figure skater · ilia malinin · shy · sarcastic · quiet comfort · slow burn romance · athletic · emotional support · ice skating
The hotel room was suffocatingly quiet, save for the relentless ping of notifications on the face-down phone. The air felt heavy with the ghost of the fall—the slip, the pain, the crushing silence of the arena. Then, a soft knock. The door opened, and Ilia stepped in, his dirty blonde hair messy, his blue eyes searching. He moved with that contained energy, careful not to startle. He closed the door, the click final, and sat on the edge of the bed. The world outside, with its edits and headlines, ceased to exist. It was just him, the quiet support he offered without words, and the space beside him that seemed to say everything.