Heyy, I’d love to see a 4+1 fic with ilia and his girl. Maybe 4 times/moments ilia realizes he loves her and the 1 time he actually tells her how he feels.
4 Times Ilia Realized He Was in Love with You + 1 Time He Finally Told You
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You and Ilia had been orbiting each other for almost two years now: same home rink, same coaches, same endless early mornings and late-night ice sessions. At first it was just polite nods in passing.
Then it became shared playlists, jokes about Tatiana’s coffee addiction, and the kind of quiet understanding that only comes from seeing someone at their best and their absolute worst.
However,there have been moments he started to notice it wasn’t just friendship anymore.
The first time
It was right before nationals, two seasons ago. You were eighteen and frantic, tearing through your bag in the lobby because your favorite scrunchie,the black one with the tiny silver stars,had vanished. You needed it for your hair tomorrow; nothing else felt right.
You were muttering curses under your breath when a pair of skates stopped next to you.
“Lost something?” Ilia asked, voice calm, already crouching down like it was obvious he should help.
You glanced up,cheeks flushed from embarrassment,and nodded. “My scrunchie. It’s stupid, but I can’t compete without it.”
He didn’t laugh. He just started looking too: under benches, behind the vending machine, even checking the lost-and-found bin like it was a mission. Ten minutes later he found it wedged between two lockers, handed it to you with a small, crooked smile.
“Here. Stars and all.” he said,handing it to you with a slightly proud smile.
You took it, fingers brushing his for half a second, and said thank you so quietly he almost missed it.
He watched you walk away with your ponytail swinging, shoulders finally relaxed,and something strange settled in his chest. Not attraction exactly.
More like… wonder. Like seeing something beautiful you didn’t know existed until right that second.
He didn’t have a name for it yet. But he couldn’t stop thinking about how your eyes lit up when he handed it back.
The second time
By the next season you were friends. Real friends. You sat together during long bus rides to comps, shared protein bars, sent each other memes at 3 a.m. when neither of you could sleep before a big day.
One afternoon after practice you were stretching on the mats while he taped his ankle nearby. Tatiana had just finished praising your “elegant, almost poetic” step sequence, and you immediately scrunched your nose, cheeks going pink.
Ilia noticed it every time someone complimented you. The little nose wrinkle. The way your eyes dropped to the floor like you were trying to hide how pleased you were. It was so you: quietly proud but allergic to attention…and he caught himself smiling at it more than he should.
Later that week, when you landed a new combo clean for the first time and everyone who was in the rink clapped, you did it again: nose scrunch, shy grin, quick “thanks” before skating away like nothing happened.
He leaned against the boards, arms crossed, watching you circle the ice once more just for fun.
That’s when it hit him, absolutely unmistakable:
I like that she does that. I like that I notice.
The third time
His little sister (ten years old and already a menace on ice) had a big competition coming up. The night before, she was in tears because the rhinestone clip in her hair kept falling out during her run-throughs. Nothing Tatiana tried worked.
You showed up at their house unannounced after Ilia had texted you what was happening,with a little emergency kit: extra bobby pins, clear elastic thread, and a tiny tube of fabric glue.
Ilia watched from the doorway while you knelt in front of his sister on the living-room rug.
“Okay, tilt your head,” you said gently. “I’m gonna glue the fabric to the pin so it can’t move even if you spin like crazy.”
The young girl sniffled but obeyed. You worked carefully, talking her through every step so she wouldn’t feel babied. When you were done the clip stayed perfectly through three test spins in the hallway.
She threw her arms around your neck. “You’re the best!”
You laughed and hugged her back. “Nah, you’re the best. you’ll crush it tomorrow.”
Ilia didn’t say anything while you packed up. He just watched the way his sister clung to you, the way you ruffled her hair and told her she looked like a little star. The way you looked completely at ease in his house, in his family’s chaos.
Later, when you were leaving, he walked you to the door.
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For real.”
You shrugged like it was nothing. “She’s sweet. And she’s gonna kill it.”
He nodded, throat suddenly tight.
As your car pulled away he stood on the porch longer than necessary, replaying the scene in his head.
She fits here, he thought.
The fourth time
You came into the rink the morning after a date looking equal parts amused and exhausted.
Ilia was lacing his skates when you dropped onto the bench next to him.
“So?” he asked, casual. “How was Mr. Perfect from the coffee shop?”
You snorted. “Awful. He split the bill down to the cent, talked about his crypto portfolio for forty minutes straight, and asked me exactly zero questions about myself. I think he forgot my name halfway through.”
You laughed light, unbothered, but Ilia didn’t.
He looked at you: hair still a little messy from sleep, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, that same scrunched-nose grin you always did when you were pretending something didn’t sting.
Something hot and possessive curled in his chest.
Fuck, he thought. I’d treat her so much better.
He’d ask about your day first. He’d pay without blinking. He’d listen to every word about your programs, your fears, your daily little wins. He’d remember the scrunchie story. He’d remember everything.
He swallowed hard and forced a smirk. “His loss.”
You bumped his shoulder. “Yeah. Next time I’m just staying home with the dog.”
He almost said it right then.
The time he finally told you
It was a Thursday evening, three weeks before Worlds. The rink was empty except for the two of you. You were working on your triple lutz,still inconsistent, and he’d offered to help spot the takeoff.
“Again,” he said, standing behind you on the ice. “I’ve got your waist. Just focus on the rotation.”
You nodded, took a breath, pushed off.
He caught your hips lightly,firm enough to steady, gentle enough not to throw you off,as you launched.
His hands slid to your sides, guiding the axis of your body the way he’d done a hundred times before.
But this time, when you landed (clean, finally), you didn’t pull away right away.
His palms stayed on your waist. Your back was still to his chest. You could feel his heartbeat against your shoulder blades,fast.
You turned your head slightly. “Did I get it?”
Instead he said, voice low and a little rough, “I love you.”
You froze mid-breath, skate still lifted.
He felt it,the way your whole body went still.
He didn’t let go. Just tightened his grip a fraction, like he was afraid you’d skate away.
“I’ve loved you for a while,” he continued, quieter now. “Since the scrunchie, probably. Or my sister’s clip. Or that stupid date you laughed off. I don’t know the exact second. But it’s been every second since.”
You turned fully in his arms carefully,the only sound heard the one of your blades on the ice.
He looked terrified and certain at the same time.
You stared at him for what felt like forever.
Then you reached up, cupped his face, and kissed him.
Ilia had no idea what was happening the first two seconds,then reciprocated the kiss and places his hands in your hair.
When you pulled back just enough to breathe, you whispered against his lips, “Took you long enough.”
He laughed,shaky, relieved,and kissed you again.
This time neither of you let go.
prguitarman
areudirty
theartofmadeline
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