Chapter 2
Renji stared at the man.
He looked at their entwined hands—he hadn't wanted to pull away—and their thighs, pressed together despite there being plenty of room in the backseat of the cab.
That scent of Andrei's cologne—just a dab, lightly applied somewhere on his neck—swirled around him.
This was too real to be a dream, too physical for him to have imagined it.
"I'm sorry," Renji said slowly.
have we talked before?"
Andrei looked at him.
Slowly, that brilliant smile faded from his face.
He turned away.
"Ouch."
The word came out lightly.
Renji could have sworn the man was actually hurt, which made no sense.
"Ah, damn." Andrei's hand pulled from his.
"Damn.
That's...
No, no, it's fine.
Is it Lucien?
Or do you have someone else at home?"
Renji swallowed.
"No," he said slowly.
"No, I don't.
It's just, I just...
I've looked up to you for a really long time, you know?
And at the Golden Blade final, you didn't even know I was a fellow competitor."
Andrei winced.
I didn't realize it until the banquet.
I didn't realize that bothered you."
Renji bit his lip.
"Of course it bothered you," Andrei said, a little more steadily.
He gave a short nod, as if coming to a decision.
"Damn, I should have got your number then, and we could have worked this out before now.
I was just so blown away at the time, I couldn't even think."
The strangest thing about this conversation was that it didn't feel strange.
It should have felt intrusive, to have Andrei this close to him.
To have his fingers play across Renji's wrist.
It absolutely should have felt unnatural when Andrei tapped Renji's chin, tilting it up, looking into his eyes.
Instead, it felt right.
As if all of Renji's life up until this moment had been hummed subtly off key, and the moment Andrei walked up to him and took his hand, the melodies asserted themselves as they should be.
"I'm sorry," Andrei said.
"This is more complicated than I imagined.
Let me make it up to you?"
His eyes were blue layered on gold.
His mouth tilted up in a smile, and that damned cologne...
"No, no," Renji said.
"That's not necessary."
The cab stopped.
They'd arrived.
Andrei tapped his thumb against Renji's lips.
"Oh," he said softly.
"But it is necessary.
If I've upset you in any way, I intend to make it right."
The evening continued in that same bewildering vein.
Andrei insisted on paying the driver.
He locked his hand in Renji's, and then conducted him to the second floor of a crowded restaurant, where all the top men's figure skating competitors were already seated around a table laden with dishes.
"Andrei!" They were, of course happy to see him; Renji expected that.
"Renji!" said Lucien Beaumont.
"The man of the hour.
I see Andrei's already laid claim to you."
Renji had never been the man of the hour.
For that matter, he'd never been the man of the minute.
But Andrei's hand tightened around Renji's almost possessively.
"Don't answer," he said lightly.
"Lucien is just being a jerk."
"Tch," said Maksim Petrovsky from down the table.
"I can't believe you found him and brought him here.
You know he's just going to flub his jumps."
"Maksim," Lucien said patiently, "when you enter the senior division, you'll discover that it's not just about how high you jump, it's about the motion you make while doing it.
I'd explain more, but you're still a minor, and I do have some standards."
Renji choked.
"Try to be polite," Andrei said to the other Maksim, "unless you want to settle things with a dance off?"
"Oh, sick burn," said Mateo Santos, and for some reason, the Estorian Maksim seemed to think that this baffling comment was, in fact, a sick burn, because he flushed red and muttered something under his breath about cheating and next time and disgusting.
Andrei pulled Renji down to sit next to him.
"Ignore Maksim," he said.
"We all do."
"Hey, asshole, I'm right here!
I can hear you!"
"He's just jealous because you have more artistry when you fall on a jump than he has when he makes them."
"Bitch, I know where you live!"
"I love you too, Maksim."
"This is too confusing," said Katya.
"I knew this would happen.
We can't have two Maksims at the table.
Maksim Petrovsky, from here on out, you're Makso."
"What the hell?
That's not my name.
And I was here first!
Shouldn't he be called Makso?"
"Well, if you want to dance for it—"
For some reason, that baffling interjection left the entire table, except Renji, cackling—and Maksim Petrovsky frowning and muttering imprecations under his breath.
Rinkmates and their inside jokes, he supposed.
"Are you sure you should be using that kind of language?" Katya said with a shake of her head.
"You're awfully young for it, Baby Maksim."
"I'm not baby Maksim, you hag, and—"
"Isn't it past your bedtime?" Andrei said.
"It's not even eight, I hate you all, just wait until I enter the senior division, I will kick your asses so hard, yes, even you, Katya, I don't have to be directly competing against you to destroy you forever."
"He's loud," Andrei whispered in Renji's ear, "but we love him.
Don't take anything he says seriously.
He only yells at people he respects.
He's like a kitten, pouncing on anything that moves."
Renji blinked, remembering that time a few months back in the bathroom.
Respect?
He looked over at the Estorian Maksim—Makso.
Makso glared at him.
"You're gonna suck in your technical program.
You and Andrei.
You're both going to suck.
I will be the only Maksim left standing.
I will eat your skates."
"Huh," Renji said.
"Respect." And after that, he began to relax.
Andrei fed him dessert.
That wasn't even the weirdest part—Andrei ordering tiramisu, holding up a bite on his fork, and leaning toward Renji, teasing him until he opened his mouth and let the delicious treat dissolve on his tongue.
The weirdest part was that nobody else at the table seemed to think this was weird.
Katya didn't gasp.
Lucien just smiled.
Daan just shrugged, as if it were absolutely normal for Andrei to grab skaters he barely knew from the hotel lobby and then feed them dessert.
The only person who expressed any opinion at all was Makso.
"Get a room, you two," he snarled.
"Don't worry," Andrei said casually.
"I have one."