own world I can't tell if you were performing to get a good mark or if you were performing for yourself." he jested, giving a thumbs up to Scaramouche. 

Scaramouche gave a weak smile. The only thing he can do now is wait if his fate decides to reward him for the hard work he has done up to this point. 

He peered into the crowd, looking for a certain person. 

Kazuha was in their seat, staring back at him. They made eye contact for a while, before Scaramouche broke it off again. Not wanting to see Kazuha's reaction at him; crying.

"Scaramouche, Tokyo, Japan, Men's figure skating free skate program. With a total of 226.82 points in the free skate program, breaking Nathan Chen's world record free skate program scores by two points. The Final score tallied up to be 314.61, placing him currently in first place in the 2022 Winter Olympics." the woman's monotone voice snapped Scaramouche out of his daydreams, announcing his final score. 

Staring at his score, he felt his eyes tear up once again. His coach laughed hysterically in joy, patting Scaramouche on the back harshly. 

He gasped, covering his mouth with his hands. The first rank displayed his name, his country's flag flowing pridefully beside his name. He felt a hurdle of butterflies suddenly erupt from the empty pit in his stomach.

He immediately darted his eyes around to look for someone. Someone with snow-white hair, someone with long hair that extended all the way to his bottom. He couldn't find him. 

Panicking, he saw in the corner of his eyes a familiar hair color. The same annoying smile plastered across his face, his eyes formed an arc.

Scaramouche wanted to bounce up from his seat, and kiss him until the dusk of tomorrow. But he can't. Not when hundreds of cameras are pointed in his direction. He bit his tongue to stop his frivolous fantasies. Whatever he wanted to say, do, to Kazuha, can wait until the end of the competition.

They had time, they had all the time in the world. 

"Kaedehara Kazuha, Kagawa, Japan. Men's figure skating free skate program, currently enlisted in 4th place exempt of Final mark." 

Scaramouche sat in his seat back at their country's seat as Kazuha slid towards the center of the room, the music starting. 

The same mellow tune trickled into his ears, his eyes glued onto Kazuha.

----

hehehehehe wait for next chapter mua

2051 words