Chapter 1
"Renji!"
The hotel lobby was full, and Renji—slinking against the wall, heading out to grab dinner on his own—had no idea who was calling his name.
Kasem hadn't arrived yet, and Marco had plans with some other coaches.
Who else did he know?
A few people, yes, but talking to other skaters beforehand inevitably left him psyched out.
Nothing good would come of having attention called to himself, not here.
He'd choked at the Golden Blade final; all he wanted was to put in a respectable showing at Global's.
The words came again.
"Renji!
Over here!"
Renji squinted into the center of the lobby, only to see Andrei Volynsky waving madly in his direction.
What the hell?
Renji swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
Andrei was smiling and gesturing, and for a moment, Renji felt his whole face heat.
Who, me?
He almost took an involuntary step forward, before reason asserted itself.
No. Of course not him.
Andrei was probably talking to the Estorian Maksim.
Why would Andrei effing Volynsky have any idea who Renji was?
He sighed and looked away.
He managed to take three steps before someone grabbed his arm.
"Renji," said Andrei Volynsky's voice in his ear, "Where are you going?
I have been looking for you for hours."
For a moment, Renji felt frozen in place.
That was Andrei Volynsky's voice.
He'd heard it in interviews all too often.
It seemed impossible that Andrei's voice would be connected with the hand on Renji's elbow.
Nothing was making sense.
This was probably a dream.
He was still on the plane.
He'd fallen asleep, and the food had disagreed with him, as it sometimes did.
But he felt Andrei's fingers dig into his elbow, and when he turned...
Andrei Volynsky.
Andrei fucking Volynsky, with his heart-shaped smile and silver hair, beaming at Renji as if they had somehow become best friends.
"Congratulations on your win at the Miyashiman Nationals!" Andrei's smile almost knocked Renji over with its enthusiasm.
"You really did your program justice.
And also, the bronze at the Four Seas—great showing, even if—never mind, we can talk about that later tonight.
I almost went to the Four Seas, you know, but Sergei was screaming at me about pushing the difficulty of my technical program, and I couldn't miss the practice.
Sorry I wasn't there to cheer you on."
Cheer him on?
What the hell was this?
Renji pinched himself, but even though this was definitely a dream—an incredibly realistic dream, one where Andrei was standing so close that Renji could smell the faint splash of some spicy, heady cologne—he didn't wake up.
"Anyway," Andrei said, as if this were all completely normal, "of course you're coming to dinner with us, right?
I can't believe I didn't get your number."
"Huh?" It was the only word Renji could think of.
"Don't tell me you already ate." Andrei sighed.
"Too bad; you're still coming along.
We need to catch up."
"Who is us?"
"Me, Maksim Petrovsky, Katya, Lucien, Daan...
Probably some others.
It's a huge group.
I told them I'd wait for you in the hotel lobby and meet up with them as soon as I found you."
Renji had known that Andrei Volynsky was a force of nature.
This was the first time, though, that he'd experienced it in person—that broad smile, the bright sunshine of his personality bearing down on him.
"Uh..."
"Come on, I'm starving." Andrei gave Renji a wink that suggested a great deal more than physical hunger—no, no, Renji's rational brain protested, don't project your own wants on him—and before Renji knew what was happening, entwined their hands together and started marching out the door.
Dream.
This was a dream.
There was no way this was anything except a dream, because Andrei was holding his hand and hailing a cab and, as they piled into the backseat, Andrei's thigh pressing into him close, too close, he was handing him his phone and demanding that he put his number in.
Renji did so with shaking hands.
Andrei then proceeded to send him a Link.
It's Andrei.
Not getting away again so easily.
"Are you okay?" Andrei asked.
"You seem a little subdued.
Jet lag?"
Renji looked over at him.
"Uh...
Well..."
Andrei's face changed subtly.
It's me.
I'm babbling too much.
That's it, right?
I'm babbling.
Oh, God, you have no idea—my rinkmates make fun of me all the time, I'm a nervous babbler, I have been kicking myself for the last months for not getting your number, but of course if we'd been exchanging Link this whole time I wouldn't be so nervous."
The night was going from strange to surreal.
"You're nervous?" Renji squinted at Andrei.
"Why are you nervous?
You're Andrei fucking Volynsky."
"I watched all your programs," Andrei confessed in a low voice.
"You're brilliant.
I adore you.
I honestly think if you had a clean skate, you could beat me, you know."
"Ridiculous." Renji stared at him.
He pinched himself again with his free hand through his jeans.
He still wasn't waking up.
"Your ACS could wipe me out.
And I know you're landing the quad spiral in practice all the time now, so if you could do it in competition—"
"Ridiculous," Renji repeated more emphatically.
"And you have more stamina than any skater I've seen," Andrei concluded.
"Honestly, your artistic program doesn't take enough advantage—but oh, God, I'm babbling again." Andrei looked up at the ceiling.
"Shut up, Andrei; he doesn't want to hear you critique his artistic program."
Renji shook his head in bafflement, and then Andrei turned back to him, supernova smile in place once more.
"I really, really like you.
Promise you'll still dance with me at the banquet if you take gold this time around."