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Yuzuru calls for him. He calls even though he can't possibly hear him and even if he could and were to answer, Yuzuru himself in turn would not be able to understand. He looks for him and searches among hundreds of faces watching him, knowing that he won't lock eyes with anyone of significance. Still, he calls, at the worst possible time, in an almost inappropriate display of emotion. He is behaving in a way only meant for the quiet of privately shared thoughts, without a care for the world to see. Well, he does care. About the wrong things.
Really, Yuzuru has other things to worry about. There's photos to be taken, interviews to be given, videos, mistakes to go over. As Shoma's name falls from his lips, he doesn't really know if he thinks himself to be more upset than his friend. Neither of them archived what they wanted. While they both aimed at the same goal, Yuzuru wonders if, in another universe, they collided brutally as they ran in the same direction, stumbling over each other. Right here, right now though, he knows that the only thing that made them hit the ground was themselves respectively. He had always voiced his desires with almost savage honesty, so it's not the first time that he experiences the sharp tang of humiliation as he fails at what he so boldly proclaimed. Humble little Shoma however, never dared to say such things. Maybe he had thought about them, secretly, in the dim light of early morning practices, or maybe this was actually the first time he felt he was allowed to strive for them. Whichever it was, it surely hadn't worked very well for him. As he gets ready to exit the ice for the final time tonight, Yuzuru contemplates how much of a bad thing that actually is. Does thinking like that disperse Shoma's focus, or his delicately budding confidence? Can he never let himself feel he deserves something until after he already has it? Or was it really just bad luck that his changing mindset and a bad day clashed at an unfortunate moment? Shoma is so very different than other skaters Yuzuru knows, and that really confuses him, given than they're culturally the closest. It's not that he could give Shoma advice for dealing with whatever he might be feeling right now otherwise. In his native language, Yuzuru is very good at voicing his own feelings but tending to another's hurt is as different from that as the ways of Shoma's mind are from his.
Considering that, he doesn't actually know what his goal was when he called for him, or rather, uselessly uttering his name into empty, noisy air. Obviously, Shoma isn't even within the arena right now, has probably been absent for the entire victory ceremony. Yuzuru hadn't failed to realise, that this marks not only the first time Shoma missed the podium since his disastrous first world championships – and how ironic that the next time he would be this bitterly broken would be at the same event – but also the first time since then that they share a competition without sharing the podium. What to make of that, he doesn't know. It occurs to him that he feels sharp betrayal, not for Shoma leaving him alone to accept the silver medal as a token of his own shortcomings but on behalf of his kohai, as though he's being treated unfairly, like the world united against him. Despite knowing that Shoma wasn't beautiful today, not in the way that is plainly visible to everyone, the way he needs to be when other's are watching, but just in the way Yuzuru has just come to accept he always is, he feels like everyone closed their eyes today as Shoma desperately tried to show and lay bare something that needed to be seen. It's a curious thought and Yuzuru isn't sure if he should investigate it's nature- he doesn't usually feel things like that. He's a perfectionist through and through and he applies it to skating almost fanatically. Shoma was anything but perfect today. And not just technically – which Yuzuru could certainly forgive his younger friend, given his own roughness from earlier, but rather, Shoma became almost frantic. Yuzuru thinks he saw his legs quiver in usually sharp lines and steps falter slightly where nothing but smooth speed is found on any other day. Harsh gasps disrupt the music even in his memory. Yes, Shoma had been frantic today. The darkness of the night he was supposed to bring soft, silver light into had been all compassing. A new moon. Yet Yuzuru feels like someone had covered the atmosphere in stained glass and made it impossible for even the brightest light to get through. And that's dangerous, because he can't get defensive about Shoma, especially not irrationally so.
Maybe he doesn't expect Shoma to be perfect, maybe he can't worry about Shoma's moonlight as long as he still remembers what it's like to have eyes reflecting silver look at him like he's the sun that originates everything. Two years ago Shoma had clung to his sweaty costume and said, with the same honesty with which Yuzuru talks about wanting to win gold, gold, gold, “It's all because of you.”. Yuzuru doesn't think being the moon suits Shoma very well, and without accusing him of lying, doesn't believe in what he said either. In the past two years, his sun had barely been there for him at all, during endless struggles with his injury and the feverish desire for more, more, more, Yuzuru couldn't have possibly been of any sort of use to Shoma at all. Not that he had cared at the time. He wouldn't call himself selfish for getting lost in whatever frenzies kept him going, especially since he doesn't think Shoma has experienced pain like his before. But then again, Yuzuru didn't fall hundreds of times in a row either. Either way, months passed between them in more than just darkness. If Shoma insists on being the moon, he has long since found another sun, given how bright he shined even when Yuzuru was away.
By the time he realizes this, he can't dwell on it any longer. The interviewers don't care what he thinks about Shoma's performance tonight, even if they must have noticed Yuzuru calling for him earlier. He wonders if Shoma will hear about it, since he hadn't been there himself, wonders if Shoma will listen to what he's about to say to the strangers that have gathered to ask him question that are only going to increase and harden his frustration with tonight. He can't remember if Shoma ever talked about reading or watching him outside of being present himself. He can't remember about Shoma's answers from when he was in his place two years ago either.
Yuzuru doesn't dream the night following a competition, he never does. It's abnormally bright in his hotel room and he knows that there was a full moon two nights ago. He didn't contact Shoma in any way, and by now he is sure that the other is fast asleep. Shoma doesn't strike Yuzuru as the type who dreams often, though he finds that it might explain his constant lethargy. But he has seen Shoma sleep and it's a frightening sight because he always looks as though he fainted instead of just laying down for a rest. It's not the sleep of someone fitful with dreams. Even knowing all that, he pictures Shoma lying awake like him right now. He likes to do this sometimes, picture other people in whatever situation he is in right now. But he adjusts the image. He sees Shoma's costume thrown over the hotel chair, or maybe even the end of the bed, the rhinestones reflecting the steely light from outside and throwing it onto tan skin and snowy sheets. He sees Shoma's skates, his new Edea piano, the blades entirely covered by soakers, tucked in a corner much more carefully than the rest of his belongings. Artificial little flashes of Shoma's gaming gear turn the room even brighter than Yuzuru's own. Yuzuru is lying on is back, eyes straight up but Shoma is on his stomach, head turned to the side to look out of the window. His breathing is much softer now. However, Yuzuru can't make out his expression, even in his mind. In some ways Shoma opened up as time passed, in others he became composed in a way Yuzuru should praise but doesn't like to see. It feels too much like hiding.
In his mind, Shoma turns his face into the pillow. Yuzuru can't hear his breathing at all, so he hums the first notes of Shoma's free skate to kill the silence. But the moonlight in his room repulses him, and he changes to his own music quickly. Shoma gives a sigh of what must be relief. Yuzuru hums nonsense then, and closes the blinds in Shoma's imaginary room. In the darkness, he can't see him any more. Yuzuru turns his face into the pillow and returns to his own thoughts. Tomorrow at the gala practise he'll look for Shoma again. Three years ago, Shoma never showed to that practise.