24. Nico #2
“Have you ever done a colour analysis?” Adrian asked. “I did one in Seoul. I'm a Deep Winter. Crimson, jewel tones, black.”
“Shocking,” Théo muttered.
“I haven't,” Sabrina interrupted loudly, already pulling out her phone. “Maybe I'll try it next time we're there. If they ever give us more than half a day between the flight and the competition.”
“I bet you’re an Autumn,” Adrian said, studying her hair. “Warm undertones. Emerald looks perfect on you. The salmon was a crime against your complexion.”
The food arrived and for a few blessed minutes, everyone was occupied.
Théo ate his ramen methodically—precise bites, careful pacing, the habits I had learned over many shared meals.
Adrian was halfway done with his first bowl already, eating with the single minded intensity of a man who had never met a meal he couldn't demolish in under ten minutes.
“So what's the program this year?” Sabrina asked Théo, refilling his water from the carafe. “The last time we talked, you were thinking about changing your free skate music. Did you find a ne”
“One More Light by Linkin Park.” Théo set down his chopsticks. “Coach Miller suggested I choose something that reflected where I'm at right now. Emotionally.”
“That's a brave choice,” I said. “Chester's vocals carry a lot of weight. The audience is going to feel every second of it.”
Théo glanced at me—a quick, grateful look that said he knew I understood.
“Oh, that's going to be gorgeous.” Sabrina pressed her hand to her chest. “The chord progression is beautiful.”
“It suits the choreography. Miller's approach is about stripping everything back to emotional truth. Less decoration, more feeling.”
Adrian snorted into his beer.
“What now?” Théo snapped.
“Nothing. Just think 'emotional truth' is a nice way of saying you used to overthink it.”
“Adrian.” Sabrina said lightly, a warning wrapped in a smile.
“What? It's a compliment. His skating's better now. Less in his head.” Adrian took a sip of his beer. “Miller's good for him.”
“Thank you for your unsolicited analysis of my career,” Théo snapped.
I had never seen anyone get a rise out of him like this—Théo was usually unflappable, the kind of person who could absorb a bad score and shrug it off before the cameras found him.
But Adrian had a gift for finding people's buttons and pressing every single one.
“Any time.”
“How's your component score this season, Zhao? Still struggling with interpretation?”
“My interpretation is fine.”
“The judges seem to disagree.”
“The judges are 60 year olds who think Bolero is cutting edge.”
“Maybe if you spent less time on your hair and more time on your artistry—”
“Maybe if you spent less time choreographing with a calculator—”
“Okay!” I said, louder than I intended. Both of them looked at me. Sabrina looked at me. The couple at the next table looked at me. “Can we please just—”
“Let me guess,” Adrian said, leaning back. “Change the subject. Smooth it over. Find the diplomatic middle ground.”
Sabrina picked up a chopstick and pointed it at Adrian like a dagger. “Adrian, I invited you to dinner because I wanted to spend time with all my friends. I love everyone at this table but I swear to God, I will use this chopstick in ways the restaurant did not intend.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender and went back to slurping the rest of his broth. Théo stabbed at the rest of his noodles in equal silence.
Adrian was in rare form tonight and I couldn't figure out why. He was always a little combative but this was something else. Every comment aimed at Théo with a precision that felt less like casual antagonism and more like a man with something to prove. What was his problem?
I swallowed my annoyance. “I think we should order dessert.”
“They have the jiggly cheesecake,” Sabrina seized on it. Théo nodded. Adrian nodded. The crisis passed.
We ordered two slices of Japanese cheesecake to share and Adrian excused himself to use the restroom. He came back smelling faintly of his vape and slid back into the booth like he hadn't just spent the last hour being the most difficult person at the table.
The cheesecake was fluffy and jiggly and not as sweet as traditional cheesecake—lighter, more delicate. Even Adrian slowed down enough to appreciate it.
When Sabrina flagged the waiter for the bill, he smiled and told us it had already been taken care of.
“By who?” Sabrina asked.
The waiter gestured at Adrian.
“The whole table?” Théo said, something unreadable crossing his face.
“Don't make it weird.” Adrian was scrolling through his phone, not looking at any of us. “The ramen was good. Consider it a thank you for the dinner invite.”
Sabrina looked genuinely touched.
“Thank you,” I said quietly and meant it in a way that had very little to do with dinner.
Adrian glanced up. Something flickered in his eyes—brief, warm, gone before anyone else could catch it.
“My pleasure, Nicky.”
◆◆◆
“I'm going to call it a night,” I said in the hotel lobby.
Sabrina hugged me—tight, brief, the kind of hug that communicated I know that was hard and I'm proud of you.
Théo squeezed my shoulder and held my gaze for a moment. “Good to see you, Nico,” he said, softer than anything he'd used at dinner. Then quieter, “If Zhao gives you any trouble, you tell me. You shouldn't have to deal with that on top of everything else.”
The everything else hung in the air between us.
“I can handle Adrian,” I said.