kieran morozov

she couldn’t help but kind of laugh at him when she saw his routine. she started the music even thought he didn’t seem to need it and skated out to the middle of the rink when the music began to pick up, doing her portion of the solo. she felt lighter than air in her skates, and some of the stress she felt about him being there lifted.

“i feel like we just learned this routine yesterday,” she said as she skated near him for the beginning of the pairs portion where they joined hands. “do you want to skip the lifts?”

"It feels like a completely different lifetime.” Kieran slowly wrapped his hands around hers, reveling in the way they still fit perfectly within his own. There was little distance between them as he pulled her close, positioning them as they had done many times before. Such closeness felt all too familiar, like taking a step into a warm home or crawling into bed. It was a familiarity that stole the softness from his expression. 

“We can skip the rest,” he said. Typical. The moment anything became too personal, it was as if his better judgment went into autopilot to protect himself. Kieran let go of her hands and pushed off, gliding around the ice until making his way back to her. 

“Ten more minutes and it’s my ice,” he uttered once he was within earshot.

a light smile finds its way onto her face and she skates to the edge of the glass where he’s standing. something blooms in her chest, and it isn’t love but a younger version of herself might have mistaken it for that. it’s hard, she realizes, being her. she falls into love so easily and can never let go.

“if i remember correctly, the beginning of the program was your solo. care to take the ice, mr morozov?” she gestures to let him on.

Kieran snorted. His gaze followed her gesture to the ice. For a moment he considered saying no, unsure if he could keep up with a routine that was made for a version of himself he’d long lost touch with. Yet his skate bag dropped at his side and he took a seat in the stands to lace up his skates. 

He needed no music as he took to the ice, brushing past her as he made his way to the center of the rink. After an uncertain start, he found his footing, going through the motions of a routine that had been tucked away somewhere in the back of his mind, only to be brought out of the dark by Piper. It was muscle memory. 

At the tail end of a double loop jump Kieran turned to her, reaching out. “You’re up.”

piper turned and stumbled when she saw him, her toe pick digging into the ice. it was as if the ghost of him had been summoned by sheer force of will. she didn’t skate any closer to him, but she did finish off the move then skate to her phone, pausing it.

“well, i was going to do fairytale of new york next. you know, since it’s christmas.” she stared at him, unsure what to do with herself. 

she remembered that routine too well; they’d just had an argument and she walked out on him. kieran still took to the ice, unsure if she was even going to show for the gala, but as her part came on she skated to meet him and a roar came up from the crowd; so loud she thought it’d deafen her. the look on kieran’s face was priceless; it was one she used to get her through the worst days they had. it’s useless now, she supposed.

It’s as if every word she said was chosen like a dagger with the sole intent of stabbing him in the heart. She hadn’t changed a bit in that respect; a thought which bloomed a smile he had trouble hiding. Funny she mentioned that routine, because he’d been thinking about it for the previous few days. That day was a rage-fueled blur, but he could still feel the way his chest dropped the moment she came on the ice. Thankfully, the cameras were too busy on her to catch the surprise in his face. 

“Yeah,” he said, “I vaguely remember it.” Kieran walks the perimeter of the rink to get closer to her. “Well, let’s see it then. You still remember the entire thing?” 

he chuckles, taking the drink passed to him. he chugs half of it quickly, giving it a glance as he process what little he actually tasted. fraser would truthfully drink anything thrown his way. 

he looks to the other, letting out a snort. “i might be a royal, but i’m not here for the princess. just here to laugh at the ones that are.”

Kieran lifted a brow, taking it all in. The best thing about being an outsider to the world of nobility was that coming across one in the wild was no less entertaining than a guilty pleasure reality show.  “So, what? You’re above it all? Not even in the least bit interested in playing the game? What makes you so different from the ones who are chasing after her?” 

@kieranmorozov​

there was empty private ice time, which wasn’t a common thing these days, and piper decided to take advantage of it before a crafty skater nabbed it. strapping on her skates, she slid onto the smooth ice, freshly zambonied during her lunch break. she had nabbed an hour here and there when she could, but with oliver her skate time was paltry compared to the minimum of six she used to do.

an old tune filtered through her mind and she remembered the moulin rouge medley she and kieran had done at the olympics six years ago. god– she’d been so happy then. they won gold with that routine and she could still feel every inch of it buzzing through her mind. she did a perfunctory spin, then hooked her phone up to the speakers on the edge of the ice and began to skate.

He was early and he knew it, showing up forty five minutes before his reservation with the hopes of sneaking a little extra time. With all of the skaters in town he should have known better than to think he’d be lucky enough to do that. Rather than leaving the moment he spotted the figure spinning on the ice, Kieran stopped in his tracks and let his skate bag fall at his side.

Even without the strangely familiar routine he would have known it was Piper just in the arch of her back and the delicate gestures of her arms. It’s only when the song begins that he realized why the routine was so familiar---he’d never seen it from an outside perspective. Muscle memory had him wanting to move along with her, but he refrained. 

“Feeling nostalgic?” he called out the moment she finished, breath carried away in a cloud by the chill of the rink. 

“It doesn’t matter if it’s something that I want to do,” Antonia sighs, staring at her glass for a long moment before taking another drink. “My little brother, Gus, is twenty one and is a terror like most men with money are at that age. Annika is barely eighteen and she hasn’t had the chance to be a real person yet. Which she deserves. All of my cousins are misogynistic monsters that would drive the country into economic collapse within a week.”

“It says a lot about the current state of my family if I’m our best hope,” she morbidly snorts after a long moment, looking to Keiran knowingly. “The best we can do is to pray nightly for my father’s immortality.”

“Worse comes to worse we have him preserved. I’m sure there’s a good taxidermist somewhere in the Netherlands. Add some kind of voicebox and you’ve got yourself a couple more years of some freedom.” There was no way that was a real suggestion. Or was it? God, he didn’t know, but just the idea of having to go through what she was dealing with was beginning to bum him out. “Morbid? Yes, but... effective.” 

“yes she was and yes she is.” she nods. “she might lose her mind if she met you here. which i’m shocked she hasn’t yet, considering this whole ordeal is about her.” she rolls her eyes in a not so subtle way.

“It can’t be that shocking. I’m not the kind of crowd they invite up to the grand palace these days.” Maybe back in the day during the height of his career he’d been invited; when he and Piper used to make the rounds when high society needed interesting party guests. “That, and I’m not the target demographic to court her. I’m split between two countries, I have no land, no giant livestock to offer for her hand... The list goes on.” 

“Is this jealousy I’m sensing?” 

He snorted, half into laughter and half into doubt, incredulity plastered on his face. Hockey?! Mary and the holy Saints, but he could never tell apart when Kieran was purposefully trying to keep himself pristine clean from every hint of illegalities, and when he was just daft. Viktor flicked more ash from his cigarette, not particularly careful not to hit the rink. He brushed off the comment with a renewed grin. ‘ What are you on about, already? I’ve married people in less. ’ His hand went up to pat the other’s back. ‘ Look, Misha, I get that you’re fond of burying your pretty head in the sand, and I like a tacit agreement as much as the next guy, but you know we don’t deal with stuff like, what, glorified lacrosse. It’s going to be blackjack. Or poker. Depends what the trend in bougies is these days. ’

He rolled his eyes and pushed off from the wall, skates gliding against the ice and two middle fingers pointed to Jesus as he backed away from Viktor. “I’m not thick, Laska. I figured a man like you would diversify.” He rounded the rink once, and then again. “The cards are all well and good, but you should see how some of them treat the hockey players---like tiny gladiators. There is money in hockey. It’s violent so it grabs the attention. The stakes are higher.” Though he watched his skates against the ice, he spoke to Viktor. “It’s violent so it grabs the attention. The stakes are higher.” Skates scraped the ice once more, not so much to stop but rather to grab the other’s attention. “Not to butt into your business, but there’s a pub in town, Barrel and Boar, where a bookie likes to hang out. The problem is he isn’t subtle in the least. Hell, he tried to get me to play along a couple of times. You could clean house if you get him out of the way.” Kieran shrugged and tapped a blade against the rink, shaking off the ice buildup. “You didn’t hear that from me, though.” 

She sighed, taking the opportunity to shake out some tension from her shoulders. Kieran had a point, as much as she hated it. If she was sick for the Olympics, she’d will herself through it and hope she’d still be on her a-game. “I’d skate through it,” she said, only grumbling a little. “It’s a one-shot thing. Gotta nail it no matter what.”

Kieran nodded at her response. Charlotte’s ability to take criticism and actually apply it to her improvement was something he respected in her. He could not say the same for some of his other students. “Alright. Start at the beginning, take it slow if you have to, but push yourself.” 

“ neither am i, actually, but i’m trying something new. results may vary. ” maybe all the shit her friend’s been telling her about spontaneity and carpe diem was finally getting to her. 

“ i think two surprises would be pushing it. ” she sent him a brief, wry smile. “ it’s faye. and no, i’m not — suppose it’s that obvious? ” stuffing her hands in her pockets, she shifted her gaze from him to in front of her, the stars twinkling above them. she’d become so accustomed to city nights where the luminescence of skyscrapers won over constellations, she’d almost forgotten what a clear, starlit sky looked like. “ i’m from london. quit my law firm job in an epiphany of wow, i really hate this shit, and that led me here. soul-searching, following my passion, call it what you like. ” the best lies were spun with threads of truth: she really did hate her old job. she glanced back at him. “ what about you? i take it you’re not from here, either. ”

"London?” he repeated. “Small world. I’ve got a place in Bethnal, myself, when I’m not chasing after my students. And when I’m not there, Minsk.” Kieran took another drag from his cigarette. “I’m not sure what to think of this place yet.” While he’d hardly had enough alcohol to get him drunk, he had just enough to loosen him up. “I’ve been here, what, three days? Already I have trouble.”

“oh,” she says, her lips going slack. and it’s like all the fight leaves her when she sees his expression, and she’s twenty-three again and all she wants is for this sad, broken boy to love her like she’s the only thing that matters beside their skates and the ice. she pulls her arm back towards her and rubs it where he grasped her, even though it didn’t hurt.

“i–” she doesn’t know what to say. her chest hurts and when she speaks, she whispers. “what did you want from me? did you want to just pick right up where we left off? with you yelling at me in a hotel room about how you’d never really make it with me? how i dragged you down?” her eyes shimmer with tears. “because i got over it. i won gold. but i still doubt myself every time i step onto that ice. and i’m sorry my self-worth had to die for your ego to thrive”

she’d wanted to say something nice. she wanted him to love her again. “i– can still drive you. you’re not far from my flat.”

“All I wanted was, maybe, some conversation where you weren’t looking at me down flared nostrils.”

Fists formed at his sides as she went on, explaining a reality that was so different from the one he imagined that it made all that anger in him boil once again. He was the villain, he knew that, but he wasn’t that same person who broke her. Sure he’d set a low standard all those years ago, but he couldn’t understand how she could still hold him to that.

suri hums as she listens, nodding along. “well, mignonette is a fan. i merely tagged along. wasn’t really a bad thing to watch all the pretty people do their twirls, even if i wasn’t the one collecting all the trading cards.” she shrugs. “i remember you were good, though.”

"Hold up-- You’re telling me the princess is a fan of mine? ” One could practically see the gears turning in his head as he wondered how he could use such information to his advantage. Suddenly the palace didn’t look all that tacky. “She’s the one that they’re trying to marry off, right?” 

“i don’t know. i’ve come here so much they just hand me a drink. it’s been so long i don’t remember what it is.” he shrugs, sliding it over. “you can have it though.”

“Thanks.” Mr. Big Shot over here. Kieran happily accepted the free drink, passing over his own whether the other wanted it or not. It wasn’t his usual modus operandi, accepting drinks from strangers, but if there was anything funky with it, Hell, maybe he’d actually get some good sleep for once. 

“Let me guess, you’re here for the princess? One of the royals?” 

The words earn a soft snort from the young royal across the table, an almost wistful smile tracing briefly over her lips as her eyebrows deftly lift. He wasn’t wrong. Back in the day, back when they had run around in the same circles, she had been third born and often not earning more than a second thought from most. Now that she thinks back on it, it had been the more ideal situation; all the privilege of being royal with none of the responsibility.  “I wasn’t really given too much of a choice,” she murmurs, taking a swallow from her own drink and licking her lips slowly. “Political assassinations are kinda funny that way.” If by funny you mean completely unfair.

Right. He’d forgotten about all that murder. All that political drama he’d seen on the news and felt in his chest but didn’t think to reach out to her until long after it had happened. Who the hell was he to comfort someone, anyway? No choices, more responsibility, everything changes. He’d felt all that as well, though nowhere near the extent that Antonia had. 

“Yeah, funny,” he murmured. “Is that what you want to do, though? Really? Couldn’t there be a way you could pass it on to someone else? Hypothetically speaking.”