[Winter; Figure Skating] You Eclipsed by Me

[gameseason_mod]

Title: You Eclipsed By Me
Author: yurishika
Rating: PG
Fandom: EXO
Pairing(s)/Focus: Kai-centric, friendship Kai/Sehun
Length: 24,699 words
Summary: Jongin and Sehun grew up in the same rink and had dreamed of becoming the next figure skating sensation since Kim Yuna. Jongin had shone first, but when Sehun started outshining him, when media had started branding them as the next hottest rivalry, will things change between them?
Warnings: None.
Notes:
- I did not expect this fic to become a monster, I swear.
- This would not be possible without the help of mara_ciro and kametoahiru who held my hand and cheered on me and made my Google Docs 50% fic 50% screaming throughout the whole writing process.
- If you’re new to figure skating, I made a handy-dandy notes page here. I’ve been a fan of the sport for more than a year, and I still don’t know a lot, but I hope I explained things clearly.




The full-house Mokdong Rink in Jongin’s view is something he had never imagined to see since two years ago. Last year, the audience hardly filled the 16,000-seat arena, but this year, people are settling for sitting in the steps of the aisle. As the announcer calls his name, the crowd roars and stands up in applause; some of the girls proudly wave their banners with his name and face, and the occasional cheer. Coach Jung pats him on the hand before he skates to the center of the rink, striking his opening pose.

The opening notes of Casablanca start to play, and Jongin tunes out the audience to get into character. It’s easier that way, to pretend that no one but him is in the rink. He sets himself up for a quad toe, the crowd’s cheers loud in his ears as he lands it effortlessly.

His next elements are textbook, if not perfect—a triple axel, a triple axel-triple toe. He does a camel spin before entering into his favorite element of all, the step sequence. He fell in love with this particular step sequence the moment Song Qian taught it to him. Most skaters loved to jump because it felt like flying, but for Jongin, gliding was his version of flying.

Everything is going well until he takes off on the wrong edge for his triple lutz-triple toe combo. He swears to himself, but it’s too late to correct it. He’s halfway through his program, which should be flawless from hereon.

But it didn’t become flawless; if anything, it got worse. He steps out of his triple flip and had no time to recover to finish what was to be a sequence, then he pops his triple loop. By the time he finished his program, the applause is more subdued. Jongin can’t find himself to even force a smile; most of the people had come to watch him, and all they got in return was … this.

Coach Jung’s expression is blank as he skates back to the boards. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles as he struggles to put on his skate guards before following his coach to the kiss and cry. There’s already a plastic bag full of plushies, and Jongin wonders if the fans willingly threw it after his disaster of a free skate.

Coach Jung helps him put on his jacket before finally speaking. “It could have been better,” he says. “Just don’t screw up like that again in your next competition.”

The words sting. Some coaches would be disappointed after a free skate like but would continue to say words of encouragement. Coach Jung is not that coach, but Jongin guesses he’d rather have the frankness than rely on false hope.

But sometimes Coach Jung surprises him by managing a small smile. “But your PCS should be high. Let’s just hope that it can save you a podium spot.”

It did, for now. He received a total score of 248.06, which puts him behind Kim Jinseo and Lee Junehyoung, who are currently first and second, respectively. He’s not going to defend his title, but bronze is not bad. Still, there’s one more skater to go, and he could potentially kick Jongin off podium contention.

“I’ll see you later,” Coach Jung tells him, patting him on the back before getting up to leave.

Jongin absentmindedly grabs the Pororo plushie sticking out of his plastic bag before heading to the seats where the other skaters are. Taemin stands up to wave at him then pat an empty seat next to his before the announcer calls “Next to skate, Oh Sehun!” “You okay?” Taemin asks him.

“I screwed up my free skate,” Jongin mutters, chugging down his bottle of water.

“Well …” Taemin shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his ears red. “There will be shitty programs, even for a national champion.”

Jongin is about to retort, but the crowd’s cheers suddenly start ringing in his ears. His gaze turns to the rink, where he sees Sehun pumping his fist in the air. If he remembers correctly, Sehun has placed two quads in his free skate, and assuming from the fist pump, he landed one successfully.

Sehun lands his second quad with a triple toe, and the crowd is roaring louder. He proceeds to land jump after jump, and suddenly everyone in the arena is on their feet. Jongin feels his heart sinking because he knows what’s going to happen next.

Sure enough, Sehun earns a total score of 275.94. Not only did Jongin get kicked out of the podium, but Sehun edged over Jinseo and Junehyoung to win his first-ever national championship. It’s a huge leap from last year’s 10th-place finish. Jongin sees Sehun breaking into tears in the kiss and cry while Coach Kwon strokes his back, and he knows this is the break Sehun has been waiting for. Years of finishing either close to the podium or in the Top 10, and now he’s Korea’s national champion.

Jongin knows he should be happy, but he finds himself walking away during the victory ceremony, his heart still sunken.









The Korean Skating Union announces the national team for Four Continents Championships and the World Championships the next day. Jongin sees his name in the Four Continents team, along with Junehyoung and Jinseo, but it’s Sehun and Jinseo’s names in the World team. Four Continents may be an equally important competition, but it was Jongin who went to Worlds last year, and he wanted to be there again.

But how could he be there? He screwed up his chances in Nationals. In fact, he screwed up his chances the whole season. He was a force to be reckoned with last year—that was what the skating community had observed from him—and now Jongin knows everyone is taking that statement back. Now, he has no national medal and no Worlds spot.

Jongin grits his teeth as he braces himself for a quad toe. The landing is scratchy, and Coach Jung is yelling something at him, but white heat in his mind prevents him from understanding what he was yelling. His step sequences are angry, not the emotions he should be portraying. When he ends his routine, Coach Jung is skating towards him, arms crossed.

“We’re ending training for today,” Coach Jung says.

“What?” Jongin exclaims, sending most of the rink jumping in surprise. (From a distance, he can hear Krystal yelling at Chanyeol to be more careful when dropping her from a lift.) “But I just started skating! I’m not yet done!”

“Your head is not in training.” Coach Jung bears that blank expression that sends everyone in the rink cowering. “Go home and relax. I’m not letting you step on the rink unless your mind is cleared of all that frustration from Nationals.”

Jongin grits his teeth again as he sighs in frustration and skates to the boards, not meeting anyone’s eyes. He takes off his skates more forcefully than he wants and doesn’t shrug out of his practice clothes as he steps out of training grounds. How he was going to relax, he doesn’t know. His mind is flashing back to his free skate in Nationals, and scenarios of what could have been.

“Kim Jongin-seonsu?”

He stops stomping out of the arena when he hears his name being called. He looks over his shoulder to find Byun Baekhyun of The Chosun Ilbo strutting towards him, an expensive man purse dangling in his arm. “Hi,” he greets with a smile. “How are you?”

“If you want to interview me, I can’t, because Kyungsoo’s not with me—”

“Relax, Jongin,” Baekhyun chuckles, batting his eyelashes. Jongin wonders how his eyeliner game could be so on point. “I’m not here for work; I’m already done interviewing Oh Sehun and Park Soyoun. Everything you say is off the record.”

Jongin raises his eyebrows.

“I’m serious!” Baekhyun says, his hands up. “Can’t we just have a cup of coffee and forget about work for once in our lives? My treat.”

Jongin takes a full minute to observe Baekhyun until his shoulders loosen. “Fine. But if I see a voice recorder, I’m calling security.”

“Deal.”

There’s a café near the training center, but Jongin knows it will be full of athletes around this time, and he does not want to deal with anyone in the sport at the moment. Baekhyun drives him to a smaller café where he doesn’t get a single stare from the staff or from the customers. Jongin finds himself relaxing. For the past year, he has found it difficult to go out of the house without people staring, without girls suddenly shrieking. He lets Baekhyun buy him a large iced latte as he leans comfortably on the couch.

“You ended training early,” Baekhyun points out as he takes a seat, slender fingers wrapping around his cup.

“Coach Jung kicked me out,” Jongin mutters. “Said I need to relax.”

“Well, you do look kind of tense right now …” Baekhyun leans comfortably against his seat. “Can’t get your mind off Nationals?” He chuckles when Jongin’s shoulders tense. “I knew it. When I interviewed you and asked about it, I knew you were half-lying.”

Baekhyun had ambush-interviewed him after the victory ceremony, asking him about what he felt. Jongin had given a standard answer, one Kyungsoo had made him rehearse before every competition because Jongin can’t always have his manager beside him every time, and reporters love taking him by surprise. He said he was disappointed, but the loss has motivated him to do better in Four Continents. He said he was happy for Sehun, because they’re friends, and he hopes he does well.

“I wasn’t lying.”

“Look, we’ve been friends long enough for me to know some feelings you don’t want to admit.” He sips his coffee and flinches at the heat in his tongue. “Also, I’m a journalist. I notice these things.”

Jongin ends up biting his straw as he sips his coffee. He doesn’t need a pity party. He doesn’t need Baekhyun reminding him that they were neighbors and that they used to drop by each other’s houses when they were kids.

“Okay, you’re right, I should be helping you relax. Why don’t we go do something fun?”

“Like what?”

“I have tickets to this concert. Backstage passes, too.” Baekhyun grins as he fishes two tickets out of his man purse. “The perks of writing for a national publication,” he adds once he notices Jongin’s raised eyebrows.

Jongin is not much for concerts and parties, but for some reason he ends up going. Surprisingly, he finds himself having a good time, even if he’s vaguely familiar of the band and he doesn’t know the lyrics to the song. He follows Baekhyun backstage as he interviews the band members, who freak out upon seeing him because they’re huge fans.

“We were there at Nationals!” one of the band members says as Jongin signs his guitar.

Jongin grimaces. “So you watched my disastrous free skate?”

“Yeah, sure, it wasn’t your best, but we bet you’ll bounce back! You’re Kim Jongin, after all!”

Baekhyun slings an arm around his shoulder as they head towards the parking lot, and Jongin can’t help but blurt: “Thanks, Baek.”

Baekhyun grins and lightly punches his arm. “Your fans still believe in you. You should believe in yourself, too.”










Jongin returns to training the next day with a clearer mind and a more focused skate. His short program and free skate run-throughs has Coach Jung nodding all throughout and the rest of the people in the rink pausing from their routines. “That’s what I’m talking about,” Coach Jung says as soon as they step out of the rink. “With that mindset and skate, you’re sure to win Four Continents.”

“It’s not Worlds, though,” Jongin says, stumbling a bit as he puts on his skate guards.

“It doesn’t matter what competition you go to,” Coach Jung tells him sternly. “What matters the most is you do your best wherever you’ll compete. Got that?”

Jongin finds himself smiling. “Okay.”

He rehearses for a couple more weeks, and day by day he feels more confident to head to Four Continents. Even if it’s not as prestigious as Worlds, he’s still up against heavy podium favorites who are also Top 10 favorites in Worlds. He thinks he can make it to the podium. He hopes he can. He needs to prove to others that he’s not a star who’s about to lose his sparkle.

The Friday before he’s set to fly to Taiwan, KSU holds a good luck party for all the skaters—him, Junehyoung, Jinseo, Kim Haejin, Kang Seulgi, Chanyeol and Krystal for ice dance, and Park Sunyoung and Choi Minho for pairs. Jongin has never been good in social gatherings, but almost everyone in the room is practically family and not one journalist is present, so he finds himself relaxing.

He’s listening to Taemin tell a funny story to Minseok about some antics he had with some Japanese skaters in Bavarian Open when he sees Chanyeol staring at something from behind him. “Lookie here, the national champion is fashionably late.”

He looks over his shoulder to find Sehun approaching them, waving sheepishly. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “The thing ended later than I expected.”

“What thing?” Jongin grins as he pulls Sehun for a quick hug. He realizes he hasn’t talked to Sehun since Nationals. Granted, it’s normal for them to rarely talk these days because of training, but they usually leave messages on Kakao Talk, and they don’t mind if the other doesn’t answer as soon as possible. If the reply comes after a week, though, there’s something wrong. But that never happens until now. He remembers Sehun leaving him tons of messages after Nationals, all unanswered, and he feels a strong punch to the gut.

Sehun blinks but returns the hug, though it feels like his arms are frozen. “A couple of photo shoots,” he answers, smiling as Chanyeol hands him a drink. “Who would have known standing all day and putting on different clothes could be so exhausting?”

“You’ll get used to it,” Jongin tells him, managing a sympathetic smile and a shrug. He has noticed that Taemin and the others have moved their conversation somewhere else, and now it’s just the two of them. He shuffles uncomfortably, trying not to meet Sehun’s eyes. “Um … I got your messages.”

“I know,” Sehun says. “Kakao Talk tells me if the message has been read.”

“Yeah, I was still kind of upset at that time, I’m sorry.” Jongin scratches the back of his head. “I’m not mad at you or anything! I’m mad at myself …”

“I kinda figured you are.” Sehun shrugs. “And I’m not mad at you, just so you know.”

“Oh.” Jongin feels his shoulders relaxing. “Anyway, I should have said this before … Congratulations, National Champion. You totally deserved to win.”

Sehun looks like he glowed at those words. “Thanks. I still can’t believe this happened.”

Jongin knew that feeling a year ago; he could feel that green-eyed monster coming back, but he’s quick to suppress it. “You better do your best next season, okay? I’m hungrier for that title more than ever.”

“We’ll see about that.” Sehun smirks and wraps an arm around Jongin’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you a proper send-off for Taipei.”

He and Sehun have been friends since they were four. The memory is blurry, but his sister is always willing to remind him that he and Sehun were always together ever since they stood beside each other on the first day of skating lessons. Jongin had dropped the opportunity of being in a huge ballet recital when he and Sehun watched the Nagano 1998 Winter Olympics and became entranced with Ilia Kulik’s skate. They both started on ISU Development Trophies, then to more international competitions.

It was Jongin who shone first. He won his first-ever international medal in Triglav Trophy at twelve, which got KSU to get him to compete in the Junior Grand Prix. He had won close to a medal during his first year as a junior, and he had been on the podium on his first year in his first Junior Nationals. The following year, he qualified for the Junior Grand Prix Final, which he won, and he became a surprise win in Junior Worlds for that same season. He struggled competing in a deeper field in the senior level, but he won a medal in a couple of Challenger Series, and he finished fourth at Worlds, giving Korea two spots for next year’s Worlds for the first time in skating history. Then, he’s a constant podium finisher in Nationals, a title which he won the season before.

Sehun was a late bloomer. He’s a strong technical skater, but he tends to let nerves get the better of him, which causes him to finish lower. He has finished on the podium in a couple of international competitions, but he has never won a Junior Grand Prix competition, and his highest final standing in Junior Worlds was eighth place. Which is why he surprised everyone when he won bronze in Skate America in his first year as a senior, then proceeded to win a medal in every other competition he goes to. Then, this national title was proof that he’s starting to become a force to be reckoned with, that he can represent Korea in more Worlds competitions, and even in the Olympics.

There was never any competition between the two of them, if Jongin is being honest with himself. They’re both doing the best they can, and if the other is doing better, then they’re both supportive. Sehun was as teary-eyed as he was when he won Junior Worlds, and the National title. Jongin was as ecstatic as Sehun when he won bronze in Skate America.

But that was before. As they grow older, and as the countdown to the Olympics grows less and less, it is harder for Jongin to accept the fact that they both have the same goals and only one will get them.









He gets the victory he wanted in Four Continents. (Henry Lau of Canada came in second, while Zhang Yixing of China came in third.) It was a well-deserved victory, too, with two clean skates and two personal best scores. He’s still high when he arrives in Incheon a week later, smile wide as he parades his gold medal and heartily accepts gifts from his fans.

“You did well.” Choi Siwon of KSU smiles at him and pats his shoulder as he directs Jongin inside the press conference room. The camera flashes are blinding and the chatter is loud, but Jongin can’t bring himself to care.

He answers all the questions thrown to him by media with a smile and with all the answers that Kyungsoo wanted to come out of his mouth. Asked about how he feels with the victory, given he lost his National title, he says he feels accomplished, and confident that he was able to bounce back from his loss in Nationals. He said he is sad his season has to end early, but there’s always room for improvement. Asked about future plans for the season, Jongin says he will work hard on what went wrong this past season and hopefully he’ll come back as a better, stronger Kim Jongin.

They end the press conference just as Kim Kibum and Kim Heechul of SBS start asking more personal questions. Kyungsoo’s grip on him is unusually firm, but he looks content as they head to the van. “Good job,” he says as soon as their driver starts the engine. “I told you, you can handle the media on your own.”

Jongin shrugs. “I wouldn’t have done it if you weren’t so persistent in PR lessons.”

Kyungsoo beams at him before glancing at his phone. “Before I forget …” he says, eyebrows furrowed, “Baekhyun has requested for an interview tomorrow. Said something about a café where you last hung out?”

“Right.” Jongin nods as he remembers.

“I can’t be with you tomorrow. KSU meeting. You can manage without me, right? Or maybe I can ask Minseok to fill in for me …?”

Jongin shakes his head. “It’s okay, Kyungsoo, I can handle this on my own. Besides, Baekhyun and I are friends, so this shouldn’t be a problem.”

Kyungsoo examines him for a moment, but then sighs and shrugs. “Don’t give me a headache when the article comes out, okay?”

“But isn’t that my job?” Jongin smirks as he pokes Kyungsoo’s cheeks; sometimes it’s hard to believe that Kyungsoo is the older one, his manager at that. “Isn’t my sole job to give you a headache to make you work hard and make me look better?”

“That’s it, I’m quitting!” Kyungsoo tries to pull away from Jongin’s grip as the latter laughs.

In the usual Kyungsoo fashion, though, he receives an e-mail which lists some reminders before, during, and after an interview. Jongin ignores them all. Baekhyun pays for his drinks once more, and they chat a bit before Baekhyun finally turns on his voice recorder.

The interview is smooth sailing, with Baekhyun asking some generic questions and some thoughts about the season that passed. He tries to make the interview work for him, acting pitiful when asked about the moments when he failed to deliver but adding a confident, optimistic afterthought. Jongin grins to himself; he’s going to make Kyungsoo proud.

The interview is close to winding down, or so Jongin thinks. Baekhyun has ordered another cup of coffee and sits up straighter. “It just popped in my head, Kim Jongin-seonsu. Would you like to tell me a bit about Oh Sehun-seonsu?”

Jongin blinks. “… Isn’t this an article about me and not Sehun?”

“Of course, it is,” Baekhyun says with a roll of his eyes. “But Oh Sehun-seonsu is one of the most important people in your career. You two trained under Shin Heasook when you were novices, right?”

He nods. “We were next to each other on the first day of skating class. We had the same coach until we became juniors. We’re close friends.”

“Oh Sehun-seonsu won Nationals last month, the title you held for a year.” There’s a mischievous sparkle in Baekhyun’s eyes. “Has that affected your friendship in any way?”

“Not exactly.” Jongin shrugs. “We’ve gone against each other in Nationals when we were juniors; this year wasn’t any different.” He looks up contemplatively. “Well, I did feel frustrated about this year’s results, but he skated cleanly, so I guess he deserved that title better than I do.”

“I see …” He can hear Baekhyun’s enthusiastic scribbling on his notebook. “He’s going to represent Korea in Worlds. Then, he’s going to be a serious force for the next season, especially since the Olympics are coming up. What do you think are his chances from hereon?”

“It’s difficult to say,” Jongin admits. “The field is deep in Worlds. And Sehun has this tendency to be inconsistent, so unless he works on that, I don’t think he’ll rank really high.”

“But he won Nationals. Isn’t that a good enough indication that he’ll do well?”

“Again, it’s difficult to say. Maybe he’ll do well, maybe he won’t.”

“Well, I think that’s all I need to know~” Baekhyun singsongs as he puts his cup down. “Thank you very much, Jongin. I’ll make sure your photo in the paper is your most handsome one.”

“Whatever.” Jongin laughs as he shakes Baekhyun’s hand. “See you in Shanghai, I hope?”

“Of course, you will. You are my beat, after all.” And with a wink and a slap of some bills on the table, Baekhyun is up and gone.









He takes a two-week vacation as soon as he landed in Korea. The KSU-mandated post-season rest is a month, but Jongin is keen to train and has managed to talk Coach Jung into cutting the vacation short. He tries to keep himself occupied the whole week—cleaning his room, catching up with friends and family, and helping his sister in her café (which usually meant posing with fans who deliberately drop by). It’s a struggle to live a life outside the rink, and Jongin is nothing but relieved when he steps in the plane to Beijing.

Beijing has been his second home ever since he switched from Coach Shin to Coach Jung. At that time, Coach Jung—with Coach Zhang Liyin—was training Lu Han and Yixing, and as one of the students, he had to come along. At first it was a struggle to move back and forth from Korea to China, to wake up and have no family to run to, to feel uneasy at any slight remembrance of home. Fast forward to five years later, and he looks forward to flights from Seoul to Beijing, to seeing Yixing and Lu Han on the KSU-rented apartment in the wee hours of the morning, to the familiar smells of dim sum near the area.

Lu Han and Yixing tackle him in a hug as soon as he arrives in the apartment, which is funny because they were together during the Four Continents gala, taking funny photos with Misha Ge of Uzbekistan. Nevertheless, he lets the two spoil him with food that the coaching team will never allow him to eat once he starts training.

“So,” Lu Han starts once Jongin is full and is merely poking leftovers on his plate, “I’ve been thinking of retiring at the end of the season.”

Jongin pokes his chicken feet too hard that it flies off the table. The person seated beside them gave them a glare, but Jongin’s apologetic smile came more as a grimace. “Are you serious?” he hisses. He looks at Yixing, whose expression is blank. “You know about this?”

“He told me after Four Continents,” Yixing says with a shrug. “I tried talking him out of it. Maybe you can help?”

He looks at Lu Han, who is cheerily gobbling his own food. “Why?”

Lu Han slurps his noodles and takes a chug of beer before grinning. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m starting to become your resident figure skating uncle. You youngins are better than I am now.”

“Lies. Plushenko’s the real figure skating uncle, not you! You’re the same age as Patrick Chan, and he hasn’t retired yet.”

“But I’m not the one with three World Championship titles,” Lu Han points out.

Jongin bites his tongue; that was a good point. “But still!” he tries. “Can’t it wait till after Pyeongchang?”

“I don’t even think I can make it to Pyeongchang at this point.” Lu Han waves a glib hand. “Yan Han’s getting more consistent while I’m getting worse, Boyang’s got a quad lutz and I can’t even get my lutz to work with me anymore, and Yixing here”—he wraps an arm around said man’s shoulders—“gets better and better every competition. Pretty much shoved me out of the spotlight already.”

“I did not. Please, Lu Han.” Yixing rolls his eyes. “The rink was raining deer plushies after your free skate in Nationals.”

When Jongin turned junior, Lu Han was the rising star of Chinese figure skating. He placed silver in the World Junior Championships at fifteen then proceeded to win medals in the Grand Prix series and finish no lower than the Top 10 in Worlds. An injury affected his performance in the Vancouver Olympics, where he placed twelfth, which is still not bad, and everyone thought he’ll finally get that break heading up to Sochi. But he didn’t make it to the Olympic team in 2014, and he hasn’t been the same bright star everyone expected him to be.

“Give some time to think about it, okay, Lu Han?” Jongin says. “There’s still a couple more years until the Olympic cycle is over. Who knows?”

“Yeah, but the judges hate me right now.” Lu Han pushes his bowl to the side and sits up straight. “I know you’ve never felt it, but I do my best, Jongin, I really do. But the judges don’t give me enough credit because I’ve screwed up a lot.”

Jongin falls silent. Lu Han is already mum about it, but figure skating fans continue to weigh in on the Chinese Skating Association’s decision in this year’s Nationals. Lu Han made a comeback in both of his programs after putting in two surprisingly clean skates, his cleanest since 2010 Nationals. He won the silver medal, which would automatically put him in both the Four Continents and Worlds team, but to everyone’s surprise, the CSA put Lu Han in the Four Continents team only, while Yan Han and Jin Boyang were sent to Worlds. Yan Han, everyone understood since he was the national champion, but Boyang made too many mistakes in the free skate and only finished fourth.

The CSA chose the World and Four Continents team based on the skater’s performance throughout the season. Boyang had been on the podium throughout his senior career while Lu Han had struggled for the past few years. It makes sense, but it’s logic that most fans refused to understand because Nationals was Lu Han’s big break, a sign that he’s ready to bounce back.

“I can think about it the whole season, but I’ve made up my mind, Jongin,” Lu Han says, slapping a bill on the table. “Anyway”—he stands up and stretches, a grin suddenly on his face—“let’s go home. One last season to train for!”

Lu Han was the first person who came right to his aide when he was having trouble talking to one of the CSA personnel on his first day of training in Beijing. Since then, Lu Han has acted as a translator, an older brother, one of the best friends Jongin can ever have. Although there are ice shows, he can’t imagine not competing against Lu Han in a competition, not training with him in the same rink. Retirement may be avoidable, but it’s inevitable, a reality that he has to accept, maybe for the better.









He takes his mind off Lu Han’s retirement on the first day of training for the season. Coach Jung and Kyungsoo sit him down before stepping on the rink for a post-season evaluation. “I know you hate doing this, especially now,” Coach Jung says, “but we need to. But we have to point out the good things and the bad things that happened the past season.”

Jongin gulps, and nods. “Let’s get this over with. Bad, first.”

“Okay.” Coach Jung squints at his clipboard. “Your most glaring weakness the past season has been your consistency. I know you want to add a second quad jump next season, but right now, let’s work on your consistency first.”

He nods again. He expected that comment to come up.

“With that, we’ll go back to basics, work on your jumps from single to triple—quad, for both the toe and salchow—then we’ll see what we can do from there. Our goal is to get your mindset more focused than ever.”

Another nod.

“Aside from that, your artistry,” Coach Jung continues. “You’ve matured a lot, but there’s still room for improvement. We need you to engage your audience more, instead of skating for yourself. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes,” Jongin says. He’s determined to come back stronger next season. It’s the year before the Olympics, and he wants to be there to give Korea three spots.

He’ll make it happen.









In the midst of back-to-basics training, Jongin works with Song Qian in choreography. Selecting music is his favorite part of training, selecting music. He wants to skate to so many things, but he can only narrow it down to two. Song Qian is very much in tune with what Jongin’s fans want, what Jongin wants, and what Jongin needs to prove.

“So I have an idea,” Song Qian tells him. Training is over for the day, and the entirety of Jongin’s body is aching. Song Qian drags him to a quaint restaurant near his apartment for some catching up and for the discussion of his program music.

“Shoot,” Jongin says.

She sips her tea before she continues. “I know our music selection process is usually me giving you a ton of songs to listen to and choose from, but it’s two more seasons until the Olympics. I want you to chose your own music from hereon.”

Jongin sits up straighter and grins. For a long time it was Coach Jung and Song Qian who work together to decide on his program music, before he makes the final decision. Back then, Jongin had no choice but to stick to the safe music choices. Sticking to common classical or opera pieces is common for newbies; the judges notice them better that way. But now that he’s made a name for himself, he can pretty much skate to whatever he wants and the judges will notice him anyway.

“I know you’ve waited for this day.” Song Qian grins back. “Got anything in mind?”

Jongin falls silent as he racks his brain for every song in his To-Skate List. He curses himself for forgetting that list at home, so he tries to remember everything he wrote there. He already has a set of program music for the Olympic season, but he’s not going to touch that until 2017. He tries to recall his list, then crosses off some items, then narrows down his choices.

Every time he finally decides on something, there’s this sudden clarity of thought, a revelation. A smile spreads to his face, as he declares, “I think I have something.”

“Great, let’s hear it!” Song Qian says as she tucks her chin on her hand.

“I’m still thinking of what to skate for my short program, but I think I already have a free skate in mind.”

“Which is …?”

“Swan Lake.” He had always wanted to skate to Swan Lake ever since he took ballet lessons. There’s something about its music that draws him in, the story a timeless piece that he wants to interpret himself. He first wanted to skate to it when he got assigned to go to the Junior Grand Prix, but his choreographer then thought he wasn’t mature enough just yet. So he shoved the idea in the back of his mind, but now that he’s more artistically mature, he thinks he’s ready to give it another shot.

He watches Song Qian’s eyes brighten up. “You know what? I really like it! I think it suits you, Jongin, and I think I might have a choreography done by this week!”

Jongin’s eyes widen. “Really?” Typically Song Qian takes two weeks to finish choreography for two programs. After all, she’s one of the most sought-after choreographers in the sport.

“Of course! I love Swan Lake, too, and I want your interpretation to be one of the best there is!” She looks over her shoulder for a while before lowering her voice. “I don’t normally say this, but Kim Jongin, you’re one of my favorite people to choreograph. You really are an inspiration, and I want all of your programs to be the best there is.”

Jongin’s cheeks hurt, his chest warm. Even if he doesn’t believe in himself, he’s glad to have some people around him who believe in him. “Thank you, Song Qian,” he says. “I won’t let you down.”









With each day of training, Jongin’s confidence grows. He works through the basics with Coach Jung and Coach Zhang, with Coach Jung smiling in satisfaction every time Jongin works through his skating skills. He does every jump until he can land all of them solidly in all three rotations (four, if he adds the toe and the salchow). He works with Song Qian with the choreography (with Kingsman now as his short program), with Coach Jung designing the program layout as he watches them work on the rink. Slowly, he trains. Slowly, he gets better. Slowly, Jongin believes he’ll come back stronger next season.

At the end of March, all training was put on hold. Coach Jung and Coach Zhang flew to Boston, support Teams South Korea and China for the World Championships. Jongin, Lu Han, and Yixing trained on their own with some assistance from the CSA coaching team, but by the time competition week rolled on, everyone’s preparing to watch the competition.

His phone rings on Tuesday afternoon, just when he, Lu Han, and Yixing are making dinner in the KSU-rented apartment. Sehun’s name is on the caller ID. “How’s Boston?” he asks as soon as he picks up and puts the call on loudspeaker.

“It’s three in the morning here, and I can’t get to sleep,” Sehun says.

“Lots of water, Sehun! It works miracles!” Lu Han says from his side of the kitchen.

There’s a long pause from the other line, before an incredulous conclusion: “You put me on loudspeaker.”

Jongin chuckles. “Well, Lu Han and Yixing do miss you, too,” he says, followed by Yixing’s “Wish you were here, Sehun-ah!” in stilted Korean. “We’re not disturbing your roommate there, are you?”

“Chanyeol? Nah, he’s asleep as a rock. Wish I can have his tendencies to fall asleep as soon as he hits his bed.”

They talk a bit more, the three of them sharing stories about Beijing so far. (Lu Han doesn’t bring up his retirement news, because he wants to make it official before the start of next season.) Sehun relates the first few days in Boston, on practice and the Shibutani siblings showing them around. He laughs when Sehun gushes about meeting some of his favorite figure skaters and shamelessly asking for a photo with them. “Hey, it’s my first Worlds!” he says defensively when the three of them laugh.

They finish making dinner, just in time for Sehun to yawn. “What time are you supposed to practice later?” Jongin asks.

“Seven?” Sehun yawns again. “I told Coach Kwon I still have jet lag, so she made it a bit lenient for—oh shit, that’s in an hour?!”

Jongin laughs. “Sleep tight, Sehun-ah,” he says as he ends the call.

Sehun doesn’t call them that week, which is explainable, because he should be focused on practice. Thursday morning is quick to roll by, and the three of them are awake at five in the morning, with Lu Han and Yixing preparing breakfast and Jongin trying to get the ISU Skating Channel to stream on television. It works at exactly six in the morning, just in time for the men’s short program to start.

“Here’s to our sleep schedules getting screwed up for the week!” Lu Han cheers as he leans against the couch just as the first skater from Lithuania skates to the ice. Yixing is quick to silence him by throwing a pillow at his direction.

It’s been a while since he watched an international competition from a television screen. It feels new to be sitting back and watching people he knows compete when last year he was on the same ice with them. Still, he tries not to dwell on it too much. What’s done is done. All that he needs to do is to evaluate his future opponents’ strengths and weaknesses, and make sure he hones his strengths and works on his weaknesses in relation to those.

The men’s short program lasts for at least four hours. The sun is starting to rise, but Jongin finds himself nudging Yixing to wakefulness despite Lu Han’s loud cheering. They are all wide awake, however, when the third group started warming up. The cheers are loud for Americans Jason Brown and Max Aaron (this is their home country, after all), and the applauses are a little more subdued for Sehun. But then again, this is Sehun’s first senior Worlds competition, and he’s still unknown to most figure skating fans.

The six-minute warm-up is over, and Sehun is first to skate in the third group. He can see the banners of Korean fans bearing Sehun’s name and face, the same fans who held Kim Jongin banners in Nationals. He feels a slight stabbing sensation in his chest, but he ignores it. He’s Sehun’s friend; he shouldn’t feel jealous at a time when Korea needs Sehun to do well. He takes a deep breath, and hopes for the best.

Nino Rota’s Romeo and Juliet starts to play, and Sehun lands a quad toe so huge that the applause from the audience was loud and magnified. The rest of the technical elements are flawless, and the audience is on their feet by the time Sehun is finished. Sehun pumps his fist in the air after his closing pose, then proceeds to slowly circle the rink with his hands on his face, overwhelmed at his first Worlds experience.

“His scores are gonna be huge,” Yixing says, more awake than he ever was the past two hours. “His season’s best last time was, what, 70-something? He can get close to 80 with this one.”

“Really?” Jongin blinks. If Sehun gets around 80, he’s pretty sure of a Top 10 spot, maybe even a Top 5. He watches the replay of all of Sehun’s technical elements, all of which are perfect, no rotation out for deliberation.

Lu Han jumps up and whoops loudly when Sehun gets an 81.22, shattering his season’s and personal best, into first. Sehun’s eyes were wide, and he looks frozen in place, that it took Coach Kwon at least a minute to snap him out of his daze to drag him out of the kiss and cry. At the end of the short program, Sehun is fourth, and if he delivers the same (or a better) performance in the free skate, he’ll be up for podium contention.

Lu Han and Yixing basically slept in the living room as soon as the short program was over. Jongin was about to do the same, but his phone rings again, Sehun’s name in the caller ID. “Hey,” he says as soon as he picks up. “Congratulations. You kicked ass back there!”

“Thanks?” Sehun’s voice is shaking. “I can’t believe it, Jongin! I thought I won’t be able to do it because I still haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep but I did it?!”

“Yeah, you di—”

“And now people are saying I can win a medal! It’s crazy, Jongin! I’m not even sure if I can, I mean, what if I screw up or make a fool of myself in the free skate, or—”

“Sehun!” he says, laughing. “Calm down, will you? Come on, deep breaths.” When Sehun does as he’s told, Jongin continues, “Look, you did your best in the short program. Forget about winning a medal and just enjoy the free skate, okay?”

“Is that …” Sehun pauses, cautious. “Is that what you did last year?”

Last year, Jongin went to Beijing, wide-eyed and excited for his first Worlds competition. He had a clean short program, and everyone was excited for him for the possibility of getting a first World medal for Korean men’s figure skating. On the day of the free skate, all he wanted to do was to lock himself in his room, racked with questions of What if I screw up? What if the whole nation hates me if I don’t win a medal? Coach Jung had barged in his room and told him to push the thoughts of winning a medal away and enjoy the free skate. “This is what you love,” Coach Jung had told him, “let the whole world see that.”

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “I did that last year.”

He hears Sehun sigh in relief from the other line. “I wish you were here, too, you know,” he says. “I-I mean! Not that Jinseo’s any fun to hang out with, but”—he laughs—“you’re my best friend.”

If there’s anything he’s feeling right now, it’s the warmth of sunlight shining through the window and spreading through his chest. “Hey,” he says. “If there’s anywhere I wanna be right now, it’s in Boston, competing with you.”

He could have sworn he heard sniffing in the other line, and Jongin is about to tease Sehun for being such a crybaby, but he could have sworn he heard Junmyeon’s voice, too. Sehun groans. “I gotta go. Manager wants me. Thanks, Jongin.”

“We’re rooting for you. Go have fun and do your best.”

And two days later, Sehun delivered a free skate that earned him a 268.44, enough to get him a bronze medal. With his placement and with Jinseo’s eighth-place finish, South Korea earns three spots for next year’s Worlds, a first in the country’s history in figure skating. Sehun is in tears during the victory ceremony, and even if it’s the Canadian national anthem playing, he can see the South Korea flags proudly raised among the people in the audience.

Jongin knows he should be happy. After all, not only was Sehun’s victory a historic moment in the sport for their country, but South Korea is now represented in all four disciplines, just in time for the Olympics in Pyeongchang. But there’s that green-eyed monster again, gnawing inside him and taunting him for not being there instead.

When Sehun calls him this time, Jongin pushes his phone away.









With the 2015-2016 season officially over, the rink in Beijing has become more crowded. Team China, as well as Chanyeol and Krystal, have arrived, with tons of souvenirs and stories to share about their Worlds experience. (Chanyeol and Krystal finished fifth.) By that time, Jongin has his first run-through for both his programs, and is now working on his exhibition piece with Song Qian. Song Qian suggested he debut his short program in the ice show in a couple of months, and he’s already excited at the thought. He thinks fans will love it.

Due to the many skaters in the rink, the coaches have agreed that on-ice training be on shifts, alternating between Chinese and Korean skaters. Krystal sits beside him as they watch Lu Han and Yixing goof around with Han Cong and Sui Wenjing. “Hey, Jongin!” she greets with uncharacteristic cheerfulness.

“Hey …?” he says, suspicious.

“How are you? Been busy these past two weeks?”

“Um …” Jongin blinks. “Not particularly … why?”

“Oh … nothing much.” Krystal shrugs. “Sehun has been bothering me, wondering why you never returned any of his messages?”

Jongin gulps and swears to himself. “Oh, that …” He scratches the back of his head, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. “Um … I was on an online hiatus.”

“Lies! Chanyeol has been sending you photos on Kakao Talk, and you were replying every single time.”

Jongin swears to himself again. “Those were really funny photos!” he says defensively.

“Your best friend sends you funny photos and you don’t reply to them?” When Jongin doesn’t reply, she throws her hands up in the air. “Whatever. You two are grown up. You can deal with this when Sehun comes here.”

He has almost forgotten that Sehun will be flying to Beijing, too. Artistry on Ice is coming up, and they were invited to participate, given their closeness with the Chinese skaters. He heard from the organizers that ticket sales have increased, especially now that Sehun became World bronze medalist. It’s true—Jongin had ignored all of Sehun’s calls and messages, all because of a feeling he doesn’t wish to acknowledge. He’s at a loss as to what to say when he finally sees Sehun again.

When Sehun arrives, Lu Han and Yixing rush to his side, asking to show off his bronze medal. Jongin mutters something about forgetting something in the practice room, but Chanyeol is quick to lock him in a noogie. When Sehun sees him, his face is quick to brighten up as he walks briskly to their direction. “Hey!” he greets. “I left you tons of messages.”

Jongin winces as Chanyeol lets him go. “I was … kinda busy,” he lies. “Training for the new season and all.”

“Oh.” Sehun blinks. “Right. You started training early.”

He was pretty sure Sehun didn’t mean it as an insult, but he his shoulders tense up nonetheless. “Well, yeah. Anyway, I have to practice some more. Congratulations, Sehun.” He manages a smile—or a grimace, more like it—before heading to the locker room, before Sehun can even call his name.

The KSU-rented apartment becomes more crowded, and it’s more difficult to avoid Sehun now that they’re in the same place. It sure is appreciated when he’s surrounded by people who speak the same language as he’s speaking, but when he’s around Sehun, he’s at a loss of what to say. He can only manage a few formal words before he’s off to sleep or training, ignoring a very confused Sehun and very curious looks from his teammates.

“Did you guys get into a fight that even he doesn’t know about?” Yixing asks as they practice the ice show’s opening number.

Jongin catches Sehun’s eye and quickly looks away. “No, I’m just focusing on priorities.”

Yixing makes a tsk sound before skating away. “If you say so.”

The first Artistry on Ice show was a success. The reception to his Kingsman short program was warm, with the fans clamoring for an encore, which he happily obliges. Lu Han challenges them to a quad battle, which ended up with all the men with sore knees and hips later on. Sehun clutches his arm and pulls him up, and Jongin is momentarily surprised at how he’s laughing in earnest, like he wasn’t being ignored all this time. “Fan service,” Jongin tells himself, but he feels a stabbing pain in his chest at the thought, nonetheless.

Sehun scoots near him during the finale, when everyone is waving goodbye at the audience. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” he says. It sounds like he’s pleading, but Jongin doesn’t want to believe that, for his sanity. “Can we talk? Please?”

“Yes,” Jongin wants to say, but he doesn’t get a chance as the Chinese team pulls him to the audience for one last goodbye.

They don’t get a chance to talk after the show, either. Sehun had to skip the after-show party for his flight back to Seoul. He’s about to start his new choreography with Kim Hyoyeon, not to mention attend to a few events he was invited to because he’s the World bronze medalist. He’ll come back two weeks later, just in time for their show in Shanghai. He catches Sehun groaning as he looks as his schedule in his phone, and Jongin looks away just as the younger one says his goodbyes.

He receives a whack on the back of the head from Krystal. “What was that for?!” he yelps, wincing at the pain.

“That?” Krystal says with a glare. “That’s for being an idiot.”

Jongin glares back at Krystal’s retreating figure, but he knows he deserves that.









He gets himself lost in training for the next two weeks, in between promoting the show, giving interviews from both local and international media, and finally flying to Shanghai. When Sehun rejoins them in Shanghai, they exchange quick but awkward greetings, nothing more, nothing less.

Rehearsal goes as smoothly as ever, with some changes. Henry Lau has been added to the cast, so do a couple of Russian pair teams. Some programs have been changed, including Sehun’s. Whispers by some of the girls say that Sehun will be debuting his new free skate on the show. Not that he cares. Skaters debut their new programs in ice shows all the time—that’s how shows get high sales most of the time.

“I bet it’s gonna be another warhorse,” Chanyeol says as soon as opening number rehearsals are done. “I mean, I’ll believe in miracles if he doesn’t skate to a warhorse this season. Remember a couple of seasons ago?”

“Don’t remind me of the many Phantoms of the Opera I had to endure that season,” Krystal groans.

“I think he’s gonna go for Carmen this season,” Chanyeol continues. “I bet you a million won he’s going to skate to Carmen. What do you say, Jongin?”

“Jongin doesn’t even want to talk to Sehun. What makes you think he’s gonna join a bet about Sehun?” Krystal has had a reputation of being an ice princess, but her statement contained more frost than intended as Chanyeol shifted a few seats away from her.

They watch Lu Han finish practicing his exhibition program—a collaboration between him and a famous Chinese balladeer—before Sehun is circling the rink. Chanyeol hoots at him, at which Sehun grins and gives a thumbs up, before striking his opening pose.

The moment the first few notes start to play, Jongin feels he’s been doused by cold water. That music has a faster beat and a heavier bass, but the music is familiar, too familiar, in fact. It’s music that he has played in his phone for the past couple of months, in the rink during practice, in his mind when he’s trying to visualize his program in his mind …

Swan Lake. His free skate.

“Well …” Chanyeol blinks, as soon as Sehun is finished skating. “I don’t know what’s worse—a warhorse or a warhorse remix.”

“I have to go.” Jongin grits his teeth and clenches his fists as he stands up.

“Wait, where? Krystal and I are just about to debut our new program, too!”

“I need to talk to Sehun.”

“Fantastic! He’s finally going to talk to Sehun!” Krystal cheers wryly from where she’s sitting. Jongin ignores her and stomps away from the seats.

He catches Sehun chatting with Coach Kwon in the hallway, and he bites back the urge to yell the younger one’s name. He lingers a bit until Coach Kwon notices his presence, and she nudges Sehun at his direction. Sehun freezes, eyes wide, and Jongin takes Coach Kwon’s departure a sign to approach the younger one, although his stride came more as angry, heavy trudges. “We need to talk,” Jongin says, every word a huge effort to blurt out. “Sehun, what the hell?”

There’s no mistaking the confusion in Sehun’s face. “‘We need to talk,’” he repeats. “Wow, this is new, after being ignored for a month.”

Jongin ignores the comment. “Swan Lake? Really? Out of all the music you can skate to, it’s Swan Lake?”

“Well yeah, Hyoyeon-noona and I agreed on the music, and she thought I was mature enough to …” Sehun pauses, realization dawning on his face. “Oh god, you’re skating to Swan Lake, too.”

“Yeah.” Jongin huffs.

“I can’t just change my program, Jongin. We’ve already worked on the basic outline of the program and—”

“But Song Qian and I had this Swan Lake down for a couple of months! You can’t expect me to—”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not making adjustments for my program just because you asked.” Sehun’s usually calm demeanor is replaced by frustration Jongin has never seen before. “Second of all”—his ears are turning pink right now—“what is wrong with you? You stopped talking to me and started avoiding me like I have disease or something, and suddenly you wanna play stage mom on my program music?”

“Because I believe in that music, and I don’t want it to get ruined by dubstep and—”

“You didn’t answer my question.” His expression softens, eyes inquiring. “Did I do something wrong, Jongin? Why are you avoiding me? I’m not sure if I did something wrong if you’re not telling me anything.”

“I—” Jongin opens his mouth to answer, but the words escape him. How is he going to say that the green-eyed monster in him has taken over, and even if he tries to say something, he can’t. And maybe he won’t. So he shakes his head. “Forget it. I have to go.”

“There you go again!” Sehun says in exasperation as Jongin brushes past him. “So it’s something I did! Now would you mind being more specific?” Jongin continues walking, and he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder and spinning him around. “Hey! I was talking to you!”

The laugh that came out of Jongin’s mouth doesn’t sound like his. “Since when have you been this antagonistic? Did that National title and World medal get to your head?”

Sehun’s jaw drops, but he’s quick on his bearings. “No, not really,” he says as he shakes his head. “You’re just being a jerk.”

Jongin feels the blood rush to his face. “I’m not—”

“I’m keeping Swan Lake. That’s final.” Sehun puts his hands in his hips to make a point, his glare evident. “It’s my program, and I’m not gonna be convinced otherwise by someone who was my friend.”

“Fine.” Jongin grits his teeth. “Do it your way. See who the judges love better.”

“Fine!” Sehun quickly turns around and walks away.

Jongin sees nothing but blinding white heat as he walks the other direction, almost bumping into Baekhyun, who looked like he had just arrived in the arena. It’s when he’s alone outside the arena when the white heat has subsided, and he feels nothing but heavy feelings of regret. Sehun’s words still ring in his head. “Was my friend.” He is now a past tense, a part of Sehun’s history that he’ll most likely never open again.

Maybe it’s for the best, he thinks. They’re two of the biggest rising stars in figure skating, and they both want the same things, but only one of them can get it. At this point, Jongin can’t be around Sehun without those crippling, jealous feeling; career has to go first, and friendship should take a back seat.

Jongin tries to convince himself over and over again, but the heavy feelings refuse to go away.









He can only heave a sigh of relief when Artistry on Ice wraps up. He can’t stand being in Team Korea selcas and faking smiles during the after-party, with Lu Han and Yixing going back and forth just to hang out with him and Sehun. Jongin has had enough, so he excuses himself early, not meeting Sehun’s eyes as he leaves.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Coach Jung asks him on the flight back to Beijing.

Jongin snuggles closer to his seat and shakes his head.

He can hear Coach Jung sighing beside him, accepting a bottle of water that the stewardess hands him. After a couple of gulps, he can feel the seat beside him dip lower. From the other side, Kyungsoo is deep in slumber. He looks out of his window and sighs as well, wondering about his decisions for the past month. It would have been easier to just have stopped caring about Nationals and Worlds altogether, but …

“You know what they say about a singles skater?” Coach Jung suddenly asks.

Jongin blinks. “What?”

“That whenever they take to the ice, they’re in the loneliest place of their lives.” Coach Jung smiles. “Do you think that’s true?”

The loneliest place of their lives … Was it really? Every time he takes to the ice, to the center of the rink, he feels like he’s in a stage and everyone is sitting, enchanted from his opening up to the ending pose. And in the end, when the scores tally up, it’s him on top of that podium, nothing else. And when he fails, he has no one to blame but himself. Looking back, does it feel lonely, having nobody to share victories and pains with, compared to Chanyeol and Krystal, and Sunyoung and Minho, who make it a team effort?

“You don’t have to answer it,” Coach Jung says, patting his knee. “Whether it feels lonely or not, it helps to have someone there with you.”

When Jongin and Sehun were eight years old and under Shin Heasook’s wing, Coach Shin had told them they weren’t going to make it far. Back then, Jongin couldn’t land a single toe, and Sehun would cry every time he’d fall. They cried after practice and bought ice cream then made a pact that they’ll work hard together to be the next Olympic gold medalist. No arguments among who of them is going to win that gold; it was pretty much an unspoken word that they will both be happy for whoever wins between the two of them.

But Jongin is now eighteen years old, and as far as Sehun is concerned, they’re no longer friends. He hopes to make it work, be at the top, even he’ll be in the loneliest place on earth.









It’s easier to deal with the situation when training has resumed. Jongin only has to focus on his days in the rink, in the gym, in the dance studio. The programs are coming together, and his technique is getting more consistent. When the ISU sends him an e-mail inviting him to participate in the Grand Prix series, he readily accepts. He gets assigned to Cup of China and Rostelecom Cup, and as soon as the announcements come out, he takes a moment to let it sink in that the season is starting soon. And it’s not just any other season; it’s the Olympic qualifying season, and every competition is crucial leading up to Worlds.

He has to be in Worlds. He has to medal. He has to give Korea three spots for the Olympics.

“Stop making that face.”

Jongin blinks and snaps back to reality, to Yixing’s amused expression. “Making what face?” he asks.

Yixing chuckles and hands him a bottle of Gatorade. They’re the only ones in the rink right now, and Jongin can feel the soreness of his muscles starting to set in after a day of training. “Like the weight of the world rests on your shoulders.”

Jongin sighs and opens his bottle. “It’s not the world,” he says as he takes a gulp. “Maybe just Korea. Don’t you get that sometimes?”

“Sometimes, yes.” Yixing nods. “But I choose not to let it get to me.”

“How?”

“By reminding myself that the pairs team has it harder than we do?” Yixing laughs as Jongin groans. “That, and I remind myself why I skate anyway. I can represent a different country anytime—don’t get me wrong, I’ll choose to skate for China every time—but I’ll still love skating.”

When asked why he loves skating, Jongin would always answer, “Because being in the ice makes me feel like I’m in a stage where I can convey what I want to convey.” Even if he gets injured, even if the judges don’t give him the scores he deserves, he’ll still skate. Because that’s the only thing he imagines ever doing for the rest of his life. He smiles. “That’s a very good point,” he says. “Thanks, Yixing.”

Yixing is about to say something else when Jongin’s phone rings, the ringtone echoing throughout the empty rink. It’s Kyungsoo, and it’s probably another reminder of his photo shoot and interview with International Figure Skating magazine. “Hey, Kyungsoo, what’s up?”

“Kim Jongin, get your ass back in the apartment right now.” The last time Kyungsoo got angry with him was when he said something he shouldn’t have during a post-Grand Prix interview, a reaction that he hopes never to see and experience again. Unfortunately, this phone call is giving him flashbacks.

“What? What did I do?”

“Just head over here, Jongin. I’ll explain everything as soon as you get here.” And with that, Kyungsoo hangs up.

“Weird.” Jongin blinks at his phone. “I must have done something wrong, but I can’t remember what …” He looks at Yixing, who is now frowning at his own phone. “What?”

“Jongin …” Yixing says, slowly as he hands his phone to the younger one. “You might wanna take a look at this …”

Jongin glances at the huge text in Yixing’s phone, which also includes his photo from last Nationals beside Sehun’s Nationals photo. He swears as he reads the first paragraph then glances back to the byline. “Baekhyun.”









It’s the next hottest rivalry since Kim Yuna and Asada Mao, The Chosun Ilbo said in its season-starter article, written by Baekhyun, of course. “Childhood friends are now rivals as the quest for the Olympic gold medal draws nearer.”

The article narrated their history, both together and as individuals—how they went to the same skating class and were coached by Coach Shin up to their junior year, how Jongin started to dominate the junior skating scene and showed promise when he placed fourth in 2015 World Championships, how Sehun started improving and beating Jongin in Nationals before placing third in 2016 World Championships.

“Then asked how his close friend will do in Worlds, Kim Jongin-seonsu shrugs and comments ‘Sehun has this tendency to be inconsistent, so unless he works on that, I don’t think he’ll rank really high,’” Kyungsoo reads from his phone through gritted teeth. “Seriously, Jongin? I thought I told you to go for the neutral!”

“I was getting comfortable with Baekhyun, it slipped my mind!” Jongin says, shoving a lot of chips in his mouth, ignoring Coach Jung’s raised eyebrow.

“Regardless!” Kyungsoo is pacing back and forth as he reads the article, while Jongin follows in his own phone as Kyungsoo recites certain sentences. “Look here! Baekhyun is making Sehun look like a saint while you sound like an asshole!”

It’s true, Jongin begrudgingly admits. Sehun’s answers are mostly “Jongin and I are friends. I’m so happy I’m competing in the same level as him now. I feel bad I took the national title from him, but I hope we’ll be in the same podium next year.” All positive. All hopeful. And then Baekhyun mentioned their argument backstage in Shanghai, which further fuels the rivalry angle. Jongin finds it difficult to breathe and closes the browser.

“I have an emergency meeting with Junmyeon and President Choi about this matter,” Kyungsoo says, and his phone rings one more time. “If Baekhyun calls, don’t comment. And if there’s a miracle that Sehun calls you and wants to kiss and make up, that would be great. Don’t give me any more headaches, Jongin.” He answers his call and slams the door to his room.

Jongin slips down the couch, a hand on his head. “I screwed things up, haven’t I?”

“Not entirely. Kyungsoo can handle it.” Coach Jung chuckles. “You know how the media can be. They’ll find every angle they can to get people to read their papers and go to their Web sites.”

“But I’m the jerk here,” Jongin groans. “Everyone’s gonna go to Sehun’s side now.”

“Not everyone,” Coach Jung assures him. “Believe in Kyungsoo’s powers of damage control. He’ll work something out with Junmyeon, okay?”

Jongin takes a deep breath and nods. Kyungsoo has gotten him out of some sticky situations when he first came in as his manager. This shouldn’t be any different, right?

Kyungsoo leaves his room after what feels like an eternity. His eyebrows look like they’ll never separate for a while, and those wide eyes make Jongin bury his face in a nearby throw pillow. “Jongin, show your face. I want you to look me in the eyes when we talk.”

Jongin does so, grudgingly.

“Okay, so President Choi said I may have overreacted.” Kyungsoo huffs at his own sentence. “Anyway, he said there’s nothing we can do much about the article except for you to improve your image now.” He sighs. “So I’m going to make you a clarification statement to make in your Web site and in the KSU site. And I know you and Sehun are not talking right now, but I have to mention that you two are at least on good terms. Got that?”

Jongin nods.

“Next is”—Kyungsoo massages his forehead—“President Choi actually wants to keep the rivalry angle.” He nods as Jongin’s eyes widen. “There have been several companies who asked to be sponsors for next year’s Nationals as soon as the article came out. He said this is what we need—a rivalry to keep figure skating in Korea alive.”

“It’s true.” Coach Jung nods his agreement. “Rivalry keeps people interested, gets more people buying seats in a competition.”

“So now all we have to do is make sure you are better than Sehun the next time you face off,” Kyungsoo concludes, although it doesn’t look like he himself approves of the idea. “They actually want the two of you to qualify for the Grand Prix Final. Can you make sure of that?”

“It’s my plan to make it to GPF, with our without the rivalry,” Jongin says, his shoulders relaxing since the article broke out. “I’ll make it work, Kyungsoo, don’t worry.”

“Good.” Kyungsoo stands up, his forehead crease-free by now. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go get really strong coffee. I need to make that statement.”

“Hey.” Jongin stands up. “I’m sorry, Kyungsoo. This must be a headache for you.”

“Not really.” Kyungsoo’s expression softens. “Just make sure you think before you speak next time. I don’t want to be handling any more PR nightmares, got that?”

“I promise.” Jongin ruffles Kyungsoo’s hair, and grins when the older one protests. “Let me make that coffee for you.”

“Make it extra strong, Jongin, I’ll be up all night!”

When Jongin logs in after Kyungsoo posts the statement, the comments aren’t so bad. There were some negative comments, but it was expected. He’s very glad that there are some people who continue to support him, most of them are his fans ever since his junior years. His fellow skaters do more teasing than berating, his Kakao Talk constantly lighting up his phone with Jongin vs. Sehun memes that Chanyeol has dug up from the Internet.

But his phone never lights up with the second party involved in the rivalry article. Jongin knows he should stop expecting, but he finds himself jumping every time his phone lights up then deflating when the message is not from the person he expected. He also knows he should make the first move to message that one difficult word to say, but he finds himself being overwhelmed with pride, shame, and guilt, and he gives up.









Before Jongin knows it, the season has begun, for his friends and teammates at least. His coaching team has decided to skip the Challenger Series in favor of training for the Grand Prix—that is the topmost priority. It’s a little lonely whenever Lu Han and Yixing aren’t there, and whenever Chanyeol or Krystal isn’t online, but he just focuses on the goal—to make it to the Grand Prix Final. If he qualifies, it will be his third trip, the most a Korean man has ever gone, and he’ll make sure he’ll prove that he just had a bad season and that he’ll be back with a vengeance.

November is quick to come. He easily wins gold at Cup of China, just a few points away from his personal best. He made some mistakes in his free skate in Russia, but the mistakes weren’t so bad compared to his mistakes last season, and he wins a silver medal and qualifies for the Grand Prix Final. He returns to Korea with fans and reporters alike swarming the airport, and he has a good feeling that all the hard work has been paying off so far.

“This will be your third trip to the Grand Prix Final,” Kim Kibum tells him during their recording for the morning show. “In what ways do you think this third experience will be different?”

“Well …” Jongin runs a hand through his hair, unusually stiff after he emerged from the dressing room. “The field is deeper now. As far as rankings go at the moment, I’m against three World champions. Making it to the podium will be difficult, but it’s not impossible.”

“Oh Sehun-seonsu won in Skate America at the beginning of the series,” Kibum mentions. “He’ll be competing in NHK Trophy. Do you think he has the chances of making it in the Final, too?”

From the corner of his eye, he catches Kyungsoo giving him a warning look. This is precisely the question that got him in trouble, but the two of them have rehearsed their answers in case journalists ask him any rivalry-related question. He puts on his best contemplative look. “Sehun has gotten stronger last season, and this season is no exception. He’ll be up against the Olympic gold medalist in his home country, and that will be a challenge. But I think with the right mindset, Sehun will be able to medal and qualify for the Final.”

“And if Oh Sehun-seonsu makes it to the Final, who do you think has a better chance of winning?”

I do, he wants to say, but instead he gives a chuckle and says “I’d like it to be me, of course”, which sends Kyungsoo sighing in relief and the studio chuckling with him.

Against his wishes, Coach Jung gets him to watch NHK Trophy. “Look, I need you to know who you’re up against,” he says. “Whether he qualifies for the Final or not.”

“If it’s your attempt to make me miss Sehun, it’s not going to work.”

“I didn’t say anything about missing Sehun,” Coach Jung says, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “But you do miss him, don’t you?”

Jongin swears under his breath, ignoring his coach’s laughter.

He finds himself alone in his room in Seoul, tuning in to SBS just in time for the men’s short program to start. When the final group starts warming up, he catches Sehun wearing red and black, and he has a sinking feeling he knows what program it is. He quickly messages Chanyeol. “Coach Jung forced me to watch. Is Sehun skating to Carmen?”

The reply was fast, and Jongin catches Chanyeol sitting in the stands, grinning maniacally. (He and Krystal had finished competing early, winning a bronze medal.) “‘Coach Jung forced me to watch’ – LIES. But yeah, Carmen. Now Minho owes me 2000 won.”

Jongin rolls his eyes and doesn’t reply to that. The final group has finished warming up, and it’s Sehun who takes to the ice. The ever-familiar music starts to play, and he effortlessly lands his quad toe, and every jump after that. As he watches, Jongin can’t help but be amazed at how much Sehun has improved—his skating skills, the flow of his jumps, his footwork. The crowd is on their feet as he finishes, and Jongin knows that’s going into first place.

Sure enough, Sehun gets a 78.29, into first place, and he’s in third after all the skaters have competed. (Hanyu Yuzuru is in first, but that’s no surprise.) If he skates cleanly in tomorrow’s free skate, he can either settle for being an alternate or actually make it to the Final. At the rate he’s going, though, the latter is more possible.

And true to his predictions, Sehun clinches the silver medal and the last slot for the Grand Prix Final. His free skate was as clean as his short program, and he shattered his personal best for the free skate and total competition score. Online, he can see everyone is delighted at the news—for the first time in history, two men will be representing Korea in the Grand Prix Final.

That also means he and Sehun will be together in an international competition. It’s a dream they have strived for, but that was when they were friends. He’s already a past tense in Sehun’s life, and now this news is both thrilling and bittersweet.









The media goes into a frenzy as soon as Grand Prix Final entries are out—not only did he and Sehun qualify, Park Soyoun qualified for the ladies, and Cha Junhwan and Choi Dabin qualified for the Junior Grand Prix Final, the most entries Korea has for a GPF. Jongin finds Kyungsoo constantly on his phone or in front of his laptop, and he finds his schedule full of interviews, photo shoots, and endorsement deals—all in between his training schedule. His head is swimming at the colors in the printed schedule Kyungsoo has plopped in front of him three hours after the Grand Prix Final entries list came out.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” Jongin groans, the color codes making him nauseous.

“Don’t,” Kyungsoo says with a glare. “I slaved over this for three hours.”

“I was only joking!”

“I know.” Kyungsoo rolls his eyes before his expression turns concerned. “There’s also one thing.”

“What?”

“You and Sehun have to appear in most of these schedules,” Kyungsoo says. “Together.”

Jongin breathes heavily. It’s no surprise to him. He already thought of that possibility a few hours ago, although it doesn’t make things any easier. “I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise,” he says.

“Will you be okay?” Kyungsoo asks, concerned. “This will be your first time seeing him again since Shanghai.”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?” Jongin points out, grimacing.

“Can’t you just talk to him and, I do’t know, keep things amiable if you two aren’t gonna be that close anymore?”

The heavy feeling is back. “I can try …? We’re both in the same team, and even if we’re both aiming for a podium finish, we have to at least show we get along, right?”

Kyungsoo blinks. “Ye-Yes …” he says, a pleasantly surprised smile spreading in his face. “I’ll talk to Junmyeon and tell him that, so we’re all in the same page, okay?”

Their post-argument reunion was in Taeneung for a photo shoot and a fluff video for the KSU. He’s very grateful that Soyoun, Dabin, and Junhwan were also there to ease any tension and awkwardness that might happen. Jongin hopes it isn’t going to be as awkward as he’s imagining it would be. How are he and Sehun going to be in this photo shoot, and the photo shoots to come? He tries to calm his shallow breaths just thinking about it. Just smile politely, he tells himself. Make small talk, but nothing personal.

Sehun arrives just as Jongin is getting his makeup done, trying not to laugh when Soyoun shows him a video of Junehyoung having a mental breakdown over seeing his favorite KPop idol. Their gazes meet, and Jongin’s first reaction is to give Sehun a one-armed hug from where he’s sitting and to ask how he was. But he remembers the argument before, and he settles for a reserved smile and a soft “Hi.”

Part of him is expecting a warm greeting; another part of him is expecting Sehun to ignore him. Instead, Sehun mirrors his reserved smile and greeting, and Jongin sighs in relief. This isn’t so bad. Hopefully this keeps up.

The photo shoot and video shoot is smooth sailing. They each had group and individual shoots, asking their fans to support them in the upcoming Grand Prix Final. Jongin temporarily forgets the awkwardness in favor of goofing off with his teammates, who are equally cooperative. He and Sehun try to make small talk while they were on standby. It ends in silence, but Jongin wants to pat himself (and Sehun, too) on the back for the effort.

Kyungsoo picks him up in the lobby with a paper bag full of fried chicken, Jongin’s favorite. “You okay?” he asks, chuckling as Jongin wastes no time devouring a piece.

“I’m tired,” Jongin replies in between mouthfuls. “I’m very tired.”

“You can just apologize. That can make you less stressed out as it is.”

Jongin looks at him pleadingly. There’s so much going on right now. He’s not sure if he’s ready to sit down with Sehun and finally say something.

Fortunately, Kyungsoo takes the hint. “Okay, okay, I won’t bring that up again. Come on, let’s get you home.”

After that, they have a TV appearance, a photo shoot for a sports magazine, and an endorsement shoot. Since he and Sehun skate under the same discipline, they always end up being shot together. It’s a little surprising how well he and Sehun work well to cover up the awkwardness between them, as if an argument never happened.

“They’ve branded the two of you as the next hottest figure skating rivalry,” Im Yoona of a sports magazine tells them during an interview. “Has this affected your relationship?”

Jongin swears to himself. He’d rather have the ground swallow him up rather than answer this question. But he wants to answer this. The KSU wants a rivalry, but he wants to let the world know it’s a friendly rivalry.

He doesn’t expect Sehun to answer a chuckle. “Jongin and I are still friends. It’s strange when people pit us against each other, but we’ve learned to deal with it.”

“Yeah,” Jongin chimes in, regaining his bearings as he grins. “When Sehun won Nationals, I admit I was jealous and frustrated, but he skated better than I did, so I was happy for him.”

“I messaged him after Nationals, and he never answered them,” Sehun says. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes, as if telling an embarrassing story that he’ll never let Jongin live down.

So Jongin plays along. “I already said sorry!” he exclaims, causing everyone around them to laugh.

The journalist leaves, feeling satisfied, and he sighs in relief. Beside him, Sehun looks equally relieved, and when they look at each other, they shared a smile. This time, there are no cameras flashing, and this is the first, genuine smile they shared. Jongin is a little hopeful that they can patch things up, maybe before the Final—

“Jongin!” Kyungsoo suddenly arrives, looking more flustered than usual. “Let’s go, you have an endorsement shoot at—oh.” He pauses, and looks at the two of them. His eyes brighten up at the sight of the two of them having a moment. “Do you two need to—?”

“Um …” Sehun is quick to stand up, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “It’s okay, I’m about to go …” He smiles at Jongin, and it’s back to being reserved. “I’ll see you in the Final?”

“Yeah.” Jongin only manages to smile as soon as Sehun has left, and the smile won’t go away. It’s a start.









Training wraps up a week later, and the next thing Jongin knows, they’re flying to Saint Petersburg. As soon as he arrives in the arena, he wastes no time getting used to the ice. His program run-throughs go well, and he feels confident that he’ll repeat the feat in the next practice, and eventually in the competition.

Public practice starts on Tuesday, and his eyes widen when he hears cheers in his native tongue. When he looks up the seats, he catches Korean fans already hanging their banners. When he went to last year’s Final, the sight of fans all the way from Korea was still uncommon. Now, the Japanese fans still occupy majority of the arena, but at least his nationality is no longer a speck in this sport.

He spots Sehun standing at the center of the rink; he had just finished his short program run-through. He’s looking up at the stands, eyes wide and mouth wide open, as if taking in the entire experience. Jongin had almost forgotten that this is Sehun’s first Grand Prix Final, and he remembers being like that, too—awestruck and overwhelmed. He’s half-tempted to skate to Sehun’s side, and when he gets the courage to do so, Javier Fernández of Spain had excused himself in between them because it’s his turn for the run-through.

Coach Jung talks to him about this after the short program draw. “I know you want to make things right with Sehun,” he says. “And I hate to say this, but your priority is this competition.”

Jongin nods. “I’m third to skate,” he announces.

“Better than last year,” Coach Jung says with a smile, “but that means you have to skate better, do you understand?”

And skate better he did. His jumps were flawless, and he earns a score of 80.75, a personal best. Still, he’s in fifth place with Japan’s Yuzuru Hanyu in first. His free skate needs to be an absolute best if he wants to win a medal.

He looks at the protocols recently issued by the staff and he sees Sehun’s name below his. Sixth place. It’s not so bad because of the depth of the men’s field—and the Grand Prix Final already features the best of the best—but sixth out of sixth still doesn’t bode well for many. Even for him.

He shakes his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. “Think of your own program, Jongin,” he tells himself as he prepares himself for his free skate run-through, but he stops when he sees a familiar figure approaching him. He blinks, just to make sure, but there’s no mistaking it. “Hyoyeon-noona!”

“Jongin!” she cheerfully greets, hugging him as soon as she approaches him. “It’s been a while! Look at you! The last time we’ve seen each other, I was still taller!”

Jongin grins. “What are you doing here?”

“They actually invited me to choreograph the gala exhibition! Isn’t it crazy? A couple of nights ago, I was about to relax because all my skaters have their choreography down, then ISU called and invited me to be the choreographer!”

They end up having dinner together and catching up. Jongin has warm memories of Kim Hyoyeon ever since she became his main choreographer in his junior years. They became close to the point that Hyoyeon told him to drop the honorifics and asked him to call her “noona” instead. Since Jongin switched coaches and choreographers, they still keep in touch, but busy schedules have reduced that. Jongin’s glad they finally have the opportunity to catch up today.

When dinner is over, Hyoyeon invites him to go for a little walk in the park. “I have a little confession to make,” she says.

“Yeah?”

Hyoyeon kicks a stray pebble on her way. “Sehun’s Swan Lake program? The choreography for that was supposed to be for you.”

Jongin freezes in his steps. He looks at Hyoyeon, not exactly sure what to say except “What?”

“When you told me you wanted to skate to Swan Lake and I told you, you weren’t mature enough for it yet, that was true,” Hyoyeon explains. “But I worked on choreography for it, minus the dubstep, so when you’re ready, you already have something to work on. But then you switched coaches.” She laughs. “No hard feelings, though!”

“But I didn’t switch choreographers until the season after,” Jongin points out. His head hurts, for some reason.

“I know. But coaching changes are a huge adjustment, so I had to let it go. By the time I thought you were ready, they already got Song Qian to choreograph you.”

“So why give it to Sehun?”

“Because …” Hyoyeon smiles sheepishly. “I guess it just happened. When Sehun and I were discussing his program music for this season, I kind of suggested it because it’s been shelved in my choreography WIP list for a long time. He and Boa-seonsaengim liked it and suggested some tweaks so … there you have it.”

It’s not unusual for a choreographer to give away choreographer meant for another skater. Jongin would brood about it some more, but he realizes he doesn’t need to anymore. He’s tired of dwelling on the many things he can’t control, and it’s not going to help his own skate anyway. He takes a deep breath, and forgets about whatever thoughts and feelings he has harbored for the past months.

“Sehun told me you were avoiding him,” Hyoyeon says.

“I was a jerk,” Jongin admits. “Being in the spotlight turned me into this green-eyed jerk and I ruined it.”

“Not entirely.” Hyoyeon pats him on the arm. “You can still fix this. A friendship like yours and Sehun’s? It’s priceless. It’s beyond TES and PCS.”

He can still fix this … Jongin remembers the relieved smile they shared after the sports magazine interview. There’s a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they can go back to the way they were before.









The day of the free skate came, and Sehun and Jongin are the first two to skate, respectively. He smiles at Sehun before the warm-up and whispers a “Good luck.” To his surprise—and relief—Sehun smiles back and nods. “You too.”

Sehun is the first to skate, and the cheers are loud as he the opening notes to Swan Lake start to play. There are loud gasps in the audience, and Jongin winces as Sehun falls on his opening quad toe. “Not rotated enough either,” he hears Coach Jung mutter beside him as they watch.

Jongin gulps. “Sehun, please come back,” he says to himself. Sehun has become consistent for the past season. This is just going to be one mistake, right?

That fall, apparently, was the start of the disaster. Sehun steps out of his next quad and didn’t have much time to add his combo jump. He then singled his triple axel, then fell on a triple loop (“That’s also under-rotated,” Coach Jung says.). By the time the free skate is over, the audience’s applause was subdued, and Jongin’s chest aches at Sehun’s disappointed face as he skates back to the boards.

He feels Coach Jung’s hand on his shoulder, tight it almost hurts. “I know you feel bad for him,” he says, “but now’s not the time. Go warm up and do your best.”

Jongin hesitates, as he looks at Sehun in the kiss and cry. He has his face buried in his hands, and all he wants to do is to be there. But he shakes his head. It’s his turn to skate.

The announcer finally announces Sehun’s free skate score, 120.23, into first. The crowd is silent, and Jongin doesn’t want to look at Sehun now, especially since his name is now called. Even when his name was called, the applause is still subdued, as if expecting the same disaster from him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’s going to prove them wrong.

Swan Lake plays again, and Jongin gets into character. He’s no longer Kim Jongin, but Prince Siegfried, bright and full of spirit. He sets himself up for an opening quad toe, and he grins as the audience roars. He mentally checks off the next elements—triple sal-triple toe, triple axel, combination spin, step sequence—all flawless. If he could pump his fist in the air right now, he would, but the high he’s experiencing right now will have to do.

He falls to the ground as soon as he finishes his free skate. His chest his throbbing—with joy, with relief, with exhaustion. It feels like an eternity, when he finally gets the energy to stand up, and the sight of everything is blurry right now, but he bows as soon as the announcer repeats his name. He rubs his eyes and almost bumps into a flower girl, and he accepts a plushie in apology. Coach Jung is laughing at him when he skates back to the boards. He’s saying something, but he’s not so sure what, and Jongin is still in a daze that Kyungsoo has to help him put his skates back on and head to the kiss and cry.

“That was the best skate of your career,” Coach Jung tells him. “I’m proud of you.”

Jongin makes a noise that is a mix of a sob and a victory yell when his scores come out. It’s a 170.68, eight points higher than his last season’s best score, and he’s currently in first place. There are goose bumps all over his body, even more so when he sees the Korean members of the audience jumping up and down, waving flags from their seats.

When he finally has the energy to stand, he’s sitting in the waiting room, where the leading skaters can watch the other competitors. Sehun is in there, playing with a plushie. Jongin feels reality finally setting in, and he manages a smile. “Hey,” he greets.

“Hey,” Sehun greets back, expressionless. “Saw your skate. That was really good.”

“Thanks,” Jongin says as he takes a seat. “Your skate”—he pauses, and gulps—“um—”

“I know, I suck.” Sehun sighs as he fixes his eyes on the screen, with Javier Fernández of Spain on the screen. “I know, Jongin. You don’t have to say anything.”

Jongin opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing is coming out. Should he say words of encouragement? But then again, wouldn’t they be ill-placed words, seeing as he just skated his best?

In the end, he doesn’t say anything. Because if he’s going to apologize to Sehun, now is not the right time.









The press surrounds him as soon as he lands in Incheon. Jongin is too happy to care about fans are trying to reach for him, how microphones are being shoved in his face. His smile is genuine as he shows off his silver medal, as he strolls to the conference room.

Every day he has something to do—an interview for TV or a newspaper or a magazine, an endorsement shoot, several courtesy calls—in between training. It’s overwhelming to see his face in paper, in television, in the billboards. When he won Junior Worlds, he didn’t get this much exposure. But he’s glad, glad that people are still paying attention to figure skating. That figure skating will live on even without Kim Yuna, even without him.

He moves training places to Korea. It’s not permanent—after all, Nationals will be happening in a month, and it’s just fit that he prepares in his home country. That, and the KSU has requested so that he’s more accessible to media.

“Given Oh Sehun-seonsu’s performance in last week’s Grand Prix Final, do you think it will be easy to get your national title back?” Kim Kibum asks him in a morning interview a week before Nationals.

Everyone is saying that he can take his national title easily, now that the reigning national champion is not in his top form. Part of him feels confident that he’ll win that title back, but another part of him feels bad that Sehun is getting that kind of feedback.

Jongin wants to groan. What’s with media and wanting him to say things that can make things worse? Still, the camera is still running, and he puts on his most neutral expression. “What happened to Sehun … it can happen to any athlete whenever they’re under pressure.”

“Including you?”

“Of course!” Jongin nods. “It’s Sehun’s first time at the Grand Prix Final, and we were surrounded by Olympic and World medalists. Anyone can buckle to that pressure.”

“But you didn’t,” Kibum points out. “People said that was the best skate of your career.”

“It was,” Jongin gushes, his face heating up. Every time people mention that free skate, he wants to pinch himself and ask if it happened. “I am very happy with the results.”

“Will we see this Kim Jongin in Nationals?”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll be able to outdo that, but I will do my best.”









The next thing he knows, it’s the day of the National Competition. He’s surprised to find the arena more crowded than ever, if not already jam-packed. As soon as he takes to the ice for his short program warm-up, the crowd goes wild. He looks around the rink for any sign of Sehun, who is occupied in talking to Coach Kwon by the boards. He wonders why he thought of Sehun at that time, but he shakes that thought out of his mind. He needs to focus.

Finally, the warm-up is over, and Jinseo was the first to take to the ice. He finds himself standing beside Sehun by the sides, and he feels self-conscious at the moment. And, as usual, he can’t find the words to say other than “Good luck” when Sehun goes to the rink for warm-up before his skate.

They both gave flawless skates, with Jongin in first with 86.28 and Sehun in second with 82.08. The free skate is the decisive factor, and Jongin has never felt nervous in his entire life. He wants that national title back, more than anything. The crowd’s cheers aren’t helping as he skates to the rink to warm up after Jinseo has finished skating, and his heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest.

“Jongin!” he hears Coach Jung call him, a sign that he should approach the boards for some last-minute talk with his coach. His coach is frowning. “What’s wrong? You look out of it.”

“I’m nervous,” Jongin admits, his heart jumping when Jinseo’s scores were announced—149.78, into first. “I don’t know why, but—”

“Just focus on the free skate, and everything will be okay,” Coach Jung tells him, his hand on Jongin’s. The cheers of the crowd are ringing in his ears, and his heart is pounding frantically again. “Remember—you’re doing what you love. Let the whole world see that.”

Jongin nods. He hears the announcer call his name, and the cheers are louder than ever. He takes a deep breath and lets himself get lost in the music once more.

He steps out of his quad toe, but went on to make a good recovery with a quad toe-triple toe. He’s pretty sure he took off on the wrong edge of his triple flip right now, but there’s nothing he can do but fight back. He’s grimacing by the time he’s finished, but he just thinks, It’s not a disaster of a free skate compared to last year.

He gets a 165.21, into first place. Jongin doesn’t expect to get that high of a score, but with two more skaters left, he’s at least assured of a medal.

He has a feeling Sehun is going to skate cleanly, like last year, and he wonders if he should start preparing himself for the inevitable. That, and to ask for an apology because this is precisely the event that started the ill feelings. This has to stop. He misses Sehun. He misses his best friend.

And, as expected, Sehun delivers a clean free skate. The crowd is on their feet as he finishes, and Sehun makes a fist pump. This is proof that the Nationals title wasn’t a fluke, that his free skate in the Grand Prix Final was just a matter of nerves. That’s going to be first, and Jongin can’t find himself being jealous anymore.

When the scores come out, gasps are heard throughout the arena. Jongin feels his jaw dropping at the sight of the scores because That can’t be right …

Oh Sehun. Free skate score: 161.71. Total score: 243.79, into second.

His blood runs cold.









It was the most tense victory ceremony he has ever attended. The hug he and Sehun shared at the podium was stilted, awkward. Jongin can tell Sehun was expecting that victory, as everyone else did. But for some reason, his less-than-perfect skate won over the cleanest free skate in the entire men’s singles. Still, he accepts the gold medal hung around his neck and smiles for the cameras.

When he steps out of the rink, he can see Kyungsoo typing furiously in his phone, looking like his hair is about to turn white. “That bad?” he guesses, grimacing.

Kyungsoo looks around their vicinity before scooting closer so he can speak in a low voice. “It’s terrible, Jongin!” he says. “Fans are calling it a scandal. They’re petitioning for a rematch, a recount of the scores, the resignation of all the judges.”

Jongin’s breathing becomes heavy. He wanted to win so badly, but not this way. He won the national title all because the judges felt like they favored him more over Sehun. It’s not fair. Even he thought Sehun deserved that title more than he did.

“Maybe I should go and apologi—”

“NO!” Kyungsoo exclaims, instantly shooting up from his seat. He realizes he has caught the attention of the people around them, and he apologizes profusely before sitting down and glaring at Jongin. “You do no such thing, Kim Jongin.”

“But—”

“Look, if you apologize to the fans, they’ll continue to request for a rematch, which is something President Choi doesn’t want. If you said you deserve that national title, you’re giving them more reason to crucify you.” Kyungsoo sighs. “I know this isn’t your fault, but whatever you say about this issue will get you into trouble.”

“So what do I do?” Jongin asks helplessly.

“You say nothing. And if those nosy journalists ask, say ‘No comment.’ It’s not an ideal answer, but it’s safe. I’ll try to come up with a better answer, but for the meantime, ‘No comment’ is the way to go.”

Jongin hesitates, but he nods.

They wait until every fan has gotten out of the arena, but just to be safe, Kyungsoo arranges for the car to pick them up in the back entrance. Just as he’s out of the changing room, he catches Sehun walking to the lobby with Junmyeon in tow. He forgets he has a ride home and makes a run for Sehun’s direction. “Sehun!” he calls, ignoring Kyungsoo’s frustrated groans from behind him.

Sehun looks over his shoulder, and his eyes widen.

“Look.” Jongin looks Sehun in his eye, and tries to be brave. The fans may not get a straight-out answer from him, but he should at least Sehun know. “About today—”

“Oh, so now you’re talking to me?” Sehun’s voice has that coldness in his voice that is worse than their argument in Shanghai. “You already won the title. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Jongin feels the coldness run through his veins. “But—” he stammers, “you should have won. You were better than me in the free skate …”

There’s a momentary flash of surprise in Sehun’s expression before his eyes narrow. “Oh, so now you’re joining the pity party?”

“T-That’s not it! I—”

“Because don’t. Everyone knows I won that title. Fair and square.” He pauses when he sees a crowd forming. “You know what? I don’t need to talk to you about this. Junmyeon-hyung, let’s go.”

“Sehun, wait!” Jongin tries to reach out for Sehun, but the younger one was already swallowed by the crowd on the way out. There are cameras flashing, and there are microphones and voice recorders shoved at his face, but he just stands there, dumbfounded. Lost.









Their confrontation never made it to the news. President Choi said something about a certain public relations expense, and somehow he feels thankful. Still, he knows there are people out there who have witnessed it and have posted about it. He deactivates his accounts before Kyungsoo can even ask him, and focuses on training for Four Continents and Worlds.

KSU has put him in both Four Continents and Worlds. It had been his goal the whole season to get his national title back and be back in the World team, but now, that victory had felt so empty. Yes, he won, but did he deserve it?

He wants to laugh at the irony of it all. Last year, he was the one who had been carping about Sehun winning Nationals, even went to the point to confront and avoid his best friend. And now, the tables have turned. This must have been what Sehun felt when Jongin ignored him for months—confused, sad, nostalgic. He deserved this, after what he did. Sehun had every right to lash out at him.

But even if he deserved him, missing Sehun still overpowers all the feelings.

The strain on their friendship has put a strain on their teammates as well. Their teammates make sure not to put them in the same conversation, and take turns hanging out with the two of them. Most of the time, , he hangs out with Lu Han and Yixing, although that doesn’t make things easier.

“You know,” Lu Han tells him sagely, as they finish public practice for the day, “everything can be solved by just saying one word.”

Jongin almost misses the skate guard on his blade, and he slightly panics. “He hates me,” he says.

“That’s why you need to say sorry. If Sehun doesn’t take that apology, then you already said what you have to say. You move on.”

Jongin just sighs in reply.

His short program was flawless, which puts him in first place; Sehun ends up in second, and Lu Han in third. He’s very confident about the free skate, which he hopes will be different compared to Nationals. He wants to prove to everyone that he may have had a bad free skate in Nationals, but he is worthy of becoming a national champion.

On the day of the free skate, he steps on the ice and keeps that in mind.

“Next to skate, representing the Republic of Korea, Jongin Kim!”

Jongin smiles widely as he skates to the rink, greeting the audience. He skates to the center of the rink, to face the side with the most Korean fans—

The sight of the banners hanging in the stands feels like a strong punch to the gut.

“Kim Jongin = National Champion Scandal.”

He barely notices the music has started until Coach Jung started yelling. He stumbles on his quad toe and didn’t have enough time to do the combination. He almost stumbles on his step sequence, and by the time he finishes his routine, the applause is hollow and Jongin never felt more defeated than ever.

He tries to fight back tears as he skates back to a disappointed Coach Jung. Surprisingly, his coach pulls him in a one-armed hug and pulls him, almost protectively, to the kiss and cry. “It’s okay,” Coach Jung says softly. “Let it all out.”

“I screwed up,” he says in between sniffs. “This is the worst skate I’ve ever done.”

“It’s not,” Coach Jung says, patting his back. “You were out of focus, that’s all.” When Jongin has calmed down, he says, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think a medal is out of the option right now.”

Jongin nods. That much he knows.

The scores finally come out, and it’s the lowest free skate score he’s had all season. Not even his first place in the short program could save him, and he ends up in second, with two more skaters to go. He walks back to the changing room, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Everything is a blur as he packs in the changing room and heads outside. He barely registers the flashing cameras and the microphones shoved at his face as he makes his way to the parking lot. When he arrives in his hotel room, he crashes on the bed and closes his eyes, hoping that it was all a bad dream until sleep takes him away.









He wakes up with a headache and a thousand messages on his phone. Jongin doesn’t answer all of it, just rolls until he’s facing the ceiling, trying to figure out what happened last night. When he remembers, he groans and rolls to the side, wondering why he had to wake up in the first place.

Just as he thought he’s about to fall asleep again, the door opens and he hears Chanyeol’s deep voice. “Oh!” he exclaims. “Guys, he’s here! He’s alive!”

There’s a noise of feet shuffling from outside, and he keeps his eyes closed, even if he feels there are many people hovering over him. “Jongin?” he hears Krystal’s worried voice. “Jongin, we know you’re awake.”

“Leave me alone,” he groans. He doesn’t budge, nor does he open his eyes.

“We’re worried about you,” he hears Lu Han say. “You just disappeared after your free skate.”

“Yeah, well, in case you missed it, I didn’t really do so well in the free skate.”

“We saw,” Yixing says. “We know it sucked.”

Jongin finally opens his eyes at that. When he sits up, he finds his room suddenly crowded—Chanyeol, Krystal, Lu Han, Yixing. “The judges in Nationals …” he starts, his throat dry. “They made a mistake. It was more obvious today.”

“It happens,” Lu Han says. “Figure skating judges are the worst. I should know.”

Somehow Jongin feels himself smiling at that.

“But he won!” Yixing announces. “Lu Han is the Four Continents champion!”

“You did?” Jongin’s eyes widen as he looks at Lu Han for confirmation. When Lu Han’s face turns red, his smile sheepish, Jongin breaks into a grin. “Oh my god, congratulations! I wish I was present during the victory ceremonies!” He feels bad because this is most probably going to be the last medal Lu Han will ever win before he retires.

“You can make it up to me by being in my medal-cleaning committee,” Lu Han quips, and everyone in the room laughs. “Or, you can do something else.”

“What?” Jongin raises an eyebrow.

“He should be here right about now.” Lu Han looks over his shoulder and brightens up. “Oh look, they’re here! Hi, Jinseo!”

Chanyeol and Yixing, who were blocking his view from the bed, part to show the newcomer. Jinseo has shown up by the doorway, waving at him cheerfully.

Behind Jinseo is Sehun, and Jongin feels his heart just stopped.

He hears Lu Han chuckling. “It was Jinseo’s idea, actually,” he says.

“Yeah,” Jinseo chimes in, arms crossed as they walk into the room. “I’ve had enough of the two of you avoiding each other, and as captain of Team Korea, I have to put an end to this.”

“I can’t do this,” Sehun says. He’s about to turn around, but Jinseo is quick to grab his jacket sleeves and drag him back to the room with unusual force coming from their team captain.

“Oh Sehun, you will do as I say or I swear to god—” Jinseo gets Chanyeol’s help to restrain Sehun into sitting next to Jongin. “Have fun, you guys!” He sticks his tongue out and he leads the other skaters out of the room.

The silence is loud as soon as the door closes. Sehun shifts away from the bed and to the couch, refusing to make eye contact. It’s a miracle he hasn’t run away already; it was difficult getting them in the same room up to this point. Jongin scoots closer so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and formulates in his mind the things he was supposed to say a long time ago.

“I’m sorry.”

Sehun looks at him, but he doesn’t retort, doesn’t glare, so he thinks it’s a good sign to continue.

“I was jealous, and I let it get to me. I enjoyed being in the spotlight too much that I wanted no one else but me in it. I didn’t mean the things I said to you in Shanghai, and I wish I could have apologized sooner. I’m sorry.”

He looks up at Sehun, whose expression has softened. “I’m sorry, too,” he says. “I didn’t mean the things I said after Nationals.”

“No, I totally deserved that.”

“We compete against each other,” Sehun points out. “A lot. What changed?”

“The fact that I let that competition get to my head?” Jongin replies. “The fact that all I was thinking was this season is so important that I only thought of myself?”

Sehun nods slightly.

“I know you don’t want to be friends anymore …” Jongin sighs. “I’m really sorry, and I hope there’ll be no hard feelings from hereon.”

“Are you kidding?”

Jongin blinks. “Huh?”

“You were crazy, but …” Sehun looks down, his cheeks pink. “I missed my best friend even more.”

If there’s this rare moment of peace, this could be it. Suddenly he and Sehun are smiling at each other, then laughing, then hugging it out. He can hear cheers outside the room, and Jongin wants to storm out and tell his teammates that they’re so nosy, but he’s too happy to care.

Making up with Sehun beats winning a gold medal any day.









Jongin remains in Korea after Four Continents, as requested by the KSU. Everyone in Team Korea has flown back to Korea, so that they can be more accessible to media. With one month until Worlds, everyone is celebrating the historic moment in which Team Korea is represented in all disciplines, and with more than one spot for each. Everyone is counting on them to get three spots for each discipline for the Olympics. They are, after all, the host country.

Being in Korea makes it easier for Jongin to catch up with Sehun, make up for lost time. Nothing has changed, only they have stories they were brimming to share but had lost someone to share them with. There’s still an air of awkwardness between them, but when the press and the fans catch them, at least they aren’t at each other’s throats. When journalists ask them about the rivalry, at least they can joke about it without the fake smiles.

“We want to know the deal of your argument after Nationals,” Kim Kibum tells them in the morning show. He, Sehun, and Jinseo were there to promote the network’s broadcast of Worlds, one week from now.

He finds himself meeting Sehun’s gaze, and the two of them burst into laughter, much to Jinseo’s embarrassment. When the two have calmed down, Sehun spoke first: “That’s ancient history already.”

“Yeah,” Jongin says before Kibum could come up with a follow-up question. “Tensions were high, but everything is okay now.” That’s the truth.

“So now you two are friends again?”

“We’ve always been.” And Sehun grins at Jongin for good measure.









The two weeks fleetingly pass by, and the next thing Jongin knows is that they’re in a nine-and-a-half-hour flight from Incheon to Helsinki. He’s never been to Helsinki before, and he presses his cheeks on the bus window as he watches the scenery pass by. “Let’s go sightseeing!” he tells everyone. “After the competition, of course.”

But all plans of sightseeing got cancelled, of course, in favor of practice times. Jongin is happy to be back in Worlds, to be skating with his favorite skaters. What’s better is that he’s with his best friend now, fulfilling a promise they have made to each other when they were kids.

Sehun reminds him of that, too, during their short program practice. “Remember when we used to pretend we’re in Worlds?” he says.

Jongin laughs at the memory. “Yeah. We’d take turns skating and commentating and judging, wouldn’t we?”

“Coach Shin would get so mad at us, I think we cried at some point.” Sehun looks over his shoulder cautiously, Coach Shin on the other side of the rink as she watches Jinseo with the eyes of a hawk. “Sometimes I wish I can turn back time.”

“Me too.” Jongin nods. “Back when people aren’t trying to pit us together.”

Public practice was a little better. Jongin skated two clean programs, sending the cameras clicking and the audience cheering. Microphones and voice recorders are shoved in front of him as soon as he steps out of the ice, journalists asking questions such as “Is this going to be your comeback?” and “Are you going to beat Oh Sehun this time around?” Jongin just smiles and moves on to the stands to watch the rest of the practice.

Sehun stumbles in his quad for both of his programs, stepping out of his triple lutzes as well. The media pounces on him as soon as he finishes, and the flashes are brighter, the questions louder. Sehun’s eyes are wide, and he looks lost on how to get out. Jongin is about to jump in to help, but Junmyeon is quick to squeeze in the crowd and pull Sehun out.

“You okay?” Jongin asks as soon as Sehun is seated comfortably beside him.

Sehun still looks shaken up. “I’m fine,” he says. “It’s just practice. A bad practice doesn’t mean a bad performance, right?”

Jongin nods, but he can’t shake off the concerned feeling.

They were both placed in the second-to-the-last group. Jongin likes it that way because the audience expects something amazing, but they haven’t raised the bar too high just yet. The audience’s cheers are loud as they all enter the rink for the warm-up, Jongin tuning them all out to focus. He needs to show everyone that he deserved this spot.

He sneaks a few glances at Sehun, and just in time, he landed his triple axel. The crowd goes wild, and he catches the “Go Sehun!” banners from the audience. His shoulders relax, and he goes back to concentrating. Sehun’s gonna be okay. They’re both gonna be okay.

The warm-up is over, and Jongin lingers in the ice, being the first to skate. It’s not so bad; at least he’ll get this over with. He takes a deep breath and forgets being Kim Jongin, as the Kingsman medley starts to play.

It’s one of those rare moments when he goes in a bubble, a place where everything feels automatic and everything he does doesn’t feel like he’s the one doing it. But he’s hyper-aware that he just landed all his jumps and skated like he never skated before. He feels all his energy drained when he finishes his final combination spin and hits his final pose, and his chest feels like it’s about to burst. The crowd is up to their feet, and Jongin fist is up in the air. He did it.

Coach Jung pulls him in a hug and doesn’t give him time to put on his skate guards. “You were amazing,” he says. “I got goose bumps watching.”

Jongin wants to say “Thank you,” but his lips can’t bring themselves down from his cheek to do so. Coach Jung seems to have understood, anyway, and he suddenly remembers that he’s the coach and he needs to make sure Jongin is comfortable at the kiss and cry.

The crowd roars a few minutes later when the scores come out. It’s an 85.81, another personal best. Jongin is too elated to be caring about the shocked faces he’s making in the kiss and cry because he wanted a comeback, but he didn’t expect something like this. He’s in first, and he might stay there until the last group.

He catches Sehun warming up in the hallway. He’s the last of the group to skate, and he can see the focus in the younger one’s expression. He’s torn between talking to his friend and leaving him alone to focus, but Sehun seems to have noticed him. He smiles as Jongin approaches. “I heard what happened. Congratulations,” he says, moving forward for a quick hug.

Jongin grins. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll talk to you after your skate. Good luck!”

“Thanks.” Sehun grins back. “Here’s to hoping the skate is as great as yours.”

“You’ll be fine! Fighting!” Jongin pumps his fist before heading to the kiss and cry extension.

There are four more skaters left until it’s Sehun’s turn. Jongin wants to tune out everyone else (which only became successful when Maxim Kovtun of Russia fell to third after his skate), but he knows every skater is someone worth watching at this point. Every move towards the end of the competition is crucial—there are only limited spots for the Olympics, and everyone wants their country to be well-represented.

Finally, when it’s Sehun’s turn, he’s still in the lead, with Misha Ge of Uzbekistan in second and Jinseo in third. As soon as Sehun skates to the center of the rink, he and the rest of the audience cheer their heart out. This is last year’s World bronze medalist. It’s time to be amazed by what he has to perform.

“Go get ‘em, Sehun,” Jongin whispers to himself.

There’s a long stretch of silence in the time when Sehun is supposed to skate. The crowd starts mumbling, and Sehun looks confused. Jongin watches as Sehun skates to the judges, to ask about his music, no doubt. The crowd applauses again when Sehun returns to the center of the rink, and the music starts, but Sehun stops again. The camera is close enough to the judges for Jongin to see Sehun mouthing the words “Wrong music.”

Jinseo groans. “This is Worlds 2015 all over again!”

Finally, the right music starts to play, and the audience claps again as Sehun skates to the center of the rink to finally start his short program. Jongin holds his breath as Sehun sets up for a quad toe, but he pre-rotated his upper body that the jump sends him falling to the boards. Jongin automatically stands up, but then he realizes he’s in the extension room and he can’t do anything about what’s happening. Sehun stays in his position, dazed for a couple of seconds, before coming back to his feet.

“It’s just one fall,” Jongin finds himself telling Jinseo, who looks as worried as he is. “He’s going to come back.”

Just as he says that, Sehun steps out of his triple axel, and Jinseo screams.

It doesn’t get any better. The mistakes in the jumps must have rattled him a lot to the point that his spins and his step sequence aren’t as lively as it should be. He falls on his triple lutz and didn’t have enough time to do the combination, and Sehun looked like he gave up on the rest of his elements.

If there was any applause after the skate, Jongin couldn’t hear it. Sehun barely bowed when his skate was over, his head hung low as he skates back to the boards. Jongin wants to go down the kiss and cry and tell Sehun everything is going to be okay. But he knows he’s lying to himself. Sehun’s short program was a disaster, and a medal is out of the question.

The announcement of the scores was more painful than he expected. He gets a 70.11, to tenth place. The crowd makes a collective noise of shock, and if he’s not mistaken, some of the Korean fans screaming “Oh Sehun’s music was rigged!” Jongin leans against his seat, watches Sehun’s dejected face in the kiss and cry, and wishes he can do something.









Jongin finds himself in the press conference room for the small medal ceremony a couple of hours later. He had placed third place after the short program, a first for him. He knows he should be feeling ecstatic, for being considered a medal contender and all, but he’s out of focus during the press conference, his answers rehearsed and without enthusiasm.

“Mr. Kim,” a reporter from Ice Network calls him, and it takes a couple of pokes from Denis Ten for him to come back to reality. “You and your teammates bear the pressure of giving Korea three spots for the Pyeongchang Olympics. With Mr. Oh’s sixteenth-place finish after the short program, what do you think would be the chances for this to happen?”

Jongin purses his lips as the words “sixteenth place” ring in his ears. “Sixteenth place” is not a place where anyone wants to be, especially if that someone was a World bronze medalist last year. And if Sehun doesn’t do well in the free skate, those three spots are at risk. But it’s not a thought he wants to entertain. He leans towards the microphone to reply: “I must admit, it is going to be a challenge in the free skate. But this is just the short program—the competition is far from over. I believe in Sehun and Jinseo. Sehun is an amazing skater, and he’ll be able to bounce back after the short program. I firmly believe that we can get those three spots.”

No one interrogates him further after that, the journalists now focused on Denis Ten and Patrick Chan. Jongin is quick to tune out the rest of the press conference until it’s time to go. He gets up and dashes out, but Kyungsoo is quick to pull him to his side. “Okay, I know we didn’t rehearse anything about the three-spots question, but you did great!”

Jongin tries to smile, but it comes off more as a grimace. “I need to see Sehun,” he says.

Kyungsoo’s expression instantly changes, his eyebrows now furrowed. “Well, of course. I can reschedule all your interviews for today.”

Sehun is not replying to any of his calls and messages. He didn’t show up in the dining area either, and no one from Team Korea or Team China knows where he is. Coach Kwon and Junmyeon didn’t know where he is either, which makes him extremely worried.

“Sehun,” Jongin says for the nth time, when his call went to voice mail. “Where are you? We’re really worried about you. Can you call back, please?” He sighs when he ends his message. “I’m not sure where else to look.”

“The rink?” Lu Han suggests.

Krystal shakes her head. “It was ice dance practice. Chanyeol and I didn’t see him there either.”

“He couldn’t have gone and sulked somewhere far,” Yixing says. He looks at Jongin. “Have you checked your room?”

“You know what?” Jongin realizes, feeling stupid. “I haven’t.”

Sure enough, Sehun is in their room. He’s lying down on his bed, facing sideways. Jongin’s not sure if the younger one is asleep, or pretending to be asleep, but he knows for sure he needs space. He messages everyone that he has found Sehun before changing into his pajamas and falling asleep himself.

When Jongin wakes up, Sehun has already left the room. He wasn’t there when Jongin checked the dining area, but he finally found Sehun in the rink, training. He lands a triple axel, to which the audience applauses. Jongin waves his hand and calls Sehun’s name, but Sehun didn’t pay any attention, much to his bewilderment.

He tries catching up with Sehun once his practice time is over, but Sehun’s strides are quick, and he’s out of the rink in an instant.

“He hates me,” Jongin concludes when he meets Lu Han and Yixing for lunch. “I placed third after the short program, and now Sehun hates me. This is déjà vu.”

“To be fair,” Yixing tells him, “we were in the same practice time as Sehun’s, and he ignored us, too.”

“Really?” Jongin blinks. Back when they weren’t speaking to each other, Sehun was friendly with Lu Han and Yixing.

Lu Han nods. “He isn’t talking to everyone, I think. Unless it’s Coach Kwon or Junmyeon. That short program really got to him.”

“What do I do?” Jongin asks, helpless.

“Give him space, I guess,” Lu Han says, nodding sagely. “And if, you know, he starts to finally open up, let him in.”

It’s easier said than done. Jongin wants to tell Sehun it’s going to be better in the free skate, because if there’s anything that Sehun does, it’s to bounce back from a bad skate. He tried to show his support by giving subtle gestures, a thumbs-up on a good run-through, but Sehun pretends not to notice.

“Sehun is taking it hard right now,” Coach Kwon says, approaching him during break, much to Jongin’s surprise. “It’s how he copes, but I think he’ll skate better tomorrow.”

“I think he will, too,” Jongin says.

“Talk to him when it’s all over,” Coach Kwon tells him. “There’s no pressure that way.”

Jongin nods, though begrudgingly.

He focuses on his own practice because even if he worries about Sehun, he has his skate to worry about, too. Now that he’s third after the short program, expectations have gotten higher. His run-through is flawless, and he’s satisfied with how he skated. He’s very confident that his performance tomorrow will be the same. He’s been down before; there’s nowhere else to go but up.

He’s exhausted by the end of the day, and he catches Sehun sound asleep when he heads back to their room. Coach Kwon tells him to talk to Sehun by tomorrow, but he can’t resist speaking. “Hey,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Sehun doesn’t budge, but he continues.

“You’re going to be great tomorrow, okay?”

He could have sworn he detected slight movement from the other side of the bed, but he can’t be so sure. He gives up making sure only because sleep takes him too.









Finally, the big day. He’s in the final group and he’s not scheduled to go to the arena until much, much later, but he accompanies Sehun on the way. Sehun is still quiet on the ride to the arena, but at least Jongin doesn’t feel completely ignored.

“You don’t have to come,” Sehun tells him. At least he’s talking to Jongin.

“I want to,” Jongin assures him.

Sehun rolls his eyes and directs his gaze to the window of the bus.

Sehun is set to skate in the second group, a group where no one expects the reigning World bronze medalist would be in. He’s not allowed to enter the training room because he’s not yet set to warm up until a couple of hours later, so he hangs around outside, with the organizing team and the coaching staff, and waits for Sehun to come out.

Finally, he sees the first group coming out of the warm-up room. He sees Sehun emerging and heading straight for Coach Kwon and Junmyeon. Jongin cranes his neck for a better look, and he can see the panic in the younger one’s eyes. He wants to get up, give Sehun a pep talk, but he remembers what Coach Kwon had said, so he stays put.

“You’re going to be fine, Sehun,” he hears Coach Kwon saying.

“I’m not!” Sehun says, his voice almost cracking. “Coach, I’m in sixteenth place. I screwed up, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to bounce back.”

“Sure you can! You’ve always had strong comebacks before.”

“This is different! This is the Olympic qualifiers, and …” Sehun takes a deep breath. “What if I screw up again?”

“You’re not going to,” Jongin wants to say, but he knows he can’t. He catches Sehun’s eye, and he quickly looks away.

“Listen, Sehun,” Coach Kwon says. “I want you to listen to me very carefully, got that?”

He hears a soft “Okay” from Sehun.

“I can only train you in as much as preparing you for a competition, both physically and mentally,” she says. “But whatever you choose to perform out there, it’s up to you. Okay, so that wasn’t your best short program, but it’s not over yet—there’s still the free skate. You can choose either to screw that up, too, or give it your all. Okay?”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and Jongin took it as a chance to look at the two again. Sehun has his head down, his shoulders tense. Is he crying? Jongin feels his heart is suddenly wrenched out at the sight. Eventually, though, he nods, and Coach Kwon relaxes.

“Let’s go to the stadium. Group 1 has started already.”

“Sehun!” Jongin stands up and sprints to his friend’s direction. When Sehun looks at him, his eyes widen, but Jongin doesn’t care because he needs to say this. “Good luck.”

Sehun stares at him, and his shoulders relax, a smile forming in his face for the first time since the short program happened. “Thanks,” he says, before he lets Coach Kwon drag him to the practice room.









He’ll be skating in the final group, so he catches up with his teammates (minus Jinseo, who’ll be skating in the third group) in the audience stands. Just in time, Group 2 has already started warming up, and they cheer their hearts out as soon as Sehun skates to the rink. He catches some fans looking devastated to see Sehun skate this early, but they were as hopeful as he is that he can pull it together for the free skate. He just hopes they’re all right about this.

Sehun is the third to skate in the second group, and the applause is louder compared to the first few skaters. “See, Sehun?” Jongin wants to tell him. “The people here believe in you. You have to believe in yourself, too.”

Swan Lake starts to play, and Jongin can already see the changes in the way Sehun skates. He can see the fire, the desire to prove critics wrong, to prove to himself that he’ll never settle for a sixteenth-place finish. His quad toe was huge, and when he lands it, most of the crowd jumps up.

Sehun proceeds to land jump after jump cleanly. His spins are flawless, and his step sequence is fiery, passionate. Jongin claps along to the beat, praying, hoping that this keeps up until the end.

“Did you see that?!” Krystal screams just as the crowd roars louder. “He threw in a quad sal! Just like that! In the second half of the program!”

“He’s on fire!” Chanyeol laughs, standing up as the rest of the crowd stands up as Sehun does his final combination spin. “Oh Sehun just set the bar for everyone! No one’s going to top that for a while!”

Jongin can’t see properly now, but from his blurry vision he can make out Sehun holding his final pose before sprawling on the rink, shoulders heaving up and down. He can hear Krystal and Seulgi sniffing. Chanyeol is teary-eyed, so is most of the audience. When Sehun finally recovers, tears are streaming down his face. The gifts continue to pour down the rink, and the crowd doesn’t stop clapping.

“I haven’t cried over a skate since All That Skate,” Soyoun says as she wipes her eyes with her handkerchief.

“No offense, Jongin,” Minho says, “but that was the best skate I’ve ever seen this season.”

“None taken,” Jongin says, his focus now on the kiss and cry. He sighs in relief when Sehun smiles at the camera and waves, despite red eyes. Even among the audience, everyone is in agreement that this was the best skate of the season, unless someone from the next groups can beat that.

Cheers ring throughout the arena when the scores come out. It was a 188.05, almost a one-point difference from his personal best in last year’s Worlds. Sehun is awash in relief and stands up to bow to the crowd before disappearing to the extension room. Everyone is excited, barely paying attention to Maxim Kovtun of Russia as he skates; no one is going to beat that free skate score, maybe until the last two groups. And at the end of the competition, Sehun can still win a medal, if not Top 10. It was redemption at its finest.

“Aren’t you going to get ready, Jongin?” Krystal asks. Her eyes are red, but a small smile is playing on her face now.

“Right!” Jongin jumps up his seat, as he remembers. “I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?”

“Good luck!”

He’s not skating until the last group, so he doesn’t have the time to see Sehun until he pulls off a really good skate. So he focuses on last-minute practice and conditioning for his last Swan Lake of the season. Now that Sehun has set the bar high, he needs to beat that.

Time flies fast, with Sehun still leading after the third group, and Jinseo in second. Jongin is the last to skate out of everyone, and it’s starting to build anxiety in him. There were mistakes during the warm-up, and the crowd is starting to whisper. Or maybe he’s just paranoid? Everyone will be expecting something great to close the competition, and he has to give it his all.

“Nervous?” He looks over his shoulder to see Coach Jung handing him a bottle of water. It’s close to the end of the competition, with Patrick Chan in first, Sehun in second, and Hanyu Yuzuru in third. Denis Ten of Kazakhstan is now skating, second the last, and so far, he’s doing a really good job.

Jongin admits, hoping a gulp of water can calm his nerves. It didn’t.

“Let’s do something to calm you down,” Coach Jung says. “Close your eyes.” When Jongin complies, he continues. “You’re alone in the rink—no audience, no judges, just you. You’re back to being four years old. You’re skating for the first time, and you’re starting to love skating.”

Jongin imagines it clearly. He was four years old and stepping on ice for the first time. He remembers the wonder of being able to glide in the surface instead of walking and running; it was like soaring through the sky. This is what he loves about skating—the feeling of soaring and gliding on the glistening surface.

When he opens his eyes, he hears the crowd cheering and he sees Denis pumping his fist in the air. Such reaction would make him panic, but now he is unusually calm, at peace. Like the pressure doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

“Ready?” Coach Jung asks.

Jongin nods, and he skates to the rink to warm up. There’s another roar as Denis’ scores were announced—282.27, into first. Patrick Chan is in second, and Sehun is in third. The reactions don’t faze him either. He’s back in his bubble, to tuning out everything and everyone but the music. He’s the last one to skate—time to close the show with a bang.

“Next to skate, representing the Republic of Korea, Jongin Kim!”

When Jongin skates to the center of the rink, he’s back to being four. The applause feels like it’s in his imagination, when he imagines he’s skating in the Olympics. The rink is empty, and in the stands, there’s his family and Sehun cheering him on. The music starts to play, and he starts to skate.

He remembers what Coach Shin had told them on their first day of coaching under her. “Skating is not just about the jumps and the spins. It’s about telling the story of your life.” Back then, it never made sense to Jongin. Until now.

The jumps—Jongin lands his opening quad toe-triple toe as soon as the thought comes up—are important. They’re the meat of the technical scores—every flawlessly landed jump will bring your points up. A perfectly landed jump needs standard technique—tucked arms, just the right momentum—but Jongin lets go, flies in the air, lands.

The spins, while not the highest in points, are important, too. Every spin must be maximized to get the highest of base values. Every position, every change in edge matters. Jongin hates spins, but he lets his world spin round and round, quicker and quicker, because he knows it’s going to stop and slow down eventually.

But the step sequence—oh, the step sequence is his favorite. It’s where he tells the story—his story—whatever he can tell through the music. He pushes forward, turns, twizzles, lunges, telling “This is how I’ve come this far. This is how I’ve grown.”

He loves skating—every year confirms it more and more. He loves all of it—waking up early, having no time to attend school events, the jet lag of traveling to another country, rivalries, the fans, the friends made along the way.

Skating is his life.

When he comes to, he has already struck his final pose. He tries to catch his breath and examine everything around him. Stuffed toys and flowers are raining in the rink, and the crowd is at their feet, cheering as if there’s no tomorrow. Jongin relaxes, breaks out into a grin, and bows.

He did it.

Coach Jung hugs him, and Kyungsoo looks like he’s containing a scream as soon as Jongin skates back to the boards. It’s a struggle to put his skate guards on, with the cameras clicking, and the fans screaming to take their gifts, but he manages to do it. His breathing steadies as soon as he sits down the kiss and cry, and he tries to process what just happened.

“I was barely aware of what I was doing,” Jongin admits, clutching a Pororo plushie Kyungsoo hands him. He looks at his coach, who is grinning from ear to ear. “I told you about it before, didn’t I? The bubble.”

Coach Jung nods. “I think I liked this skate better than your GPF free skate.”

“Really?”

“You were … how should I put this? Freer. This is what skating is supposed to be—it’s supposed to make you feel free and alive.”

“Yeah.” Jongin nods. He tries to remember his skate earlier, and he understands.

When the scores come out, Jongin makes an embarrassing noise that fans and friends will probably make fun of later on. It’s another personal best score—184.33. Added to his short program score, and he gets a 270.14, into second.

Second. Silver. He’s a World silver medalist. And with Sehun in fourth and Jinseo in seventh, Korea has three spots for the Olympics. His heart is about to burst. This is too overwhelming, in a good way, and it’s not helping that Coach Jung and Kyungsoo are hugging him tightly. But he doesn’t mind all.

He’s Kim Jongin, World silver medalist.

He runs into Sehun in the kiss and cry extension. He was about to leave just as Jongin is about to head inside. They share eye contact, but they grin and break into a laugh before he hug each other. “Congratulations,” Sehun says. “That was amazing.”

“I’m still behind you in the free skate, so congratulations to you, too,” Jongin says. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Sehun tucks a stray strand of hair under his ear. “It was hard, but I’m glad. Thanks for being there for me.”

Jongin blinks. “I was hardly supportive?” he says. “I just followed you to the arena and wished you good luck?”

“Yeah, but still …” Sehun trails off, his cheeks pink. “Thanks. For not giving up on me.”

“Hey.” Jongin puts a hand on Sehun’s shoulder. “What are friends for?”

Their conversation is interrupted by Kyungsoo, asking Jongin to come back to the rink for the victory ceremony. He gets teary-eyed when the ISU President slips the silver medal around his neck, even more so when he sees flags of Korea waving in the audience. This moment is proof that he had come a long way, that he had risen from many challenges and doubts about himself and about skating. With this, he no longer has to doubt. He knows where he belongs, he knows what he loves.

Jongin lets the Korea flag flow with the wind as he skates around the rink for the medalists’ parade, thanking everyone in the audience for coming and supporting them. He catches Sehun by the boards. He’s teary-eyed, but he’s cheering along. Jongin skates past Sehun, and the fist bump they shared got the crowd going wild.

All is well, and it’s going to get better.









The small medal ceremony for the free skate is an animated affair, with loud noise and camera flashes everywhere. Jongin blinks, trying to get rid of the stars in the back of his eyes, but to no avail. He looks down instead, playing with the small bronze medal hanging on his neck. It’s not as significant as the silver medal from last night, but it’s a medal nonetheless, and he feels proud just looking at it.

The MC finally arrives, and the questions start pouring in. Most of the questions are for Denis, the new World champion, who answers all questions while looking dazed. This is all probably surreal to him. Jongin knows the feeling.

“Mr. Kim,” one journalist calls, finally. “How are you feeling right now?”

“I think I’m still dreaming,” he answers in English. The crowd bursts into laughter. He glances at Kyungsoo, a sign that he wants to speak in Korean, and the older one happily obliges. “I was not in Worlds last year, and I came here to prove I am worthy of being in the podium. I am happy I did not disappoint.”

“Mr. Oh,” another journalist says. “You bounced to second place in the free skate after your sixteenth-place finish after the short program. What are your thoughts about this?”

The small silver medal is glistening on Sehun’s neck. They share a gaze, and Sehun grins at Jongin before answering. “After the short program, I felt angry, disappointed, and scared. I was afraid Korea will not have three spots for the Olympics, and it will be my fault. But when I went out there in the free skate, I told myself to let go of the pressure and just skate my heart out. It worked.”

They didn’t sleep a wink last night. As soon as they got to their room after the medalists’ press conference, they both flopped on their beds and just stared at the ceiling until someone is comfortable enough to talk. They talked about their skates and the events that unfolded, until dawn came.

“I wish you were there in the podium, too,” Jongin had said at that time. “That would be so much better.”

“We’ll be in the small medal ceremony,” Sehun had replied. “It’s a start.”

“Yeah.” A smile had crept to Jongin’s face. “Baby steps, I guess.”

Everything is going to change from now on. Even last night, Kyungsoo’s phone was ringing nonstop with interview, TV show, photo shoot, and endorsement invitations. KSU is organizing a summer ice show with him and Sehun as the headliners. People now believe he is a serious podium contender at the upcoming Olympics. It’s overwhelming, now that Jongin thinks about it, but he’s excited nonetheless.

“Jongin,” Sehun had whispered, interrupting his thoughts. “Is it true Lu Han’s retiring?”

Jongin had nodded. “He branded himself as an uncle already.” When Sehun didn’t laugh, he continued. “I tried talking him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen anymore. I was bummed about it at first, but I learned to accept it. If he thinks he’ll be happy with that decision, let’s support him for it.”

“It just crossed my mind,” Sehun had said. “I haven’t thought about it. Retiring, I mean.”

Jongin had thought about it, to be honest, in Beijing after Lu Han made his announcement. He still can’t imagine what life would be like without competitive figure skating, but he had seen the way Song Qian would light up as she helped him in choreography, and he wonders if he can be just like her.

“You know what?” he had said, finally. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get there.”

“You’re right,” Sehun had chuckled. “There’s still the Olympics.”

Jongin snaps back to reality when Denis nudges him. Kyungsoo is giving him a long-suffering look when he repeats the question of another journalist.

“This question is for Mr. Kim and Mr. Oh. With the Pyeongchang Olympics approaching, will this rivalry between the two of you continue?”

He catches Sehun looking at him again, and they share a laugh. Jongin remembers the green-eyed monster present a season ago, and he realizes how stupid he was to let it get to him. They both want the same thing, and only one of them will be able to get it, but that doesn’t mean they have to ignore each other for it.

Jongin smiles at the journalist. “I guess so.”

The countdown to the Olympics officially begins now. There’s only one gold medal, and Jongin will be aiming for it, against many other skaters.

“But,” he adds, “Sehun is my best friend. No rivalry is ever going to change that.”

The ice may be the loneliest place in the world for a singles skater, but Jongin refuses to believe that.

After all, he and Sehun are there for each other, rivalry or no rivalry.

-End-

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Comments

[picardythird]

i love that this was a friendship story! as a reader, im into romance as much as the next person, but having this be a story about how to stay friends while you're competitors was really refreshing.

my knowledge of figure skating only really goes as far as the olympics, so getting an inside peak at learning routines and the other competitions in a yearly schedule was cool. i learned new things!! which is the best tbh

anyway, sekai 5evERRRRRRRRR ^^