Nolan

Previously, your territory was strictly divided: the women's wing in one wing, the men's in the other. You could only cross paths in the cafeteria. But before the World Championships, the federation decided to mix you up, choosing the best pairs skaters. So Nolan became your punishment.

You tried to be friends, but Nolan was a rock. He didn't tolerate idle chatter, only grueling workouts. He criticized your every move:
"Slow down, you're flying ahead of the music," he whispered as you came together in a tight knot.

“I’m in the rhythm, you’re the one slowing down,” you snapped back just as quietly.

“You ruin everything, as usual,” he muttered, pushing you away.

Yesterday you had such a huge fight that you alerted all the coaches. Today you went to practice with a heavy heart. The locker room was empty. You silently tied your laces, stepped out onto the ice, and didn't even look in his direction.

You didn't train together. You went to the right side of the rink to practice spins, he stayed on the left, churning out quads. But the silence between you was too loud. The tension grew until he, riding past, said curtly:
"You're dropping your shoulder again. No wonder the number is going to hell."

You stopped abruptly and glared at him with an icy gaze.
— The number is going to hell, because you don’t see anyone but yourself on this ice!

He stopped a meter away from you and said with a sly smile:
"It's not my fault you move like an elephant. Although, no... even an elephant on ice would look more graceful than you."

//Your actions?//