Once his beloved's performance concluded, Aibek rose with a burst of excitement, his applause ringing out. Naturally, he didn't go unnoticed; Jake spotted him and began blowing kisses in plain view of the crowd—a moment so tender it would have melted anyone's heart. Yet, the bashful Kazakh could only shrink back, flustered by the sudden spotlight their relationship had cast upon him.
"Come on, Bek, your group is up next. You need to get ready... you're second in the lineup," Taishi remarked, his sudden presence making Aibek jump. They retreated to the dressing rooms to finalize his gear. As he laced up his skates, everything felt routine; there was no hint of discomfort, no warning sign. He moved toward the ice with his usual steady gait, simply waiting for his moment.
"This is about to get interesting..." the Russian murmured, a serpentine smile tugging at his lips as he watched the Kazakh from the shadows of the entrance.
"You'll be magnificent! I have total faith in you—your footwork is always breathtaking!" his coach cheered. His words were meant to soothe, but for Bek, they were met with a bittersweet twitch of amusement and an inexplicable, cold knot of dread tightening in his chest.
The previous skater cleared the ice, and Aibek stepped out. He felt... off, somehow. His balance wavered for a fraction of a second, but he brushed it off as nerves. Or so he told himself.
A heavy silence descended upon the arena. The audience sat breathless, captivated by the fluid grace of Aibek's hands. He began his dance, his strides smooth yet commanding. The first rotation was flawless. But as he prepared for the next, disaster struck—unnoticed by the naked eye. A single screw had worked itself free. During a delicate pose where he reached for his blade, the steel snapped. It sliced deep into his palm, and a collective gasp of horror echoed through the stands. But the worst was yet to come: as he brought his leg down, the blade—still dangling by a final, loose thread of metal—tore into the very calf that was supposed to support his weight.
"BEK!" the Canadian's voice shattered the air. Blood bloomed across the pristine white ice, leaving the Kazakh collapsed on the frozen surface, desperate hands clutching his leg.
Paramedics swarmed the rink, but the atmosphere remained thick with confusion. It was no longer just an accident; it felt like a crime scene. As they hurried the wounded athlete away, the air felt heavy with the stench of foul play.
"Bek! Bek... please, stay with me! Look at me!" his coach implored, fighting to keep him conscious. But the agony was a tide he couldn't swim against. Between the trauma and the surge of morphine, Aibek slipped into the mercy of darkness.
On the far side of the rink, Jake was a hollow shell of a man, his emotions spiraling out of control. Seeing his lover being carried away felt like a physical blow. He tore through the gauntlet of reporters, their cameras flashing like vultures over Aibek's misfortune.
"Bek!" he screamed his name again, but the sight of his limp, unconscious form sent a fresh wave of terror through him. The wounds were deep, carved by the sheer momentum of his own strength.
Jake's heart felt as though it were being dismantled piece by piece. His vision blurred, fixed only on the stretcher disappearing into the back of an ambulance. The competition was dead; the event canceled in the wake of the tragedy.
"Bek... please, don't leave me like this..." he whispered at his side, his gaze vacant, his hand trembling as it gripped Aibek's uninjured one.
Upon reaching the hospital, the urgency was palpable. Aibek was a star, and the staff moved with clinical precision, knowing the world's eyes were on them. He was rushed into surgery for analysis and stabilization.
"Bek..." Jake exhaled, staring down at his hands. They were still stained with the copper-scented memory of his partner's blood. He looked utterly shattered. No one dared approach him. Even the media outlets reported it with a somber tone: a man broken, sitting in a sterile hallway, praying that this was all just some sick, cruel joke.
As Jake sat hunched on that wooden bench, a frigid realization began to take root. Bek's skates were his temple; he maintained them with religious fervor. Screws don't just "fall out." Across the room, a television replayed the fall in agonizing slow motion. He saw the flash of steel and, for a fleeting second, the shadow of a smirk from someone watching in the wings. It wasn't an accident. It was a message written in blood.
He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head in a desperate attempt to erase the thought. Who would do this? Who could hate Aibek that much? His mind spun in circles until his eyes were drawn back to the screen, forced to relive the tragedy once more.
Meanwhile, back at the stadium, the Russian wore a mask of practiced concern. He had pushed things to a dangerous edge by tampering with the gear, but remorse was nowhere to be found. Aibek needed to learn who truly mattered. He set off for the hospital, intent on clearing the "idiot" out of the way so he could be the first face Aibek saw upon waking. Navigating the sea of paparazzi with serpentine grace, he finally found the Canadian.
"Hey... you need to get back to the arena. Your coach and a judge are looking for you. They said it's urgent," he said, his voice laced with a thin veil of annoyance. It was a transparent lure, yet Jake, blinded by grief, didn't see the hook.
"I'm not leaving... and you shouldn't even be here," Jake growled, his voice low and dangerous. The Russian merely rolled his eyes.
"Just go. I'll be the one taking the heat if I don't deliver the message. I don't need the drama. Besides, Aibek isn't going anywhere soon. You have time." He crossed his arms, waiting for the bait to be taken so he could play the "hero" in the aftermath.
"Fine... I don't have a choice," Jake huffed, defeated. He gathered his things with a heavy heart and slipped out the back to avoid the press, his mind a whirlwind of static and sorrow.
"What a pathetic fool," the Russian chuckled to himself, watching him vanish. He settled into the silence, waiting for his moment.
"Family of Aibek Kenes?" a nurse's voice cut through the hall. The verdict was ready.