Author's Note: And I'm back with a new chapter! And can I just say, wow! 32 favs and 60 follows in 4 (now 5) chapters! I'm just...ecstatic! Yay! Just, I'd like to thank everyone who's faved, followed and just read this story. And thank you for the reviews Riladell and Ravenclaw Slytherin!

I, for some reason, compiled a list of short program music for the skaters (with links) because it... may enhance viewing experience? I did the list, you're getting it. It's actually on my writer's tumblr, (link in my profile) just to be safe. So if you want to check it out, be my guest.

Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri on Ice or any music. I just have the OCs.


Irina glided onto the ice, and for the first time since she had arrived at the rink, was very aware of her competition. And the threat they imposed.

The two oldest skaters competing were Aimi Kato of Japan and Evita Flores of Argentina, both 17. They had been chatting on the side of the ice, before they skated off to start their individual warm-ups. Their close friendship was well-known by other skaters, mostly because of the somewhat oddness of it. The two skaters were on equal, but high, ground and competed against each other in high level competitions often, yet still remained a close friendship. It was a bit of a peculiar situation to form a friendship in, especially a continental crossing one, but it worked for them nonetheless. Irina was glad that at least her friends were in the same country as her (same city, to be exact).

Irina hadn't competed against them, at least, not in this setting, but from what she had seen in various articles (she liked to read up on skating news before competitions. And after. And in between. It was a bit of an addiction) their experience made them formidable competitors. And so far, their warm-ups looked impressive.

The two skaters looked quite different, yet the same. They both had their hair pulled up in buns but while Evita's hair was dark brown and her bun let two curly wisps loose, Aimi had jet black hair and only her square shaped bangs that hung above her brow escaped her bun. They both had dark eyes, but Evita's was brown, while Aimi's eyes were a steely dark grey. Evita's skin was deeply tanned, while Aimi was more on the paler side. However, both girls shared the same tall, lean, imposing stature and somewhat cold facial features.

Cilla Engberg, a skater from Sweden, seemed quite cheery as she practiced what looked like her step sequence. Her motions were fluid, and her form seemed to melt into each new position. Good technique, though the steps looked somewhat basic, but Irina didn't know if she should judge just yet, it was only warm-ups, after all.

Cilla had curly blonde hair, cut to her chin, and brown eyes. She was of average height for her sixteen years, and had the typical skater's build. She was still smiling as she moved on to jumps.

There was another skater, Yvonne Chong, from Singapore. Irina hadn't heard much about her, and figured that she had been a bit late to the game, with sources saying she started competing professionally at 13. She was 15 now, and she looked somber. Her long black hair was pulled into a low ponytail and her dark eyes were cold and disinterested. Irina honestly didn't know what to expect of her.

Klara was stuck into one corner of the rink near her coach, which wasn't a particularly good technique, as it confined her and limited the moves she could practice. She at least seemed a bit better than before, as she was performing her moves successfully. Though the nervous look was still evident on her face and bright green eyes, a fact that her coach was trying, but failing, to alleviate. Her light brown hair was still hanging loose at the chin while she skated and Irina could not tell whether the paleness in her skin and the pink tint of her cheeks were because of nervousness or whether she was always like this. In all honesty, she reminded Irina of when she first started, tiny (though she wasn't particularly large now) and a bit scared (though Klara was more than a bit scared).

Irina was still thinking when she heard someone yell to her.

"Irina! Focus!" Miss Krupina called as Irina skated past her. Irina shook the dazed look from her eyes. She had been getting quite distracted. Not very good for competing. She took a deep breath and tried to focus. With renewed energy, she continued to warm up.

They were soon called off the ice and filed into the skaters' lounge, except for Evita, who was skating first.

Irina took her place next to Miss Krupina on one of the plush couches leaning against the wall, pulling out a stress ball before giving it a squeeze. The stress ball depicted a skater on its front and when you squeezed it, she was supposed to "dance". It never worked quite right, only crushing the skater on the front quite painfully. It distressed Irina somewhat, but if she tried not to look at it, the stress ball still fulfilled its purpose.

The other skaters scattered around the room, Cilla the closest to her on the next coach, sitting within a variety of distance from the TV, which was back on and currently broadcasting Evita's short program. Irina took a deep breath and turned to watch.


"First on the ice is Evita Flores, representing Argentina! She'll be skating to an instrumental version of 'Carmen Habanera'."

The 17 year-old was already in the center of the rink, waiting for the song to play. Her costume had a base color of a bright red, with gauzy, somewhat poufy short yellow sleeves and an underskirt made of the same material under her more solid red skirt. After a few seconds, the notes sounded out and she began to move.

The way she performed her moves was a good balance between disciplined and fluid, looking perfectly new and fresh to the audience while also still retaining the grace of months of practice.


Irina rolled the stress ball in the palm of her hand, frowning slightly as she watched. She was just as good as expected. Maybe even a bit more.


Evita was starting to hype for the first combination in her program, then-

"A double lutz followed by a single toe loop! Executed perfectly."

As Evita rounded out the jumps, the applause thrumming behind her, a small smile could be seen playing on her lips.


Her jumps were great too. Irina's eyes darted around the room for a moment, looking hesitantly for everyone's reactions. Aimi was nodding in approval, and, as Evita performed more of her routine onscreen, was starting to get ready for her own performance. Cilla seemed happy, Yvonne looked apathetic, and Klara looked just more nervous than her. Not particularly good for the Czech skater, Irina noted, considering how she had so far displayed her nerves.

Aimi stood up and started to walk out, which signaled to Irina that Evita's performance was coming to a close.


Evita performed one last spin and finished to cheers. She stood there for a moment, and when the applause started to weaken, she glided off the rink and switched places with Aimi, but not before they exchanged a quick high-five.

"Skating next will be Kato Aimi of Japan! She'll be skating to 'The Double', from the Black Swan."

Aimi's costume was had a base color of black with somehow darker black feather decorating the skirt and shoulders. A few rhinestones dotted the chest and dark makeup surrounded her eyes, making blackened wings. When the first few notes of the song played, after the announcement of Evita's score, which was good and fair, for her performance was good as well, they were different. They were dark.


Irina watched, a bit shocked, as the routine played out. The piece was dark in nature and those pieces were usually reserved for seniors. The skaters in the lounge seemed as surprised as Irina. Sadly, Klara looked even worse for the wear since she was up next. The biggest surprise, however, was that Aimi was nailing it.


The audience seemed a bit confused at first, as Aimi hadn't given a lot of information on her music, so it was as much as a shock to them as it was to the skaters. They got over it quickly though, and their hearty applause was trigged when Aimi landed a triple toe loop flawlessly.


Klara definitely was looking worse, her eyes wide and shoulders tense. The dark music and sound performance did not seem like a good mix for her. Irina felt sympathy bubble up inside her as Klara seemed to get more and more nervous.


Aimi landed her last requirement in the piece, a combination, to cheers. The audience didn't stop until she skated off the ice to get her score.


Klara stood up, legs shaking. She looked horrible, like she had been rattled to the core. Her coach was there, desperately trying to comfort her. Irina suddenly stood up and went over to her.

When they looked up at her, Irina realized she didn't really have a plan, and just started to babble, blithely smiling the whole time. "Um, hi! I just came over to wish you luck! So, luck!"

To her joy, Klara looked less nervous, though she didn't speak, only giving her a nod.

But while Klara exited, Aimi's score was announced. And the fact that she was in first place.

"Good game," Irina heard Evita mutter when the news was announced. "Good game."


"Third on ice is Klara Dvorakova from the Czech Republic, the youngest competing tonight at 13. She will be skating to 'The Nutcracker II, March'."

Klara's costume was basically the skater's version of the nutcracker's signature outfit, but with a skirt instead of pants and no coattails. Klara isn't looking at the audience, instead, her eyes are closed and she's taking deep breaths. Then the music started.

Klara was doing well. The jumps she had performed were quick, high and well-executed. She even looked less nervous. But when she performed her first combination, she fell. Stumbled and clattered onto the ice. Instead of recovering like most skaters, she just sat there, frozen.


Irina stared at the screen, the gasps that had erupted in the room quieting down. Klara wasn't getting up. Panic seized her. Had she been hurt? Did she twist something? Break something?


Slowly, Klara staggered to her feet, as if remembering she was in a performance. She completed her routine with shaking hands. Overall, she hadn't been down for even thirty seconds, but it counted for a lot.


Irina cringed as she got up for her own performance, Klara's dismal score announced. She looked heartbroken. Hopefully, Klara would pull through in the free program. Despite the fact it seemed impossible.

In a haze, Irina walked to the ice. Past the white hallways with photographs hanging on their walls and into the cold arena. The audience was broken into whispers, but some seemed to notice her presence and clapped. She gave as best a smile as she could to them.

When she and Miss Krupina were next to the transparent windows of the rink, Miss Krupina delivered her usual before competition speech. "Remember, focus on your skating. Just how you're doing right that second, not the audience, not what you did before, just the now. And, hey," She gave a soft smile. "Don't be shaken up. You'll do great."

Irina nodded mechanically, bending her arm experimentally. She shrugged off her team Russia jacket and politely handed it to Miss Krupina. Her skating outfit was entirely white, full of light glittery accents that formed patterns, like snowflakes on it. After making sure her bun wouldn't fall loose, she took a deep breath and stepped onto the ice.

"Entering the rink is Russia's Irina Lebedeva, her first major competition since-"

She blocked them out. As she glided to the center rink, her heart was pounding, until it was met with the light tinkle of piano; the first few notes of Debussy's "The Snow Is Dancing". Slowly, she began to skate.

The most peculiar thing about skating was, that after so many years, she still hadn't tired of it. Competitions were always nerve-wracking, but the skating part was fine. Better than fine. The best part of her day, her week, perhaps even her month. So when she finally began to move her feet, her nerves bubbled up and disappeared.

She floated across the rink, feeling light as a feather. The point of this routine was to imitate a snowflake, light and falling through the air, being pushed and pulled by the wind in an elemental dance. A small smile graced her face as the rink turned into open air, the cool breeze shuttling around her. She executed a spin, and could barely hear the audience's cheering in the background. For a moment, it was just her and the ice, all pressure of competition gone.

But, all good things must come to an end, because the first jump was arriving. She prepared, then hesitated, then flopped.

"Lebedeva has turned her triple lutz into a double."

Instinctively, she squeezed her eyes shut, remembering Miss Krupina's words. Focus on the now. She continued to perform.

Then a combination came up. It worked out fine, but could have been a bit smoother. A spin went perfectly, as did the step sequence, but another jump got downgraded. The rest of the routine went well, though.

Then the music peaked and ended. She drifted to the center, waving and smiling to the cheering audience. They were happy, at least, and it lifted her spirits. When she started to skate off, she wished she could continue, just a bit longer. Not for points, just for the feeling. However, she continued to skate off.

When she was on solid ground, Miss Krupina gave her a smile, not patronizing, but genuine and handed her back the jacket. Putting it one, Irina followed her to where they would wait for the scores. It was a simple bench in front of a backdrop and behind a coffee table. The table was full of soft cuddly things, ready to calm nerves. Several cameras were set up to record her reaction. Miss Krupina had taught her when they first encountered the bench to keep a straight face, because giving them disappoint was the last thing she wanted to do.

Even in her nervous state, Irina remembered to give her nose a tap and give the cameras a somewhat goofy smile, her signal to Anastasia and consequently, all her friends and family back home. When the media first noticed the trend, they couldn't pin-point exactly why she did it, but had written it off as a way to lighten the mood for her fans as the scores were announced.

It wasn't exactly that, of course, but doing the action usually made Irina feel better. It was hard to be sad or even mildly disappointed in a place like this, where everything made her feel better. But, all in all, she wasn't usually a sad person to begin with.

Miss Krupina elbowed her lightly. Her score was being announced. Third place. She resisted the urge to frown. It was a good score, just not a great one.

After some waving and smiling, they walked back to the skaters' lounge.

"Irina? Are you happy with your score?" Miss Krupina asked.

"Oh, yeah," she responded absentmindedly.

"We need to work on your jumps, make sure you're completing them."

"Mhmm."

Miss Krupina looked at her. "Do you want to call your family? Talk to them?"

"Huh? Yeah. But I'll wait until the competition finishes." They walked into the room and took their seats. A quick glance of the room showed Klara and her coach had disappeared. Irina sighed and looked at the TV to see Yvonne performing.


Yvonne's performance was in full swing, almost halfway in. Her outfit was entirely made of dark blue, swirls of silvers on the skirt and sleeves the only eye-catching part.

She was performing to a somewhat gloomy melody, though her performance wasn't spectacular. The jumps were choppy and the step sequence was a bit sloppy, but it did have passion.


Cilla leaned over from the next couch and gave her a poke. "She's performing to Fredric Chopin's Prelude in E-Minor. Work 28, number 4," she cheerfully informed Irina.

"Oh? Thank you."

"No problem!" Cilla went back to watching the screen and Irina did too.


Yvonne's performance was winding to a close and she skated to the center of the rink, the music dying off. Tears seemed to be springing up in her eyes when she walked off.


Irina looked around to see that Cilla had disappeared from the room.

Miss Krupina checked her watch. "I hope the cab comes in time."

Irina nodded.

They both perked up when they heard Yvonne's score announced. Fourth place, below Irina by a few points. Miss Krupina gave her a smile.


"Last on the ice is Cilla Engberg, representing Sweden, performing to Salut d'Amour."

Cilla was standing in the center of the rink, wearing an outfit of soft pink, with gold accents. When the violin's notes played out, she started to skate. Her performance contained the same fluidity it had in warm-ups, but also the same simpleness.


The skaters remaining in the lounge started to get ready to go. Irina stuffed her stress ball in her bag and took out her phone. At least ten messages already. She'd reply to them in the cab, when it was calmer.


Cilla gave one last bow and glided off the ice.


The last announcement played, talking about the final places. Aimi Kato, first. Evita Flores, second. Irina Lebedeva, third. Yvonne Chong, fourth. Cilla Engberg, fifth. Klara Dvorakova, sixth. Room for change for all of them.

Miss Krupina grabbed her own bag and they walked to the front door, where the cab would be waiting. But along the sidewalk were around a dozen reporters, maybe more. Cameras were posed while notebooks were drawn out, waiting.

"Ready?" Miss Krupina asked, glancing at the front door, then back to Irina.

"Ready." And they stepped outside into a frenzy of flashing bulbs.