Sören and Anthony skated over to the music selector, and chose a playlist of music by Michael Jackson and his sister Janet - they'd won silver in 1998 with a rhumba to "Remember the Time".
They did some warmup exercises to "When I Think Of You" to Janet Jackson, then Sören struck a Freddie Mercury pose, finger pointed in the air, as Janet Jackson yelled "HEY! GIMME A BEAT!" at the beginning of "Nasty". Anthony grinned, and they began to do a cha cha across the ice, Anthony poised slightly behind Sören, taking one of his hands, moving side to side together, left, right, matching footwork, leg strokes synchronized. As the song neared its climactic bridge, they gathered speed and twizzled together, before Anthony gave Sören a small lift. They did a side-by-side camel spin together to finish the song, and when it was over they hugged each other, laughing.
"We still got it," Sören said, pleased that Anthony wasn't completely out of practice.
Anthony nodded and then he blew out a long exhale. "You've put on a lot of muscle, lifting you is more work now."
Sören smiled. "I could lift you, next time."
Anthony cocked his head to one side and gave a slow smile in return. "OK."
The next song was "Bad" by Michael Jackson, and they decided on a tango. They started beside each other then face to face, holding hands, once again moving their legs and feet in unison. When it came time for the chorus, Sören made good on his promise and lifted Anthony for the first time, whose delighted laughter rang out. They did a side-by-side upright spin, and then rejoined hands and danced together to the next chorus, where Anthony lifted Sören once more before a side-by-side camel spin. Towards the end of the song they twizzled together and then grabbed a hold of each other to do a pair sit spin, almost as flawless as they had been in their prime.
"Who's bad?" they said together.
"We're bad." Anthony gave Sören another hug. "Holy shit, I can't believe we're doing this again."
They took a break for water, while "The Way You Make Me Feel" played. "I take it you're still keeping up," Sören said. "I'm not gonna lie, I had some concerns you'd be out of practice when I told Sergei I'd come out and skate for the event so long as you did too, 'cos I haven't heard anything about you in the news since..." His voice trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence.
Anthony nodded. "I practice once a week usually, but no, I haven't done anything official since we, uh, retired."
"What have you been up to since everything went to hell?"
"Well, you know I got some modelling contracts when we were still skating stars and I did some modelling full-time after it was over, then three years ago I stopped the industry altogether and now I'm a yoga and meditation instructor. What about you?"
"I didn't retire from skating, exactly, I just... haven't competed."
"Oh?" Anthony's eyebrows went up. "Do you coach or something?"
"Sort of? I work in cybersecurity these days but twice a year I run a six-week program that helps at-risk kids learn how to ice dance. It's modeled on programs that have taught at-risk kids martial arts, figuring that the discipline and getting your body moving and those endorphins going, and feeling accomplished at something, is good for getting them in the right direction. We have a pretty high success rate of the kids staying out of trouble and going on to do better things with their lives - a few of them have even gone pro."
"That's awesome. But I haven't heard anything about you either, so I take it you're -"
"Jæja, this is the first event I've done since everything went down. I've been trying to keep a low profile and not end up under a media microscope because of..." Sören gestured to his now-flat chest.
"I get it. I've been trying to keep a low profile too."
"Justin?"
"Yes, but not only him." Anthony let out a deep sigh and looked down. "Some time after shit hit the fan with Justin, I was self-medicating more to cope with the trauma - drinking, doing coke - and... I checked myself into rehab and didn't want it to become a news scandal." Their eyes met. "I've been clean and sober for three and a half years. That's why I quit modelling, there's a lot of easy access to drugs in the industry. That's also why I took up yoga and meditation, and decided to pay it forward and help other people with it. It pays the bills decently but more importantly, it gives me a sense of meaning and purpose."
Sören felt a tight ache in his chest, sad and protective and proud all at once. He remembered how Anthony had started drinking when Sergei had pressured him to stay in the closet, and arranged for fake "girlfriends". Knowing his concerns were valid and it had gotten worse during the years they hadn't been in contact... Now Sören initiated the hug. "That's so good. I'm so fucking proud of you." Sören swallowed hard, eyes misting. "I wish I'd been there for you."
"I wish I'd known how to get a hold of you, but..." Anthony patted his back, his own eyes too bright. "I'm glad you did what you needed to do for, um." Anthony made a vague hand gesture. "I'm sorry, I'm trying to not put my foot in my mouth -"
"It's OK. Like, I try to pass under the radar in my day-to-day life and not bring it up to anyone unless I have to, not because I'm ashamed but because people freak out or I've gotten some really invasive questions, but since you knew me from before I imagine you must have some curiosities, so you don't need to walk on eggshells about it, and if you offend me I'll let you know."
"I'll try not to be invasive. But I guess I should ask, you're just a guy, right? Not... non-binary, or anything?"
"Correct, I'm just a dude, nothing fancy, no bells and whistles."
"So if I'm referring to you, your pronouns are just... uhhh, male pronouns, he/him and not they/them, right?"
Sören couldn't resist a moment of levity, with Michael Jackson in the background. He grabbed his packer through his tracksuit pants and said, "My pronouns are HEE/HEE!"
Anthony facepalmed and shook with silent laughter that became less silent, his face lit up.
Sören breathed a soft sigh and tried to make himself look away. When he'd agreed to skate for the Trevor Project fundraiser on the condition that Anthony join him, he'd wondered if seven years of distance might have cooled off the old feelings. But just like they were dancing on the ice as if those years hadn't happened, here were those old butterflies in Sören's stomach, the flush on his cheeks. Anthony had been his first love, even though he'd found out it was hopeless and he'd tried - and failed, at first - to move on. Here he was, dazzled by that smile again.
In fairness, Anthony was devastatingly gorgeous - it was easy to see why he'd been offered modelling contracts years ago. Anthony had aqua-green eyes and short black hair, a boyishly handsome face, innocent yet with a hint of dangerous smoulder, and was lean but muscular - he could crack walnuts with his thighs. Sören thought he looked even better at thirty-three than he had in his twenties, and that bothered him a lot.
It hadn't just been Anthony's good looks that had captured Sören's heart - when they'd skated together they had been best friends, inseparable, a connection as intimate as a relationship, they had bonded over mutual interests, made each other laugh, and had shared many triumphs and comforted each other through tribulations. Anthony knew Sören's darkest secrets, before they'd parted ways, and Sören knew his. Even now, after years apart, they were instantly confiding in each other again, with Anthony having opened up that he'd been abused by Justin and had gone to rehab after addiction spiraled out of control. During their separation Sören had ached for Anthony like a missing limb...
...and during their years together Sören had pined like Anthony was a part of his soul. He had hoped, desperately, that he'd be over it now, but that smile reignited those feelings all over again, and Sören hated himself for it.
Still, he wasn't going to run away - he'd gone to all the trouble of flying out here and getting a hotel room for the event, though Sergei had agreed to pay half his travel and lodging expenses, and he reminded himself this event was for a good cause. And even if loving Anthony was a lost cause, they had a second chance at friendship. That was better than nothing.
As if on cue, "Remember the Time" started up - meaningful as both their silver-winning song, and now, taking on a new meaning of Sören remembering falling for Anthony all those years ago. They nodded, took each other's hands once more, and began their rhumba, the routine they'd practiced so many times leading up to the 1998 Winter Olympics that Sören still sometimes dreamt about it and could probably do it blindfolded.
Once again they moved in sync, two halves of a whole. Sören felt the dance was as intimate as sex, if not moreso - making art with their bodies, literal poetry in motion. When Sören's mother learned she had terminal brain cancer, she'd made custodial arrangements with her sister Gitta who'd moved to Scotland, and as much as Sören had resented his aunt Gitta's response to "I want to be a boy" at seven with putting him in ballet school to get him to do "feminine things" and learn to "like" being female, dancing quickly became an outlet, a way for him to express himself, and the added challenge of learning to dance on ice made it even more satisfying. When he learned about religions and cultures around the world and through history, it made sense to him that drums and dancing were such an integral part of shamanism. Whenever Sören danced, he felt like his spirit was dancing too, losing himself in the music, visions in his mind's eye, becoming one with his partner and ultimately, one with G-d Themself, in the dance of creation, using his body to express emotions deeper than love, deeper than words. It was why, even as his career had gone up in flames, he couldn't completely let go of skating, and decided to give it an association that wasn't triggering - teaching troubled kids, much like he himself had been, to let it out on the ice, sculpt all their frustration and heartache and pain and joy and wonder and hope in the rhythm of ice dance.
Now he and Anthony were here, two survivors, rising from the ashes like the phoenix marked onto his skin, dancing together to the song where they'd first tasted glory. They held each other, looking intently into each other's eyes, as they glided across the ice together, the closest Sören would ever come to human flight. Anthony lifted Sören, they twizzled, Sören lifted Anthony, and as the song wound to a close they did a pair upright spin, spinning and spinning like the Earth around the Sun, Sören spinning in the light of the love he couldn't help but feel even though it was like Icarus's wings burning.
When the song was over, they skated out of the rink and sat, drinking more water.
"That was better than I expected," Sören said honestly.
Anthony nodded. "I think for our routine at the event we should go with tried and true. That song..."
"...and 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'." Sören nodded too; they'd won gold with a paso doble to "Smells Like Teen Spirit" in Salt Lake City.
"That one's gonna be more difficult but... I think we can do it." Anthony gave a nervous laugh. "I hope."
"Instead of doing a playlist like we did today to practice different moves, we could just work on our routine to both those songs if it would make you feel better," Sören said.
"I think so."
They finished their water in companionable silence and then Anthony quietly took Sören's hand. "I missed you." Anthony leaned in, and looked out at the rink, gesturing to the empty space. "I missed this."
"Yeah... but I don't miss the bullshit that was surrounding it."
"No." Anthony looked down.
Sören didn't want to end the night on a sour note, but didn't know what else to say. The silence became awkward, and then Anthony asked, "So, uh... how are you getting home? Well, not home - Sergei said you live in Denver..."
"I'm in a hotel, and I came by taxi," Sören said. "I don't drive."
"Well, how about you let me drive you back, and maybe we could grab dinner on the way? I could pick you up for practice next time, instead of you having to take a cab."
"OK." Sören patted Anthony's hand before he let go. "That will give us a chance to catch up and reconnect."
"I'm really sorry, again, about us drifting apart like that. Letting Justin -"
"Jæja, you were being abused. I know it wasn't easy to push back." Sören didn't want to get into his own checkered past right then and there, even if he knew Anthony could relate.
Anthony got up, and held out his arms. "I want to be a part of your life again, if you're willing to be a part of mine."
Sören rose up and hugged him as tight as he could. "Of course." He rested his head on Anthony's shoulder, a lump in his throat, holding back the tears. Once again, he felt that ache, all of the old feelings flooding him, as inconvenient as they were. But this would have to do.
As they headed out to the parking lot, suddenly flashing lights were on them, and strangers jumped out at them. "Mr. Hewlett-Johnson, can you answer some questions?" And then, "Ms. Sigurðsdóttir?"
Sören stopped in his tracks, anger boiling over him. He snapped back, "I don't know if you're blind or just fucking stupid," and gestured to his beard. "But it's Sigurðsson now, also it's just a patronymic, Icelanders go by our first names." Not that he'd lived in Iceland for some time - he'd moved to the US after his transition, when he'd exhausted his options for finding a queer guy willing to be with a trans man, in a small country with a tiny LGBT population.
"Mr. Sigurðsson? You're the first Olympic athlete to have a sex change -"
Anthony put up his hands, then put an arm around Sören, marching him along faster, zigging and zagging past the media circus. "We don't do interviews on the spot, give us our privacy," Anthony growled.
They made it to the car and the minute they got in, Anthony broke down crying with a panic attack. Sören took his old best friend into his arms, letting him cry, rocking him, tearing up again himself. "It's OK."
"It's not fucking OK. Like, I knew us coming out of retirement to do this event would probably not go unnoticed, but I didn't think it would be full-on paparazzi..."
"Yeah. Well." Sören heaved a deep sigh. "Maybe I should have had Sergei warn you about my transition, since I knew that was probably going to get some news attention - I've been trying to lay low these last few years but there was only so long. But I didn't expect it to be this much news attention. I'm really sorry -"
"Don't blame yourself. And don't apologize for being you. It's one thing to be, what, the first Olympic medalist to come out as transgender? It's another thing to have an entire army of journalists and photographers ready to pounce on you the minute you get out of practice. This is like straight-up Princess Di shit." Anthony wiped his eyes and gave Sören a nose boop - just like old times. Then Anthony put his arms on the steering wheel and rested his head for a moment, taking deep breaths with his eyes closed; Sören assumed he was meditating. When he was ready, Anthony started the car. "I hope they don't tail us to your hotel."
"Me either." Sören grimaced and looked out the window; rain was starting to fall. "Hopefully the weather will drive them away."
Of course, it didn't - there were more paparazzi waiting when they pulled into the hotel parking lot.
"OK." Anthony left the parking lot, drove a few blocks away, and pulled over. "I have an idea."
"I'm all ears."
"Is your hotel room already paid in advance, or..."
"I'm paying by the week. Sergei is wiring me half the money each week."
"OK. This is my plan. If you can get by without your stuff tonight, we can come by for it in a day or two at a weird hour when there's not likely to be paparazzi hanging about... and how about you stay with me? My place isn't very big - I've got a one-bedroom apartment, but the couch folds out to a bed. That way they can't stalk your hotel room, and we can work on a bigger plan for what we tell the press, and when. On our terms."
Sören didn't hate that idea - they'd shared hotel rooms for the first half of their skating career - but he also knew being in such close proximity to Anthony for the next two months was going to make the pining almost unbearable. And yet it still seemed more bearable than the alternative - his mind kept playing "Ms. Sigurðsdóttir" over and over again, knowing he was probably going to be deadnamed and misgendered by at least some of the press, and he needed at least a little more time to figure out how to take back the narrative.
"All right." Sören patted him. "I just hope I won't drive you completely up the wall. Er... I take it this means you're living alone?" He hated that he was hoping Anthony was single.
"I am, yeah, my last relationship ended a year ago and I've been licking my wounds." Anthony gave a sad smile. "What about you, and I'm sorry I should have asked if you were staying with a partner at the hotel -"
"I've been single longer than you." Sören looked out the window again, his cheeks burning as he finally got into a little bit of the history he didn't want to overload Anthony with the first time they'd seen each other in seven years. "After I transitioned, I found out that most gay guys don't want to date a trans guy who's got original plumbing downstairs, I've had bi guys fetishize me like the one who called me 'the best of both worlds', implying that I'm somehow both male and female instead of just a dude -"
"Jesus, that's fucked up."
"And there was a guy I was with for a couple years who kept trying to feminize me, like asking me to put on makeup and lingerie for him. When I put my foot down after doing it a bunch of times - because I felt like this was all I could get and I had to put up with it to be loved - he said a bunch of really nasty, hurtful shit to me, including telling me I was a discount, off-brand man..."
"What." Anthony's eyes narrowed and his jaw set, and he gave a little growl that sent a shiver down Sören's spine.
"Yeah." Sören nodded, reflexively hugging his stomach, fists clenched, as he tried not to remember, but the vivid memories were still right there. "So I tried dating women for awhile, but I'm... not into women. At all."
"Don't I know all about that." Anthony sighed.
"Figured you might relate. So I've been single for two and a half years. It gets lonely, but I figure trying to find someone is more trouble than it's worth. When I was trying to start transition, I had a therapist ask me if it would just be easier to be a straight woman, but it wasn't, I lived that and wanted to fucking die." Their eyes met. Sören didn't need to elaborate on that sentence, it had been Anthony who'd found him overdosed two months before the 2006 Winter Olympics.
Anthony got back on the road, letting Sören sit with his thoughts, and his pain. They headed onto the highway; Anthony finally put on the radio, a classic rock station... "Smells Like Teen Spirit" came on.
"Hey, they're playing our song." Anthony grinned.
Sören managed to smile back, hoping his life wouldn't be a spectacle for others to pity and mock in the weeks to come. Here we are now, entertain us. "A deniaaaalll," Sören sang along.
June 2001
"You OK, Sig?"
Sigrit nodded, but looked away. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Anthony took off his shirt and flung it at her. "You're not fine. Well, out with it."
"That girl you're with, Clarissa. The strawberry blonde bimbo." Sigrit made a face. "She called me Slash, y'know, the guitarist from Guns N Roses with the curly hair like mine -"
"Oh Jesus."
"And she just seems so... vapid. Like she's obsessed with wealth - fucking caviar on a picnic, seriously? - and only interested in you because you're a famous athlete. I don't know, I thought you had better standards than that."
Anthony smirked and put a hand on his hip. "I'll concede that she was out of line to make fun of your hair, yeah. But it sounds like you're..." His voice trailed off.
Sigrit folded her arms and waited. She had a feeling of what was going to come next, and she really didn't want to have this conversation and potentially make things awkward.
When Anthony didn't finish the sentence, and just turned around and took a couple steps towards the bathroom, Sigrit snapped, "You told me out with it, and now it's your turn. So go on, then."
Anthony faced her again. "It sounds like you're jealous."
Sigrit set her jaw. Her heart beat a little faster, and she nodded. "Truthfully yes, I am." If there was ever a chance between them, she was taking it now.
Anthony sat on the edge of his bed and for a long moment they just looked each other in the eye. "OK. Siggi. I need to get real with you."
"Here we go. You're going to tell me I'm like your sister or -"
"No." Anthony looked down, let out a deep sigh, then looked up, closed his eyes as if in brief prayer, and then he said, "Promise me that what I say next, you won't judge me, you won't..."
"Oh my G-d, Anthony, is she fucking pregnant?"
Anthony ugly laughed at that, then he sobered with a look of utter despair on his face and shook his head vehemently. "Siggi, I'm gay."
Sigrit's mouth opened. Of all the answers she'd been expecting, a thousand and one ways to be rejected, she hadn't expected that. And of course, she had to deal with serious emotions by turning it into a joke. "Hi Gay, I'm Sigrit -"
"No Siggi, I mean it. I'm..." Anthony exhaled. "I don't like Clarissa. I've never fucked her, I don't want to date her, I don't even like her as a person. Sergei bloody set me up with her because he caught me fooling around with a guy a couple years ago and he thinks if I'm outed that'll be the end for our career, so he... he sets me up with these... these girls, and..." Anthony cringed.
"And you... like... guys."
Anthony nodded. "I'm sorry I had to tell you like this. I know I tell you everything. But the world is so judgmental, and I didn't want to lose you as a friend -"
Sigrit shook her head and held out her arms. "C'mere, you."
Anthony got down on his knees before her and Sigrit held him tight. Somehow, knowing Anthony was gay and didn't like women at all was better than knowing it wasn't just her and that he preferred the company of stupid Clarissa. And the thought of Anthony making out with a guy was incredibly hot. It also brought on that wistful ache - remembering that as young as four, she had wished to be a boy, and when she told Gitta at seven, Gitta had not taken it well at all. Anthony had something she never would - the ability to love men, as a man. There was something beautiful about gay male love, the symmetry of it, how one could know deeper intimacy with another of one's own kind...
"Siggi." Anthony took Sigrit's hands. "I do love you. A lot. I would die for you. I guess you could say if I was capable of being in love with a woman, I'm in love with you, but it wouldn't work out with us because of the, uh..." Anthony gestured to Sigrit's tits. "The, um, physicality. I'm sorry I'm gay, because I would totally be with you."
Sigrit shook her head. "No, I wish I was a guy, and then I could be your boyfriend."
"Oh, Sig..." Anthony hugged her and they rocked together.
"You kept being gay from me, and this is the secret I haven't told you - when I was a kid, I kept wishing I was a boy, I felt like I was in the wrong body." Sigrit frowned and lowered her head, full of pain and regret. "I feel like a gay man trapped in a woman's body."
"You'd make a fabulous gay guy." Anthony gave a wry smile. He leaned in and kissed Sigrit's forehead. "Thank you for understanding."
"I hope the world gets better about accepting gay people, so you don't have to hide." Sigrit closed her eyes and tried not to cry, as she silently added And I hope someday science and medicine lets me escape this fucking prison.