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Sunghoon wins bronze. His name is the first to be called over the white noise of the bright rink, and he blinks, collects himself, and glides to the podium, bowing his head to receive his third place medal. When he stands, his eyes burn with the reflected glare of the ice but he lifts his head, throws his shoulders back, his spine a neat, straight column. He's fifteen and skinny and a loser, but he won't look it. His expression is as cold as his surroundings, his posture stiff, his muscles tense, and in the aftermath, in the articles written about the competition, the writers will note how poised he was, how, maybe, he deserved more than just bronze.
The silver and the gold are called, and Sunghoon claps with the rest of the audience, bows when they join him at the podium, and when the photographers stumble from the sidelines, he lifts his bronze with numb fingers and curves his mouth into an appropriate smile. It's gracious, not joyous, but not petulant. Joy is reserved for the gold, petulance for the non-medalists. Sunghoon acts exactly as he should. Beside him, across from the gold, the silver is crying. Sunghoon blinks away the flashes from the camera, shifts, moving his medal from one hand to the other, and thinks that there should be a second ceremony. An award for best post-show composure. In that, he'd win gold every time.
Once the cameras finish, the contestants are free. Well, not the gold. He has more cameras and notepads and microphones to deal with, interviews and congratulations. There are journalists who'd like to grab at Sunghoon and the silver, but they're slow, and it's easy to lose them as Sunghoon skates back to the pit, to his family and coach. Past the boards, stumbling on solid ground, any bids for attention are met with the solid wall of either security or skate coaches, both furiously intent on protecting their performers.
It's nice, having someone look out for you, Sunghoon supposes, clicking skate guards over the silver blades of his shoes. His eyes are still burning, but there's no white ice to blame it on. His choreographer stands a foot away from him and doesn't touch him, just says, tiredly, next time. Sunghoon nods and doesn't look up, clacking over to where his parents wait, wringing their hands.
Just past his parents is the bench where his duffel sits, with his jacket, change of clothes, and shoes. Sunghoon steps between them, accepting their back and shoulder pats, his smile tight, and collapses onto the bench. Unfortunately, after he's sat down, he realizes that he wants to lay down. He wants to curl up, to cry and feel sorry for himself, but his parents and everyone else are still there. His mom is next to him, his dad standing over him, and he doesn't hear what they're saying. They're too far away, he thinks childishly. They're right next to him, the better part of himself argues right back. While his mind is fighting with itself, he pretends to listen and unties his laces, slipping sore feet out of white boots. Even this, the relief of being free of his skates, he doesn't dare express. It would interrupt whatever his parents are saying. He keeps his face blank and pulls out his change of shoes.
It's after he's slipped into his tennis shoes and is leant over to tie them that his coach's voice interrupts his parents. She has a notebook in her hand and his parents are silent in her presence. Sunghoon only hears one word, and he pulls the laces as tight as they'll go, bruising already overworked feet. Mistakes. His parents rejoin the conversation, telling her that Sunghoon can practice tomorrow, that he'll hear her notes then, but for now— Sunghoon ties a double knot, hands tense around the frayed fabric— he just needs to rest.
Sunghoon looks up, meets the eye of his coach, and nods. She nods back, her mouth a thin line, and Sunghoon bows. "Thank you," he says, his expression firm, polite, his voice steady.
His coach gives nothing in response except for a small, unfelt smile, then she bids his parents goodbye and leaves them. Before she's even turned her back, his mom has picked up his bag, both parents ready to go. Which means, of course, that Sunghoon should be ready to go too.
His laces pinching at his feet, his throat thick and his eyes itchy, Sunghoon leaves the rink with a smile.
—
"Ahh," Sunoo exclaims from beside Sunghoon in the car that picked him and the others up from their shoot. He's wrapped up in a knit sweater, the sleeves pulled over his hands, his arms wrapped around himself. Sunghoon glances at him and Sunoo continues, eyes screwed shut, "That was so hard."
"Was it?" Sunghoon murmurs, turning to look out the window at the passing scenery.
The shoot that they just finished was an ice skating episode for their band's show— half hour episodes to highlight their talents and failings, humanizing and objectifying them both. They're funny, meant to be fun. Most of the band hadn't skated at all before they began the shoot, and were only allowed a half hour of practice to insure no injuries before they began recording. Their collected clumsiness was definitely funny, maybe. Sunghoon hopes it was. He laughed when he thought he was meant to laugh, and laughed even when he didn't think he should, so yes, the episode should be fun.
"It was!" Sunoo exclaims, his head hitting the seat. His face is pouty, and he doesn't look at Sunghoon even though he's responding to him.
Sunghoon's face is blank as he watches him. Sunoo was actually pretty good. He'd never skated before, but he picked it up quickly, had a grace that some of the other members couldn't claim.
Sunghoon folds a hand under his chin and looks away again as Sunoo continues, "And it was so cold— I think about some of the costumes that the skaters wear and—" Sunoo shivers dramatically and laughs, covering his mouth. "I have no idea how they do it, I'm cold still!"
"You weren't cold when skating, were you?" Sunghoon asks.
Jake, who's between them in the middle seat, replies before Sunoo, smiling. "No, that's the funny thing. Sunoo is right, I feel cold now, but when we were on the rink, I wasn't feeling anything except, oh shit, I better not fall."
Sunoo laughs, tinkly and annoying. "No, exactly! I was moving around way too much, trying to not embarrass myself, but now it's like it's all caught up, I mean, feel my hands—"
In his periphery, Sunghoon sees Sunoo reach out half covered fingers, and Jake holds them, laughing. "I don't know," Jake says, dropping Sunoo's hands, "Yours might be cold, but I think mine are too cold to tell."
Sunghoon turns but Sunoo's hands have already disappeared, wrapped back around his ribs like a strait jacket, and Sunghoon swallows. "Yeah," he says, and smiles. "The cold stays with you."
"Yeah?" Jake asks, curious. "Even with you?"
"Sure. I'm only human, aren't I?"
"Really?" Sunoo asks with a smile, his eyes narrowed. "Oh my gosh, but you looked so effortless."
Effortless. Sunghoon wishes he was. At the end of the episode, the six other members raced against him, and Sunghoon was all too aware of how close the results were. Three years ago, even one year prior, he wouldn't have felt the spark of competition. He would've skated circles around them, easily. Effortlessly. He's out of practice though, too busy with other things. Singing, dancing, sleeping enough that his undereye circles aren't too dark. There's no time for anything else.
Sunoo sighs, still smiling, and says, "If you're feeling cold too, then I don't feel too bad. But actually, if you are human like the rest of us, does that mean you're also feeling super sore? My legs are screaming right now."
Jake laughs and Sunghoon joins him, but it's forced. He is sore and he shouldn't be, he just doesn't have time, he never has enough time. He'll always be sore and he'll aways have a list of mistakes and he does not have the fucking time.
"I don't know," he says with a sharp smile, "I think you might just be weak."
—
The dorm is quiet, the members placed into their rooms, either sleeping or silently distracted, and the living room and kitchen are empty. It's Sunghoon's favorite time to be awake. Aware of his friends around him without the pressure of acting. He's alone but not abandoned. It's the first time he's felt like this. At home, with his parents, he was always acting. Dutiful son, student, skater. Even alone in his bedroom, he knew what was expected of him. Before competitions or performances, he's watched, by members or cameras or his coach or the audience. Inside their messy dorm, away from parents and fans and expectations, standing in front of the quietly whirring microwave and its faded, yellow light, dirty dishes piled in the sink, Sunghoon relaxes into something new, something unfamiliar.
Earlier, in the car on their way home, he'd called Sunoo weak. It wasn't teasing, but he knew that's what it looked like. That's what Jake, between them, saw, and Sunghoon knows it's what's the four other members would've seen if they were there too. It was mean, but Jake laughed it off and started talking about their gym schedules and routines and diet, and while he and Sunghoon had a nice conversation, Sunoo stayed silent.
Sunghoon's mouth twists as the microwave's seconds count down, and he realizes, in strange self-awareness, that he feels guilty. He stops the microwave before it beeps, not wanting another reason to feel bad if the sound disturbs his members, and glances up at Sunoo's door as he delicately retrieves his heated dumplings, only to lock eyes with Sunoo himself.
They both pause, blinking, and Sunoo breaks first, crumpling forward, his head bent. "I was trying not to disturb you," he says quietly.
"No shit," Sunghoon says, shutting the microwave's door with a cacophonous click. He cringes, continues, "You want some of these? I just wanted a snack."
"No," Sunoo says. "Thank you."
"You sure?" Sunghoon leans against the counter, watching as Sunoo walks to the opposite end of the kitchen, to the cabinet where they keep their few snacks.
"I don't want to—"
"You already disturbed me, if I could be disturbed," Sunghoon laughs. "I mean, I was already awake, and hungry. If you want some, then just take some. All the other snacks are louder anyways, if you're that worried about being annoying. No one wants to wake up to a chip bag crinkling. Come on. You want to share?"
Sunoo turns to look at him. His eyes are narrowed, his face shiny. He's probably just completed his twenty step skin care routine for the night, Sunghoon thinks, smiling wider. He picks up a dumpling, holds it out to Sunoo. "It might make your face puffy tomorrow," he says. "But that'd probably just make you look cuter."
The already quiet apartment quiets further as Sunoo's narrow eyes narrow further into dark slits, and he takes a step toward Sunghoon. The hand holding the offered food trembles and Sunghoon looks down, to Sunoo's mouth.
The dumpling, sitting shakily in Sunghoon's chopsticks, is neatly plucked by Sunoo and Sunghoon blinks, realizes that as he was waiting, Sunoo must have grabbed his own utensils. Sunghoon feels cold, and it has nothing to do with the rink, but he smiles. "Good, right?"
"Mhm," Sunoo agrees, a hand covering his mouth. He swallows, Sunghoon watching the soft movement of his throat. "Not bad."
Though the apartment the band shares is quiet, it's not silent, and Sunghoon glances at the closed doors. Two of the four rooms are dark under the door slit. His own roommate, Jay, has already turned out the light. That's fine. Jay is a heavy sleeper. He focuses instead on the two strips of light under the last half of the bedrooms. He takes a breath, asks, "Are you still sore?"
"Ugh," Sunoo groans, picking out a second dumpling from the plastic tray. "It's fine. I'm fine."
"Okay," Sunghoon says. He stays still, chopsticks held in the position they were when waiting for Sunoo to accept them, eyes on the wakeful bedroom doors. He doesn't care that much whether or not Sunoo is sore. It's good to feel sore. It means you've accomplished something. Sunoo might be lying about how he feels, but Sunghoon moves on. It's not his problem. His problem and what he cares about is if Sunoo is mad at him or thinks he's an asshole. His chopsticks click together and lower to the edge of the microwaveable tray, but he doesn't pick up any food. "You were good today," he says.
Sunoo laughs, and Sunghoon frowns, looks at him. Sunoo is covering his mouth, again, eyes crinkled and eyebrows furrowed. "Okay," Sunoo says lightly. "Thank you?"
Don't laugh at me, is what Sunghoon wants to say. What he does instead is roll his eyes and smile. "Better than Niki or Jungwon, at least."
"Oh my god, I'd hope so," Sunoo laughs, and he doesn't cover his smile. He takes a step towards Sunghoon, grabs a third dumpling. He pops it into his mouth, and closes his eyes, shaking his head as he chews, his mouth still uncovered, his jaw moving, his throat bobbing. Sunghoon swallows as Sunoo does, and Sunoo says, "We were nowhere close to you, though, and I bet you were going easy on us."
I wasn't, Sunghoon thinks. Sunghoon says, "Yeah, a little."
"Shit," Sunoo breathes, glancing to the ceiling. He laughs and falls against the counter, leaning towards Sunghoon, who watches his movements with held breath. "That's so crazy. I figured, I don't know, I thought you might be out of of practice but you looked so cool. I wished it was just you in the episode, honestly, I just wanted to watch. Is that stupid? Probably, but you were so, so cool."
Sunghoon breathes and the air catches in his throat, his stomach and ribs tight. Sunoo's compliments bounce around his puffed chest, his words counteracting the oxygen meant for his brain and Sunghoon woodenly replies, "Yeah, you were good too."
"Okay," Sunoo laughs, high and bubbly. How his voice doesn't wake or bother the others, Sunghoon will never understand, but the apartment doesn't shift, so Sunghoon shifts instead, standing from his lean against the counter. He's straight, tall, posed like he would be on a medalist stand.
"It was really fun, though, even if I was terrified of how bad I looked," Sunoo smiles, unaffected by Sunghoon's stiffness.
"I want to do it again," Sunghoon says, exhaling his trapped breath, eyes closed. He wants to fix his mistakes, be better, be faster. He wants to deserve Sunoo's praise.
"You should come with me," he rushes out, opening his eyes. "Next time." Sunghoon blinks, his muscles tight, the light from his member's doors blinding. "Next weekend."
Sunoo's small eyes widen, chopsticks held aloft in a limp hand, and he smiles weakly, opens his mouth, but Sunghoon is on a roll. He says, smiling manically, "You were good. You should come skating with me next weekend. I bet I could go to my old rink, I think my coach is still teaching. It'd be easy to go after-hours. You want to come with me?"
"Um—"
"What else are you doing?" Sunghoon grins. "I know your schedule, man. You know mine. We're free next weekend, unless you have a date or something stupid. Come with me. You know you want to. You said it was fun."
"It was fun," Sunoo says slowly. "Are you sure?"
"I'm asking, aren't I?" Sunghoo snaps. "Why wouldn't I be sure? Do you want to or not?"
"Then, yeah," Sunoo says, his eyes on the floor. He pushes himself from the counter till he's standing straight, his head bowed, his hands laced in front of him. Sunghoon wants to grab him, shake him, make him look up. Instead, he takes a cooled dumpling in his chopsticks and shoves it in his mouth.
"Next weekend," he says, mouth full. "I'm gonna teach you how to do a jump."
As he expected and desired, Sunoo's eyes snap up, wide and anxious. "I can't do— You're not serious, you're teasing me!"
"Guess you'll have to wait and find out," Sunghoon grins, swallowing.
—
The week before he and Sunoo had agreed to go skating passes in a haze. Sunghoon is used to having everything planned out for him, transitioning easily from his skating career to idoldom. He's a tool, or if not a tool, some base material, to be pushed and molded into place by others, by coaches and managers and choreographers. He moves through pre-planned schedules without complaint or worry, never fussing over the lack of control like some others do. Jungwon, their second youngest and their leader, is especially frustrated with the way their company pushes them around, and even with their tight schedule, he finds time to argue with their bosses about the band's wellbeing, their need for rest and personal time. Sunghoon admires him for it, but can only blink blankly when Jungwon gets started, because he knows that their company knows best. They're being pushed hard so that they can win.
Sunoo also never speaks up when the seven members of the band are together and feeling bitter or gossipy. He listens, nods, agreeing silently with anything anyone says, which is as good as agreeing to nothing. Sunghoon can hardly blame him for that, though, as he also doesn't agree or argue with anything. Though it might be less that Sunoo is on the same page as Sunghoon in regards to leadership, and more that Sunoo knows that whenever he speaks up when the group is gathered, he becomes the new target.
Sunoo is different. He's not as different as the leadership in their company, because he's not untouchable. He's different in a touchable— No, Sunghoon thinks, ears pink as he lays in bed, unable to sleep— Sunoo is different in a teasable way. And the members do tease him. Mercilessly, at times.
Sunoo is different. He was different when they all first met, when they were teens, set against other teens on a show where promising idols competed for the promise of becoming real idols. He was different from the rest of them because he didn't hide who he was. He wore his heart on his sleeve, cute and reactive and unashamed, unlike his peers of posers and performers. Sunghoon scrubs his hand over his face, ignoring Jay's deep breathing beside him. He's skirting around the issue, the issue of Sunoo, of why he's different, why they all tease him.
Sunoo is different because he's gay. Or he acts like it. He didn't try to not act like it, not until they won the competition and became a band. Since then, he's mellowed out a bit, and even then, his mannerisms are still, well, different. Gay.
It makes him an easy target.
As the week closes in on the weekend, on Sunghoon and Sunoo's private plans, as Sunghoon and the rest do what they're told, Sunoo remains a target. They all tease him, or at least it looks like teasing, even when it's not. Sunghoon often joins in on berating and mimicking Sunoo, and when he doesn't join, he watches. His attention is always fixed on Sunoo.
He knows why. He knows why he watches him. Why he teases him. He knows why he felt guilty, the other night in the kitchen, and all the other nights when he's alone in bed, thinking about the day, thinking about Sunoo's pouty expressions and flustered exclamations. It doesn't matter whether or not Sunoo is actually gay, because Sunghoon sees how he acts, how he reacts, and his imagination fills in the rest. Sunoo might not be gay, but Sunghoon hopes that he is.
Sunoo, a blunt thumb between his thick, pink lips. Sunoo, spread prettily on a white bed, a faint blush under his thin, shadowed eyes. Sunoo, eyebrows furrowed, whining, his thin chest raised in a deep breath.
Sunghoon feels guilty not because he's being cruel, he doesn't really care if he's liked or not by his members, as long as they can still work and succeed together. No, he feels guilty because he knows he's picking on Sunoo for something that Sunghoon doesn't even know for sure, and for something that neither of them can control.
The light in the bedroom is nonexistent, the light-cancelling curtains they installed shortly after moving in covering even the weak rays of moonlight outside their window. Sunghoon opens his eyes, black lids replaced by black room, and combs his fingers through his hair, his nails scratching his scalp.
When he was thirteen, he had his first relationship. A family friend's daughter confessed, with tightly shut eyes and hands balled into her thin stomach, that she liked him and thought he was really, really handsome and cool. They dated for a year, which mostly consisted of briefly held hands and her cheering him on at skate practice. A year later, after Sunghoon's fourteenth birthday, they shared their first kiss. She was tense, he was overeager, and when he'd pushed his hand under her shirt, she shoved him away and confessed for the second time, that he wasn't what she thought he was, that she wasn't ready, and she didn't like him like that. That was his first break up. His first heartbreak, and he felt nothing at all.
After, as he grew older, he messed around with some of the other girls who practiced at his rink. He made out, got his first handjob, fingered someone for the first time. They were all one-offs, though, brief encounters after practice, sweaty and half undressed in the locker rooms, high off of the endorphins from exercise. They didn't mean anything and Sunghoon didn't feel anything. Once, with one of his seniors, he tried to feel something, tried to ask her on a date, and she had smiled, shrugged, and told him that this was all she had time for, all he should have time for too. Didn't he know that relationships were only for the losers who didn't want to practice? After that, Sunghoon stopped fooling around entirely, focusing only on the ice in front of him.
The girls were easy to ignore as Sunghoon progressed through puberty, the boys less so, but even with them, Sunghoon had no problem turning aside, controlling himself, sliding into double, then triple axels, faster and faster spins. Control isn't an issue. Sunghoon has been training himself for years.
Which is another reason he feels guilty, turning onto his side in bed, eyes shut again. He knows how to control himself, so why can't he control himself around Sunoo? Why does he keep teasing him, pulling his pigtails, desperate for a reaction?
He's trained himself, but clearly not enough. He needs more practice, more time.
Tomorrow, he'll tell Sunoo not to bother coming with him to the rink. Relationships are for losers who don't want to win. Sunghoon will go alone and he'll practice, learn again to control himself.
—
Sunghoon does not disinvite Sunoo to the rink. He doesn't even try. Sunoo cautiously sidles towards him at breakfast while Sunghoon is frying eggs on the stove, and murmurs, too low for the other members to hear, how excited he is to try skating again.
One of the egg yolks breaks in the pan, and Sunghoon grunts, both in response to Sunoo and his breakfast.
"Oh," Sunoo says, "Do you not want to go anymore? It's fine if you don't, I understand."
"Oh, I understand," Sunghoon mimics tinnily, sliding his half-ruined breakfast onto a small plate. "I'd tell you if I didn't want to." He looks up and meets Sunoo's eye for a second before Sunoo glances away, shoulders turned in.
"Sorry," Sunoo says.
"Sorry," Sunghoon copies with a scoff and steps forward, shoving his shoulder into Sunoo's. "Why are you apologizing, I want to go with you. We're going, aren't we? Don't be sorry."
Sunoo meets his eye, face scrunched and bemused, and Sunghoon would feel guilty, if it wasn't so bright and his other members weren't sitting feet away. He smiles, baring sharp teeth, and laughs, "It's annoying when you apologize so much."
—
The rink is closed for the day, but Sunghoon had called ahead, and so when he and Sunoo arrive, the doors open with a smile. His first coach, the woman who had taught him through childhood and into adolescence, has retired, but his second coach still works at the rink, and she's the one who lets them in, flicking light switches as she guides them to the ice. She chatters amiably about her new students, about how she misses Sunghoon but she's been happy to follow him down his new career path, even if she thinks it a bit of a waste. He probably never could have been an Olympian, but with a few more years and a lot more practice, he still could've competed at Nationals, maybe won. She sighs, turning towards them, and glances to Sunoo for the first time since letting them in.
She smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes and asks, "A friend of yours?"
"Yeah," Sunghoon says, smiling politely back. "He's new to it, but he has promise. He wanted to learn more, so I said I'd show him. Figured I could use the practice too."
"I'm sure you could," she says. "It's too late to do anything with you, as you know, but I'm glad you haven't abandoned it entirely." She sighs. "I'm heading out, my son will be back from school by now, but Hyeon is in the office. He'll be here until seven, at least. See him when you're ready to leave."
"Thank you," Sunghoon bows.
"Well," his old coach starts. "I hope you have fun." Her voice is filled with regret, mourning the Sunghoon who would never think of visiting just for fun.
She leaves with a polite goodbye and well wishes for award season, saying that her younger daughter is a fan of theirs, and she still thinks of him often. Sunghoon bows, smiles, ignores the weight of Sunoo behind him, and knows that he's a disappointment, but he's won bronze before. He knows how to act.
Once she's gone and the two of them are alone, Sunghoon lets out a loud breath, shoulders sinking, and Sunoo laughs breathlessly behind him.
"That was so tense!" Sunoo is smiling, his hand in front of his mouth, eyebrows pinched together. "I'm glad she barely noticed me, I was so afraid of doing the wrong thing, I just kept bowing." Sunoo laughs and Sunghoon shrugs his duffel higher onto his shoulder, staring at him. Sunoo blinks and his hand lowers, showing a soft smile. "She was scary, but so are you, so I guess it makes sense."
"Shut up," Sunghoon mutters, turning away, leading them to the ice.
The rink is quiet, the lights dimmed, the ice sparkling rather than blinding, and Sunghoon hurries over to the benches underneath the bleachers, shrugging off his jacket. His shoes are replaced by his skates in a matter of seconds, properly laced and tight with years of practice, which gives him enough time to sit back and watch Sunoo, struggling with his borrowed skates, hunched underneath his puffer jacket. He laces the boots sloppily, hands shaking, and Sunghoon huffs, falls from his bench to a crouch and waddles over to Sunoo, swatting his useless hands away from the white laces. He has to untie the knot Sunoo has attempted, and starts to retie, properly, knelt in front of Sunoo, who other than a small gasp when Sunghoon swatted his hands away, is silent.
When Sunghoon has finished double-knotting the laces and is testing the tightness of the boots, one of his hand gently clasped around Sunoo's ankle, Sunoo speaks up, his voice quiet. "Did your coach lace your shoes like this?"
Despite his low volume, his voice echoes around the empty rink, and Sunghoon's shoulders tighten. He sits back, rises shakily on covered skates, and replies, voice steady. "Yeah, when I was a little kid. We had to learn to do it properly. A loose shoe could fuck your chances of winning— If it was too loose, you'd lose control and could mess up in any number of ways, or even break an ankle." Sunghoon shrugs. "My coach, not the one you met, she made us practice over and over again just tying our shoes." He laughs humorlessly. "I learned pretty quick, yeah, so no, my coach didn't have to lace my skates."
"Oh," Sunoo says, stretching out his legs, eyes on his booted feet. "Well. Thank you. I wouldn't want to break an ankle."
"Yeah, no shit," Sunghoon laughs. "Me neither. I'd be in such deep shit if I got you hurt."
"Yeah," Sunoo agrees quietly. He looks upset and Sunghoon doesn't understand why. They both know they'd be in trouble if they were too injured to perform. He won't let that happen, so he's confused why Sunoo seems upset.
"Come on," he says, offering a hand and a smile. "I'll protect you."
Sunoo takes his hand as he stands up, and he smiles faintly, eyes on his unbalanced feet. "Okay," he says, tottering after Sunghoon, their hands clasped tightly together. "Thank you, but, who's going to protect you?"
They reach the low boards separating the pit from the ice and Sunghoon lets go of Sunoo, gliding backwards, and smiles. "Me? I can't get hurt." He's glad when Sunoo laughs, rolling his eyes, and follows him into the rink.
When they'd been filming, Sunghoon acted as a teacher for the other members, holding their hands as he guided them on the ice, gently correcting their posture and demonstrating proper balance, sometimes even counting steps as his members collected their bearings. At the time, it felt like he had to help every other member, but he remembers now, that it had only been a couple that needed his guidance. Heeseung didn't need any help, taking to the ice easily, threatening Sunghoon's position as ice prince. Jake, too, was fine on skates. Sunoo too, though he was loud about it, was fine without Sunghoon's help. It was maybe because Sunghoon left him for last, ignoring him as long as he could, but when Sunoo cried out and fell, he was already too practiced to need Sunghoon's help standing back up, so all Sunghoon could do was stand back and watch.
It was for the best, Sunghoon knew, that Sunoo didn't need his help, because under the camera's watchful gaze, he really didn't want to hold Sunoo's hand. Now that there are no cameras, Sunghoon's empty hands twitch. After a couple quick, easy figure-eights, he glides in front of Sunoo, grinning, and grabs his hands. Sunoo starts, surprised, and stumbles, and Sunghoon laughs.
"Come on," he says. "You're fine. Skate with me." He starts moving backwards slowly, dragging Sunoo, but Sunoo recovers quickly with an annoyed laugh and an eyeroll, still looking down at their feet.
"You're fine," Sunghoon says. "Look up, straighten your back. You're not going to fall." I won't let you fall, he leaves unspoken, and Sunoo follows his advice, standing up straight. His hands in Sunghoon's hands, his legs still careful, he almost looks like a skater.
"Okay, I'm gonna speed up," Sunghoon says, swaying into a turn. Sunoo shrieks and Sunghoon groans. "No, don't look down, just look at me, you're fine, I told you you're fine."
"It doesn't feel fine!" Sunoo snaps, slid into the turn by Sunghoon's hands, his legs tight and still.
"It is fine!" Sunghoon leads them into a second, sharper turn, frowning. "If you don't want to look at me, then just close your eyes. You have to move though, idiot, come on, right leg, yeah, then left leg— imagine you're in socks in the living room, yeah, that's right, like that." Sunoo, his eyes squeezed shut, starts to move as Sunghoon yells at him, legs sliding clumsily at first and then more and more carefully, gracefully, as Sunghoon tightens his grip on Sunoo's hands, skating straight backwards. "I'm gonna turn again," he warns. "Don't stop moving."
"I won't, I won't!"
Sunghoon arcs them around the edge of the rink and in the middle of the turn, he lets go of Sunoo's hands, speeding away to watch how he reacts, how he stumbles but saves himself, finishing the turn on his own. Sunghoon laughs, grinning wildly, and shouts, "You look great, Sunoo!"
"Shut up," Sunoo yells back, whining. His eyes are open again and wide, his arms spread for balance, as he fruitlessly skates towards Sunghoon, still gliding easily backwards, watching him. "When you invited me, I didn't think I'd have to do anything! I thought I'd just watch you and try not to fall," he calls, voice high and hysteric.
Like in the kitchen in their dorm at night, alone but not abandoned, in this rink without audience or cameras, Sunghoon feels the same sort of wild freedom, and he laughs, speeding up. "You think I'd let you off that easily?" He skates up to Sunoo and stops with a spray of powdered ice, forcing Sunoo into a suprised halt. "You're a pretty good skater," he admits, grinning, while Sunoo stares at him with blank eyes. "Hey, look, I've never tried partner-skating before. What do you think?"
"What do I think?" Sunoo squeaks. "I think you're crazy."
"Do you?" Sunghoon asks, skating circles around a frozen Sunoo. "You want to be my partner?"
"I don't even know how to skate by myself!"
"Yeah, you do, you're fine," Sunghoon grins, stopping again in a flurry of ice shavings just to make Sunoo squawk. "Just stand there and look pretty, you're good at that."
Sunoo yells something, but Sunoo doesn't hear it as he glides away from Sunoo, picking up speed. It's been years, and he's not stupid enough to try something harder, but he is stupid enough to want to impress Sunoo, so he skates faster and faster, until he has enough momentum to try a small jump, a half finished spin in the air. He can't complete a full axel, but he lands nicely, one leg held behind him and arms gracefully aloft as he picks up speed again, and he's rewarded with Sunoo's faint clapping. Sunghoon closes his eyes, biting his lip as he smiles, and speeds up again. He jumps a second time, completing a full rotation, and if his landing is a little rockier, well, Sunoo's cheers don't seem to mind.
He loses track of Sunoo as he skates, lost in years of choreography and practiced moves, sliding around the rink with ice-blind eyes, attempting jumps and spins, performing anything he remembers, music and announcers in his ears, his audience of one in mind. He's crouched low, one leg stretched, his arms around his torso, spinning on his bent leg, when he hears Sunoo gasp a happy praise, and he realizes, standing from his crouched spin, finishing it straight, that in his impromptu routine, he's finished close by to Sunoo. He stops with his feet spread wide, his arms posed away from his body, and looks up, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Sunoo is smiling wide, his eyes almost disappeared, his hands paused together in applause below his chin.
If Sunghoon had learned, if he had more training, this is where his performance would end. Five feet apart, Sunghoon serious and Sunoo admiring. Sunghoon should control himself, should smile and bow. Act the part he's been casted. Bronze, alone, and wanting. It's been years though, and Sunghoon hasn't practiced, hasn't had the fucking time, and so his foot kicks off behind him, cutting through the ice with a flurry of snowflakes, and he makes a move.
He rotates around Sunoo, skates clicking loudly against the ice, his turns turning sharper as he moves closer. He ends with a loud scrape, a sudden stop, one arm around Sunoo's waist, the other stiff at his side, his hand clenched. He breathes heavily, eyes on Sunoo's forehead, and slowly, he tilts his head, looks down, to Sunoo's eyes.
"I told you, didn't I," he says, almost a whisper. "You just had to stand and look pretty. You did good."
When Sunoo opens his mouth, Sunghoon looks down at it, his arm tightening around Sunoo's middle. He bows his head. He's not teasing and he knows it wouldn't look like it, but he doesn't care. There are no cameras, no audience, no members, just him and Sunoo, so he smiles, fingers pressed hard into Sunoo's hip.
Sunoo, as pale and frozen as the ice, finally thaws, places his hands over Sunghoon's chest, fingers spread and warm, and Sunghoon breathes in, holds it. Then, Sunoo's hands push, lightly at first, then stronger, and Sunoo slips from Sunghoon's hold, skating backwards, eyes wide but unreadable.
"That was amazing," Sunoo breathes, far away. "Wow, you were incredible. I couldn't, I mean, of course I couldn't keep up, but that was amazing."
Sunghoon doesn't know how to respond, still standing where Sunoo left him, his arms empty. He watches him, and hopes his face is as blank as he feels.
"It's almost seven," Sunoo says. "So, we should probably get going, right? Your coach said the rink was only open until seven, didn't she?"
It's not exactly what she said, but if Sunoo is right, and it is almost seven, then Hyeon from the office will be down shortly to escort them out. Sunghoon swallows, nods, and Sunoo smiles, looking relieved.
"It was so much fun, really," he says. "I loved watching you, I think you could've been at the Olympics, honestly, but—" Sunoo laughs, sighs, and reaches the wall at the edge of the rink. "I'm so frozen right now, and hungry. We should go, shouldn't we?"
"Yeah," Sunghoon finally forces out. "You're right."
Beneath the bleachers, beside the ice, they undo their skates in silence, changing into their pedestrian shoes. Sunghoon's mouth is tight, his eyes wide, his eyebrows low, his arm still hot from when it wrapped around Sunoo and was promptly rejected.
"Get your things," he bites out, lacing his shoes as tightly as his skates. "Wait by the car. I'll close up with Hyeon."
"Okay," Sunoo replies lightly, his voice high and annoying. "Cool. Yeah, I will. Thank you."
"Thank you," Sunghoon mocks, brushing past Sunoo, his duffel high on his shoulder, his hand tense around its strap. He doesn't look back as he heads to the office, to clear up and finalize their visit. He's fine, he's not hurt. He can't get hurt. He's trained enough for that, at least.
—
At the dorm, only Jungwon and Heeseung are in the living room when Sunghoon and Sunoo return. The lights are low, bedroom doors shuttered and quiet, and it smells like ramen. Jungwon plucks out an earbud when he sees them and he smiles, cheeks pierced with dimples. Heeseung, folded into an armchair, looks up, his phone bright in his hands.
"Hey," Jungwon says. "We were just wondering where you were."
No, you weren't, Sunghoon thinks. No one gave a shit where they were. It's been at least a year since anyone cared about their curfew, the members coming and going from the dorm as they please. Jungwon though, as the leader, still pretends to care sometimes. But Sunghoon knows it's just pretend, and so he doesn't respond, just shrugs and moves past the two greeters towards his bedroom.
Behind him, he hears Sunoo reply with a faint laugh in his voice, "Oh, we went skating."
"What," Jungwon cries, tittering. Heeseung too, mutters something, but Sunghoon doesn't catch it. Jungwon continues, giggling, "That's so—"
Sunghoon doesn't hear what it was because he closes the door behind him, safely ensconced in his bedroom, his duffel sunk to his wrists. Jay is laid out in the second bed, furthest from the door, and he glances up, but mercifully doesn't say anything. He just nods and turns back to his laptop, balanced on blanketed legs.
Sunghoon throws his bag beside his bed and himself onto his bed, collapsing onto the neatly folded coverlet, his face pushed into pillows. After a minute of silence, Sunghoon laying facedown and unmoving, Jay asks, "You okay?"
"Mhm," Sunghoon says, and presses himself up, out of bed and towards his dresser, grabbing a set of pajamas. It'd be embarrassing to admit that he'd waited till Jay said something to do anything, and so Sunghoon doesn't admit it. He doesn't think about it. He grabs his change of clothes and goes to the bathroom to change and wash up.
In the past, in the pit, Sunghoon's eyes on his knees, ears on the scoring, his mom would wait until his loss was announced and then wait a couple minutes more, and finally ask, sitting softly beside him, if he was okay. He was, he always was, but only after she'd asked would he be able to move, starting his second performance.
Sunghoon splashes the rest of his cleanser off his face and looks up into the bathroom mirror, his face pale and eyebrows dark, lowered deep over his eyes. A rejection is the same as a loss, and he's good at dealing with both. He grins at his reflection, thinks, it's nice that Jay is there, even if his mom isn't. He laughs, turning away, imagines Jay's face if he told him what a good mother he is, and shuts off the light.
—
Sunghoon doesn't think about Sunoo rejecting him until days, or weeks, or months later. He doesn't know how long, he's never been good with time keeping. There are people to do that for him. Parents, coaches, teachers, managers. He follows where he's led and when someone tells him the time, he nods and asks what he needs to do next. Though he's not sure of how much time has passed, he does know that it's enough that Sunoo has stopped looking at him strangely when he teases, and enough time that he doesn't look at himself strangely either when he teases Sunoo.
It's spring, is the other thing he knows. Not of his own deduction, but because a day or so ago, Sunoo had asked if anyone wanted to go out to view the cherry blossoms. Sunghoon scoffed and asked what was so special about something that happened every year, and the other members all politely declined, except for Jay, who, surprisingly, agreed.
The two of them left in the early afternoon, after group activities, the rest of the band collected back into the apartment. Sunghoon had immediately abandoned the others to go to his room, spreading himself out beside his bed to complete his self-inflicted workout routine, fifty pushups and situps followed by a lazily followed yoga video on his computer.
The room is still bright when he finishes, brushing long bangs off his sweaty forehead, glancing out the uncurtained window. It's spring, the days are longer, but it's been at least two hours, and Jay still isn't back yet. Sunghoon opens his phone to check the time, and he was right, it's been almost two hours since Jay and Sunoo seperated from the rest of the band. He drops his phone, runs a hand through his hair, and fans his t-shirt against his chest. It'd be strange if Jay didn't come back to their room after returning to the dorm, but maybe he was still energized enough to deal with whatever group is left in the living room. Sunghoon nods, assured that the two of them couldn't still be out, enjoying a romantic walk through blooming trees, and leaves his bedroom.
"—don't think it's so bad," Jungwon says. He's sitting across from Jake at the small, square table set between the kitchen and living room. Sunghoon closes the bedroom door quietly and looks down at his feet, hoping he hasn't been noticed. It isn't often he gets to eavesdrop on his bandmates.
"No, it's not," Jake says, passionate enough that his Korean is tinged with his native Australian accent. "It's so far behind here, honestly, and like, why?"
"It's just different," Jungwon replies, quiet. "I don't know why, or, well, if I did, what can I do?"
"No, yeah," Jake says in English, his voice sharp and foreign, his hand waving, then he returns to Korean, tone calmer, more fluent. "I know you're doing what you can, for Sunoo and all, but—"
"It's the company that's on his ass, not me," Jungwon says. "I don't care, as long as—" Jungwon stops, looks up, and meets Sunghoon's eye, and his expression shutters, his mouth a thin line.
"Uh," Sunghoon says smartly. "Hey."
"Hey," Jake says, plastering on a smile.
"I, uh, didn't mean to interrupt, sorry." Sunghoon smiles, bowing his head to his two older members, and pulls up a third chair at the table. Usually, he would pass by and ignore the inane conversations between his members, but they're talking about Sunoo. "What were you saying? Sunoo is what? He's in trouble with the company?"
Jake and Jungwon look at each other, share a silent conversation, and Jake is the one to turn to Sunghoon, smiling patiently, and explains, "I was telling Jungwon about a friend of mine, who just came out as nonbinary."
"Oh," Sunghoon nods, not understanding. "Okay."
"That got us into talking about gender and sexuality in Korea," Jake says slowly.
"Sure," Sunghoon says just as slowly, glancing at Jungwon, who has his head is in his hands.
"And," Jake continues. "What that means for Sunoo, I guess."
"Which is nothing," Jungwon says finally, looking up from his hands. "I'm the leader of this band, and Sunoo will always be a member as long as we're together."
"But why," Sunghoon starts, glancing between the two, eyebrows furrowed. "What does this have to do with Sunoo?"
There's another silence, another pause, and again, Jake is the one to break it. "Because Sunoo is gay," he says.
"Sunoo isn't gay," Sunghoon laughs.
It seems impossible that another member hasn't come out of their room or that Sunoo and Jay haven't returned from their date by now, especially with how the trio at the table keeps turning quiet, conversation stretched and unending. They remain uninterrupted, however, staring at each other. The pause is broken first by Jungwon, his high laugh.
"You're sure of that?" Jungwon asks, and Jake starts to smile too, looking between the two.
"He told me," Sunghoon lies, smiling back.
"He told you?" Jungwon questions at the same time Jake states, "He told you."
Sunghoon nods, smile in place. "He's straight," he reiterates, and adds a small shrug to better sell his statement. Sunoo has never told him anything about his sexuality, but he can't tell Jungwon and Jake that he knows what he knows because Sunoo rejected him.
"Yeah, well," Jake says, turning away, an embarrassed blush dusting his smiling face. "Okay. Shit, we shouldn't have assumed, huh?"
"No, we shouldn't," Jungwon says, looking at Sunghoon.
Sunghoon, who was about to ask if either of them had heard from Jay or Sunoo, if they knew what they were doing or when they'd return, swallows down the thought and rises from the table. Instead of asking what he wants to, he asks instead, "Are you guys hungry? I want to get some food."
Outside, the cherry blossoms flutter to pavement, light pink crushed red under thoughtless footsteps, and by the time Jay and Sunoo return to the apartment, the sun is hidden behind Seoul's highrises and Sunghoon is in bed, flipping thoughtlessly through his phone.
—
"You defended me," Sunghoon hears, laughed at his side. He's sitting on the couch in their dance studio, knees spread wide, head hung low. It's leather, a hard, uncomfortable, thing, meant to dissuade the tiredness that Sunghoon is feeling, meant to be unwelcoming enough that it presses its aching idols back to their feet, back to the hardwood floor, the polished mirror. Sunghoon is good at arguing though, so he's been sitting here undisturbed for a while, his bandmates continuing their squeaky steps on the studio's floor.
"What?" he asks, looking up with squinted eyes and Sunoo smiles back at him. He's good at arguing, but he doesn't remember or know why he would've done it for Sunoo. He furrows his brows further, already confused expression tightened into true bafflement. "Why would I defend you?"
Their newest single stops, restarts, and the thud of sneakers begins to reharmonize with the recorded track. Sunoo, alongside the footsteps, shrugs and rolls his head, blinking slowly, his smile fond and exasperated. "Jungwon said," he starts, then stops, shoulders jumping as he bounces on the heels of his feet. "You told the others I wasn't, you know."
"I don't know," Sunghoon admits. "What?"
Sunoo sits down on the uncomfortable couch and leans towards Sunghoon, a hand covering his whisper. "Gay."
"Oh." The music doesn't stop, but Jungwon says something, stepping in front of the four dancing members. Sunghoon looks at his feet, his shoes. The ties are loose, laces grayed and frayed, and he breathes in. "Yeah. Well. You aren't."
Sunoo hums and in his periphery, Sunghoon watches him lean away, looking at Jungwon and the others. When he speaks again, it's still whispered, and Sunghoon wants to snap at him that it's annoying, that it's hard to hear, but his mouth is tight, his throat closed.
"It doesn't bother you, that they think I am? Gay, I mean."
"Why would I care? It's you, not me. You should be the one bothered. I don't give a shit."
"I don't know," Sunoo murmurs. He still doesn't look at Sunghoon, rocking slowly back and forth in his seat, ankles crossed. "You're right, probably, I should care, but I don't. Is that bad?"
"Why are you asking me," Sunghoon snaps. "It's your reputation. Do whatever you want."
The music stops, and Jungwon calls their names. Dutiful as always, Sunghoon rises mechanically to his feet, and steps forward. On the second step, he stops, breathes in, and asks, quietly, "Are you?"
Behind him, Sunoo stands too, his steps lighter and springier than Sunghoon's, and he responds, smiling, "I've been wanting to try skating again. Do you want to go with me?"
"Yes," Sunghoon says before his mouth catches up with his mind, and as Sunoo laughs, skipping away, Sunghoon frowns.
Yes, he knows how to lose, but doing it twice in a row is too much. He doesn't like it, has never been good at it, but as always, the audience outweighs his emotions, so Sunghoon swallows down his frustration and steps into line beside Sunoo and Jake and steels his expression. The single starts playing, high notes crackling past gray speakers, and Sunghoon breathes out, performs. He won't lose if he doesn't try. He'll go skating with Sunoo. He won't get hurt. He'll take his bronze and he'll smile and he'll go home. The choreographed rotation changes, Sunghoon beside Niki and Heeseung and he relaxes. He's fine. He knows how to lose.
—
It's almost seven when Sunoo and Sunghoon are able to get to the rink. Hyeon, the rink's manager, opens the door for them with a weary sigh. He tells them that they've got an hour, that it's only that he knows who they are and that all his patrons are fans, that he's giving them the time at all. Next time, he says, paused in front of the staff-only door near the entrance, he expects them to pay. It doesn't matter what contacts Sunghoon has, or how famous they might be. Hyeon's got a life too, even if he's fifty and ugly. Sunghoon bows, silent, but it's Sunoo who saves them, chattering about how beautiful the rink is, better than any other that he's visited, insisting that the next time they come, Hyeon should skate with them, because Sunoo knows he must be incredible, repeating again and again how grateful he is for Hyeon's patience and kindess. Before Hyeon disappears into the backrooms, he smiles at Sunoo, wide and bright, and tells them they can leave whenever they want, he's got plenty of work. He was, maybe, being too hard on them. Sunoo smiles back, giggling, and Sunghoon looks at Sunoo.
"That was nice," he tells Sunoo, leading them to the rink.
Sunoo shrugs. "We all have our talents." He points to the glistening, white, ice. "That's yours, and mine is people."
"I'm good with people, too," Sunghoon argues, pulling out his skates as he sits down, and Sunoo just laughs, sitting beside him.
"Will you tie mine?" Sunoo asks, eyes wide and innocent, once Sunghoon finishes with his own shoes. Sunghoon swallows, frowns, then kneels.
"I should make you practice," he mutters, Sunoo's foot between his thighs, his hands on the borrowed, white boot. "This is stupid." He laces Sunoo's skates anyway, his face hot and mind blank, as Sunoo whines prettily, thanking him.
Once they're laced tight and ready, Sunghoon breathes a sigh of relief, hurrying onto the ice, away from Sunoo, kicking off with a flurry of frost, feet gaining speed as he turns, spins a lazy rotation in the center of the rink, arms loosely crossed over his chest.
Sunoo follows slowly, legs shaking as he glides close to Sunghoon. "You make it look so easy," he whines.
"Good." Sunghoon skates away from him, legs criss-crossed and tight as he turns and turns around Sunoo, his footwork fancier than it needs to be as he circles, switching his weight from right to left, keeping his rotations tight around the center point of Sunoo. "It's supposed to look effortless."
"It does," Sunoo says, and claps, applauding Sunghoon's easy performance. "You look amazing." Sunghoon grins, speeds up, starting an arc that could lead to a jump and Sunoo exclaims, his hands loud, but his voice is louder. "I watched some videos, by the way, after last time."
Sunghoon's skates scream against the ice as he stops suddenly, and he looks up. "Oh?"
"Partner skates," Sunoo clarifies, hands balled at his sides as he starts to move. He glides slowly, shakily, head bowed. "They were so, I don't know, beautiful, I guess. The way they moved together. It was so romantic." Sunoo, his eyes on his feet, makes a neat turn, skating away from Sunghoon. "No one just stood there and looked pretty."
"Of course they didn't," Sunghoon scoffs. "They'd never score if either of them just stood there."
"You told me just to stand there," Sunoo says, stalling to a stop across from Sunghoon, and smiles.
"You can't skate."
"You told me to look pretty."
"I was teasing you."
Neither of them move, standing ten feet apart on the ice, staring at each other. Sunoo is smiling, Sunghoon frowning. He wonders how much time has passed, if Hyeon is going to interrupt, go back on his word and come to kick them out soon.
Sunoo cocks his head to the side and looks down, sheepish. "Anyways. Did you still want to be my partner?"
Instead of answering, Sunghoon starts to skate. He backs up, swaying away from Sunoo, his brows still furrowed over lowered eyes. His quiet strokes are joined by the clack of Sunoo's skates, following with clumsy strides. Sunghoon slows, closes his eyes. "I don't know how to skate pairs."
"Me neither," Sunoo laughs, loudly striving forward as Sunghoon glides backward.
"It's stupid, then, isn't it? I should teach you the basics, at least." He keeps his voice level, his face flat, as he slows to a crawl, then a stop. Hyeon is going to come in, they're going to be interrupted. His shut eyes tighten, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
"I'm sorry," Sunoo says, close.
"I told you to stop apologizing. It's annoying."
Sunoo wraps his hands around Sunghoon's fists, and Sunghoon's eyes snap open.
Sunoo's eyes are wide, his cheeks pink with the cold. He isn't smiling. If anything, he looks afraid. Sunghoon swallows and doesn't pull away. His fists uncurl, fingers limp in Sunoo's cool hands. "I'm sorry I pushed you away, before," Sunoo says. "I want to try."
"I don't know how to skate with a partner," he admits. "I was never taught, I never practiced, I— if I tried, I'd fuck it up, I'd probably hurt you, and myself too. It takes a lot of practice, I know it looks easy, sure, but I don't think we should, I mean, if you really want to try, you should ask for lessons. I can't teach you."
I don't know how to do it. I only won gold a few times. I'm not as good or as effortless as I might look. I don't know what I'm doing, I can't teach you, I can barely teach myself. I'm not good enough. I'm not practiced enough. Please don't ask me. I'm not good at losing. I don't want to be rejected. I'm tired of bronze.
"Sunghoon," Sunoo says, interrupting his thoughts. "I don't want a teacher."
He laughs, lets go of Sunghoon's hands, and continues, light and breathy, "I want you."
Fuck, Sunghoon thinks. "Fuck," Sunghoon says. His hands and feet skate forward, his toes bumping against Sunoo's boots, his hands at Sunoo's waist and hip.
"Are you sure?" He asks as the door to the rink opens and Hyeon calls out, "Are you two almost finished?"
"Yes, we're finished," Sunoo calls back, his eyes on Sunghoon. He's grinning, cheeks round with his wide smile, and he raises his eyebrows, skating away from Sunghoon. "Aren't we?"
"No," Sunghoon says, racing past him, grabbing his hands and pulling him to the exit. No, we fucking aren't. He's moving too quickly, pulling too roughly, and Sunoo stumbles, trips. Sunghoon wants to spin, wants to grab him, lift him with arms wrapped around his thin torso to the finish line, but Hyeon is standing guard at the exit, so Sunghoon grits his teeth, tightens his grip on Sunoo, and slows down.
Sunoo is good at skating, so it's easy enough for him to correct his misplaced feet, match Sunghoon's lead, and they glide back into the pit easily, skates clacking on solid, warm, ground. They're not finished. Sunghoon doesn't bother with the benches, back leaned against the plastic covered wall as he bends unsteadily, his fingers scrabbling at the tight knot of his shoes. They're not fucking finished.
Hyeon keeps watch as they fumble out of their skates and into their normal shoes, throwing boots into bags and bags onto shoulders, and sees them out with plenty of smiles towards Sunoo and suspicious eyes on Sunghoon. It feels like its hours until they're seated in the backseat of a company car, headed to their dorm.
Sunghoon's legs are splayed in the backseat, hands gripped onto his knees, eyes on the footwell. The backseat is dark, the seats black leather, the driver's partition risen, allowing a pretense of privacy. Sunghoon knows that it's just pretend, though, and so when he speaks, it's a whisper.
"You're not straight," he says, afraid to ask. You like me, he thinks, even more afraid to ask.
"When Jungwon told me you said I was, I was so happy," Sunoo says softly, fingers twiddling in his lap, his legs crossed delicately. "I thought you were just defending me. Like, you were trying to protect me from the others' teasing." Sunoo's head falls onto the headrest, and he laughs. "I had no idea that you thought you were telling the truth."
"It's not true, though, right?" Sunghoon's eyes dart from his lap to Sunoo's, but he doesn't dare move. If they aren't being filmed, Sunghoon knows they're being watched. "You don't have to answer. I know."
"Do you?"
"It doesn't matter to me," Sunghoon says, and realizes, he means it. Whether he wins or loses, it doesn't matter. Sunoo will be there, cheering him on, and he won't wait, unlike his mother or Jay, he'll ask right away how Sunghoon is feeling. He doesn't care, he's never cared how good or bad Sunghoon has been, he's always been there. Even when Sunghoon is terrible, Sunoo is there.
Sunghoon finds himself leaning over the center console, eyes closed, murmuring in a daze, "Even if I only won bronze, you wouldn't care, would you."
"What are you talking about?" Sunoo tugs at his sleeve. "Of course I'd be happy for you. What's wrong with you? Get out of the car."
That's right, the car is stopped. Sunghoon swings himself out of the car, feet unsteady on un-iced ground. Sunoo would be happy for him. He looks at him, unbalanced off blades, and blinks. Sunoo blinks back at him, his soft face marred by a frown.
There's a streetlight right outside of their apartment building. It's pockmarked by an overgrown tree, happily lush in the Spring warmth. A couple moths help shield the light, flitting and flickering in and out of existence as Sunghoon stands across from Sunoo in flickering light. The black company car, finished in its duty, slowly whirs out of sight, and Sunghoon steps forward, towards Sunoo.
"I'm sorry. I pushed you away before, because I didn't know what you were thinking, and I'm still not sure what you're thinking, so I'm sorry again," Sunoo laughs. "I might've been too forward, I definitely was, but it's fine, right? I'm straight, like you said—"
Sunghoon leans forward, kisses him. It's light, chaste, a simple touch of dry lips against each other. It feels like something more, though. It feels like fireworks. It feels like a gold medal. Sunghoon pulls back, registers what Sunoo said, and grins. "You're straight?"
"Oh, shut up," Sunoo says, and kisses him properly.
If the first brush of their mouths was a gold medal, this is a thousand gold medals, or more. Sunghoon smiles, tilting his head to fit against Sunoo, and thinks he should learn pair skating.