All four skaters blinked simultaneously, unmoving from their positions. Smart as they were, the coach's words just didn't sit right. A new rink mate? Since when?

"And you didn't tell us about this before...why?" Yurio snapped, eyes remaining on the man. Fun fact about Yurio: he hated change. Anything that was out of his comfort zone or what he'd been used to was unwelcome in his world. And this? A new rinkmate? MASSIVE change.

"It was a..." Yakov eyed the man next to him, as if expecting him to pop his head up and finish his answer. "...last minute decision." The man seemed to flinch at the words, gaze still fixed on the ugly blue carpet surrounding the ice. All pairs of eyes shifted to stare at him expectantly. He only seemed to shrink underneath the intense glares.

Viktor's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to read his expression, impossible with the glasses shielding his eyes hair falling onto his face.

"Uh...I have no problem with this but isn't he a bit...overdressed for practice?" Mila interrupted his thoughts, gesturing to the long blue coat. Yakov let out a dry chuckle, raising his eyebrows in the process.

"He's only observing for a few hours today. Now get back to practice. I know you weren't doing it before." Yakov turned to head to the gear room, pausing for a moment to add, "and leave this man alone'

Of course they didn't listen to that final request.

Throughout the grueling training hours nobody could keep their eyes off of the man, huddled in the corner of the rink, observing their every move from under his glasses. Why? Simply because he was so mysterious. His position rarely shifted save for the repositioning of his arm or twitch of his leg. Were it not for the occasional tensing as one of the prepared for a jump he very easily could have been mistaken for a statue.

Every once in a while, somebody would skate over to the edge of the rink to try and speak with him. Well everybody except Yurio: five minutes into the practice and he already seemed to despise the man with a burning passion. Which was to no surprise. Whenever he was spoken to the man of black hair would shrink deeper into the crook where the north wall met the east, turning his head away. At first the attempts to make him speak had been relentless, almost cooing to the man.

As the day went on, they happened less and less.

Viktor went over the majority of the times. He couldn't help it: the child inside of him was curious, and who was he to deny the child a chance to explore?

"Hello!!" He waved at the man, flashing his million-dollar smile. He didn't wait for any semblance of a response to continue. "Are you new here? Wait—no, of course you are.. I mean, here? In Russia? You? New? Here?" No change. His smile ticked downward. "Not one to talk, huh?"

"VIKTOR!! Get back here now!" His smile returning, he gave the man a wave before hurrying to the center of the rink. Still the man didn't change.

The second time, he was more blunt.

"You know, it's good you don't talk much." He stated in a matter-of-fact voice, leaning forward against the border. "I talk a lot, you don't. I'm tall, you're short. I have light hair, yours is dark!" He smiled, whipping his bangs. "Do you know what that means?"

"DAMMIT VITYA STOP HARRASING THE MAN." All of the sudden, the man stood up straighter, more erect. Without another word, he turned and left.

The third time was... strange, to say the least.

"You...didn't let me...whew!" The platinum haired man stumbled over, hands grasping the border for support as he panted. He held a finger up for a moment as he worked to regulate his breathing. "You didn't let me finish last time!" And once again, he didn't get a chance to; as his mouth fell open to speak, something small and fast slammed into him, knocking him to the ice.

"THATS IT VIKTOR OFF THE ICE!! If you can't focus, you can't skate. Yurio! Pick yourself up, it wasn't that bad."

Which ended up with Viktor bouncing excitedly next to the man, a childish grin on his face. He was eyeing him with an expression of a little boy running down the stairs Christmas morning. It was quite terrifying.

"...something tells me Yakov didn't think this over too well." He said, suppressing a laugh. "Anyways as I was saying before I was so very rudely interrupted, we're soulmates! I mean, they do say opposites attract!"  This sparked a reaction, though it had been unpleasant by view of the man, who was currently choking on his own spit at the sudden declaration. Viktor's grin only widened. "So he is alive!! Good, I thought Yakov had suddenly gone insane and brought a statue instead. Which, I mean, the man is so old that wouldn't have been very surprising." He rambled on, eventually reaching the point where the conversation was a mixture of 'explaining the negative effects of divorce' to 'tell me, do I have a bald spot', which was all white noise in the end.

He paused his talking suddenly, his mouth slightly ajar, halfway through saying the next word that nipped at his tongue. The gaze was fixated on nothing in particular, but the blissful silence didn't last long. Not long enough. "What's your name?" He asked suddenly, turning to face the man. Through the glasses, he could just make out the man's charcoal eyes, darting around in every direction except for towards him. "I just realized you never introduced yourself." The man didn't like talking: that much was obvious to Viktor. But a name is just two words; surely that wouldn't be too hard to do, right? So he stared, hand outstretched towards him, waiting for it to be taken. And he waited. And waited. And waited.

When no answer came, he tucked his hand back into his pant pocket, and sighed, shaking his head. "If you don't tell me your name I'll have to come up with one for you." He said in a warning tone, with a hint of mischievousness.

"Ooh you don't want that." Both men looked up to see Mila had skated over to the border of the rink and was leaning up against it, her chin resting on her hands. A smirk decorated her face along with the beads of sweat that dripped down her forehead. "He makes up the worst nicknames."

"Liar!" Viktor shot back, sticking his tongue out at her. My nicknames are the best... Ketchup Packet!!"

"Great wow, so creative. Make fun of my hair, why don't ya? You're nine years older than me, and even I have better nicknames than you."

"Oh yeah? Try me."

"Easy..." She paused for a moment, staring straight into the Russian's soul with an intent look on her face. "Ice Miser."

"That sucked."

"It did not!"

"Yeah, it kinda did." Georgi said, as he skated up from behind Mila. His 'nickname war' tingles had been blaring at top volume, and he just had to find the source. Mostly so he could dominate the completion, as he knew he easily could. "Besides, I have a better one: Fools Gold."

"Shit that one's good." Mila muttered, a concentrated expression falling upon her face. Viktor just looked straight up offended.

"It is not!" He pouted, sticking his nose up into the air and crossing his arms. "And the nicknames aren't for me, they're for..."

"I got it!" Mila exclaimed suddenly, her fist pounding into her open hand. "Icy Hot!" Everybody blinked at her, even the man, who had gotten more invested into the conversation than he'd ever like to admit.

'"That...doesn't even make sense."

"Sure it does! He's an ice skater, so icy. And he's hot so...hot!"

"Hold up...you think he's hot?!"

"Shut up, Georgi, your hetero ass wouldn't understand. Besides, have you seen the man?!" She gestured over to VIktor who was happily posing and strutting his stuff to make her point. "He's practically a god!"

"But you told me I wasn't Russina Jesus just this morning!"

"And you still aren't, so stop bringing it up."

"Phooey..." This conversation carried on for a while, new nicknames being thrown left and right and  sticking to whomever they seemed to fit. Some of them were masterpieces of a name, rich with meaning and subtleties, like an old crisp red wine.

Others however...

"Clif Bar Mascot."

...were store-bought grape juice.

"What the actual fuck does that even imply?' Georgi snapped, a hand grasping the platform of hair that stuck out in front of his forehead as if he already knew what was about to get insulted. Mila snorted.

"You hair!" It looks like the goddamn cliff the dude in the Clif Bar logo climbs!"

"Oh my god it does!" Viktor muttered, his eyes widening in realization. "Georgi you should call them!"

"Oh shut up, this is a beauty that none of you will understand." He said, sticking his nose up and caressing his hair.

"I'm not sure I want to understand."

As the two continued to bicker, Viktor glanced over to the man, having nearly forgotten he existed. Not much had changed about his demeanor: he was still pressed up against the corner, ever as hunched, hands crossed at his chest almost as if he were trying to give himself a hug. He was chewing away at his lower lip, so much so he was surprised he didn't chomp a big chunk out of the pink. His eyes were still glued to the floor.

"Hey you!" Mlia piped in, slicing his observation in half. "You haven't told us your name yet!" She exclaimed just a bit too loudly, pointing at the man. "So, spill! Who are you?" It didn't surprise Viktor when he didn't say anything: he'd been taking a crack at that for the past half hour, and he was one of the most convincing people on earth, as he'd been told by countless people. If he couldn't the man to spill, nobody could. It would be a crime against humanity...and his self-esteem.

"Come on, you can tell us!"

"Quit harrassing the guy, jeez you're so loud!"

"Well excuse me for trying to get to know our new rinkmate! He's gonna be training with us, right? We oughta know his name." She stopped, and shifted her glare to Viktor. He stared back, confused by the sudden shift.

"What?"

"You've been chatting with him for like an hour, and you didn't learn his name?!" He rolled his eyes.

"First of all, it hasn't been over 15 minutes. Second of all, he wouldn't tell me. Which is why I was trying to come up with a nickname for him. And that was before you so rudely interrupted our conversation."

"You mean YOUR conversation TO him, right?"

"No! We were having a very in-depth talk, weren't we?" The man didn't reply; instead his head was buried into the screen of his phone, which he'd wordlessly pulled out in the midst of the conversation. They watched as he tapped away at the device, before shoving it into his coat pocket. Without a hint of hesitation, he stood from his hunched position, and shoved his way past Viktor. He didn't get very far before a hand shot out and grasped his, tugging him back.

"Wait...we still don't know what to call you yet!!" The man simply shrugged, turning his head away. The Russian didn't know why he had begun to hope this silent person would finally say something, nor why the salience that followed was so daunting to him. But when no reply came, he couldn't help but sigh disappointedly and let him go.

What did excite him to no end was when the man turned around and looked up straight at him. The reflection of the lights on his glasses shielded his eyes from view, but Victor could just feel his eyes on him. So, he stared back, trying to see through into his charcoal eyes but failing miserably. The man's mouth fell open, and he took in a deep breath.

"Here we go...he's finally going to talk..."

And snapped it shut again. All at once, his straightened posture fell, and he snapped his head away.

Viktor's smile vanished, but not in anger. He continued staring at the man's reddening face intently, studying its every feature.

"Mila?" He said just below a yell over his shoulder. Said girl met Goergi's equally-confused gaze, furrowing his eyebrows. The Clif Bar Mascot just shrugged.

"Uh..yeah?"

"Whats your favorite food again?"

"Uhh... пирожные, why?" Viktor simply nodded at the response. A few seconds ticked by, before something inside clicked, and his eyes lit up.

"I got it!!" In a dramatic move, he walked backwards, and pointed at the man in a flamboyant motion. "From now on, mystery name, your name will be Chocolate!! And until we figure out your real name, it will stay as such!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...that came out louder than I thought..."

"VIKTORRRR"

Everybody within a five mile radius jumped and turned their heads towards the man who had practically exploded. Viktor's cheery face fell slowly, soaking up the situation he was in one drop at a time. By the time he fully understood what was about to happen, he had on a plastered smile and shallow eyes. He knew he was about to get a lecture.

The black-haired man, now coined 'Chocolate' took the brief moment of distraction as a chance, and slipped out of the room without so much of another sound.

He hadn't spoken a single word all day long.

Viktor was practically dragged by the ear to the locker room, where Yakov drilled him with a two hour long lecture about 'personal space' and 'minding your own damn business'.

Did Viktor listen to any of this? No of course not. This is Viktor after all. The one and only adult child.

Instead he spent the entire time thinking. Thinking about that man. How he refused to say anything. How he didn't interact and kept to himself. How he hadn't even told him his name, which he personally found offensive. Mostly he thought about his strange cold demeanor.

No, using the word 'cold' didn't feel... right. Chocolate's actions were like puzzle pieces; at first glance they made no sense, looked to be irregular and random.

As he worked at that puzzle, sorting the borders from the inside pieces, they slowly clicked together. But only a small corner, a fraction of the whole picture. The others had yet to even be looked at; it wasn't their time.

And the word, cold? From what Viktor could see so far, the small chunk of puzzle already solved didn't show any 'cold'.

It revealed fear.