Chapter Text
Seoul, South Korea 2007
“Can I come off the ice now?” Sunghoon complained to his Eomma for the third time. “Please? My legs are sore.”
“Sunghoon, we paid for the full hour.” She said firmly. “You asked to do this, you wanted to do figure skating.”
“Yeah but my legs hurt.” He whined.
“Your legs hurt because you won’t endure it.” She said sharply. “Go back out there, now.”
He sighed and pushed away from the boards, heading back over to the coach.
“Sunghoon-ah, you’ve returned.” The coach smiled warmly. “Ready to try again?”
Sunghoon stared up at him miserably. “No.”
The coach nodded. “Alright.” And he looked away.
Sunghoon watched a couple of the older kids do jumps and shifted from foot to foot. In his year end recital last year, the judges had given him the highest score of his class by a lot, which, on top of his other showcase scores, resulted in his mother being able to enrol him in the higher level classes a year early. At seven and a half, he was practising with kids nearly three years his senior.
He was lonely, and bored. He missed playing hockey if only because at least in hockey they were his age and he felt like he could talk to them. A lot of the kids he was around now were already on the path towards serious, competitive skating, and didn’t have time to hang around some snot nosed brat.
They were kind of mean to him anyways. They made fun of him when he fell doing a sit spin, and called him a baby when cried from the humiliation. He didn’t want to be friends with people who were jerks like that.
But man, they could jump. Like really jump, not just the stupid little baby jumps that even Sunghoon learned back in his first classes.
Sunghoon watched with an odd fascination as they lifted off the ice, rotated easily, and landed gracefully without ever faltering. He listed them off in his head as different kids completed them. Toe loop. Loop. Flip. Lutz. Salchow. And woah, Soobin hyung just did an axel!
“Sunghoon-ah,” the coach said gently. “Do you want to try jumping?” He offered.
Sunghoon’s head snapped up to look at him. “The others say I’m too little to jump,” he informed the coach, skating backwards almost out of habit, away from their designated area.
The coach seemed to consider that. “Do you think you’re too little?” He asked.
Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows. “But the hyungs and noonas-”
“You’re about the same height as Donghyuk-ah,” he said. “Is Donghyuk too little?”
Sunghoon seemed to stop and consider that. He shook his head. “No. Hyung can even do a double loop if he tries really hard.”
The coach nodded. “It’s because he practises a lot.” He told him. “You shouldn’t let anyone tell you what you can and can’t do. You’re here because you like figure skating, and you did really well last year, right?” Sunghoon nodded and moved back to his side carefully. “You did that on your own. You can do as much or as little as you want. It’s entirely up to you. The beauty of a sport like figure skating is that your success is entirely in your control.”
Sunghoon looked back at the other kids. He watched diligently as Donghyuk pushed forward on the ice before shifting his weight to his right foot and swinging his left leg around. When it was behind him, he dug his toepick into the ice with a sharp thud and propelled himself up, tucking in his arms as he rotated one time. All at once, his right foot came down to catch his weight, while his left leg rotated behind him again and his arms came out to help him maintain balance.
A Toe Loop. Sunghoon thought to himself. It was a simple enough jump, the first toe jump they learned that required a full rotation. The backwards entry didn’t bother Sunghoon as much, but he was nervous about his toepick hitting the ice wrong and his legs getting all tangled up in the process.
“Seonsaengnim,” he started quietly. “Can I try that one?” He asked, pointing to Donghyuk.
“Please do,” he nodded. “Let me know if you need help.”
Sunghoon nodded and found a space off to the side. He wasn’t quite ready to approach the other kids yet, but he waited and watched for one more example. The second showcase came in the form of Soobin, who had seemed to have moved on from mastering the axel, throwing in a toe loop for practice sake. He mirrored the actions he saw Soobin do slowly. Soobin was less polished than Donghyuk, but what he lacked in straight body lines and level arms, he made up for in height and flair.
Sunghoon took a couple deep breaths, pressing his little hand to his little chest, desperately willing his heart to calm down. Finally, he felt his body relax and he started.
He mapped out mentally what he was supposed to do. Turn. Leg. Pick. Tuck. Turn. Down. Opposite. Spread out. He took a deep breath as he completed everything up until the down part, where his leg didn’t get down fast enough. He crumpled to the ground and took a second before getting up.
“Don’t feel bad Sunghoonie, it’s understandable if you can’t do it, even if it is the easiest jump.” Someone mocked him from the other side of the ice, laughter following their words.
I don't feel bad, Sunghoon wanted to tell them, because for the split second he was in the air, he felt like he was flying. He scrambled up to his feet and skated back to his starting point before he tried again.
He landed for a second before his left leg threw him off balance and sent him sprawling across the ice.
I’m swinging my leg too much, he thought I gotta go slower or it’ll keep knocking me over.
He got back to his starting position and was quick to reset.
In the distance, he thought he might have heard another sarcastic remark, but he couldn’t focus on it over the roar of blood in his ears. He tried again.
Turn. Leg. Pick. Tuck. Turn. Down. Opposite. Spread out.
He waited for the impact of the ice but it never came. Sunghoon opened his eyes to see he had actually landed the jump and was so surprised he startled and knocked himself back onto his butt anyways.
There were no sarcastic comments. No sneers or whispers or anything. The class was silent as Sunghoon sat on the ice dumbly.
“I landed it.” He whispered before lighting up. “Seonsaengnim, Seonsaengnim, I landed it! I landed it!” He said excitedly, scrambling to his feet and skating over. “Did you see?”
“I did!” The coach said, and he looked half surprised by that fact.
“I’m gonna do it again,” Sunghoon decided, skating away without a second thought.
It was the first time since he started lessons that his coach had to usher him off the ice, and even then Sunghoon made sure he was the last one touching it.
Seoul, South Korea, 2010
The 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver were almost always playing at the rink in the background. Sunghoon had two separate sessions at the rink cancelled so they could watch the figure skating or hockey events, or anything that Korea participated in.
It’s not that he didn’t care about the Olympics. Actually, he cared a little too much. He cared that there wasn’t someone from South Korea in the Men’s Single Skate. Their female representative, Kim Yuna, was projected to win gold and he felt a certain pride in his chest for his country, and for his sport.
But in the back of his ten year old brain, there was a little thought that kept pestering him.
Based on the rules (not that he had checked them religiously and memorised them, as if they would change in his favour in the next four years) he would not qualify for the 2014 Olympics because of his age alone. He would need to be fifteen in June of 2013, which was impossible. He wouldn’t even qualify for the Youth Olympics in 2012, since their base age was 15, too.
Sunghoon wouldn’t get a shot at an Olympic stage until the Youth Games in 2016.
He tried to calm himself down. It just meant he had time to get better, to train harder. Everyone else had abandoned the ice to watch a rerun of Kim Yuna’s short program, which meant he had the whole rink to himself.
He was used to being on his own. Advancing in the levels with the older kids meant there was no one his age to talk to, and when he had to enter certain competitions or showcases based on his age instead of his level, those around him had already formed their own friend groups and he was left out of the chatter and games before performances.
But there was space to skate, to think, to explore when he was on his own. So he didn’t mind it.
He practised mimicked routines he had seen the Canadian favourite, Patrick Chan do. He might not be able to do more than a double in place of Patrick Chan’s quads, and he still struggled with combos and certain spins, but he admired his artistry and tried his best to emulate him until he could solidify his own style.
“What are you doing?” A voice asked as Sunghoon went into a spread eagle, resulting in him falling backwards onto his butt.
“Oh! Sorry!” The kid abandoned his equipment by the boards and skated out onto the ice immediately, reaching over and helping him up.
Sunghoon didn’t really have much of a choice but to accept it. If he fought against him, they could both fall again and get seriously injured in the process. The boy was kind enough to dust off Sunghoon’s back, even if it was unnecessary.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Whatcha doing out here?” He asked, his Korean a little clumsy but still understandable.
Sunghoon glanced around, down at his feet and back at the boy. “Swimming.” He deadpanned.
The boy shrugged and took it good naturedly. “I just mean why are you out here when they’re watching Kim Yuna out there?” He clarified.
Sunghoon glanced around again, but only because he was afraid of getting caught. “I’m practising,” he told him finally. “There’s no point watching if I want to be there one day.”
The boy nodded in understanding, genuinely sincere as he offered his hand. “I’m Jake,” he introduced, pretty much solidifying Sunghoon’s theory that he was a foreigner.
Sunghoon blinked and looked at his hand, taking pity on the situation. “Do you have a Korean name?” He asked him.
“Jake’s not hard to say,” the boy, Jake, frowned.
“No I just…” Sunghoon glanced around before he pushed the boy's hand down gently and bowed. “I’m Park Sunghoon.” He introduced before standing back up straight. “You greet strangers like that. Especially if you don’t know their age.”
“Oh!” He scrambled to bow. “I’m Sim Jaeyun.” He introduced, stumbling over the Korean name a little.
“But you can call me Jake.” Sunghoon whispered.
“But you can call me Jake!” He repeated, standing back up with a wide smile. “Do you want to get hot chocolate with me?”
Sunghoon eyed him warily. “I want to finish practising.” He said.
Jake nodded, and he reminded Sunghoon of an excited puppy, a little bit. “I can wait!” He said, skating back over to the boards and shutting the gate, leaning against them.
Sunghoon nodded slowly and got set back up in the centre. He held the pose for a beat, started for a stretch before he stopped and turned his head back towards Jake, who was still watching him. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me?” He asked, slightly annoyed by the continuous distraction.
Jake shrugged and leaned a little farther into the boards. “You were skating really pretty before until you fell.”
“I only fell because you distracted me!” Sunghoon protested, crossing his arms.
“Sorry,” Jake repeated. “But I wanted to see how it ended.”
“How it… ended?” Sunghoon repeated, confused.
Jake nodded. “You were telling a story, right? With the movements and stuff? It’s like dancing on ice. I wanted to see how the story ended.”
Sunghoon almost wanted to tell him that ice dancing and figure skating were actually two very different principles, but he got stuck on the idea that a piece didn’t have to just be about the numbers it would receive. That it could mean something outside of the practised movements.
“Yeah, it’s a story,” he found himself saying. “What part did it get to? Maybe I can take it from there instead. So you can see the end.”
“Maybe it’s because no one else was here, but it felt lonely,” he told Sunghoon after really thinking about it. “Like the character you were playing felt super alone and isolated, and he was reaching out for a friend.”
“Oh.” Sunghoon paused again, furrowing his eyebrows as he reconsidered the moves.
Jake seemed to consider Sunghoon for another moment. “Can you start from the beginning? I wanna see all of it at once. That’s how stories go, right?”
Sunghoon nodded. “I’ll go through it once more.” He conceded, heading to the centre and starting again.
Thinking about it now, he supposed that the movements did feel lonely in the middle of the empty ice rink, not even a soundtrack to keep him company. Jake was silent too, off to the side, but Sunghoon could feel his eyes on him.
It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. Jake, despite the hockey equipment at his feet, seemed just as invested in the story Sunghoon was trying to tell as he was . He watched in awe as Sunghoon managed to nail a spin combo he had previously been struggling with.
When he posed, there was a moment where all he could hear was his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears.
And then he could hear Jake whooping and cheering, clapping like Sunghoon had just won gold. He turned quickly to see the other boy jumping excitedly, a huge grin on his face.
“That was incredible, Sunghoonie! You were amazing!” He shouted.
Sunghoon paused before he bowed towards Jake like he would at the end of a performance, and Jake just cheered louder. A smile found his face, the other boy's excitement infectious as he skated back over to him.
“The story you were telling had a good ending,” Jake said quickly. “Your character found a friend, right? He seemed happy at the end!”
Sunghoon looked at this kid for a split second before he made a life long decision.
“Yeah. He found a friend.” He agreed.
“I don’t have flowers or those stuffies they throw on the ice or anything,” Jake said, patting around his pocket before pulling out a few rumbled bills. “But I’ll buy you hot chocolate since you finished the story for me.”
“Okay,” Sunghoon nodded, stepping off the ice and putting his guards on, following Jake out the door to the concession.
Vancouver, Canada, 2015
Sunghoon could hear the whispers.
He didn’t think the other skaters understood that part.
He could hear them. He could hear what they were saying. He could hear his name. He could hear a few words that made Jake look deeply conflicted every time Sunghoon repeated them over FaceTime.
Jake would never translate them for him.
He could hear that they were talking about him. He just couldn’t understand what they were saying.
It didn’t seem fair. When his senior debut Grand Prix assignments came in, his parents had sent him off to the same country his first competition would be in to train with a world class coach.
A world class coach that only spoke English and hadn’t gotten a translator for his instructions until two weeks after Sunghoon started under him, when he realized that it wasn’t that Sunghoon was a disobedient brat who wouldn’t listen to his coach.
He just couldn’t understand him.
It hadn’t really mattered in the eyes of the other skaters. After a disastrous first meeting of the others in the rink, where his limited English consisting of hello, his name, and ‘I’m fine, thank you, and you?’ combined with his jet lag from the 18 hours flight didn’t get him very far, they had only half heartedly tried including him in things before they just gave up all together.
Add in two weeks of laps and extra hours of work for everyone just because Sunghoon wouldn’t adjust the way the coach wanted him to, he gained a reputation of being rude, cold and entitled.
He couldn’t even explain himself. The English he tried practising with Jake sat awkwardly in his mouth, so even if he knew the words, they didn’t understand his accent.
Two more weeks passed, and he had given up trying to resolve the issue and just accepted that the other skaters would never see him as anything else.
It didn’t help that there just wasn’t Korean here. Sure, there were a few shops around downtown Vancouver. There were a few restaurants too, but there wasn’t a specific area dedicated to Korea like there was for Chinatown.
Jake had searched it up and told him that if he hopped on a train for forty minutes, he could go to an area that had a lot of Korean, and would probably have a better time finding a piece of home there. He had sent him texts with what the English would look like so all he had to do was match it up.
But it was forty minutes one way, which meant losing an hour and twenty minutes on travel time alone that could be better used for training or conditioning.
So he never went.
He only had three places he went- the rink, the hotel and the H-Mart down the street. He liked it there, it had become his own safe haven where he could talk to the ajumma’s who worked there, buy exactly what he wanted without having to guess, and formed a semblance of a routine by going before and after practice.
With a sixteen hour time difference, he found it hard to keep in contact with Jake or his parents on a regular basis. Which meant besides at H-Mart or with the translator that would come anytime Sunghoon had one-on-one training with the coach, he didn’t speak at all.
That was fine with him. He was here to skate anyways, not make friends. There was a part of him that understood that at the core of it, the other skaters were a little intimidated by him, by his talent he mastered through hard work.
That was fine with him too.
“You must be Park Sunghoon.” A voice said from behind him.
He was panting and breathing hard after running his personal practise, and he wasn’t quite sure he had heard correctly, because it almost sounded like someone had spoken Korean to him.
He turned slowly and was surprised by a guy with tanned skin and sandy blonde hair. His blue eyes trailed down Sunghoon lazily as he leaned against the boards.
“You speak Korean?” Sunghoon asked bluntly, fidgeting under his gaze.
“Not really,” the guy admitted, his eyes just as slowly making their way back up to meet Sunghoon’s own gaze. “I trained in Korea for a while. I stayed with a host family there so I picked up a little of the language.”
It was broken Korean that was splattered with English, and the grammar was a little weird, but Sunghoon actually understood most of what he was saying and that fact alone almost made him cry.
“And you are?” He raised his eyebrow, slowly screwing the cap back on to his bottle.
He was trying to seem as cool as possible, but a cute guy showing up and speaking enough Korean to make passible conversations with wasn’t something that happened everyday.
“I’m Brayden.” He introduced. “I just transferred to this rink, I start tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Sunghoon repeated, confused. “So why are you here today?”
“The others told me you’d probably be here,” he said casually. “I wanted to meet you.”
“Me?” Sunghoon blinked in surprise, trying to blame the red in his cheeks on the cold.
Brayden did another once over of him and smirked, and if Sunghoon didn’t know better he would say this guy was flirting with him. Which is impossible, considering if the others told him anything about him, he would run the other way.
“I’m a fan. I’ve seen you skate. I’d like to be friends.” He offered his hand out to Sunghoon.
Shaking hands was another one of those things Sunghoon didn’t do well that got him in trouble a lot. He always felt awkward about it, and he didn’t really understand the point of it at all. For a crazy moment, he thought back to Jake’s outstretched hand.
And this was the first real extension of friendship he had after being in Canada for over a month already. He placed his hand in Brayden’s shyly, and was surprised to be pulled a little closer by the other skater.
“I hope we get to be good friends,” Brayden said with a pretty smile and a twinkle in his eye that made Sunghoon feel a little weak in the knees.
“Yeah, me too.” He said quietly, taking his hand back after a moment and grabbing his things. “Do you like hot chocolate?” He tried to ask in English, stumbling over the last word a few times before he managed to get it out as he worked on untying his skates.
Hey, it had worked with Jake when they were ten.
“Not really,” Brayden shrugged, taking Sunghoon’s things from him to carry. “You wanna grab a drink? Nineteen is the legal age here, so I’ve been taking advantage of it.”
“Oh,” Sunghoon blinked before shaking his head. “No, not- I’m only fifteen.” He informed him.
Brayden sighed and Sunghoon was suddenly terrified his new friend would drop him already for something as silly as his age.
“Dinner sound good?” He offered instead.
Sunghoon relaxed a little and nodded shyly. “Lead the way.” He said, following Brayden down the hall and out the door.
Seoul, South Korea, early 2022
Sunghoon had to lace up his skates three times before they felt tight enough on his feet, and it felt like a weight was crushing his chest in the process.
It used to be second nature for him to lace up. He could tie his skates in his sleep.
And now it’s like they’re foreign on his feet.
If Sunghoon thought too long about how he used to spend more time in his skates then out of them, about how the added height suddenly made him uneasy on his feet instead of feeling like an extension of his body, or how the cold of the rink was sinking through his coat and chilling his bones in a way that felt like an invasion instead of welcoming, he would actually lose his mind.
Instead, he cleared his thoughts, stood up tall and walked.
He missed walking. It had been too long since both his feet fell flat on the earth, and he relished in every opportunity to do it now. He walked everywhere he could, any time he could. He couldn’t sit longer than a few minutes at a time, antsy and agitated.
But if he missed walking, his heart ached for skating.
A piece of him that had been missing for months and months as he tried to regain the strength of his knee. But it had to work, it had to. He’d be good as new by the 2026 Olympics, he could feel it.
This was just the last test.
He finally stepped onto the ice and took a deep breath. It settled into his lungs comfortably and he rolled his shoulders back before he started.
And it was going well.
He could skate comfortably, albeit a little cautiously.
But it was okay.
Hope surged in his chest as he kept trying things. Little movements, turning into bigger turns, and his knee held up.
He got lost in the feeling of it. In the private rink he didn’t have to worry about anyone except the staff, so he let himself laugh and cheer and nearly cry with relief.
He could skate. He was going to be okay.
The doctor had told him that they weren’t sure it was healing, that they couldn’t see it clearly, but one shot of cortisone and Sunghoon could skate.
In a surge of adrenaline, without much thought, he started a jump he had done a thousand times. Lifted from the left foot, smooth and clean, before landing on his right for the salchow.
But the moment his right foot touched the ice, his knee gave out and he had a moment of blinding, white pain taking over his entire right side before he screamed.
He screamed himself awake, clutching the sheets of his bed. For a moment, all he could feel was the pain before it faded.
He wasn’t alone in the private ice rink. He was in a bed that was still a stranger to him, a few days after surgery.
“What? What is it?” Jake ran into the room, hockey stick posed for attack.
Sunghoon opened his mouth to say something but choked on his words before he burst into tears.
Jake, still half asleep, only took a second to respond. He dropped the hockey stick before rushing to Sunghoon’s side, pulling him into a hug while avoiding his right side.
Sunghoon sobbed for what must’ve been an hour, repeating the same thing over and over again.
“I can’t skate,” he cried, clinging to Jake. “I can’t skate.”
“I know,” Jake whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m sorry.”
“I can’t skate.” He rasped out again before another round of sobs overtook his body.
A few of Jake’s tears dropped onto his head and arm. In the morning, Sunghoon would feel bad and apologise to Heeseung for stealing Jake away for the first two weeks of his recovery, despite his hyung insisting it was okay.
But tonight, he clung to the only familiar thing in this room, the only thing he had left in this world, and fell asleep.
Seoul, South Korea, July 2023
Today was the day they found out where Riki would be skating for the Grand Prix. With his parents out of town, Jay had insisted Riki come to their house for the announcements.
Sunghoon had personally done the whole circuit throughout his run as a skater, sans the one in Finland that had taken over the Rostelecom Cup from Russia. He didn’t necessarily think there was one ice that was better than the other, and Riki would have skated a lot of them during his Junior years anyways. He did think it would be nice to see Riki skate the NHK Trophy, both because it would give them more time for his second assignment and because getting to bring Riki home for his debut season might help his nerves.
He just hoped they wouldn’t end up there.
Jay was stress-cooking in the kitchen when Sunghoon returned to the apartment with Riki in tow. He had one of his American Playlists blasting, a phenomenon Sunghoon and Riki both hadn’t quite gotten used to, especially as Haerin screamed the lyrics with her father.
“Hey baby,” Jay greeted, turning the music down, and meeting him half way for a soft kiss.
“Hey,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around Jay’s waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. “It smells good in here.”
“It’s a three hour roast,” Jay explained, turning back to the pan. “It’s almost done so I’m stir frying some veggies to go with it.”
Sunghoon whistled lowly. “Riki-yah, you’re getting spoiled tonight.” He teased, turning back to him, only to find Riki turning on the skating channel.
He exchanged worried glances with Jay before heading over.
The commentators were talking about Riki, but the moment Sunghoon’s picture showed up, he took the remote and turned it off.
“Hey-!” Riki turned around and looked up at Sunghoon.
“It’s only going to stress you out.” He said firmly. “They’ve been saying all kinds of things about me that you don’t need to see.”
“But I want to know what they’re saying,” Riki argued. “It’s all bull-” he cut himself off, glancing at Haerin who was leaning against Jay while watching him cook the veggies. “None of it’s true,” he muttered.
“Some of it is,” Sunghoon reminded him.
“The part you’re worried about isn’t.” Riki scowled. “Don’t let them bother you hyung. I wouldn’t want you to coach me if I thought you would hurt my career.” He said firmly.
Riki was fifteen and new to the senior division but he wasn’t stupid. He’s had coaches who had been fired for less than single handedly ruining their own career with a rookie mistake.
Sunghoon loved and appreciated Riki for his unwavering resolve and loyalty in keeping him as his coach, but he wasn’t necessarily worried about his own name at this point.
With his reputation amongst skaters paired with Riki’s, he was worried the kid would have a difficult time. Yeonjun had started combating it as best he could, posting pictures and videos from the times they decided to combine sessions. Kai, Yeonjun’s skater, was well loved by the others, so they had hoped if people saw them together it would give them a better impression of Riki.
Kai had been more than willing to be used as a buffer. If he managed to get Riki talking about video games or music, they almost seemed like friends.
“If I timed this right,” Jay announced, breaking the tension. “Then the roast will be done just as the assignments are coming out.”
Riki looked back at Jay surprised. “You really put a lot of effort into this,” he said in disbelief.
Jay looked back at him, just as surprised. “Of course I did. It’s important to you guys. And I mean, you know I’m the first to admit I’m not completely up to par with my figure skating knowledge, but cooking is something I do know, so I’m just trying to help as best I can.”
“And we skaters appreciate the effort,” Sunghoon laughed, heading back over to hug Haerin, who had been quietly watching Jay since he music had been turned down. “And how was dance class?” He asked her, hugging her.
“It was really good!” She chirped excitedly hugging him back and practically climbing up him. “My Seonsaengnim is super nice.”
“That’s good, I’m glad.” He grinned, kissing her cheek. “Have you had fun with Appa today?”
She nodded and hugged Sunghoon around his neck. “I missed you though.” She whispered.
“I missed you too.” He whispered back as one alarm from his own and one from Jay’s went off.
“The roast is ready,” Jay commented, turning off the oven.
“The assignments are out!” Riki shouted. “Kai hyung said he got Skate America and Cup of China.”
Sunghoon set Haerin down to pace nervously. They were less likely to assign two skaters from the same country to one event, so those were statistically two less options that Riki could get.
“Hyung, can you read it for me?” Riki interrupted Sunghoon’s thoughts, thrusting the phone out in Jay's direction.
Jay took the phone gently and looked over the results for Riki’s name.
“Nishimura Riki, representing the Republic of Korea for the first time,” he said, finally finding his assignments. “Skate Canada International in Vancouver and NHK Trophy in Osaka, Japan.” He announced.
The room was silent except for the sizzling of the vegetables on the stove.
Sunghoon refrained from screaming, holding Haerin closer instead.
Because of course it would be SkateCan in Vancouver of all places.
Of course.