The coldness of the Capital Indoor Stadium corridor embedded itself in Aibek's chest with the force of a direct blow. The hostile brush of Jake's shoulder still vibrated through his body, a physical contact charged with a mute fury that contrasted painfully with the devotion and romance they had shared days ago in Finland. The brunette stood motionless for a few seconds, his onyx eyes fixed on the black rubber floor of the hallway, feeling that the looseness Zinov had returned to him the night before in the hotel lobby threatened to evaporate before the implacable focus of the Canadian's disdain. The everyday noises of the venue—the distant echo of other coaches' instructions, the hiss of the ice resurfacers in alternate rinks, and the hum of the ventilation—became a distorted murmur in his ears.
