How Misha Quit Figure Skating - Part Three
Whistling to himself as he went, Misha wandered around the school grounds. He had at least another hour to kill before his Papa would be able to pick him up, and all his friends had already gone home. There wasn’t much else to do, aside from walk around and do nothing in particular.
“Heads!” A voice shrieked.
Misha barely ducked in time as a medium sized hard ball was flung in his direction. Due to his sudden jerking, he stumbled, and landed on his butt.
“I’m so sorry!” A boy Misha didn’t recognise sprinted over. “I did warn you!”
He blinked slowly, staring up into warm brown eyes that reminded him a little of the hot chocolate his Tosan made, and accepted the hand that was being thrust into his face. “It’s okay.”
The boy flushed slightly, hauling Misha to his feet. “Are you sure? You fell pretty hard.”
Misha pulled out his best smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve had a lot worse! Last month I fell off my bike and had to get stitches, see!” He let go of his hand and pointed to the scar on his arm.
The brown eyes grew wider. “That looks so cool! Kind of like lightning or something!”
Misha grinned. “I know, right? I have loads and loads like that. It’s really cool too because the nurses know my name now without even asking. They stopped giving me the free lollipops though so that’s kind of bad.”
The boy giggled. “You must be clumsy.”
“A little, I guess.” Suddenly, Misha remembered he was being rude, and bowed lightly. “I’m Misha Katsuki-Nikiforov.”
The other boy’s face scrunched up in thought. “Katsuki-Nikiforov? Like the ice skaters?”
Misha’s face fell. He was getting sick of everyone asking about his dads, especially now that he’d stopped skating. It made him feel even more self-conscious, like he was the greatest disappointment of all.
He shrugged. “That’s cool. My name’s Dmitri, Dmitri Dolmotov,” he said slowly. “But you can call me Dima if you want! You seem nice enough. My family just moved here.”
Misha perked up again. “Okay, Dima, nice to meet you.” He peered around at the astro-court that Dmitri had run out from. “What were you just playing?”
Dmitri’s head whipped around. “Oh! I was just practising my hockey goals. We can play properly though, if you want!”
Shuffling slightly, Misha looked down. “I don’t know how…”
This was waved off completely. “C’mon, I bet there’s a spare stick around here. I’ll teach you!”
Though he didn’t really know what he was doing at first, Dmitri was patient with him, explaining the rules as they went. As the minutes passed, the stick began to feel increasingly more natural in his hands. Even when Misha slipped past him and managed to score a goal, there was nothing but praise on the other boy’s face. Misha happily decided he liked Dmitri a lot.