O Fortune

Four for a Birth

"You said you were going to ask her when the Grand Prix was finished. Which was last month."

"After I skated at the Final," corrected JJ, shuffling the cards without looking up at Otabek. "I didn't qualify."

"Which prevents you from going on a date how?"

JJ's habitual grin was white-toothed and stiff. Otabek sighed. It wasn't his right to push, it wasn't his life - and yet, watching Isabella and JJ dance around each other for what was now going on a year and a half was something akin to torture. He'd thought that Isabella would get tired of it and ask him out herself, but she seemed to be set on tradition.

"I told her I was gonna win and I didn't, Beks." He shuffled the stack of cards again. Was it self-centered when the only person JJ was proving himself to was himself? JJ caught the frustration in Otabek's eyes. "Look, it's different for you, everyone's expecting me to do well-"

"And they all assume I'll fail?" Otabek heard his voice grow cold. He was a mediocre skater from an obscure country, and so JJ wasn't exactly wrong, but hadn't he at least started to show that he was more than that, that Kazakhstan was more than an unknown patch on the map? JJ flinched as he continued. "Yeah, makes it real easy to surpass expectations. I'm so lucky."

"Beks, you know that's not what I meant," JJ replied. He paused, hand outstretched, in the middle of dealing the cards.

"But it's what you said." It wasn't, exactly, but Otabek wasn't in a mood to be fair. JJ's shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry, Beks," he said eventually. "Thanks for telling me when to shut up. I really didn't... I meant to say that you always do better than anyone thinks you will. Even better than you think you will. And you don't give up."

"It's okay." Otabek let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I know. I'm sorry for pushing."

"Pax?" JJ asked hopefully, grinning as Otabek nodded in agreement. "You're right, though. I'll do it after Nationals. How many cards do you have?"

"Four. Even if you don't win?"

"I'm going to win." JJ tossed two more cards onto each pile, and Otabek raised an eyebrow. "Okay, even if I don't win, cross my heart. They play this in Russia too, right?"

"Durak?" Otabek laughed. "Yes, they play it in Russia."

"We should find the Russians at Worlds, challenge them to a game. Maybe strip durak." JJ winked as Otabek winced at his pronunciation - doo-rack. "They'd never expect me to win."

"You'd be naked in three rounds," Otabek informed him. "Russians can smell weakness."

"Hey now," pouted JJ. "I'm not that bad, I win against you all the time."

Otabek rearranged his cards instead of answering. JJ would keep talking in a second anyway.

"So, how would strip durak work? Or like, could we do a drinking game? There has to be a drinking game with this."

The Canadian national competition was held in Kingston, Ontario. He let JJ continue to wheedle and plead for his company, although Otabek had booked his train tickets for the three hour trip several days before.

"Man, you just let me keep asking?" pouted JJ, dropping his suitcase by the hotel room door. "Last time you said you weren't sure because you might have to give your cat a bath!"

"JJ, I don't have a cat," Otabek reminded him. He let his own bag fall to the floor with a heavy thump - he wasn't competing, so the weight of his luggage was almost entirely textbooks and homework. "That was a joke."