A few minutes before parting ways, an awkward conversation sealed the end of their dessert.
It was at that exact instant that both of their phones began to ring like crazy on the table. As if moved by a silent agreement, they both unlocked their screens. Notifications were pouring in like a sudden storm—a wave of reactions to a photograph showing them entering the coffee shop together, smiling shyly as they sat across from each other.
"I didn't think we were being followed," the Canadian admitted in a low voice.
He shifted his gaze toward the younger man and felt a surge of indignation. Aibek was staring fixedly at his screen, caught in the hostile words parading one after another across social media: "What the hell is wrong with him? Going out with the King! That's unusual," "Someone like @Aibek Kenes isn't needed in the King's life!" "JJ wouldn't lower himself for someone like him."
Jake watched as the beautiful glow of shyness and tranquility vanished from Aibek's dark eyes, replaced by a dejected dullness. The negative comments were hitting their mark, and Aibek didn't seem able to look away. Unable to just sit back and watch despondency consume him from the inside out, Jake reached out and gently covered the screen of the Kazakh's phone, forcing him to break the trance. He offered him a comforting smile.
"Don't listen to them... just finish and enjoy your dessert by my side."
Without waiting for an answer, Jake took both devices, silenced them, and slid them to the furthest edge of the table, isolating their small space from the noise of the world. Aibek hesitated for a second, grappling with the insecurity those attacks had planted in his chest; he hated reading that kind of message, but ignoring them felt almost impossible. However, Jake's gentle firmness ultimately convinced him to take refuge in the moment.
Trying to lighten the mood, Jake scooped up a spoonful of his own cake and held it out insistently.
"So... you like chocolate? Try this."
Aibek tried to refuse, self-conscious from the attention, but faced with the Canadian's stubbornness, he had no choice but to give in. He accepted the bite directly from the spoon. The sweet flavor coaxed a small, genuine smile from him.
"It tastes delicious," he admitted softly.
Jake's heart violently fluttered—a heartbeat so wild it was almost painful.
"Well, it has chocolate in it, I knew you'd like it," he managed to reply, grasping for a quick justification while using the very same spoon to eat his own portion, savoring the sweetness with a newfound confidence between them.
Caught up in the gesture, Aibek took a piece from his own plate and offered it back. Despite it being dark chocolate, to Jake, it tasted like the most delicious dessert in the world, utterly fascinated by the Kazakh's soft expression.
"What do you want to do after the competition?" the Canadian suddenly asked, resting his elbows on the table and glancing at the street through the large window. "Are you going to the party?"
Aibek stretched back slightly in his chair, absorbing the question while staring down at the bottom of his mug.
"We have to go to the party to avoid misunderstandings..." he answered in a low voice.
Knowing that their time alone was running out, Bek pulled out his wallet with the firm intention of paying his share. Jake tried to slide in first to cover the entire bill, but the shorter youth's silent insistence and decisive gestures made him yield, splitting the cost evenly.
"Will you head back to the rink?" Jake wanted to know as they gathered their things and stepped out of the warm coffee shop onto the wintry sidewalk, looking for a taxi.
"No, I will go to the hotel to rest, take a bath, and make a few adjustments to my costume... and you?"
"I'll see what I do..." Jake paused for a moment just before the car pulled up. He felt a sudden urgency to clear the air. "Are we friends now?"
He extended his hand, offering the gesture in the air. Aibek looked at the Canadian's open hand. Doubt floated between them for a second—a tiny hesitation over whether taking this step was the right thing to do after the wounds of the past. However, looking into Jake's expectant eyes, he closed the distance and shook his hand firmly.
"Friends."
With that word sealing the deal, they split up in opposite directions. Aibek got into the taxi heading toward the hotel where the qualified athletes were staying, and Jake set off on a walk toward the city center, trying to kill some time.
Upon reaching his room, Aibek tried to focus on his preparations, but the Canadian's silhouette seemed to have firmly installed itself in his thoughts, sabotaging his concentration. He shook his head in frustration, pacing back and forth across the room. Was he losing his mind? He couldn't afford any distractions before such a major final. Yet, a persistent doubt kept lingering in his mind: the strange, intense familiarity he felt with Jake, as if the pieces of an old memory were trying to fit together. Letting out a sigh, he took his competition costume off its hanger and forced himself to work, meticulously checking the stitching, the buttons, and the ribbons he would wear in his routine.
Meanwhile, in the city center, Jake was walking under a light dusting of snow, lost in his own mental whirlwind. The image of Aibek in the coffee shop kept replaying in his head; that boy was driving him crazy. An impulsive, overwhelming need to buy him a gift—something to complement that tender, hidden side he had just discovered—completely took over.
He checked his watch anxiously, aware that time was running against him and the shops would soon begin to close. He quickened his pace after stepping out of a taxi in the shopping district, crossing from one sidewalk to another with his mind fixed on just one person. He recalled eyes as dark as onyx, the curly hair falling over his forehead, and that mix of rigid maturity on the ice and disarming sweetness off it. He tried to remind himself that they were just friends, that they had only just formally met, but the sensation of a pre-existing bond was too powerful to ignore.
He was so utterly absorbed in his list of the Kazakh's virtues and the urgency of his search that he paid no attention to the patches of frozen ice on the pavement. His foot suddenly slipped, his balance completely failed him, and in the blink of an eye, he fell flat on his face, slamming directly into a pile of fresh snow.
"Damn it!" Jake grumbled, pushing himself up halfway while brushing the white crystals off his face, desperately hoping no one from the skating circuit had witnessed such a spectacle.