Chapter 6
Sasha and his teammates take a shuttle bus back to the Olympic Village, stopping at the dining hall for an unsatisfying, trainer-approved lunch. It’s only half past two when they return to their rooms, and since they had qualifications today, a rare free afternoon awaits.
Ilya and Oleg wander off to explore, but Sasha and Kirill stay behind—Kirill to film some content for his vlog, Sasha because he’s sprawled out on his bed and doesn’t want to move.
Even though he was on the sidelines this morning, he’s still exhausted, his body worn out from the past two weeks of traveling and training.
That’s another thing no one tells you about the Olympics: how fucking tired you are all the time.
And he already knows he’ll feel worse tomorrow, when his access card for the practice gym gets deactivated—alternates can’t be swapped in after qualifications, even if someone on the team becomes injured.
So now he’s officially useless, and he’ll be stuck in the Village with nothing to do, nothing to distract him while everyone else continues training.
He sighs, the sound muffled by his pillow, and listens with half an ear as Kirill recaps their second week in Rio.
He’s honestly surprised the vlog’s lasted this long; he’d thought Kirill would lose interest after a few videos, but he’s still posting at least once or twice a month.
The latest one (footage from the Olympic Village, plus a tour of the team’s apartment) had gotten nearly a hundred comments, most of them from people they don’t even know.
Sasha’s constantly getting roped into appearing on the vlog, to the point where, if he’s ever not in a video, Kirill’s followers will ask what happened to him, if he was injured or if they stopped being friends.
Which is really fucking weird—strangers speculating about his life like that—but he lets Kirill film him anyway, because whatever, it makes Kirill happy; and also because Danny gets ridiculously excited for each video, always calls him when a new one’s uploaded and makes him translate the whole thing.
“…as you can see, we’re all very tired,” Kirill says, sounding amused, and Sasha doesn’t even have to look up to know that the camera’s being pointed at him again.
He raises his arm, giving Kirill the middle finger, and Kirill laughs before resuming his commentary. “But we still have a lot of work. Tomorrow…”
Kirill talks, the air conditioner whirs, and Sasha floats in and out of a nap, drifting on the mattress. He should probably get up and do something, but that feels like too much effort, so instead he checks his phone.
Danny: Did you like my interview
Sasha flushes, his cheek warm against the pillow.
Part of him wants to tell Danny he can’t make comments like that, especially to reporters—what if they start asking questions?
Or worse, what if it gets picked up by the Russian media, and then Kirill starts asking questions?
But another part of him still feels the heat of Danny’s gaze across the mixed zone, the thrill of knowing that Danny was talking to him instead of the interviewer…
Sasha: Yes
Sasha: I liked it
Danny sends him another winking emoji, and then the texts stop; Sasha assumes he’s hanging out with his teammates. The next few minutes pass quietly, Kirill recording and rerecording while Sasha works out a half-hearted translation for You really shouldn’t use the mixed zone to flirt with me.
Danny: So the guys want to go to the samsung studio
Samsung’s one of the corporate sponsors for Rio; they have a whole building in the Olympic Park, some sort of “immersive experience” where visitors can play around with the latest phones and VR headsets.
It sounds a little gimmicky to Sasha, but Kirill, Ilya, and Oleg have been talking about going after the team final, so inevitably he’ll be dragged along for the technological thrills.
Enjoy, he’s about to text anyway, but then he sees that Danny’s typing again.
Danny: I could have a headache
Danny: And stay in my room
Danny: Come over??
Sasha glances up, his thumbs hovering over the keys for yes. Kirill’s still absorbed in his vlogging, and even when he’s done, he’ll probably want to edit what he’s filmed—with a passable excuse, Sasha should be able to slip away for an hour or two.
Grinning, he sends his response, then counts all the winking emojis on his screen and throws them right back at Danny.
Danny: Hahaha sassy Sasha
Danny: I love it
Danny:
While waiting for Danny to text that the coast is clear, Sasha starts thinking about the condoms in his wallet.
They were stupidly easy to get—the bright-green dispenser machines are everywhere in the Olympic Village, as ubiquitous (and free) as the water fountains and the hand sanitizer stations.
Kirill had stocked up at the one in the dining hall, not caring who saw him, but Sasha had waited until he was alone in a restroom before furtively approaching the machine, wincing at the loud noise the handle made when he turned it.
So now he’s prepared, just in case.
But he doesn’t know if it’s worth the risk.
There’s hardly any privacy in the Village, and he and Danny are almost always with their teammates.
(Although apparently a lot of athletes are making it work; Oleg swears he saw two people doing it on a balcony.) He’s guessing they’d need extra time for anal, too, or at least more than they can usually steal from their schedules.
Plus, they haven’t even talked about it yet, which is actually kind of weird, since Danny talks about pretty much everything else under the sun.
Danny: Okay theyre leaving
Danny: You can come over now!!
Danny:
Sasha glances at Kirill, ready with an excuse—only to realize that Kirill’s gone quiet, staring down at his phone with a flat, closed-off expression that Sasha knows all too well.
“Your parents?”
“My mother.” Kirill turns his phone around, showing Sasha the incoming call; they watch it pulse across the screen, Kirill neither answering nor declining. He’d made the mistake of sending Irina to voicemail one too many times at a camp when they were teenagers, and when they came home, his father…
Sasha still doesn’t like to think about it.
“Well, you got into the all-around,” he says, trying to be optimistic. “And vault. Maybe she just wants to congratulate you.”
Kirill laughs, short and sharp. “No, she’s calling because I didn’t make the floor final.” He tosses his phone onto the nightstand, scowling as he says, “Nothing’s ever good enough for her.”
Sasha can’t argue with that; he’s watched Irina berate Kirill for gold-winning routines because of a single mistake or a score that was less than what she’d expected.
All those smiles sliding right off of Kirill’s face, and Sasha doesn’t know what’s more fucked up: the fact that Irina does this, or the fact that Kirill still wants her approval after so many years.
“I should call her back,” Kirill mutters, making no effort to do so.
Sasha wishes he could tell Kirill to block her. Instead, he just feels like an asshole when he says, “Well, I’m going to go for a walk.”
“Yeah.” Kirill’s barely listening, his eyes fixed on his phone. “See you.”
*
“All right, I’ll text you when we’re coming back,” Matt says, pocketing his phone. “Oh, and also, like, if someone goes off on their own, cause I’m not keeping track of that shit.”
Danny nods—Matt’s already done more than enough for him and Sasha. “Thanks, man, I appreciate it. Seriously, if you and Julia ever need the room, like, just let me know and I’m out.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” But Matt doesn’t sound very enthusiastic, and it suddenly occurs to Danny that he hasn’t once asked for any privacy, even though they’ve been here for over a week.
“You guys okay?”
“Uh…” Matt glances at their bedroom door, which is wide open; they can hear Yulien, Isaiah, and Adam playing a video game down the hall, swearing at each other and the screen. “Honestly, no,” he admits, lowering his voice. “Things have been… kind of weird lately.”
Danny looks at him, confused. Matt and Julia are pretty low-key about their relationship—the women’s national team coordinator barely allows the girls to breathe, let alone have boyfriends—but they’ve always seemed happy together, and this is the first Danny’s heard of any issues. “What do you mean?”
Matt fiddles with the lanyard around his neck, tugging at the plastic ID badge.
“Well, whatever, I don’t really want to go into it,” he mutters after a moment, “but, like, sometimes when we’re hooking up, I’ll be, like, doing something, and like…
she won’t say anything, but I can tell she’s not enjoying it?
So, like, obviously I stop, but then she doesn’t want to talk about it, and, like… ”
He breaks off, running his fingers through his hair the way he does when a skill’s dancing out of his reach at the gym. “I don’t know, I just feel like I’m doing something wrong, but she won’t tell me? And she keeps saying it’s fine, but it’s definitely not.”
“Maybe it’s stress? I mean, with everything going on?
” If the men are feeling pressure to medal in the team competition, Danny can’t even imagine what it’s like for the women—they’ve been dominating their side of the sport ever since London, and anything less than gold would be considered a massive upset.
“Yeah, maybe,” Matt says, doubt lingering in his voice.
Before Danny can come up with another theory, there’s a knock at the doorframe, and Noah Park leans into their room. “Yo, have you guys seen my sunglasses?”
Matt lifts an eyebrow. “Did you try looking in the mirror?”
Noah glances down, peering at the neckline of his t-shirt, and Danny bursts out laughing. “Dude, they’re literally on your head right now.”
“Oh. Sweet.” Unfazed, Noah extricates his sunglasses from a swoop of jet-black hair, then puts them on and holds up his phone for a selfie.
“Seriously?” Matt asks.
“Gotta update my followers,” Noah explains, flashing a peace sign at the camera.
Matt makes grumbling noises about youths and Snapchat, but Danny can’t help smiling at Noah’s enthusiasm.
Like Sasha, he’s here as an alternate—but unlike Sasha, he’d never been in real contention for the team, lacking the international experience preferred by the selection committee.
Ever since they got to Rio, he’s been like a kid in a candy store: losing his shit over the swag, trading pins with everyone he meets, and, of course, documenting it all on Snapchat.
“Are we still going to the Samsung studio?” Noah asks when he’s done posing.
“Dude, we’ve been waiting for you,” Matt snorts, standing up.
“You guys go,” Danny says quickly. “My head’s killing me, I think I’m gonna take a nap.”
“Oh, shit, you want some Advil?” Noah asks. “I have like a hundred.”
“Thanks, man, I’m good.” Danny reaches over to his nightstand, hefting up a bottle of ibuprofen the size of a pickle jar; Noah’s eyes widen at this glimpse into his future.
“All right, well, feel better, bro.” Matt winks at Danny, then claps a hand on Noah’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go chaperone the children.”
“Hey, I’m eighteen now,” Noah protests as Matt steers him out of the room. “I’m, like, legally an adult.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that…”
As their voices fade down the hall, Danny texts Sasha, giving him the all-clear. And then he pops some Advil anyway, because why not, everything hurts.