She reaches the end and then barely takes in the countries labeled on top of each row as she begins to walk back to the entrance. Maybe by the time she gets to the beginning, she’ll find that the whole day has been a nightmare from which she hasn’t woken up yet, and that when she opens her eyes, Aly will still be grinning across the gymnasium.
No, stop. Just stop.
Zambia, Zimbabwe.
Get her off your mind.
Yemen, Yugoslavia.
Aly Raisman, Aly Raisman. Alyraisman…
Venezuela, Vietnam.
“I was thinking about you a lot.”
Uganda. Ukraine.
“Hi, Aliya.”
United States.

————————————
For the hundredth time since she landed in London, Aly wishes she spoke Russian. There’s the obvious advantage of being able to communicate a little better with Aliya—not that the girl wants to talk to her, judging from what happened at the training gymnasium—but she’d also be able to understand what the hell are the ingredients in the Xtra-Sitr drink that she had shared with Aliya yesterday. It tasted a lot like overly-sweetened root beer, but there was also some apple juice, she thinks, and what tasted back then like really horrible coffee. She’s studying the bottle in her hands, concentrating on the letters but also kind of laughing at herself because no matter how long she stares at this label, the writing isn’t going to start making sense.
“Have you really been hanging out with Aliya Mustafina?”
“I just… I get along with her really well, that’s all.”
“You’re Aly Raisman. You get along with everybody.”
She wants to buy this soda. It tastes like the most foul drink in the universe, but because this is what Aliya Mustafina likes, she wants to drink it too. And it’s ridiculous, yes, but standing in this deserted aisle in the international shop while staring at Russian merchandise is the only thing that’s managed to brighten her day.
Releasing a small, sad sigh, Aly gently places the plastic bottle inside her half-filled basket and turns to the end of the aisle. And that’s when she thinks, I shouldn’t have turned.
She almost drops her basket. Aliya is standing only about a yard away, watching her with the large, soulful eyes that Aly’s begun to associate with teasing grins and laughter and that sensation in the pit of her stomach—the one she’s feeling right now—that someone’s knocked her over and she’s sort of free-falling from very, very high up. No one’s going to catch her.
“I dream with you this night.”

“Privet.” It’s not the foreign word that tips off Aly that the Russian girl must be at least somewhat nervous. It’s the tone, and the discreet shift from one foot to another.
“You haven’t taught me that word yet.” She doesn’t mean to whisper, but part of her still fears that someone is going to walk into this aisle and the little world Aliya seem to create for her whenever they’re near is going to explode, and the shards will dig into her. “Is that ‘hello’?”
Aliya nods, then her gaze falls to the basket that Aly had almost forgotten she was holding, and she almost cringes, and feels a furious blush warm her cheeks immediately. Of course she had to be caught buying a basketful of random Russian things that she can’t even properly identify. She’s about to ask Aliya what she’s buying, just to draw attention to anything other than her embarrassment, when she can’t help glancing at the girl’s basket, too. Just like that, her heart bursts into a flutter and her lips curve into a smile.
“I thought you didn’t like that soda.”
It’s Aliya’s turn to blush and shuffle on her feet and look at her basket with a wince, and Aly keeps herself together even when she thinks she might start feeling light-headed. They exchange guilty looks, like partners in this horrible, hilarious crime of shopping to feel closer together.
“There is the bad Russian drink in your hand also.” The bashful grin she gives her makes her start forgetting all about how dangerous it is to sink into these waters again—she’s going to drown in the hazel eyes and the perfect mouth and nothing is going to save her, and yet she’ll still be smiling like this, like the whole world is right again. “And you pick wrong chocolate.”
“This one is bad?”
“Da.” A step forward, a hand outstretched to grab a small purple wrapper from the shelf beside Aly… she’s getting closer. Aly stands her ground. “This is best chocolate. Milka.”

“That’s chocolate? This one with the little cow on it? I thought that was beef jerky… um, dried meat.” That makes Aliya chuckle, and watch her with… amusement? Fondness? Her body’s automatic response to that, as always, is something that makes her uncomfortable; her heart starts melting inside her chest and all the assorted feelings she has for the girl start to evaporate into her bloodstream. “You know, I really wanted to talk to you more today.” She almost regrets broaching this subject, because nothing seems worse right now than having to see Aliya’s smile disappear, but she just has to get this off her chest before it festers inside her. She sets her basket down onto the floor and continues with a sigh. “I almost did. I wanted to, all day, pretty much. But I didn’t want to get you in trouble again.”
But Aliya’s smile doesn’t disappear. It widens, and makes Aly’s chest tighten. “I want to talk to you also. Today I want to look at you very much but could not.” She takes another step forward, setting down her basket as well, and the smile remains just as bright and breathtaking. “Want to look because you are very beautiful, but coaches always see me, and American team not like me.”
It’s hard for her not to sway on her feet at the compliment, and such is the violent flutter in her chest that she almost forgets about the comment on her team. “They don’t dislike you. They think I like you too much.”
Aliya’s gaze locks with her own in a different way, and changes the world around them, like it bends and blurs suddenly.Among all the thousand remarkable things about Mustafina, the most obvious—the one you notice right away and the one that enslaves you immediately—are the eyes. Of course Aly had thought about them before. She’d been distracted by them plenty of times. But they’ve never been fixed on her like this, and that’s what she doesn’t know how to react to.
“Yes, Russian team believing the same of me. I believe it is correct.”
Aly doesn’t realize she’s barely breathing until Aliya’s smiling response, and a single frail, solitary thought whispers in her mind that she can be relieved now; she’s not alone in this. This little world she was starting to think was all imagined is actually real.

“Is your team here in the store?”
“Yes. I believe will be near soon.”
Aly takes a deeper breath than necessary, bracing herself. “Okay, then let me at least give you a hug before they get here.” She doesn’t give Aliya any time to react before her arms are wrapped tightly around the girl’s frame. It’s not supposed to be a long hug. In her mind, they should do this before the rest of Team Russia forces them to flee in different directions. It’s not supposed to be anything special.
Aly feels the girl embrace her back warmly, and can almost sense that she’s smiling. Because of the 2 inch height difference, her chin rests comfortably on Aliya’s shoulder. It’s when she takes a small breath and inhales the girl’s scent that she regrets hugging her at all; especially when she’s already so, so attracted to her, especially when she already likes her so much, especially when she already knows how much she wanted to be close to her. Because this isn’t going to be enough, she can tell. All Aliya did was kiss her cheek yesterday and the high she got off that still hasn’t worn off completely, and what remains of it flares alive again, pushing her to get more. This is what she had feared before: her brain is shutting down.
It’s that feeling, swirling in her gut and rampaging in her mind that makes her turn her head slightly and press a slow, heated kiss on Aliya’s neck, just below the jugular. She feels the girl let out a heavy breath, then swallow hard. Aly kisses her again, just as slowly and on the same spot, and almost smiles when Aliya shifts closer to her. It’s only a tiny step, as they were already hugging after all, but that small shift means the entire expanse of their torsos are now touching and it takes a second for Aly to recover from the sensation. She thinks she’s light-headed, but it’s hard to be sure at the time. Until Aliya murmurs, “up,” and then she’s sure that yes, she is indeed light-headed—Aliya wants her to kiss her higher. Like… the face. She kisses her jaw, and hears the same murmur again, “up.”
Up. She’s floating.

She kisses her cheek, the same place she kissed before—as far and as close to the mouth as yesterday. She’s unsure of what will happen if she does get to her mouth, as it seems that her entire body has stopped working and they haven’t even kissed properly yet.
“Up…”
The whisper—all she needs to hear to think that yes, she’s definitely going for the mouth this time and the world is going to implode. But then, the sound of footsteps in the next row—and that’s all she needs, in turn, to do nothing of that sort.
She shifts her body only a bit, preparing to step away because she thinks those footsteps are most likely approaching them. But Aliya seems to detect her intention, and instead of urging Aly to go higher, as she had been whispering before, she’s the one who angles her head a little lower, just low enough. Aliya mutters breathlessly, “nyet,” and she’s the one who finally, at last, presses their lips together.
———
A/N: First; I’ll be updating this fic through this Tumblr account now, since Raistafina got shut down (that really sucks… ugh). All of the other chapters got deleted but I’m giving brazilianninja the files so she can post them here. Second; OMG ALL THE PROPS TO Andrea for asking the most important question of the year. Guts—that’s what that was!
Once again, thanks for reading and for all the encouraging likes and reblogs… some of you even tracked me down on YouTube, and that was super flattering :) I didn’t think people would like this story this much *blushes*. Thanks!

But Aly doesn’t take her eyes off her; she purses her lips and allows the tiniest smile to creep into her perfect, perfect face, and then adds in an even quieter murmur, “now I want to kiss you, so badly…” There’s a shift in her gaze; her voice lowers to a whisper, and Aliya faintly registers the footsteps approaching them. The world is suspended, holding its breath with her, wanting to smile with her; “but two of my teammates are coming up behind you.” Aliya uses most of her strength to tear her eyes away from Aly and look over her shoulder, and her remaining strength to control her urge to throw Jordyn Wieber and McKayla Maroney the bitchiest glare she can manage. But then Aly speaks up again, and Aliya doesn’t need to see the girl to hear the elation in her voice. The tight squeeze in her chest makes her smile, too. “So I guess you’re going to have to meet me in the ice room later.”
The first time Aliya Mustafina kisses Aly Raisman, all it does is make her look forward to the second time.
—————————-
There’s silence when Aly follows McKayla into the room they share. On the way here, Aly occasionally caught herself on the verge of breaking into what would no doubt look like a stupid and nonsensical smile. If she could tell her own brain to calm down with all the squealing thoughts about Aliya, and tell her stomach to stop the excited flip-flopping, and tell her heart to slow down for crying out loud, she would do it. But she can’t, so the result is this: McKayla turning to her with a disapproving, resentful glare, and her not caring in the least.
“You bought some really interesting stuff from the store.”
“Yeah. Want some Russian cookies?”
The resentment leaves, in part, and is replaced by what seems to Aly like a mixture of disbelief and disappointment, and maybe even some toned-down revulsion. “I can’t believe you couldn’t stay away from her for two hours.”

Oh, no; she’s losing this fight; she’s going to say things she shouldn’t (she’s really perfect, Mack, you don’t understand what it’s like to be close to her).
“I really don’t want to talk about this.”
“I just don’t understand how you can get so close to someone who is in the rival team, and who’s actually your direct competition in both the AA and the floor finals. And she’s just… I mean, come on Aly, she walks around the arena like her leo is armor.”
————————-
“You and the American again. Alexandr is not going to approve.”
“We had a short conversation, Masha. Nothing serious. I didn’t think she was going to be there.”
“Vika, are you going through her shopping bag?”
“Why did you buy so many things from the American section? What is Reese’s Pieces?”
————————————
“Mack, I swear I barely see her. I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this.”
“I don’t buy it, Aly. I think every time one of us loses sight of you, you’re off sneaking around with the competition.”
———————————
“This mug that says, ‘Kiss Me, I’m American’… this is an American joke?”
—————————-

“And why the hell did you buy so much Russian merchandise? You can’t even read what this says. Is this cow meat packaged like a candy?”
“No, that’s… Milka. That’s chocolate.”
Aly takes it from the table upon which McKayla is setting all the products that were inside her shopping bag for scrutiny. She examines it in her hand, tuning out her friend’s comments on each item. Opening the wrapper, she breaks off a piece of the chocolate bar and pops it into her mouth with a barely contained smile. It really is good; it melts inside her mouth quickly, and has a strong but smooth taste. No wonder it’s Aliya’s favorite.
It’s earlier than their scheduled time, but there’s an irrational part of her that wants to leave the room immediately and go meet Aliya; maybe the universe will favor her today, it will weigh her heart and see how heavy it is with the need to see her—maybe it’ll speed up time for her.
“You know, I just remembered I have to get something from the vending room.”
“Let me guess. Ice?”
—————————-
“Masha, I’m going to take a walk.”
“You are going to meet the American. You don’t need to lie to me. If you give me the Pieces of Reese’s, then I will not tell the others.”
“Deal.”
——————————

It’s almost half past 8pm, and according to Marta, 9pm was the absolute latest Team USA could go to bed at on the night before the team finals. Aly paces a corner of the vending roo***owly, taking in the low hum of the machines, and noticing the pattern of the marble floor. Thirty minutes is not much time to spend with Aliya; it’s nowhere near sufficient, but it would be so much worse if they couldn’t see each other at all.
And then she has to ponder on the larger picture, on what lies underneath this urgency she feels to be with the Russian girl all the time. It borders on something she doesn’t know the name of, and doesn’t know how to describe, and if Aly weren’t so naturally cool-headed, this would make her panic.
She pauses in front of a machine, then turns slightly and absent-mindedly leans her shoulder against it, and begins to examine a large, stylized map of London that hangs quite obviously on the wall. She’s never noticed this poster before. But then, she never notices anything when Aliya is around.
She cocks her head distractedly, eyes trying to follow the path of the city’s major streets, then notices movement out of the corner of her line of sight. When she turns her head, a smirking Aliya in loose hair and non-athletic attire make the beating heart inside her burst into an almost painful gallop. It takes that sort of nearly overwhelming physical response for her to acknowledge that yes, her body really likes Aliya.
“Hey,” she greets, and maybe it’s just her, but does she sound a little breathless? “How long have you been standing there?”
“Not very long time.” Aliya steps inside the room and stands beside her, looking at the same map Aly had been studying before. She’s not sure whether Aliya did this on purpose, but their arms are almost touching and it’s just so distracting. “American team is mad because of today?”
Her brain is still processing the fact that they’re that close, so Aly has to shake her head a bit, to clear her thoughts. “No… I mean, one of them is, kind of.”
“Maroney?”
Did she actually shift closer to her? How in the world is she supposed to have a clear-headed conversation with Aliya when she can now feel the heat of the girl’s skin against hers?
It takes all her brain capacity not to stutter. “Um… yes. How did you know?”

“I believe she like you.” Aliya doesn’t take her eyes off the poster, but Aly can’t stop staring at the flawless face—looking away is impossible—and that’s how she notices the light blush, and figures out with a growing smile that yes, this is planned. Aliya is moving closer to her, and distracting her, on purpose. She’s probably even getting a kick out of seeing her this flustered.
Well! Two can play this game.
Aly turns her body so that it more directly faces Aliya’s. She leans forward just a little bit, so her torso is almost in contact with the girl’s arm, and she pretends to be looking at the same poster. A small rush of victory makes its way through her when she notices Aliya tense. “Really? I don’t think she does. I think you might be a little jealous.”
Aliya wants to smile; Aly can see it. Instead of giving in, however, she turns her body completely, pitting them face-to-face. Aly drown in the girl’s magnetic gaze and her heart seems to slam against her throat. She momentarily forgets all about her plan, because the last time they were this close, Aly didn’t breathe and didn’t think. The last time they were this close, the whole world was hazel eyes and soft lips and a warm cheek. The last time they were this close was the first time they kissed. “I, not jealous. Maroney jealous.”
There’s only a tiny part of her brain that is still sane and clear and willing to keep on fighting, and that’s the one that speaks up with a light retort: “if you’re right and she likes me, then I guess I should tell her I already like someone.”
Aliya’s beaming, teasing grin sends a pleasant shiver down her body, making her skin tingle and burn from the inside. This is so easy. Being with Aliya is so, so easy; it’s almost alarming. “This someone you like… Russian girl?”
“Yeah. I think you might even know her.”
“Oh, she is gymnast?”
They’re so close, her body is bracing itself and her stomach is contorting with anticipation and Aly wonders how she’s still standing.
“Yes, she is. She’s a great gymnast.”