#cloudie writes

Honestly, Silverr had always thought Doog seemed more comfortable skating contemporary than performing his olympics-made programs. Not that those skates weren't freaking amazing, but there was a noticeable difference in the quality of his artistry—maybe that word choice was bad, ‘cause it insinuated Doogile was anything short of perfection.

Freedom. That was the word; when he was performing his own routines—hell, even for galas—, he was more lax, expressive. Even now, watching Doog glide across the ice, pivot on his heel and launch himself into the air for one graceful rotation, his breath was taken away. Another half rotation to land backwards made a flawless single axel. Really, it was a shame that the backing for skaters here was tiny compared to the support they got in Japan.

Maybe if the sport got more popular, eyes on the ice and by extension the skaters, they’d more backing and funding, and they’d get to share the ice for longer, practice with each other without the excuse of a competition or gala. Chatting away about micro technicals (“her edge was one degree off, max.” “She still fell, didn’t she?” “But that was because of her shitty landing, bro, not that tiny ass mistake on the takeoff.”) over call was fun, but airplane wifi was only so good, and a video call couldn’t supplement seeing each other on the ice.

“That felt wrong,” Doogile called, brows furrowing. He stopped in the middle of the ice, hands on his hips, “did the ice get melted by the lighting, or what?”

Okay, that was one time, and Silverr ended up being right! His freakin bad for being goated and having legendary spidey senses, or whatever. “Oh, on the single? Uh,” Silverr leaned on the rink walls, wracking his mind. “I think you might’ve… I think your foot might’ve been,” he held a hand up straight and held his other hand a good distance away from it, “too far.”

Looking down at his feet, Doogile murmured something, then nodded to himself. Though seemingly ready to try again, he paused and stared at Silverr accusingly. “Bro, are you not gonna- get on the ice again? At this point you might unwarm up, you know?”

“Nahhh,” Silver waved him away, “it’s only been five minutes, or something.”

Doogile frowned, “What are you saying? It has been way more than five minutes,” he skated towards Silverr and clicked his tongue, “Bro’s getting old,” he muttered under his breath theatrically, “Time to pack it up, unc.”

Scoffing, Silverr walked to the rink’s gate, “You’re older than me!” He paused, “I think.” The topic of birthdays or ages never really came up. The info was always available on their respective wikipedia pages, but Silverr didn’t want to bother with stuff outside of skating. As he took off his skate guards, Silverr humored the thought a little more, though the chance to spend their birthdays together was slim-to-none; they had families and lives outside of the sport, after all.

“The connection in here sucks,” Hax scowled. He’d had to rejoin the call ‘cause of audio issues a billion times already.

“You’re supposed to skate in the rink,” Infume’s voice was kinda grainy through Hax’s headphones but was better than before. The rest of what he had said was cut out, though Hax was pretty sure it was something about the call.

Scoffing, Hax started warming up, sliding his phone in his pocket. Hopefully his headphones wouldn’t disconnect midway. “Both should be possible! What if online coaching is needed? ‘Kinda stupid to not account for that, no?” The coolness of the rink was comfortingly familiar; despite claims of ‘standardization’, if you were familiar with a certain rink, others seemed alien. Which was to say, most olympians hated having to get used to a new rink. Soog were just demons.

“How would you coach virtually?” Oh, that was the word. Virtually. Hax could hear creaking and the tap of Infume setting his phone down on his desk, listening to Infume log onto his PC before he remembered to respond.

“I dont fuckin’ know.

“Ugh- “ Infume cut himself off with a sigh, “why would you need to coach virtually? That's a billion safety violations.”

Low-key, Hax forgot about that. “What if…. there’re no flights in or out? For state mandated something. Are they supposed to give up?”

Noise from Infume’s side stopped. Hax was just moving to take his headphones out when the audio returned, “Hellooooo.?”

“Hi,” Hax responded, turning his back to the rink walls for a backwards crossover.

“If there’s a travel ban, how’re they gonna get to competitions in the first place?”

“You can travel if the president says so,” he was pretty sure, anyways, “Is there precedent?” Hax half heartedly prepared for a jump, pulling back at the last second.

-*･ﾟ･*｡ 🔳･'*ﾟ･*-

A gun was lodged against where his ribs separated, angled to aim at his heart between the fleshy meat and muscle. Infume’s breaths stayed shallow as to not disturb the gun, but Boreas clearly didn’t have the same reservations about the gun sitting at point blank range of his own heart; his breaths fogged up Infume’s visor.

When Infume’s hands trembled, Boreas shifted and twisted the muzzle of his gun to dig deeper, finger poised against the trigger. Infume could feel the vibrations of Boreas’ heart travelling up the metal barrel if he focused hard enough—it was infuriatingly steady and light,so unlike the thumping of his own.

“…-World has.. ……, you… -sAFEly…. ..your exit now,” his communicator buzzed. Above the sound of his own heart, Infume could barely make out Nerdi's voice.

Their current positions gave Infume the perfect vantage point to see the corners of Boreas’ lips tick up and all thoughts of wasn’t his safety on-? disappear into the howling blizzard. Infume knew the safety of his own gun was on; he’d flicked it on when Boreas was comm’ed to have jumped into the World after him.

He gets pulled back into channel 1 and a flood of HBG’s comms fill the otherwise quiet area; “…protocol- Lauren go.. …sector one, Phoenix… ….. -over.. I can help- .. ….. …. ..three? No, ..be fine.. …. ..vitals?”

Boreas licked his lips before he leaned in, breath tasting like frost, “I’m gonna go; my dinner’s getting cold. You’re more than welcome to stay, though,” he smiled and tilted his head to the side sweetly. Infume barely caught himself chasing after the coolness of Boreas’ skin, something Boreas himself also noticed, evident from the way he tipped his head back slightly, a laugh bubbling from his mouth.

As he pulled away, Boreas paused and flicked the safety on, like an afterthought. Despite it all, Infume felt himself warming, blood pooling to his cheeks.

“Good luck,” Boreas tipped his hat, the snowflake charm shaking with the movement, “I’m sure you’ll do better next time,” he holstered his pistol, bringing his scarf down slightly to smile playfully at Infume.

Oh. Infume’s face felt red-hot. Was- was he the only one to have seen Boreas’ smile? Stars, he hoped so.

He looked that man in the eyes and thought,

Oh, Icarus, how the mighty fall. My wax wings will not last me the journey.

Will you welcome me with dignity upon my descent?

No, he tilted his head, I’ve already been drawn down from the heavens by the promise of another salvation.

Such a thought should’ve filled him with dread. Hax was the furthest from human one could possibly be, with a reputation to match. The dried blood stuck under his fingernails and the muscle torn apart by his teeth was a testament to this.

The higher one climbs, the further they have to fall.

Instead, he greeted what he was sure would be his downfall with a smile and cheer.

My sun, please continue to brighten up my gloomy mornings. I would do anything for you.

Ask of me something, so I shan’t feel like a leech, stealing Moments for a few more seconds in your presence.

“Infoomi!” Hax smiled, cupping a hand around his mouth and waving with the other, “I didn’t know you lived near here!”

Why are you here? It’s not safe. The corner of his eye twitched. This was no place for a civilian. Was Infume trying to give him a heart attack? Honestly, that fuckin’ guy…

—————

“Infoomi! I didn’t know you lived near here!”

…Infume had to be hallucinating, no? There was like- no other reason he would be hearing the voice of civilian Hax Hackingnoises in a place like this. Well- that was a bit misleading. To civilians, this was just the shopping district—nothing odd about being here! Toootally no underground drug-ring scheme hidden… nope… Just continue on with your day!

Steeling himself, Infume took the earphones out of his ears and glanced in the direction of the voice for a split second—only to do a double take. Holy fuck that was Hax. He needed to get Hax out of here STAT!

Oh, wait. He was asked something. Ummm, quick, reply!

Laughing nervously, he gave a small wave, ducking to make himself seem smaller. Maybe if the crowd got busy enough, he could slip away.? Oh, Hax was walking towards him. Nevermind, uh, what could Infume do in this situation.?

“Uh, yeah, um,” he paused, “wait no- I’m just visiting friends. I live,” he gestured behind himself vaguely with his head, “a few minutes up.”

Hax’s smile widened, and so much tension seemed to be bleeding out that Infume felt guilty for making him worry. Wait- no! Infume should be the one worried! He was a Ranker while Hax was- well, Hax! Oh, hold on.?

Why was Hax so nervous, too? OH it was probably because of the rent prices near here! Infume had told Hax about his shitty (day) job before, and being worried about money. If he was in Hax’s position, he would be nervous about his friend’s finances, too.

“Do you wanna come with?” Infume blurted out, before he could think better of it.

Ohhhh my god, he screamed internally, what the FUCK am i saying right now. No, I’m legit soo fucking chopped. Couri, I’m sorry but you’ll need to move after this.

Unexpectedly, Hax burst into a fit of laughter—not really, it would’ve been more surprising if he didn’t—, “BAHAHAHA- sorry- pfft, did you even ask your friend beforehand?”

Obviously not, because Infume was a fat chud. From the way Hax burst out into another loud fit of laughter, earning them weird looks from passerbys, he knew this much as well. Infume’s face flushed a bright red, warming up significantly from all the blood flow to his face. Fuuuckkk… this was why he usually never went on recon missions… his poker face was essentially nonexistent.

“Um, they probably wouldn’t mind,” okay, Infume, what the actual fuck were you saying now? Hax legit just gave you an easy way out? Are you stupid?

Because Hax Hackingnoises was one of the best people to ever exist, he waved Infume off, “Nah, don’t hassle them over me. I have to get to an interview anyways. See ya!”

In this au, nerdi js gave fein n hax (at DIFFERENT times, seperated by a few months / yrs) ultra steroided powers & OMEGA knowledge abt how to Use their abilities and then freakin DIPPED like a deadbeat parent ass

Fein ofc, was NAWT gonna let that bum ass slide soooo he’s been tracking that mfer DOWN and is jusssttt closing in on his location when nerdi slips away,,, but b4 fein can give chase he hears Another Person. In pain,,, prolly nerdi’s poor experiment, so ofc (he has MORALS okay!!!) he checks it out; BANG thats hax!!!

Atp fein’s been a vigi for quite some time,,, tho the news calls him an “ex-hero turned villain” for whatever reason (his powers went haywire and he js Ran Away so they’re calling him a vigi and he’s to be captured if Ranked [as in the person who runs INTO fein is ranking] in the top 20s, if below that, report appearance and RUN MUH FUCKA!!!) & he’s like. Not That Trusting in da System anymore (they were the ones who approved Nerdi’s experimentation!! What da freaky ofc he’s not gonna trust their bum asses!!!) sooo he stabilizes hax thru energy transferring n waits till hax wakes 2 see how old he is and what 2 do from here.

Blah blah, hax eventually [unspec time duration, you can insert wahhever u’d like :3] wakes up n is like “okayyy why r my powers on steroids now. Where tf is that fuckass guy i wanna kill him. Ur in the same boat i’m in? Okay teach me :p” sooo fein’s like “uhhh im wanted by like Everyone. And NOT in the good way if u didn’t recognize me On The News. Bein w me will NOT be v safe and i cant guarantee ur survival when idk how i even survived the first few Stages.” but hax is like “erm u think ill have better chances ALONE with NO IDEA WHAT 2 DO??? U r brain activation at all? Lockin brah n js help or gtfo”

-which is how fein n hax become mentor-mentee!!

Hax’s side of the story:

Sooo he’s js a vigi, bright eyed young kid, when Ranked (??!!!!) goes up 2 him like “yo. We wanna recruit u. There r some tests u needa pass b4 we can accept u tho” and bcs he’s not DUMB,, Ranked is a well reputed [bro doesnt know BAHAHAH] Big Gigantic hero agency n his One Shot at becoming a real hero and makin a sustainable career, he’s like “YO SIGN ME UP!!!!”

And so like. They do the usual test n stuff at first, so hax doesnt back out tooooo quickly, but b4 they sign him on, they’re like “yo here’s our main tester nerdi, he’s gonna use his abilities on u 2 test if u have any corruption from prior exposure 2 Rifts” [half life half true,,,, corruption from rifts r a thing BUT they only affect ppl who are rejected from the world for whatever reason / glitches],, n like bcs its a half truth he doesnt see anything sus when nerdi brings him 2 Whereever bcs like “oh yah they needa do some fancy shit n search my code 2 find if i have a glitch” but lil does he know. His ass js became a guinea pig!

Main idea stemmed from. Cal1 n cal2… what if they were more intertwined.. hax makes fein references in cal2… BRAIN ACTIVATION!!! Could be sooo cool <33333 anyways.

Feinberg paused. Did he-? No, no, he quickly cast away the thought. No but, hax was so *young*. It was normal for certain things to just not *click*. “You can just hurt people, you know? No big title needed,” Feinberg tilted his head, watching the way hax’s face went from scrunched up in confusion to wide and shocked. “It’s not like *they’ll* do anything,” he raised an eyebrow.

“Your six minutes of warm up is now over,” the artificial-sounding voice over the speakers announced.

Couriway took a deep breath in and made his way towards his coach. If he closed his eyes, Couriway could pretend he was in his usual rink, back in america. He wore the same exact outfit to rehearsals, the crowd was silent enough that he could pretend they weren’t there at all. Even the feeling of ice against his skates, and the sound they made when landing jumps were the same—the sound echoed off walls and seemed amplified.

The illusion shattered once Couriway opened his eyes, now diagonal to the table with his stuff—his tissue holder, water bottle, jacket, and hard skate guards. With a huff, he hoisted his right leg so the ankle rested on the barrier, leaning his body towards his leg. He held the position for a few more seconds before he swapped legs, so his left ankle was on the barrier, instead.

Holding his ankle with both hands, he brought his head as close to his leg as possible, taking measured breaths. After a few moments, he put both feet on the ice, shifting to be directly in front of the table.

Letting pressure melt into habit, he pet the outer plushie layer of his tissue holder—shaped like a bunny— and grabbed a few tissues to blow his nose. When he threw the tissues into the trash, he gratefully took his opened water bottle—sporting a purple and black cover to match his outfit— from Crookst, bringing it to his lips as he melted into the smooth, soft fur of the plush.

“Fuuu…” Couriway tilted his head upwards and placed the bottle on the table. When he was ready, he turned and propelled himself towards the center area of the rink.

“Representing the US; Couriway!”

Cheers exploded from all around the stadium. It was easier to bear their expectations when you pretended they were just a giant mass instead of individual people. He squared his shoulders, kept them in line with his hips, and twisted experimentally—to imitate the movement of entering a jump.

Shaking his head slightly, he put his hands in his hips. Too tense.

Once again squaring his shoulders, Couriway tensed his core, then made his posture slump, releasing all his anxiety. Butterflies fluttered around in his stomach, making it difficult to breathe. He brought his shoulders up and down exaggeratedly, then entered proper jumping form. He twisted and nodded—okay. He tightened his loop around the center of the rink.

What if that was a fluke? Couriway breathed, exhaled, then twisted again. Okay. Okay, he was fine, Couriway thought to himself, shaking out his hands loosely.

Rolling his head between his shoulders, Couriway relished in the feeling of his bones cracking with the movement. This was any old practice—it was great if he performed flawlessly, but perfectly fine if he didn’t. No pressure. His left ankle throbbed with a phantom pain. Couriway turned and glided to a stop at the center of the rink, crossing his arms at the middle of his forearms—left arm before his right.

Bending his left leg, he rested the majority of his weight on the side and tilted his head, too, keeping his right leg straight. He leaned backwards and fluttered his eyes shut.

Lungs burning, Hax huffed out a long suffering sigh between gasps for air. Like, he understood that right after performing was the best time to get entertaining reactions, but seriously? No freaking water? Throat tasting like blood, Hax forced past the black splotches across his vision, willing it to focus. Any second now, the scores display would pop up on the large screen. The announcement for the scores rang out; not that Hax could understand it though, he didn’t speak German. A few seconds later, the display popped up; 307.

“YES!” 7rowl grabbed his shoulders while Mongey toppled over in his chair. “LETS FUCKING GO!”

His eyes and nose burned. There was a stutter between when 7rowl hugged him and Hax hugging 7rowl back, and the dam almost broke when Mongey hugged them both. He’d give it to the ISU; the name of this damned booth didn’t seem so stupid now that there were fat, hot tears rolling down his face, but hindsight was 20/20.

“Finally,” Mongey smiled-scoffed, “We’re entering the era of Hax!”

7rowl grimaced, “Okay, shut up. Don’t say that.”

Giggling, Hax leaned back and almost fell over, “Mongeyyy! You ruined the moment!” He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and wondered if the tiny flame flickering out was the relief he was supposed to feel after countless bronzes and silvers.

“Yes, please don’t jinx him,” 7rowl called as he went to retrieve a water bottle. When 7rowl returned, he continued, “it’s going to be so embarrassing when he loses to me next season.”

“Excuse you,” Hax couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice long enough to feign offense, “I’ll- I’ll beat your ass in the grand prix!”

“Not if you don’t compete more quads,” Mongey handed Hax a few tissues, placing the hat of his stuffie on Hax’s lap and then the snowman plushie’s decapitated head on the opening.

Hax grabbed a few extra tissues from the tissue box nested where the snowman's brain was supposed to be and groaned before he blew his nose. “Ughhhh, practice is sooo boring.”

“Thats what Feinberg also thought, and look where that got him,” 7rowl playfully pushed Hax’s head off his shoulder. “Actually, yes. Please stop practicing so I can beat your ass at the Worlds too.”