⁺◞ ༉ ❪ all is found ❫ ꜜ
on an impulse trip to new york,
cryokinetic gwen's carefully structured
world begins to collapse around her,
making way for a new one.
━━ but can you brave what you most fear?
can you face what the river kn...
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Geneva, Switzerland.
- 1962. The sound of applause was slowly drowned by the idle chatter of other girls waiting for their turn to perform. Walking into the small locker room shared with the rest of the girls on her team, Gwen all but deflated onto a bench, taking a moment to just breathe.
The gold medal was heavy against her rapidly falling and rising chest. Her eyes still stung from the flash of the cameras, her cheeks sore from all the smiling. After the initial shock and awe had faded, Gwen had been desperate to hide.
She felt wrong. Off. She'd won and here she was, near tears as she unlaced her skates clumsily. Only a few more days and she'd be back home, quiet and calm.
It wasn't her first time competing abroad. But she'd never received so much attention. She could feel the chill of the air, unnaturally cold. Why aren't you happy?
"You were incredible!" Gwen jumped at the voice, nearly throwing the skate in her hand at the door. Her teammate, Lucy, always managed to startle her. She ran to Gwen, arms enveloping her briefly, taking no notice of how she stiffened. "How you don't get dizzy..."
Lucy's rambling was easy to tune out as she walked about the room, taking her own skates off and changing. She jumped from topic to topic; the marks, Gwen's axels, the Italian girls' costume, how they should celebrate, and details of her private life that made Gwen's brow furrow.
"You're always so slow - I'll see you later! Bennet said he wants a quick chat when you're ready, so try to speed up a little." And almost as soon as she'd arrived, Lucy was gone. The door shut behind her and Gwen rushed to lock the door, pushing a bench in front for good measure.
She didn't deserve the medal. Frost slowly crept from where she stood to the walls. She didn't deserve the applause. Her hands were shaking, her breaths turning to vapour that clouded her vision. They'd find out, if she didn't get the hell out of that room. But she felt frozen in place, tears falling and turning to ice as they hit the floor.
The cold bit at her skin as she forced herself to move again, to get over herself and her little pity party. You won and you're upset? Her hands found stability as they reached for her jumper, thick and soft and warm, despite her touch. She hugged it for a moment, a sense of calm taking her. Just get through this. Gwen slipped the jumper over her head, threw her coat on and tied her trainers up. She just needed to get outside for a moment, walk.
Shoving her things into her bag, she pulled the bench blocking the door back and peeked through the keyhole. Clear. She'd have to come up with an excuse for what would soon be a very damp locker room on her way back to the hotel. For now, she just ran.
No stranger to these... moods, was all she could call them, Gwen knew just about every way to get out of the stadium without being noticed. She shoved her hands in her pockets, curling them into fists to try and keep control.
When she wasn't overwhelmed with nerves or her team, Geneva was a nice city. Terribly different to her small home town in Wales - but there was still a sense of familiarity in the streets. She walked past couples sitting outside cafés, crossed the street next to business men, watched an old man and his dog on a bench. It was serene, in a w-
She hadn't even realised she was about to collide with a man, until she felt herself almost fall to the ground. She barely caught herself, and whipped around to see who it had been.
"Be careful," the man said, French slightly accented. His hat had fallen to the ground, and Gwen rushed to pick it up for him.
"I'm s- I mean, I'm so sorry, sir," she said, thrusting the hat towards him. At least she'd learnt basic French. Though she felt herself cringe a little at her pronunciation.
"You should pay more attention."
With that, the man left, putting his hat back on as he walked up some steps. Some fancy business man, she supposed. At least he didn't seem too angry.
She took his advice, refusing to get distracted on the walk to the hotel. Opening the door to the lobby, she cringed as she noticed her coach, Bennet, waiting in the lobby.
"Took you long enough. If you're going to take the long way 'round, I'd appreciate a warning." The Londoner complained, looking down at her.
"Sorry, sir. Just needed to clear my head." Her eyes stuck to the ground, arms wrapping around herself. Bennet didn't like her, that much she knew. He loved her skill, her promise, but made no effort to hide his dislike for her as a person.
"Don't do it again. I'll let you off, just because of the shiny thing around your neck. Give it here, don't want you loosing it if you go for another wander later."
Handing it over and pretending she didn't see him stare at it in wonder, she rushed past him and bolted for the stairs. In just a few days, she'd be back in her own bed, able to skate without worrying about perfect landings or form - just relax.
But something about home felt scary too. She both longed and dreaded that familiarity, the reliability of home. The change from being an athlete barely given a second glance to winning gold for her country would follow her home, too.
The days passed, Gwen's mind drifting to other places. Stuck in her thoughts, she barely noticed the press, the packing up, the drive to the airport, the plane home, until they landed in London. Her mind was lost in cold mist as she followed everyone through the gates, collecting their belongings. She found herself standing as the others drifted away, Bennet taking the first taxi he saw and Lucy yammering on to anyone who'd listen.
Her eyes blinked rapidly, as though cold water had been thrown on her. The occasional voice over a speaker was heard, one catching her attention.
She could go. She was packed. She had money.
Gwen wasn't an impulsive person. She thought about every possible outcome for every situation she'd ever been in. Her mother said she was an over thinker, she said she was prepared. But even if she wanted to stop herself from walking to the desks selling tickets, she couldn't.
Fuck it.
"One ticket to New York, please."
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fun fact: the competition is a real one, though i took certain liberties with accuracy. i'm not exactly an expert on 60s figure skating. the 1962 european figure skating championships took place in geneva, which works way too well for this fic. but i made up who competed. it feels~ weird to be writing again after so long. but it's nice. i've missed it lol.
