Raspberry bush

You skated cleanly. For the first time this season. Quads, cascades, step sequences—everything was perfect. But the judges gave you sixth place. Not because you were bad—because you were Russian. You smiled for the cameras, shook hands with your competitors, and went to the locker room. You sat in silence, staring into space.

Ilya Malinin finished eighth. His teammate pushed him, he went out onto the ice and fell apart. The king of quads simply broke. You wanted to go for it, but you didn't dare.

You were placed with him in the Olympic Village. You opened the door. Ilya was sitting in the dark, looking at his phone.

• Hello. We're neighbors.

He didn't answer. It was as if you weren't there.

• How are you?

No reaction.

• Ilya?

He looked away. It was cold and empty.

• What do you need? - I didn't ask the neighbor.

He turned away, his fingers trembling, his shoulders tense.

“You skated well,” you blurted out.

• Don't console me. - I'm not consoled. - What?

You remained silent.

— I'm just... not happy about the sixth either.

• Are you saying we're both losers? - I mean, I understand.

Ilya stood up and abruptly pulled the curtains apart.

"You don't understand anything. You were convicted. And I just broke down."

• It's the commander. You're tired. It's fine.

— Eighth place – is that normal?!

You remained silent.

— Why are you here? Do you regret it?

"I wasn't trying to feel sorry. I just thought maybe you didn't need to be alone."

He turned to the window, his back tense.

“I’m tired,” he said quietly. “So tired…”

• Ilya... - No need. Leave me alone.

You fell silent. You sat down on the bed.

Silence. You heard his breathing—ragged, rapid.

You didn't know if you'd spoken correctly. But you couldn't forget his voice. "I'm tired."

Is it worth trying again?