I Love You On Thin Ice // kazuscara

8

"Today's the day," Childe chuckled a little as he drove Scaramouche to the arena, his eyes peeled onto the road. He had visible eyebags puffing out, it was clear he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep yesterday. Scaramouche wonders why. After all, it's not him that's forced onto the ice to perform a series of tricks to win the Judges' hearts. 

Scaramouche peered out the window, "Yeah..." he breathed, fog forming on the glass. 

He touched the fog, drawing a smiley face with his finger. He promised himself everything will be okay, he'll receive the points he deserved and take back the Gold medal for his country's pride. 

"Loosen up, will ya?" Childe pat Scaramouche on the back, "You've never been so serious-looking for a figure skating competition." he jested. 

"Yeah, that's because I've never gotten a score lower than a hundred in the short program." he scoffed sarcastically, then giggled to himself. 

Usually, Scaramouche would be the one to bash Childe's head out, and Childe would be the one who speaks louder than a plane engine. 

Today, the atmosphere was calm. Neither one of them burdened each other. It was just a calm car ride, with the soft scraping of the tires on the road and the slight breeze of the air slamming onto the car window outside. 

"Have you brought your water bottle? What about your towel? Did you bring any snacks? You know the Olympics go on for a good while, right?" Childe's expression suddenly morphed into weary. Listing everything that Scaramouche would always bring on a typical practice day, his voice quivered. 

"Check, check, and check." Scaramouche rolled his eyes, "This is the third time you've asked me if I brought everything, I know what to bring with me." he held up three fingers, each representing an item he needed to bring. 

"Just checking," Childe exhaled, shutting his eyes for a brief second, "I'm just worried you might forget something and end up dying in the arena, you know." he let out a dry laugh, running his hand through his ginger hair. 

"More importantly," Scaramouche sighed, "I'm more worried about if I'll make a mistake today. I know I did well last time, but I still earned a pretty low mark. If I even make one mistake today, I know I'll never see the podium ever again." he put a hand to his forehead, shutting his eyes to hopefully get some rest. 

"You'll do good," Childe assure him, "After all, the judges' opinions don't matter if the audience knows you did your best." he gave him a weak smile. 

Scaramouche grunted, his stomach sinking as the sophisticated Arena came into view. 

At the same time, another familiar figure also penetrated his vision. His tension loosened. 

"Kaedehara? What are you doing here?" Scaramouche raised an eyebrow when he saw Kazuha approach his seating area.

"This is our country's seat, remember?" Kazuha let out a laugh. He pointed behind Scaramouche, a Japanese flag plastered onto the wall behind them.

"Fine. Sit wherever you like, then." Scaramouche scowled, glaring at Kazuha before looking away into the crowd. He was feeling stressed, and he didn't need Kazuha to ruin everything for him.

"Thank you, Senior Scaramouche," Kazuha mumbled. Scaramouche rolled his eyes and shook his head, internally sickened at Kazuha's formality. He wondered if he'll ever drop that fake, overly cautious exterior of his. 

Scaramouche felt a tug beside his Olympic jacket. He whipped his head around to see who was bothering his peace and quietude. 

Kazuha scooted closer to Scaramouche, until their arms touched.