Page 49 of About to Fall

“Yeah, yeah—what was his name? With the dark blue hair?” Sabrina snapped her fingers.

“Reiko!”

“Reiko from Velcro H4rt?” Adrian looked Théo up and down with an appraising squint. “I don't see it. Maybe Sora. If Sora never smiled.”

The table went very still.

“And who do they mistake you for?” Théo's voice was pleasant. His eyes were not. “An anime character of some kind?”

“Actually, I kind of have a big following in Japan. They appreciate individuality. But I guess they also have a thing for robots, so there really is someone—or should I say something—for everyone.”

The waiter arrived before Théo could stab Adrian with a chopstick and Sabrina practically sagged into her seat. She greeted him in Japanese and he greeted us in lightly accented English. After we ordered, Sabrina launched into a story about an unhinged fan encounter she'd had the last time she was in Japan. A group of teenage girls had recognized her at a convenience store in Shinjuku and presented her with a handmade scrapbook of every competition outfit she'd ever worn, meticulously illustrated in coloured pencil with fabric swatches glued to the pages. They'd included a ranking system—each costume rated out of five stars with detailed notes that Sabrina later had translated, only to discover they'd given her 2024 Worlds dress a 1.5 and the comment “beautiful skater, unfortunate colour choice.”

“To be fair,” Théo said, “I did warn you about that colour.”

“It was custom House of Lefèvre!”

“Babe, it was salmon. With your hair.”

“I looked amazing in that dress.”

“You look amazing in everything. That dress still washed you out.”

“I liked the beading on it,” I said, because someone at this table needed to be on Sabrina's side. “The craftsmanship was beautiful.”

“Thank you, Nico.” She pointed at Théo. “See? At least someone appreciates artistry.”

“The artistry was lovely,” Théo conceded. “The colour was still salmon.”

“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.