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The score board finally updates as a low chatter fills the arena, which turns into cheerings and clapping when the points come in and Ivan maintains his spot at the top of the board.
Officially announced as the winner of the competition, Ivan wears his polite smile of gratitude and bows at the camera, his coach following suit with a hand placed tight on his shoulder.
As they get up from the harsh couch and make their way through endless handshakes and praises, Ivan’s mind is already elsewhere. The final score of both his routines was high, leaving a wide gap between him and the second ranked, but this was merely a regional tournament; if anything, he’s sure his coach was expecting something more from him.
As he poses for a few pictures with the other contestants, he reasons his short program could use some more polishing; it’s also probably for the best if he moves the quadruple salchow a little more towards the end of the free skate. It wouldn’t be his ideal choice, to put it after a series of other taxing elements, but this year the competition will be fierce and he can’t—
“Ivan!”
A voice calls for him from above, sharp and loud, and as if trained on command his body turns towards it before Ivan can even recognize who the voice belongs to.
Standing on the bleachers, gripping the railing right above him, is Till. He’s dressed up like he got out of the house ready to fight Jack Frost himself, covered from top to bottom and leaving barely his eyes and mouth out–Ivan’s pretty sure he’s wearing two coats on top of each other, and also that one was stolen from his closet.
Something inside his chest sparks and ignites the second his eyes fall on Till, as an instinctive smile far more real than the ones he sported on the ice and after the routine blooms on his face.
“Liked the show?” he asks with a cocky wink.
Till huffs, but there’s a glint of appreciation in his eyes that’s unmistakable. “I guess it was kind of cool,” he shrugs. “Congrats, by the way. Not that I was expecting you to lose against these guys, but.”
Ivan smiles some more. It’s rare for Till to come to his competitions, since their schedules rarely align between practices, games and Till’s part-time job– so to have him here, to have him watch Ivan as he does his routine, to have Till’s eyes never leave him for the duration of the song, it has sent a feeling that’s akin to pure electricity through his body.
“Don’t you have some reward to give me, since I won?” Ivan asks, playfully placing a finger on his lips.
Till’s face falls in disbelief, his skin immediately turning three shades more red, and a series of stuttering noises comes out of his mouth without forming real words. Ivan awaits for a string of swears aimed his way but surprisingly, after Till has retrieved his jaw from the floor, he only stares really hard down to where Ivan is.
After a few seconds, having seemingly made up his mind, he nods to himself under Ivan’s confused and fascinated gaze and then declares:
“You better catch me, asshole.”
And then, Till quickly climbs the railing and jumps down.
A flash of something akin to panic takes over Ivan as he runs and grabs Till before he falls on the ground, gripping on him as they sway and almost both crash down. Till must see that fear on his face when he untangles from him, because he starts chuckling, smug. Ivan frowns.
“Till,” he whines. “Never do that again. What if I didn’t catch you? I’m not a pairs’ skater, you know I don’t have that much upper body strength,” Ivan says, his hands hovering over Till’s body in search of non-existent injuries.
Till’s eyebrows raise. “Upper body strength,” he mocks him, “Do you even hear yourself talking?”
As he says that he grabs Ivan’s hands in his own, clearly aiming to just stop his fretting over him. When he does so, though, a pout immediately appears on his face.
“What the fuck? Your skin is like touching ice, man– you’re freezing,” Till cries out. “How aren’t you dying of cold, anyway? That thing looks so thin,” he adds, eyeing the tight outfit Ivan performed in.
Ivan smiles. “Is it really this cold? I guess I’m just used to it,” he muses, not really focused on what he’s saying. He distantly acknowledges how rigid his cheeks and his nose feel, as if his skin was being punctured by dozens of small pins, but it’s all swept away by the feeling of Till’s warm hands around his own.
Till’s thin eyebrows are furrowed together, his eyes focused on Ivan’s hands like he’s going to make the cold go away through sheer power of will, and Till’s seriousness over such a silly thing has Ivan’s stomach doing some funny jumps.
After a minute of Till rubbing his fingers to warm them up again he appears to be satisfied by his work, going to search in his pockets until he finds a pair of gloves. “Put them on,” he orders, and Ivan is still too awed by what has just happened to say something smart back, so he simply does as he’s told.
Till looks at Ivan’s now gloved and significantly less freezing hands with a proud expression, and then his eyes move to Ivan’s face, where a smirk immediately appears again.
“You know,” Ivan says, because he’s nothing but a stubborn man who likes to play with his food and who is still convinced this is a proper way to season it, “My lips are cold too.”
Instead of hitting him, which Ivan had been looking forward to, Till simply sighs; then he steps closer, so close that Ivan could lean in and their noses would touch. His breathing stutters on instinct, and Till grins at that.
“You’re freezing all over,” Till says instead as he pokes at him, a hint of worry making its way in his tone.
Ivan tries for a witty answer, but it dies in his throat when Till’s hands move up to his cheeks, cupping his face gently.
“You did good today,” Till tells him, voice soft and honest, and something warm starts spreading from his chest to his entire body. Ivan hadn’t even realized how cold he was until Till touched him.
He tries to give Till a smug grin, but he finds out his mouth has already morphed into a sort of smile, wrong in all the ways he was taught, the most honest and raw thing Ivan can ever hope to muster up.
When Till leans in and their lips finally meet –warm, warm, so warm he could get burned and yet he’ll never dare escape the touch– Ivan wonders if this is what it feels like, to be cradled by the sun.