I Love You On Thin Ice // kazuscara

6

He slammed the door shut, panting. His back against the cold, wooden door, he slid down across it, sitting on the hotel carpet.

Yet to register what had just happened in the skating arena, his vision glued onto the floor. Kazuha's voice replaying endlessly in his head, he hated it. He hated his voice. To him, it was like sharp blades of spring breeze, slashing his face. It was like the needles of a caterpillar, clinging onto your hand uncomfortably once you touch it.

Yet, he can't help but want to hear them again. His harsh voice against his eardrums, made him go wild. His every breath made his heart jump a little, leaving a sour sensation that would make his face slowly turn into a pinkish fade.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Nothing was supposed to be like this. He was supposed to hate Kazuha, he was supposed to be Kazuha's competitor. He still does despise him, but not in the same way as before anymore. Upon hearing his voice rendered him gelatinous, like jello. His legs would tremble slightly, his limbs would become sloppy. He hated that he'd become so weak around him.

He propped his legs up, they were shaking. He tried holding them still with his hands wrapped around his thighs, but he can't help but noticed how much his entire body was trembling. His face burning, he squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted Kazuha out of his mind, but he can't bear to let him go.

He wanted him out. But at the same time, he wanted him to stay forever.

"God damn! 38.9 degrees, you have a fever!" Childe exclaimed anxiously, holding up the digital thermometer up against Scaramouche's face. As if a worried mother, he fumbled in his bag, searching for any cold item to put on Scaramouche's forehead.

"Okay? So?" Scaramouche scoffed, "It's not like I'm about to die, you asshole." he let out a laugh, putting his cold hand against his forehead, cooling down his burning forehead.

"You're right, you're not about to die. But your free skate is in three days, I have to make sure you heal before the free skate!" Childe admitted as he took Scaramouche's hand off of his forehead and replaced it with an ice pack, " Plus, you didn't even bother to practice your choreography when you had the chance to. The Olympics isn't something to see as a joke, you know!"

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, "Duh, I know that." he shifted on the sofa, "I've already gotten the choreography memorized, I only need to perfect a few of the compositions before I'm ready. I should be able to wrap it up in about... two days." he said to himself, putting a hand up to his chin.

"Are you serious?" Childe's expression morphed into dread, eyes-wide-open.

Scaramouche shrugged, "What?"

"You have three days left, minus two days of practice, you have today to heal from your fever." Childe calculated, "Can you guarantee that your fever will go away after today?"

"Who said someone with a fever can't practice?" Scaramouche inquired, confusion rising. He'd always been practicing no matter what, even when he would be suffering through physical incapabilities.

"Okay, listen. We're going to drive you to COVID-testing, so wear your mask." Childe ordered, handing Scaramouche an N95 mask, "I know China has very few COVID cases these days, but who knows what kind of people you've been interacting with." he sighed, getting up from his kneeling position.

"I don't hang out with suspicious people, you do." Scaramouche rolled his eyes again, "That someone you've been seeing these days, who is he?" he sneered, putting on his mask like Childe had told him to.

Childe's ears burst into a shade of red. Despite all that thick, ginger-colored hair blocking, it is clear as day that he's flustered.

"I've told you, he's no one of your concern. Stick to worrying if you COVID, or else we'd have to get escorted and might even get our competing rights revoked." he stuttered, changing the subject swiftly. But Scaramouche is not about to fall for that overused trick.