The Seat

Suki noticed the cold first.

Not outside. Outside cold was honest. This cold was different. It lived inside the rink, trapped in the ice and the concrete and the metal beams overhead. 

Her foot hurt.

It had been hurting since she woke up. It hurt now. It would hurt later. The medication dulled the edges but never removed it. She had stopped expecting relief.

She kept her pace even as she walked down the corridor. No limp. No hesitation.

The smell of ice hit her before she saw it. Clean. Artificial. Familiar enough that her body started adjusting automatically, shoulders loosening, breathing slowing.

She stepped inside and bowed. Not because anyone was watching. Because you bowed to the ice. Her mother had taught her that before she’d taught her how to tie her skates. 

She moved toward the benches, already reaching for the zipper of her bag.

Then she stopped.

Someone was sitting in her seat.

It took her a second to process it. Her brain rejected it at first, like a visual mistake.

Second bench from the left.

Her bench.

He sat leaning forward, elbows on his thighs, lacing his skates. His head was down. His hair was light. Not brown. Not black.

Blond.

Foreign.

He wasn’t small about it either. He occupied the space fully, like he had decided he belonged there. Irritation came first. Sharp and immediate. Everyone here knew that seat was hers. Not officially. No one had assigned it. But no one used it. Not anymore.

He pulled the lace tight, his hands steady and unhurried. He knew what he was doing.

She stepped closer.

“Excuse me.” Her English came automatically. Neutral and controlled with a perfect accent.

He didn’t react immediately. He finished threading the lace through the next hook before he looked up. She recognized him immediately.

Alexei Petrov.

Her stomach tightened. He looked different in person. Less polished. His face thinner. His skin pale in a way that suggested he didn’t spend much time outside. His eyes were lighter than she expected.

He didn’t look surprised to see her. He looked like he had been waiting.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re sitting in my seat.”

She watched his face carefully. Confusion mixed with embarrassment.

“You are Hayakawa yes?” he said.

It wasn’t really a question. His voice was lower than she expected. His accent was heavy and distracting.

“Yes.”

He held her gaze. It wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t friendly. It made her aware of herself in ways she didn’t like. The way she was standing. The fact that she wasn’t wearing makeup. The loose strand of hair near her cheek. She resisted the urge to fix it.

He looked back down at his skate and adjusted the lace slightly.

“You skate here every day.” He said looking at her straight in the eyes.

It wasn’t curiosity. It was fact.

“Yes.”

He nodded once, like he’d confirmed something privately.

He stood.

He was taller than she’d thought. Taller than most skaters. She had to tilt her head slightly to keep eye contact.

“This is your seat yes?” he said.

He stepped aside. She sat down immediately, before he could change his mind. The plastic was warm. She hated that she noticed. She opened her bag and took out her skates, aware of him sitting down beside her again. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that she could feel him. His presence was physical. Solid. Heavy without movement. She focused on her laces. She could feel his attention. Not looking around the rink. Looking at her.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Training” he said with a grin.

She almost laughed at that.

“Why here?”

He didn’t answer right away. She glanced at him. He was watching the ice, not her.

“It is quiet here.” he said.

That wasn’t the real reason. She knew it. He knew she knew it. She pulled her lace tighter than necessary. His hands were large. Larger than hers.

“So you’ve been watching me” she said.

It wasn’t an accusation but an observation.

“Yes you could say that yes.”

He didn’t pretend otherwise. Her chest felt tight it wasn’t fear not exactly.

“How long?” The words came out almost inaudible.

“A few days.”

She turned her head slightly. “Why?”

He met her eyes. His gaze didn’t move away. Most people looked away first. Especially here.

But not him he didn’t.

“You are disciplined, you’re not bad.” he said.

It should have sounded like a compliment somehow it didn’t feel like it. It sounded like he was studying her.

She looked away first. Her foot pulsed. She ignored it.

“I think you should find another seat,” she said.

“No.” He said calmly with his rough Russian accent.

Her head snapped toward him. “No?”

His expression didn’t change.

“No.” He said with a grin.

Heat spread through her chest. She felt an indescribable anger.

“This is my seat and you are sitting in it.”

He watched her for a second or maybe longer. 

Then, quietly:

“It disturbs you?”

Yes.

“No” she said.

He knew she was lying. She could tell by the way his mouth moved slightly. Not a smile.

Good. he knew. Let him know.

She finished tying her skates and sat upright. He was still looking at her. Not her face now. Lower. Her ankle.

Her stomach tightened.

“You are injured yes?” he said.

Again it wasn’t a question.

“I'm not.”

His eyes lifted to hers again.

“You’re really are a bad liar’’

They’re closer than before. Not touching. But close enough, close enough that she can see the concentration in his eyes.

Focused on her.

“You watch everyone like this?”

“Not everyone no.”

She looks away first again. It bothers her that she keeps doing that.

Behind the glass, the rink door opens. Coach Takeda steps inside. They both see him at the same time. Takeda-sensei’s expression is neutral. That’s never a good sign.

“Hayakawa,” he says.

“Sensei.”

“Petrov.”

Alexei nods once. “Coach.”

They stand side by side near the barrier. Not touching. A careful distance apart.

Takeda studies them in silence long enough that she becomes aware of how close Alexei is again. Their shoulders almost aligned. His arm bare where his sleeve has pushed up slightly.

“So did you tell her already or should I deliver the news myself?” Takeda says.

Her stomach tightens.

“What news?”

She stiffens slightly.

Alexei turned towards her to deliver the news that would change the course of her day, or her life forever, all wrapped in a disgusting Russian accent that triggered her brain in ways she still couldn’t understand.

“You and me, we stake together, you know, couple skating?”

She almost laughed.

Couple skating? No, that was impossible. The idea itself was laughable.

Takeda’s eyes moved between them.

“You will skate together like he said.”

The words sat there.

“Together?” she repeated with a laugh.

“Yes.”

She turned to him fully now. “Sensei, I train singles.”

“Yes. So does he. But no anymore.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. The weight of the situation began to settle in. The reality of it. It was too late to argue, too late to do anything, because she would have to go back in time and avoid her tragic fall.

She looked at them both, out of breath like she had run a marathon. The pain in her leg began to pulse again.

“I’m sorry, I need some rest,” she said with a small bow.

She ran to hide in the bathroom, her fingers searching for the sink, gripping it for dear life. She looked at her reflection. Pitiful.

She slapped herself, once, to anchor her body in reality.

“Alexei Petrov or not, you will continue to skate” she muttered it almost like a prayer

You don’t have a choice.

She took a deep breath. She forced a smile. The girl who skated alone stayed behind in that bathroom.