Chapter Text
One week until the final
The air in the rink was still thick with sweat, ice, and the echo of blades hitting the floor. Ragatha carefully pulled at the bandage around her ankle, her fingers trembling not only from the slight pain of the constant friction, but from the exhaustion that seemed to cling to every muscle in her body. She could no longer feel her legs properly.
Beside her, Jax looked even worse: slumped on the bench, his T-shirt soaked, he opened his water bottle and unceremoniously poured half of it over his head. The liquid dripped down his ears and neck, clinging to his disheveled fur. He was panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but he still had a tired half-smile as he glanced sideways at Ragatha.
“You look like a ghost, doll” he murmured between breaths.
“And you look like a soaked rag” she replied, without much energy, but with a glint of irony in her eyes.
Before Jax could respond, Loo's voice cut through the air.
“You two…” she began, tilting her head, her eyes narrowing slightly “You’ve trained like hell this week. And I know when a body needs a breather, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it”
Ragatha and Jax exchanged quick glances, as if suspecting a lecture, but Loo's tone softened even further.
“I heard the city center is hosting a spice festival tonight. Colors, smells, music… it sounds like it’s going to be grand. As a trainer, I’d tell you to stay here and rest. But…” she held up a finger, and the smile widened almost mischievously, “as someone who isn’t blind to the effort you’re putting in… I’ll let you go.”
Jax arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “You… are giving us a break?”
"Consider it a rare gift," Loo replied, adjusting her impeccable posture. "But remember: a tired body still recovers. A tired soul, no."
Ragatha, still holding the ankle strap, blinked a few times in surprise. Heat rose to her face, and for a moment, the weight of her training seemed to melt away at the thought of going outside, walking among the lights and smells, and forgetting the ice beneath her feet.
“Thank you, Loo…” she murmured, her voice low but genuine.
The trainer simply nodded and turned to pick up a clipboard, leaving them with a rare sense of freedom.
Jax let out a low whistle, slumping against the back of the seat. "Spice festival, huh? I bet you'll want to try everything and then complain about the calories."
Ragatha chuckled, adjusting her headband and slowly standing up. “And you’ll end up eating twice as much just to tease me.”
“Exactly.” He offered her his hand, still wet from the water he had spilled, a wry smile on his lips.
~~
The city streets were unrecognizable. Where normally gray concrete reigned, now a corridor of colors, scents, and sounds stretched as far as the eye could see. Wooden tents had been set up side by side, covered in colorful fabrics that swayed gently in the cool evening breeze. Triangular flags lined pole to pole, fluttering in the orange light of street lamps and bulbs attached to the tents themselves. The sun had already set, leaving only the deep blue sky and a pinkish streak on the horizon, as if the day were slowly saying goodbye to make way for celebration.
Each stall felt like a journey to a faraway place: one displayed skewers of Indian-style seasoned meat, the scent of intense spices like cardamom and cumin permeating the air; another offered small flatbreads stuffed with chickpea pastes, the heat of the oven escaping as the vendor lifted the iron lid. Further along, a Japanese stall had takoyakis spinning on a hot griddle, the golden balls flipping deftly under the cook's hands. Nearby, a Mexican stall overflowed with vibrant colors, spicy tacos topped with fresh cilantro and red onion. And then there were sweet treats: churros dipped in chocolate sauce, toffee apples glistening in the lamplight, small trays of Greek loukoumades, syrupy and dusted with cinnamon.
Amidst this whirlwind of colors and scents, Ragatha seemed to float. She wore a light blue dress of lightweight fabric, the simple cut that fell to her knees, swaying gently with each step. The neckline was discreet, adorned only by a small white ribbon, and her hair was tied in a long braid that fell over her shoulder, reflecting the warm tones of the lighting. On her feet were comfortable, low boots, nothing fancy, but they made her feel at ease. Her face radiated a glow she couldn't remember feeling in months—not the glow of icy spotlights, but a genuine warmth born of simply being there.
Beside her, Jax was the perfect contrast: sleek black pants and an equally black turtleneck made him look almost like an elegant shadow walking among the colored lights. Yet, even in that sober tone, he drew attention: his relaxed posture, his expression of interest mixed with irony, and, above all, the way he held Ragatha's hand. His fingers intertwined with hers never once let go, and every now and then he squeezed lightly, as if testing the waters, making sure she was really there.
She paused for a moment in front of a Thai stall preparing chicken skewers in peanut sauce. The sweet and spicy aroma wafted through, making her stomach growl slightly. Ragatha laughed softly, embarrassed, and Jax arched an eyebrow.
“Want to try it?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was something amused in his voice.
“I want to try everything” she replied, smiling so spontaneously that Jax couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.
Jax bought two Thai skewers, the strong scent of peanut sauce permeating the air as the cook handed them over wrapped in wax paper. He handed one to Ragatha with a simple nod, and she accepted it immediately, biting into the chicken tip with excited curiosity. The flavor, however, wasn't what she'd expected. The sweet peanut flavor seemed to overpower everything, drowning out the subtler notes of spices. Ragatha tried to mask her expression, chewing slowly, but Jax noticed anyway; his eyes narrowed in amusement as she handed the skewer back.
“Didn’t like it?” he asked, taking a bite of his naturally.
“It’s… different,” she replied, chuckling softly, shrugging her shoulders like a child caught in the act. “I don’t think it’s for me.”
Jax accepted the skewer she handed him without comment, simply taking a generous bite, as if to prove he wouldn't waste anything. The scene made them laugh together, and soon they were walking again, chatting as naturally as before, as if the past few weeks were irrelevant compared to everything else around them.
A few meters away, a Russian stall displayed a huge steaming pot. The vendor stirred the contents with a wooden spoon, and the aroma of cooked meat, vegetables, and spices enveloped everyone passing by. It was pelmeni , traditional stuffed dumplings, served in small ceramic bowls with melted butter and a touch of fresh dill. Jax bought a portion for both of them, and this time Ragatha delighted in it; the soft filling, the thin crust, and the contrast of butter and seasoning made her close her eyes for a moment of pure pleasure.
"Now that's perfect," she said, smiling, a little butter still glistening on her lips. Jax watched silently, but the corner of his mouth betrayed how adorable he found the scene.
Next came the sweets. They approached a colorful stand where small, whimsical-shaped candies were sold in clear bags. Ragatha selected two different ones, excited as if she'd been reborn as a child. The first was a kind of hard caramel, and the second resembled marshmallows dyed in vibrant colors. Jax accepted one of the candies, tasted it without hesitation, and immediately grimaced slightly, pushing the treat toward her.
“You really didn’t like it?” she asked, surprised.
“No. But you clearly do” he said, handing the rest to Ragatha, who didn’t hesitate to accept it, laughing out loud at his expression.
Gradually, the festival led them to a different area: the souvenir section. There, the stalls completely changed their atmosphere. Instead of steaming pots and intense aromas, there were colors, fabrics, and handcrafted objects carefully arranged. National flags hung, Olympic mascots embroidered on cloth, hand-painted wooden figurines, scarves, bags, and small paintings depicting local monuments.
Ragatha walked between the stalls, her eyes shining with excitement, as if exploring a hidden treasure. Suddenly, she stopped in front of a homemade sewing stall. Various pieces were on display: embroidered pillows, rag dolls, small animals made of colorful wool. In the center, almost as if it were the main attraction, stood a giant bee, the size of a watermelon, made entirely of felted wool in shades of yellow and black.
“Look at this!” Ragatha exclaimed, clutching the enormous bee to her chest and squeezing it as if it were the most precious gift in the world. Her eyes shone with genuine joy, laughter escaping in gentle waves, as if the weight of training and responsibility had momentarily melted away.
Jax couldn't help but smile at the sight. There was something childlike and pure in her gesture that touched him deeply, even if he'd never admit it out loud. But instead of commenting, he discreetly turned to the stall behind the sewing room.
There, the atmosphere was different. A jewelry stall stood out under the golden light of hanging lamps. Delicate necklaces were displayed on black velvet stands, earrings sparkled like tiny stars on organized trays, and rings of various styles glinted as the vendor adjusted the angle of the pieces.
A calm, almost serene voice cut through Jax's busy mind, interrupting the train of thought he was stringing together in front of the jewelry display.
“Did you find anything that interests you?” asked the tall figure who had stood nearby.
Jax looked up and found himself staring at an imposing chess piece, elegant despite the age that showed in his slow movements. His slender body was protected by a thick wool coat, a heavy gray that gave him even more presence. The contrast between the sharp lines of his face and the serenity in his eyes conveyed an ancient, almost paternal confidence.
“I’m still thinking,” Jax replied dryly, though his eyes flicked involuntarily to Ragatha for a moment.
A few steps away, she was leaning over the sewing stall, her eyes shining as if she'd just stumbled upon a secret universe. She was chatting animatedly with the vendor, a welcoming, black chess piece in a wheelchair. Her laughter echoed over the festival's hubbub, and Jax had to look away quickly, as if caught observing something too intimate.
Kinger watched the scene and let out a low laugh, muffled by the scarf that covered part of his neck. “I see my wife found someone as excited about sewing as she is.”
The word hit Jax hard, and he immediately turned his eyes to the man, frowning. “Wife?”
“Yes,” the chess piece confirmed, with the same naturalness as someone commenting on the weather. “Married for over thirty-five years.” The man’s eyes softened as he spoke. “We met at the skating rink and…”
“You’ve already skated?! ” Jax interrupted him abruptly, his voice thick with disbelief, almost barely concealed shock.
The chess piece arched an eyebrow and let out another low chuckle, but this time there was a hint of nostalgia in it. “Yes, I have. Much more than you can imagine.” His voice slowed, dragged by the weight of memory. “The ice was my second home. Kinger, by the way.”
Jax blinked a few times, unable to form an immediate sentence. The idea of a sleek, imposing chess piece gliding across the ice seemed absurd, almost comical, but Kinger's tone left no doubt.
“How…” Jax began, but the question died in the air, replaced by another, more direct, more raw “Are you serious?”
“Very serious.” Kinger calmly adjusted his coat, as if needing a physical gesture to warm the memory he was unearthing. “I was young. Younger than you are now. I trained every day. The rink was my refuge, my stage, my home. That's where I met her.” He nodded toward the craft vendor, who was laughing at something Ragatha had said. “She trained too. She had a grace I could never replicate, no matter how hard I tried.”
Jax followed his gaze, his gaze lingering on Ragatha for a moment, unwillingly, unable to help it. There was something uncomfortably close about the story, and it made his jaw clench.
Kinger continued, his voice steeped in memories that seemed still raw in his bones. “One day, by chance or fate, we were put together to train. I was clumsy, too competitive, and she…” he smiled slightly, “made me laugh even when I fell. I don’t think I could ever resist that. Over time, training stopped being just about skating. It became about us.”
“And you guys… did you continue skating together?” he asked finally, his voice lower, as if he didn’t really want to hear the answer.
“We continued,” Kinger replied calmly. “We became skating partners. For many years. We had victories, defeats, moments of glory, and moments of failure. But we never stopped being side by side.” Kinger took a deep breath. His broad shoulders moved almost imperceptibly, as if a part of him had carried the weight of it for so long that he could no longer distinguish where memory ended and pain began. “When she had the… accident.” For a moment, it seemed as if the calm glow in his eyes had faded, replaced by an ancient shadow. “She was still young. Younger than she should have been to face something like that. She was at her peak, everyone was talking about her, saying she had years and years of glory ahead of her. And then…” He closed his eyes for half a second, as if the scene came back with cruel clarity. “It was just a slip. Such a small, almost ridiculous detail. But sometimes that’s what changes the entire course of a life, isn’t it? It only took one moment. And before I knew it, it was all over.”
Jax stood still, his eyes fixed on him, the muscles in his face tense. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he should. The silence that fell weighed as heavily as Kinger's words.
“I blamed myself endlessly,” the chess piece continued, with a brief, hollow laugh that sounded more like a reflex of pain than humor. “I replayed that fall a thousand times in my head, searching for what I could have done differently. If I had caught her a second sooner, if I had warned her, if I had acted faster, anything… maybe…” He trailed off, letting his sentence trail off, as if he had learned not to finish it so as not to open wounds that would never heal.
Jax swallowed. The silence between them was filled with the distant sound of laughter, footsteps, and the mingled voices of the festival. A stark contrast to the gravity of the confession.
And then, with an almost disconcerting calm, Kinger looked back at Jax and smiled. It wasn't a smile of lightness, but of resolve. The smile of someone who had made peace with something irreparable, at least in part. "Do you know what I did after that?" he asked, as if it were a provocation.
It took Jax a moment to react. The question seemed too obvious, almost cruel, but he still blurted out, "What?"
“I married her,” Kinger replied, and this time his smile truly opened, genuine, filled with a warmth that radiated even through the hardness of his face. “I swore I’d be by her side until the sport was extinct or the insects were extinct.” He let out a short laugh after that, a laugh that sounded like a ray of sunshine piercing through heavy clouds.
Unintentionally, Jax's eyes sought Ragatha. Jax felt his throat tighten. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply observe—her smile, the way she leaned in to listen better, the laughter that escaped, light and transparent. There was something almost cruel in realizing how it all hit him without warning, as if it were a memory that didn't even exist yet, but already carried the anticipated pain of being lost.
He looked away suddenly, returning his gaze to the jewelry stall display before him.
~~
The hotel room greeted them with the soft dimness of yellow lights and the distant reflection of the bustling city outside. The streets below still throbbed with muffled sounds, echoes of music and laughter reaching them like a distant murmur. Ragatha entered first, clutching the giant bee plush toy tightly to her chest. Her fingers tightened around it.
She crossed the room without a word, walking slowly, her feet sinking lightly into the soft carpet until she reached the bed. Gently placed the bee on the mattress, arranging it in the center of the impeccably taut white blanket. For a moment, she stared at it, smiling to herself.
Behind her, Jax closed the door with a quiet click and strode to the other side of the room. He said nothing. He didn't joke about the plush's ridiculous size or how much she looked like a child with a new toy. Instead, he simply walked to the leather loveseat positioned against the glass wall that opened onto the illuminated city. The view was magnificent: tall buildings, neon lights flashing from advertisements, car headlights forming continuous rivers of movement. Jax sank into the seat with the weight of someone too exhausted to stand. He rested his elbows on his thighs, his fingers interlaced in front of his face for a moment, before slowly leaning back, letting his head fall against the headrest.
The silence between them stretched. Only the sound of the air conditioning filled the room, and Ragatha realized immediately how unnatural the silence was.
Blinking a few times, her expression wavered between curiosity and concern, a thin line of tension forming on her forehead. She couldn't stand it when he closed himself off like that, not because she expected Jax to always be gentle, but because his silence weighed more heavily than any harsh words.
Slowly, as if unwilling to break something too fragile, she crawled onto the bed. First she knelt, then moved to the edge, sitting right there, an arm's length away. Her eyes, reflecting some of the city light coming through the window, fixed on him, trying to decipher what lurked behind that motionless expression.
“It’s disturbing to see you so quiet, Jax…” she said, her voice low, firm, but filled with tenderness. “You didn’t say anything the whole way back. Not even a little teasing. Is everything okay?”
He didn't react immediately. His jaw tightened, betraying what words couldn't convey. His hands moved slowly, running over his face.
Jax swallowed hard, as if the words coming wouldn't immediately fit in his throat. The silence that already weighed on the room seemed to stretch even longer, and for a moment Ragatha thought he would back away again. But no. His voice came out low, hoarse with restraint.
“I was… thinking about us”
Ragatha tilted her head slightly, surprised by his tone. It wasn't a response she expected, much less one spoken with such gravity. Her heart raced, but she maintained her calm demeanor, not wanting to pressure him, simply letting him lead.
“Really?” She asked, her voice soft, filled with genuine interest that was coupled with a slight fear of where this might lead them.
He nodded slowly, as if confirming it to himself first. His hands clasped together in his lap, his fingers tightening, his gaze shifting away from her as if he couldn't bear the vulnerability of maintaining direct contact for too long.
“I…” he began, his voice trailing off before he took a deep breath. “I’ve always had everything a spoiled brat could want. Money, comfort, medals, applause that I never really needed to earn on my own. But none of it… none of it ever gave me purpose. It was like… like running in circles, you know? But when you came along…” he continued, and this time his voice lowered even more, as if the simple confession was something burning inside. “When you came into my life, I realized I finally had something that couldn’t be bought. Something that wasn’t for sale, that didn’t come wrapped in a contract, that couldn’t be ripped away with whims. You, Ragatha.”
As he said this, Jax slid his hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a small object. A simple black box. He began turning it over in his fingers, not yet handing it over or opening it, just fiddling nervously with its shape, as if gathering courage in the repetitive motion.
Ragatha's eyebrows rose in surprise, curiosity flickering in her eyes. But she said nothing, not daring to interrupt the moment with questions, just watched his every move attentively, waiting.
“I think I understand now…” He murmured, almost to himself “I understand why my mother always wanted to keep me away from you.”
Ragatha felt a pang in her chest at that. The words struck deep, but his gaze softened any harshness that might have been there.
“Because she knew I never loved the sport. Never. The ice wasn't my home, never was. And everything I did… every time I held on, every time I got on that damn rink, it wasn't for the love of the sport. It was for the love of you.”
The silence became almost unbearable, and then, with a slow gesture, as if exposing their entire heart with their hands, Jax opened the small black box. Inside, under the soft light of the room, a delicate ring gleamed. It wasn't overdone, nor did it boast huge stones. It was beautiful for its simplicity, its understated elegance, but also for the clarity of what it represented.
“I love you, Ragatha.” His voice cracked a little, heavy with an emotion he rarely let out. “I love you too much to give up anything I have. You are… the only real purpose I’ve found. The only one worth having.”
Ragatha didn't know how to react immediately. The room seemed to have shrunk, the air too dense to hold in her lungs. Her eyes, still wide, flickered back and forth between the simple gleam of the ring resting inside the box and Jax's gaze. He wasn't joking, not hiding behind any irony. Raw, disarmed, almost pleading.
She blinked once, twice, three times, as if needing to make sure this wasn't a daydream brought on by fatigue. She opened her mouth, searching for words that simply wouldn't come. Nothing seemed to be enough. Nothing seemed to fit what she was feeling.
Her heart was pounding, a rapid drumbeat in her cloth-like chest. Her throat was tight, her stomach felt like it had fallen several stories. And yet, silence. A stunned silence, broken only by the muffled sound of her breathing.
Jax, on the other hand, seemed to have anticipated it. A slight, almost sad smile crossed his lips, as if he hadn't expected any other reaction. Calmly, he closed the box between his fingers, but didn't put it away. Instead, he reached out, reaching for her hand. His fingers, firm and warm, held her delicate, cloth-covered hand. Wordlessly, he slid the ring onto her finger, the jewel fitting as if it had been custom-made.
Ragatha gasped in surprise, her eyes fixed on the ring that now glinted on her cloth-like skin.
Jax lifted her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her ornate fingers. The gesture was slow, laden with a reverence she hadn't seen before. Then, without letting go of her hand, he leaned in a little closer, and his voice was low, firm, and filled with a determination that left no room for compromise.
“I don’t expect an answer right now.” His eyes met hers again, and there was an almost painful clarity in them. “But as soon as you leave that ring… I’m leaving too.” He took a deep breath, as if each word was a promise ripped from deep within. “And I hope we leave together.”
He leaned closer, his face inches from hers, and placed a brief, warm kiss on her forehead.
Ragatha stood there, stunned, her mind desperately trying to process what had just happened. Her lips trembled, her breath hitched, but no words came. It was as if the whole world had stopped around that small ring on her finger.
Jax slowly released her hand, stood with a small sigh, and walked toward the bathroom. When he reached the door, he pushed it open, disappearing behind it. The soft click of the doorknob sounded like the closing of a curtain.
Ragatha was left alone.
The entire room seemed to breathe with her, the low hum of the air conditioning the only sound anchoring her to the present. Her eyes slowly dropped to her own right hand, still suspended in midair, as if it belonged to someone else. The ring gleamed in the dim light, reflecting the distant city lights outside.
She blinked slowly, once, twice, and her throat closed. She didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. Everything seemed overwhelming.
The question seeped into her mind like both poison and comfort: Would she really condemn him? Condemn Jax, who had just placed his entire heart in her hands, who had chosen himself and his future with her over any fleeting glory?
Ragatha bit her lower lip, clutching her chest as if searching for some kind of answer, some kind of escape. But the weight on her finger remained. The glow wouldn't fade.
She had no words. No courage. Only silence.