Author's Note: I'm sorry it's been so long since the last update, but life has been...lifey and I've had a lot things to deal with (including my laptop breaking, but the new one's a charm) and just...yeah. I'm sorry. Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows. Really helped me through it all.

There was a comfortable chill in the air when Irina boarded the bus towards Ms. Baranovskaya's house. But, now, as she was let out at her stop, the breeze suddenly seemed biting. Irina wrote it off as nerves.

Ms. Baranovskaya's neighborhood was ritzy, with perfectly primed trees and bushes, clean roofs and immaculate lawns. Every house was perfect, no slants or visible wear. But Ms. Baranovskaya's was the most elegant of all.

It had to be at least three stories of solid white plaster and wood, and several turrets spouted up from it. Large widows peeked out from view, but the glass was hazy, no doubt blocked because of the paparazzi. It was all topped off with pristine black shingles covering the roof. Definitely Victorian. Definitely grandiose. Definitely Ms. Baranovskaya's.

Irina's own humble little flat paled in comparison to the grand house. But it made sense, after all, Ms. Baranovskaya was the former prima ballerina of the Russian ballet, something she liked to remind everyone of, whether indirectly or directly.

She stepped up to the porch and took a second to make sure her appearance was okay. Other than the smear of blue on her palm (she had written down the address on the palm of her hand before remembering she could put it on her phone), she was alright. She adjusted her bag one more time before she rang the bell.

"Hey." Yuri swung the door open suddenly and she startled back slightly. "You're on time."

"Um, yes?"

"Sorry, just didn't expect it." He turned around and walked a couple feet into the house. "Follow me, okay?"

Irina nodded and cautiously stepped into the house of her former teacher. The hallway they were in was a sterile white, the tile floors had been scrubbed fervently and shined, and overall had little bearings. It was like walking into an office building.

Her shoes made a soft tap-tap as she followed Yuri, somewhat eagerly peering around the house. Ms. Baranovskaya let little of her personal life be known to her students. Irina hadn't even known she'd had a divorce, much less been married, until her parents asked her if Ms. Baranovskaya had been acting different because of it.

A small table leaned against a wall caught her attention, mostly because it was the only thing one could even consider messy. It held framed newspaper articles, certificates and pictures, all about Ms. Baranovskaya's career as a prima ballerina. There was nothing personal on the table, though slight gaps in the usual pattern of photos and awards suggested some photos of Yakov might have been there, now long removed.

"That's Ms. Baranovskaya's 'achievement' table." Irina jumped slightly. She hadn't even known Yuri was next to her. "It's impressive, I'll give her that." He pointed to a trophy of a golden ballerina. "Prix Benois de la Danse, lifelong achievement in ballet."

She nodded, letting her eyes trail around the table, before she gasped, and made a grab for the back of the table.

"What?" Yuri looked up from another trophy he had been fingering.

"Sorry, I just never realized she kept photos of her students." Irina carefully picked up a picture frame, making sure not to damage it. "Here's me, in my first year with her." The photo showed her with the rest of the class, each child lined up in the practice room and smiling. Ms. Baranovskaya, on the other hand, was straight-faced as always.

"How old were you?" Yuri edged closer, looking interested in the photo as well.

"Five."

"You looked a bit like when I first met you," he commented. "But shorter, and with less teeth."

"Yeah," Irina murmured, looking to see if she could spot Alina.

Yuri inched closer, and asked, "What are you looking for?"

"My friend, Alina, she took the class with me-" Irina started to explain, before their shoulders bumped together, shocking them both.

"I'm sorry, Yuri," Irina said, moving to the left. "I should have been more aware-"

"Never mind," Yuri said. "Let's get going."

Yuri walked quickly in front of her, and Irina put the photo back in place, going after him. Finally, he reached a solid black door and opened it. "Here's where we'll be practicing."

"Wow." Irina dropped her bag on the floor and looked around in awe. "I always knew Ms. Baranovskaya loved ballet, but this is another level."

The room looked exactly like a ballet studio, with wood flooring, colorless walls, and even a barre running across a wall made entirely out of mirrors. A gleaming black piano in the corner completed the picture.

"Yeah." Yuri twisted the tip of his shoe across the floor, but didn't make a mark on its pristine state. "I think she had this built in, like, the 90s or something, when everybody was making these weird-ass home renovations."

"It's actually really cool," Irina said, and ran her hand across the barre. It was smooth, unrealistically so, and Irina wondered how often this room was actually used. "I mean, if you could, wouldn't you want an ice rink in your house?"

"Won't need to," Yuri said. "By the time I hit 25, people will be dedicating ice rinks to me."

"Hmm," Irina said. That was very much the Yuri she knew. "Let's start." She made a move to the center of the room, and attempted to look as professional as possible. "What moves have been troubling you?"

Yuri followed, with what looked like to be an attempt at a long-legged stride. But since he wasn't very long-legged, at least, not height-wise, it looked a little…silly. "Nothing's been troubling me, really, I just need to know how to do it Baranovskaya style."

"Okay," Irina said, not believing him all that much.

"It's true!" he insisted. "She's very particular."

"I know," said Irina. "I studied with her for years." Then, she said, "If nothing's been troubling you, then let's go through everything."

Yuri groaned, but complied.

After watching Yuri run through some of the moves Ms. Baranovskaya had showed him so far, Irina decided he wasn't bad. Far from it, actually. But he was right, he wasn't up to Baranovskaya standards.

"You should make sure your toes are pointed," Irina eventually said. "Ms. Baranovskaya is very harsh about that. And make sure your arms are strong. Ms. Baranovskaya thinks that the entire body should look like it's doing the move, not just the legs."

Yuri nodded and went to a normal standing position. "So, we done here?"

Irina felt her shoulders relax. "Yeah."

"We can meet here again, next week, for our next practice. When do you want to meet for your jump practice?" said Yuri.

"Oh, I don't know." Irina sighed, and swung her bag over her shoulder. In actuality, she did know, having looked over her skating schedule and pulled up what she knew of Yuri's from the remnants of her mind to find what would work. However, she didn't want to appear…eager. "The rink, tomorrow?"

"Sure," Yuri shrugged.

Inwardly, Irina cheered.

On the bus home, Irina stared out the window at the changing leaves. It'd soon get even colder.

Was this really a good idea? They weren't competition, never would be, so there was no reason Yuri wouldn't want one from his own country, own rink, even, to win. But...her stomach felt funny when they were near, and she took that as a sign of apprehension. That couldn't be good.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a small vibration in her pocket, and pulled her phone out. Anastasia was calling. Sighing, she quickly denied and opened up the text app. She couldn't answer the phone on public transit, after all. It was rude. Besides, Anastasia tended to blurt stuff out that she didn't want the old lady next to her to find out.

Irina cringed when she was met with deluge of missed texts. Good job on ignoring your best friend, Lebedeva.

ANA_O. You up?

ANA_O. Irina, you awake?

ANA_O. Helllooooooo?

Quickly, she shot out a reply.

IRI_L . I'm here.

IRI_L. Sorry, I was busy. Aren't you in practice?

ANA_O. Snack break

ANA_O. Petrov said he was tired and needed one.

ANA_O. (I think he just went out drinking with his boyfriend again. It was his birthday last night)

IRI_L. You really shouldn't be so nosy about his personal life.

IRI_L. It's rude.

ANA_O. It's not nosy if I just happen to overhear the info.

IRI_L. No

ANA_O. You hurt me so.

ANA_O. Anyways…

ANA_O. I found out who I'll be facing in Czech Skate.

Irina's eyes widened. This was new.

IRI_L. ?

IRI_L. Before me?

ANA_O. Better make sure your subscriptions are up to check, SKATER-QUEEN-188.

IRI_L. It's just a username! You have to make one to be a reader of Online Skating News Weekly!

ANA_O. Lol, ok.

ANA_O. You didn't ask me who yet.

IRI_L. Who?

ANA_O. Laurel Summers.

Irina stared at the name blankly. Who was that? Quickly, she pulled up the search app.

ANA_O. You haven't responded yet.

ANA_O. OMG

ANA_O. You forgot, didn't you.

ANA_O. You're probably looking her up right now.

ANA_O. Now who's nosy?

IRI_L. Still you.

ANA_O. Bleh

ANA_O. Anyway, Laurel won the Juniors Grand Prix last year, remember?

IRI_L. Oh my God.

IRI_L. I can't believe I forgot.

ANA_O. Haha, yeah, you suck.

IRI_L. Shut up.

ANA_O. That is, as you know, an impossible wish, but it will be granted briefly.

IRI_L. ?

ANA_O. My break ended.

IRI_L. Oh.

ANA_O. See ya later.

Irina stared at the messages. Yuri was now the farthest thing form her mind. (Maybe. Sort of. She wished). Thanks to Anastasia, she now had an entirely new thing to worry about. Laurel Summers.

Author's Note: Sorry about the sucky text-messaging format. I thought I had it pretty decent before the site decided to mess it up. But, anyway, HAPPY NEW YEARS!