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“Next up, representing South Korea in the 13-15 Age Division, Sunghoon Park!”
The fluorescents illuminating the rink are brighter than Sunghoon expected. Good, he thinks. The ornaments on my costume stand out in the light. Camera shutters restrict his movement in all directions, reluctantly clearing a path to the entrance for him.
He steps onto the ice, setting off a wave of whoops and cheers from the spectators all around. His skates are comfortable, worn to softness in all the right places, smooth over the newly resurfaced rink.
The music will start in three, two-
Sunghoon thinks about what color the medal ribbon will be this time. Dark blue, he supposes, like the banners that surround the rink at neat intervals. He smiles. Dark blue goes well with gold.
One.
His routine is so familiar to him his feet move before he has to tell them to, cutting clean across the ice into the beginning step sequences. Ankles locked, chin poised, legs straight, shoulders back. All Of Me by Jon Schmidt is a beautiful song, but Sunghoon has drilled it a couple times too many to appreciate its euphony.
The choreography Coach Bang has given him doesn’t waste any time, his first jump is a double toe loop and a double loop. Sharp, sharp lines. His arms are graceful as they spin, slicing the air like a blade through butter.
Triple axel, double flip. Time passes fast, these things come easy to him nowadays. He’s confident of that gold.
“Splendid performance by Sunghoon Park!”
Splendid, marvelous, excellent, flawless.
Tell me something I don’t know, won’t you?
Sunghoon relaxes from the tension of competition as he enters the waiting area, his coach trailing behind him but not necessarily watching him. The wide room is full of people he’s met many a time before, competitors he’s skated alongside and against for years now.
All eyes fall on him as he walks in. Off to the sides the replay screens are still playing back his performance, and newer skaters’ eyes widen as they make the connection between the flawless triples they've just watched and the boy standing in the middle of the room.
Sunghoon likes the attention. After all, he’s been a legend for a while now. People don’t take their gaze off him as he moves, but they keep their distance. He walks alone.
The finals of the 2017 Junior Worlds is the first time Park Sunghoon meets Kim Sunoo.
He’s standing just off to the side, dark hair falling into his face, arms and legs slender, almost ballerina-like in movement. He's short, more than one head below any of the other skaters representing his country. Sunghoon remembers seeing him earlier during warmups, watching him miss a triple and tumble to the ice.
“They just let anyone into the finals now, don’t they?” Sunghoon laughs. Heeseung elbows him with a vaguely reprimanding effect, but doesn’t say more.
They’re standing close enough to him that there’s no way the smaller boy couldn’t have heard it. All he does, though, is continue stretching, counting off one to ten softly to himself.
Sunghoon just scoffs and pulls Heeseung away. They’ve got better things to occupy their time with. He only sees the boy again at the announcement of placings, when all the skaters have finished competing.
Sunghoon takes first place, as he expected, as everyone expected. No one is surprised; the crowd is congratulatory and encouraging, cheering him on for a job well done. But Sunghoon’s smile doesn’t stay.
His eyes narrow at the scoreboard, scanning down the list.
Second place is someone named Sunoo Kim representing the United States, and the score is exactly 3.7 points away from his own.
Had I slipped on that triple axel at the end, I might not have gotten the gold.
He wonders vaguely who this Sunoo Kim is. He’s familiar with all the other Korean skaters who’ve been competing since childhood, given they’ve been seeing each other at national and international competitions for years now. He doesn’t remember a skater by that name, nor does he remember one who can cut so close to his scores.
To tell the truth, it unsettles him. Sunghoon is accustomed to competition, but strong competition is rare, few and far between.
“Who is this?” He looks to his coach, who on his part doesn’t seem to know any more than he does.
“I haven't heard of him before. It seems he’s a newbie, that’s what the other coaches were discussing. He does very nice triple axels.”
Sunghoon burns with the indignity of almost being beaten by a newbie. Even he avoided doing triple axels in competitions himself, considering the risks of not landing them properly were high enough to be the dangerous side.
He shakes his head to clear his messy thoughts, skating out to the podium to receive his medal. Cheering, cheering. Big smile, big wave, same old, same old. The number of times Sunghoon has stood in first place is too many to count.
“And now in second place, Sunoo Kim representing the United States!”
Sunghoon doesn’t manage to conceal his expression as Sunoo Kim appears at the entrance of the rink.
Him?
Sunghoon straightens out his face, masking the disbelief from just a moment before. The dark-haired boy from the waiting room zips out into the middle of the rink, waving, smiling brightly. His hair has been sleekly styled back since the last time Sunghoon saw him, his black shirt and tights switched out for a resplendent costume of black and red.
Sunoo takes his place at the second step of the podium, still holding his smile. He doesn’t seem to hold a grudge over what Sunghoon said about him earlier, or perhaps he's simply forgotten.
“Congratulations!” he says cheerfully, extending a hand to Sunghoon for him to shake. “You’ve always been my role model, I’m so glad to finally meet you!”
Sunghoon is decidedly not glad, but he plasters a smile onto his face and nods, taking Sunoo’s hand politely. “Yes, yes, congratulations.”
Sunghoon doesn’t forget the 3.7 points.
─
The next time they meet is at Nationals at the end of the same year. There is news in the junior skating world that Sunoo has left the United States to come back and train in Korea, but there is no confirmation of it until Sunghoon lays eyes on Sunoo in the waiting area cordoned off for competitors.
So, the rumors are true.
He isn’t nervous, but Sunoo’s presence pulls the stakes of the competition higher than before. What will it look like for him if he loses to such a new face in the game? But Sunghoon will win, he has always won. He doesn’t plan to let that change.
“Hi!”
Sunghoon is startled out of his reverie by a call from behind him.
“Hi! Remember me? My name is Kim Sunoo!”
Yes, how could I forget?
“Hello,” Sunghoon answers, giving a vague wave. “Nice to see you again, hope you’ve been well.”
“Oh, you remember me!” Sunoo is so effusive in manner that Sunghoon has to keep himself from grinning back. “Looks like I’ll be skating against you again this time! All the best!”
“That’s right, all the best,” Sunghoon is mildly affronted that Sunoo doesn’t seem to be intimidated by him at all. People usually are, given everything that surrounds him; his reputation, his talent, his level of accomplishment for such a young age.
“Sunoo, stop running off! Come on, we need to warm up now!” Sunoo looks back and waves to another boy calling behind him. “Hurry!”
“I have to go, Jay’s yelling!” he laughs. “See you on the ice, Sunghoon!”
Sunoo heads off to warm up before he’s dragged away by his friend, leaving Sunghoon alone again. For a long moment he feels an inexplicable pang of something sharp in his heart he can’t quite subdue, but he swallows it.
He doesn't need friends to win. There is, in the end, only space for one person in first place.
Sunghoon goes away to the side to stretch on his own. He has to land his triples well today.
“First up, national legend and two-time Junior Worlds gold medalist, Park Sunghoon!”
His routine is set to Isabella’s Lullaby, a song from some animation he doesn’t have time to watch. As usual, he is flawless. His spins are cleaner than the rotors of a helicopter, drawing beautiful curves in the air. His jumps are just right, no under-rotation, no over-rotation. His step sequences are completely in time.
He grits his teeth when his triple axel combination nears. The jump is by no means new to him, but it's only his second time attempting it under a competition setting. He’d indefinitely benched the jump from competition routines after he’d slipped and earned himself two points off at the last Nationals he competed in, but he’d begun pushing himself to drill that one move after hearing Coach Bang's remark on Sunoo's routine during Junior Worlds.
He wasn't about to lose out, and definitely not to a newbie.
Sunghoon lands the jump by a hair’s breadth, and after a few more finishing spins his routine is over. He’s satisfied with his performance as he leaves the rink, bowing, waving. He even finds the magnanimity to wish Kim Sunoo good luck as they bump into each other in the corridor, earning an easy smile and an enthusiastic “You did great!” from the other boy.
He settles at one end of the waiting area, in front of one of the screens. Sunoo is the next to skate, and underneath all his bristling resentment he’s more than a little curious how the other boy performs.
“Up next will be Kim Sunoo, skating to Counting Stars!”
The first thing Sunghoon notices about Sunoo is how different he is on the ice.
Sunoo out of the rink is an unassuming figure; as bubbly as he is, he doesn’t hold that otherworldly aura that some people have, the aura that draws attention to him like moths to a flame. But as the first notes of his track begin playing from the overhead speakers, Sunghoon can’t help but fixate on the widescreen. There's a riveting energy in the gracefulness of the boy's turns and spins that pulls focus to him and him alone.
Triple axel seems to be his signature move. Sunghoon counts off at least two combinations of it throughout the three-minute program. He turns away from the screen quickly as he catches sight of Sunoo returning to the waiting room after his routine, dropping back into the disinterested and mildly lofty expression he usually wears.
Sunoo is crowded by people the moment he enters. His friend from earlier, Jay, along with a bunch of other skaters, some even from the senior division, surround him as soon as he steps in, ruffling his hair, patting his back, offering fist-bumps-
They’ve never done that for me.
Sunghoon belatedly realizes he isn't acquainted with most of the faces there anyway. Apart from ace teammates like Heeseung for whom he made an exception, he didn’t much like to socialise with people he found to be below his calibre. All nameless, faceless skaters who would fall off the charts one by one in the end, anyway.
His internal rumination is interrupted by the short blast of music that signals the announcement of results, and the competitors are ushered out to the bleachers to prepare for the medal presentation.
“In first place in the junior division, with a score of 165.41, Kim Sunoo!”
First place, Kim Sunoo. Sunoo’s friends are all around him again, clapping, cheering, shouting his name, nothing but smiles as they push the boy onto the rink to stand on the podium.
“Second place, with a score of 163.99, Park Sunghoon!”
It doesn’t register in Sunghoon’s head till seconds later. Second place. The people behind him are nudging the frozen boy forward cautiously, as if he’s forgotten he needs to take his place on the podium.
Who the hell does Kim Sunoo think he is, is the first vicious thought that rips through his head as he steps onto the ice.
At age 15, Park Sunghoon receives the first silver medal he’s ever gotten in his life.
It won’t be his last.
─
Sunghoon doesn’t express anything outwardly when he gets home; no apologies to his coach, no regret, no anger, no resentment. He’s puzzled by his silver, something he sees as a loss, but he of all people knows nothing good comes of talking and talking. Working harder is what matters now.
He pushes harder than he ever has before. Triples are old hat, nothing special; quad jumps are his new plaything. Six hours of practice a day, no more than one rest day a week. He brushes aside all offers for breaks from his coach. He has to win again, he needs to win again.
Sunghoon doesn’t know what will become of him without a gold medal around his neck.
He receives news by the spring of the following year that Sunoo has returned to the States to train at his home rink with his old coach. Despite the noncommittal reply he gives when his coach delivers him the message, something inside him loosens itself ever so slightly from its chokehold. He has time, then, to regain his national standard without Sunoo getting in the way.
With Sunoo out of the picture, Sunghoon returns to sweeping first place with ease. He continues practicing. The rink is his second home, he has no space for failure.
Not again.
─
2019 is the first year Park Sunghoon qualifies for the senior category of the ISU Grand Prix. He’s invited, alongside Heeseung and two others, to represent the Republic of Korea.
The ISU Grand Prix is a series of seven competitions in total. Each invited skater represents their country at a randomly assigned two out of six qualifying rounds, of which their placing and total score determine their ranking among all skaters in their category. The top 6 in each category will compete in the Grand Prix Final in December, held in Turin, Italy.
“Did you hear Kim Sunoo got invited to represent the States?” Heeseung asks, as they head for a break after their coach’s briefing on the competition. “I wonder which locations he’ll be assigned to.”
“I don’t really care,” Sunghoon answers dryly. “I’ll beat him in any country that I have to. It doesn’t make a difference.”
“You know you don’t have to pretend with me,” Heeseung says lightly. “I’ve known you too long to think you really mean that. You're anxious, aren't you?”
"I don’t think you understand,” Sunghoon answers, dragging his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “I can’t lose. Not now, not ever.”
“No one ever told you second place meant losing, Sunghoon.”
“I told myself that,” the younger boy says, eyes steely. “If I’m not the best, then I’m nothing. Second is a terrible place, two is a terrible number and losing is a terrible feeling. I won’t let it happen to me again."
Something Sunghoon can’t decipher passes over Heeseung’s face for just a moment, but the older boy doesn’t say anything more. As he’s learned over the years, there isn’t much to be gained from arguing with Sunghoon over things he’s made up his mind about.
─
There are two routines a skater has to learn for the Grand Prix, a short program and a longer choreography known as the free skate. Competitors will skate the same two routines for both cups they participate in, and in the Finals if they qualify.
Sunghoon’s short program is set to an orchestral production of A Whole New World from the Disney movie Aladdin, his free skate to Fantaisie Impromptu by Chopin. They are, as requested, precisely choreographed to fit his personal style and strengths. His coach has high hopes of him making a strong debut in the senior category of international ice skating, and Sunghoon doesn’t set his personal standards any lower.
His goal? First place, of course. One is still his favourite number, after all these years.
Sunghoon’s first event begins in November, and there are five months left for him to prepare.
Only the ice knows his blood, sweat and tears.
─
Kim Sunoo is assigned the Rostelecom Cup and the NHK Trophy, which means Sunghoon will be skating against him in Sapporo for the first time since their last Nationals together. Sunghoon and Heeseung are the first team to leave Seoul for their first assignment, the Internationaux de France.
They are bombarded by a deluge of media personnel at the airport upon touchdown. Sunghoon and Heeseung arrive around the same time period as the rest of the competitors, which means the paparazzi are well prepared to receive not just them but an entire runway’s worth of internationally-renowned skaters.
“Sunghoon! How are you feeling about this week’s competition?”
“Sunghoon, it’s your first time skating in the ISU Grand Prix, what are your thoughts?”
“Heeseung, are you confident in skating against Park Sunghoon for your first senior Grand Prix?”
Sunghoon and Heeseung don’t stop long, staying put for just enough time to give brief statements before Coach Bang ushers them away to their limousine.
“You know me, I have high expectations,” Sunghoon says mildly. “I’m confident of my performance this season, first time or not.”
He waits a beat more before adding on, as if on second thought.
“We'll meet again in Italy, in December.”
For the finals.
The paparazzi seem to be satisfied with Sunghoon’s declaration, distracting themselves with chatter for just enough time for him to slip away. There's no lie in his words. He expects to make it through to the finals, just as he expects the sun to rise in the morning. Not a distant hope or a faraway goal, it is a given.
Sunghoon avoids thinking about what would happen if he doesn't.
His coach has had two slots of three hours each booked out for his practice at the competition rink itself, allowing Sunghoon some time to acclimatise himself to the ice leading up to his first international senior event. The three days pass without incident. Sunghoon adapts easily to the environment of the competition rink, as is expected from a skater of his proficiency, and the rigor of his personal training doesn’t let up in any way. He’s set on making a strong start early on in the game.
Heeseung urges him to sleep early the night before. Sunghoon, nevertheless, doesn’t end up falling asleep until the early hours of the morning.
─
"Next to skate, representing South Korea, Sunghoon Park!"
Some skaters, as he's noticed over the years, rely on charm and emotion to appeal to the judges, appeal to the audience. Kim Sunoo, for one, seems to have grasped the skill quickly ─ the media talks about his expressiveness, his spirit, the piercing energy of his gaze. Sunghoon, on the other end of the spectrum, relies almost entirely on physical mastery ─ his routines are known to be of the most technically-challenging standard in his age group.
Expressiveness isn't something Sunghoon has never tried, over the years. His coach had attempted to instill some form of emotion into his skating at some point in the past, but none of his methods seemed to prove effective.
Sunghoon never really understood the concept of it, anyway. He knew the adrenaline that coursed through his veins when he cleared a difficult combination. He was no stranger to the satisfaction of hearing his name from the crowds, feeling the weight of a medal around his neck, glinting gold in the light.
But happiness? Warmth? Friendliness, even?
Even as the years passed, they remained unfamiliar to him, as butterflies were to a fish. Far, far away, different worlds that would never meet. Something about his eminence had, at some point in his life, detached him from the rest of the world, a world that Kim Sunoo seemed to belong to, along with everyone else. A world he couldn't dream of touching.
After a while, he didn't much bother with it anymore. He reminded himself that stars were their most beautiful billions of lightyears away from the earth, anyway. He had no objection to being the best of the best, even if the top of the world was the loneliest place he could ever choose to be.
He didn't need to be happy to be brilliant.
I can't let my thoughts occupy my head, he thinks insistently, taking his place at the center of the rink. Focus, Sunghoon.
No one compares, you stand alone.
The first notes of his track play, and his performance begins.
"A whole new world, don't you dare close your eyes
A hundred thousand things to see!"
Sunghoon thinks of a whole new world.
He thinks of Kim Sunoo.
─
Sunghoon's next competition is the NHK Trophy in Sapporo. Heeseung leaves him after the Internationaux de France for his next stop, the Cup of China in Chongqing, and Sunghoon returns to South Korea to continue training for the two and a half weeks before he has to appear in Japan.
He's made a good start in the competition, as he wanted. His performance in Grenoble was his combined personal best, earning him a total score of 291.23 and an easy gold at his first cup, putting him in the international spotlight for new fan favorite. The press has already fanned the flames on rumors of him, the youngest ace, possibly clinching gold in the finals of his first season.
Sunghoon doesn't plan to disappoint.
Between days of grueling training, Sunghoon keeps tabs on Kim Sunoo. He performs well at his first event, the Rostelecom Cup in Moscow, with a short program set to Electric Love, an energetic, lively choreography that without question suits his personal style seamlessly. The media is abuzz with the excitement that always follows the emergence of a new ace skater, proclaiming Sunoo’s charms, debating on how he will fare against long-standing national junior champion Park Sunghoon, amongst the other talented, up-and-coming skaters of the season.
Sunoo’s free skate routine, set to an beautiful rendition of Colors of the Wind from Pocahontas, is dazzling ─ his triple axels have been replaced by flawless quads, spins and steps clean as ever, evidence that he has not spent his year away from Korea in vain, and no one is surprised to see him clinch gold at the Rostelecom, placing him second in current standings with a total score of 288.45.
There is not much else Sunghoon knows to do except continue practicing. The NHK Trophy is crucial in determining his own final placing. Sunghoon doesn't remember the last time he fell asleep without his muscles burning from the constant overuse. The ice is unforgiving to people who lack the skill, and the only thing that will push him forward is relentless training.
His plane touches down in Sapporo four days before the competition begins.
─
"Sunghoon!”
Kim Sunoo has a habit, Sunghoon notes, of appearing suddenly out of nowhere in places.
“I didn’t know you were staying here too!”
It isn’t so improbable, given the Maison de Ieyasu is geographically the closest accommodation to the Makomanai Sekisui Heim Ice Area, that more than a few of the competing skaters are staying there for the duration of the cup, and as Sunghoon looks around the cafeteria he realises there are more than he expected.
Sunoo abandons his friend, a younger boy with slender limbs and hair falling into his eyes, to walk over to Sunghoon. “It’s been a while since we last met!”
“Yes, it’s been quite a while,” Sunghoon agrees. “I hope you’ve been well.”
“You’re so formal,” Sunoo gives him a curious look, but smiles. “Are you alone? Where’s the rest of your team?”
Coach Bang has yet to arrive in Sapporo after accompanying Heeseung to the Cup of China, and Sunghoon says as much to Sunoo.
“Do you want to come eat with me then?” the younger boy offers brightly, waving to his friend who is now seated at a table in the hotel cafe. “You can meet my friends, some of them are skating in the NHK too!”
Sunghoon is puzzled by the other boy’s inexplicable enthusiasm, but he doesn’t reject the offer, allowing Sunoo to pull him over to the table where three other boys are already seated. He recognises one of them from previous competitions, a skater from Japan who went by the nickname K, but the others seem to be relatively new.
“This is Riki!” Sunoo nudges the boy beside him, the boy Sunghoon saw with him earlier, and the boy looks up to offer a small wave. “That’s K, and that’s Taki. I’m sure all of you know Sunghoon though, right?"
K is older than Sunghoon by a good number of years, but the other skaters seem young, even younger than Sunoo. “Are you guys skating in the senior category?” he asks, hesitant to talk amongst a table full of strangers. “You look...young.”
The boy Sunoo pointed out as Taki smiles at Sunghoon’s awkward attempt at conversation, fiddling with the strap of his baseball cap. “Riki and I are still juniors, so we competed in the Juniors division this season. But we’ll both be seeing you in December if you make it to the finals!”
If? Sunghoon is momentarily offended that Taki seems to have doubts about him qualifying for the finals, but he doesn’t think further into it. “Jungwon will be there,” he muses. “Yang Jungwon, do you guys know him? He’s in the Junior Grand Prix representing South Korea.”
“Oh, Jungwon!” Riki and Taki break off into their own tangent about Jungwon and their time together during the Junior circuit, sparing Sunghoon the obligation to carry the conversation. It is then it suddenly occurs to him that, for as long as he’s been in the industry himself, Sunoo has only been active for less than two years.
“You seem to know...a lot of people,” Sunghoon says mildly. “Considering you're pretty new. Everyone waves to you at competitions.”
A confused expression appears for just a second on the other boy’s face. “I like making friends,” he offers. “Talking to other skaters is what makes competitions really fun, don’t you think? We're all alike in a sense, anyway!”
Sunghoon doesn’t quite know how to tell Sunoo he doesn’t have any idea what he’s talking about, but he doesn't bother figuring it out. He's not, after all, here to make friends. And Sunoo is, at the end of the day, still the biggest obstacle standing between him and his gold medal.
He uses that to justify his silence as he finishes his lunch before returning to training.
─
The short program goes well. Sunghoon outdoes his own performance at the Internationaux de France, but Sunoo holds his own equally well, putting them at a 1.5 point difference in the standings as of the end of the day. The second half of the event tomorrow, the free skate, will determine final placings to enter the last competition.
It isn’t often Sunghoon finds it difficult to fall asleep, but tonight is one of the nights where sleep evades him. He finds his way along the dimmed corridor lights to the rooftop of the building, overlooking the city and the competition arena just in the distance.
“You’re here.”
Kim Sunoo really has a habit of suddenly appearing out of nowhere.
Sunghoon turns around to lean back against the glass-and-metal barrier. “Why aren’t you asleep?” Sunoo is dressed in a set of white and brown cat-printed pajamas, the night breeze blowing dark hair into his face.
“I couldn’t. Why aren’t you?”
“Neither could I.” The animosity Sunghoon has grown to have towards Sunoo seems to have dissipated for the time being; he can’t bring himself to bear the same enmity he did earlier in the day, and he lets the other boy come up to stand beside him at the railing, looking up at the sky above.
“Sunghoon, do you have a favorite color?”
“Hm?” The older boy seems puzzled by the sudden question out of nowhere. “Maybe gold.”
“Gold...I can see why.”
“I suppose it’s expected. Why did you ask?”
“It was a conversation starter. Silences are awkward.”
Sunghoon smiles at Sunoo’s unadulterated honesty. “Silence is okay sometimes.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to talk to me?” Sunoo sounds so affected that Sunghoon can’t hide his laughter.
“No, it doesn’t. I’m talking now, aren’t I?"
The night has given way to the early hours of morning by the time the two boys leave the rooftop and go their separate ways. Sunghoon knows everything will be different when they wake up; he will return to practice, put his skates back on, and Sunoo will be his rival again.
But the night, he thinks as he gets back into bed, is less dark when he’s not alone.
─
Sunghoon is woken early by Coach Bang when the morning comes. The free skate event will start at ten. He is scheduled to be the second skater to compete, and he arrives at the arena soon after a small breakfast to report for registration and warmups. He catches sight of Sunoo in the distance out of the corner of his eye, talking animatedly to K at the other end of the waiting area.
He doesn’t go up to the younger boy to join them. Initiating social interaction is not exactly his forte, especially not with someone he would regularly perceive as an enemy.
Today’ll be his second time skating to Fantaisie Impromptu under a competition setting, and he’s confident of getting the moves down.
My short program score already has me in the lead. If I can maintain it I’ll have a clean first place sweep all the way to the finals.
“Next to skate, representing South Korea, Sunghoon Park!”
He thinks of a boy in cat-print pajamas on a rooftop under the starlight, and his choreography comes easy to him.
─
Sunghoon places second overall in the NHK Trophy, missing first place by 1.25 points with his score of 294.63. Sunoo takes first place with a combined score of 295.88, putting him top on the qualification list for the Grand Prix Finals in December.
They don’t get a chance to speak to each other again after that night, but Sunghoon doesn’t make an effort to seek the other boy out. Coach Bang has him stay at Sapporo and train at the arena to save time shuttling back and forth from Korea again. He has eight days left before he flies in to Turin for the finals, and any spare moment he has is spent on the ice.
Sunghoon doesn’t let the worry show on his face.
My free skate in the NHK was as good as I could see it being. i f the best I can do isn’t enough to be first place, then what?
He would really, in this state, benefit from having someone to talk to, but as it is, he doesn’t have anyone. Strangely enough, the only person he wants to talk to about losing to Kim Sunoo is Kim Sunoo.
Sunghoon swallows his mindless thoughts and continues practicing. Seven days more.
─
The Grand Prix Finals are held in Turin, Italy, at the Torino Palavela. Sunghoon checks in to his room at Piazza Castello Suite two days before the competition officially begins. Coach Bang has gone back to Korea to shuttle Jungwon over for the Junior Grand Prix Finals, which means for the time being, Sunghoon is alone.
He leaves the hotel for a short walk around the vicinity as the sun starts to set in the sky. The infrastructure in Italy is vastly different from the cityscape in Seoul. The buildings around the hotel area are of the same style as the hotel; stone and marble in complementing shades of white and cream and very light beige.
“Sunghoon!”
Sunghoon really wonders how Kim Sunoo has the energy to be friendly to everyone every day, but he doesn’t bother asking.
“You are always following me around. How strange,” Sunghoon remarks innocuously.
“Rude. You’re the one staying in the same hotel as me.”
Sunoo picks up a light jog, and Sunghoon slows down his pace to let the younger boy catch up. “Should sixteen year olds really be running around Italy alone?” Sunghoon says lightly, without any real hostility behind it. “I heard the cities are full of very scary pickpockets who will run you dry of all your cash.”
“How could anyone steal from me? I’m too cute for that.”
“Ah. Suddenly I feel like walking very fast to get away from you.”
Sunoo fixes him with a disparaging stare. “You are quite a terrible person. No wonder you don’t like talking to people.”
Sunghoon laughs softly, and the last of the tension between them dissipates easily. “You realized, huh?”
“Yup. Nothing escapes me,” Sunoo replies cheerily. “Have you eaten? Let’s get dinner.”
In hindsight, a sixteen year old and a seventeen year old wandering around the city in a foreign country at night is not exactly the recipe for no disaster, but Sunghoon and Sunoo safely find a quaint restaurant at two-thirds occupancy a block away from their hotel, and they go in.
“Do you think they’ll give me chopsticks if I ask for them?” Sunghoon asks jokingly, and Sunoo immediately looks appalled.
“Pasta cannot be eaten with chopsticks!” the younger boy declares. “Twist it with a fork, like this, look, and like this! You are bringing shame on the name of Ratatouille-”
“You don’t even know his name is Remy,” Sunghoon retorts. “You think you’ve got it all just because you know how to eat noodles with a fork?”
They don’t talk about tomorrow. They don’t talk about the competition the next day that’ll change their lives ─ the two boys in the city, alone together in the night, are content with nothing more than each other’s company.
─
The Torino Palavela is packed to capacity with spectators and various representatives from news channels and media sources around the world. Sunghoon can hear the buzzing of crowds as he laces up his skates in one of the areas designated for his own pre-competition preparation.
There are two senior groups skating their short program today; the pairs finals have just ended a while ago. The scheduled break for ice resurfacing is in progress, giving him ten minutes before his division will compete.
Coach Bang isn’t stupid. He knows his own students well, and he knows Sunghoon doesn’t need mindless encouragement before he skates. He gives last minute reminders, minor details like “push your shoulders back” and “remember to straighten your knees” as he accompanies Sunghoon to the rink, and ends off with a simple pat on the back.
“I’ll be proud of you no matter what,” he grins his signature grin, eyes narrowing into their own smiles as he sends Sunghoon off. “Do your best.”
No matter what? Does he think I’m about to lose again?
Not a chance.
Sunghoon channels his passing displeasure to fuel his own motivation as the music begins to play.
─
He doesn’t, as expected, prove himself wrong. He pushes harder than he’s ever had before, changing up his free skate choreography mid-routine to swap a double loop for another quadruple, making him the youngest competitor in the game to complete five quadruples in one routine for this season.
The extra quadruple is enough to put him solidly in the lead. He finishes with an overall score of 303.67, placing him first in his category, making history as the first skater to receive gold in his first year qualifying for the seniors age division.
Sunoo gives him a good-natured congratulatory wave as the march-in music plays for them to take their places at the podium, and all that Sunghoon can bear to do in the moment is smile.
He didn’t lie about his favorite color. He bows down to accept the medal, and everything around him recedes as the fluorescents send dazzling sparkles off the edges of gold.
Top of the world, I’ve missed you.
─
Sunghoon, Jungwon and Coach Bang have a flight scheduled to take them home a day after the Finals ends.
Sunoo and Jay and the rest of the skaters from the States leave Turin on the same day as Sunghoon, and Sunoo makes sure to bid Sunghoon an exuberant goodbye before they depart, and to tell him he is returning to the United States to resume training with the rest of his team.
Sunghoon thinks about the fact that he doesn’t actually know how long it’ll be before they meet again, and a certain sense of loneliness reserved for Kim Sunoo alone manifests itself somewhere deep inside him, but he lets the thought pass.
“Goodbye then, Sunoo. Have a safe trip home.”
“You too!” Sunoo waves fervently as Jay helps him drag his luggage out to the limousine taking them to the airport. “Maybe by the time I see you again, you’ll have learned to become less formal when talking to people younger than you~”
Sunghoon laughs. “Oh? And when do you think you’ll see me again?”
Sunoo doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “The Winter Olympics, the year after. See you then, Sunghoon.”
─
As it turns out, Sunoo is right. The Winter Olympics of 2021 will be the next time they meet, mid-February of spring the year after; their names are submitted as representatives for their respective countries as soon as applications open for the official games.
By next spring Sunghoon begins training for new choreographies ─ The Greatest Show for his short program, and Merry Go Round of Life for his free skate. The Winter Olympics will be the most important event of his career thus far. Nothing short of gold will satisfy him, the way it has always been, the way it always will be.
─
The media coverage on the Winter Olympics is more extensive than Sunghoon had expected, but he supposes it's normal for an event on such a scale. The roster for the year includes a fair number of world-renowned skaters ─ K from the ISU Japanese representative team, another Korean skater named Jake from Australia, an underdog skater from Vietnam who went by Hanbin, and of course Kim Sunoo and himself, the most anticipated faceoff in the game since their head-to-head in the previous year’s Grand Prix.
Reporters crowd the front entrance of the arena as he alights from his limousine, Coach Bang following closely behind him.
“Sunghoon, how are you feeling about today’s competition?”
“Sunghoon! How confident are you in skating against your opponents this season?”
He catches sight of a familiar logo printed on the side of a camera’s lens. He’s heartened to see some of these reporters have been following him since his senior debut in the ISU Grand Prix.
“Sunghoon, what color do you expect to see around your neck by the end of the Games?”
He doesn’t stop walking, but he slows down to answer some of their questions.
“Color?” Sunghoon’s face is expressionless, but he lets the hint of a smile cross him for just a moment. “Gold, of course. I won’t settle for anything less.”
He avoids looking directly into the shutters of any cameras around the waiting area once he enters; the media have an uncanny knack for catching him whenever he looks in their direction and the sudden flashes are beginning to give him a headache. His coach smooths out the sleeves of his costume, giving little pointed reminders as he usually does before Sunghoon skates.
Today is his short program, an energetic, fast-paced routine that shows off the intricacy of his footwork. He’s confident in carrying it out, but there’s a light, fluttery impatience that doesn’t seem to leave him as the minutes count down to his timeslot.
What am I waiting for?
His heart’s beating too fast ─ the thrumming of blood through his veins is disrupting the calm he usually upholds before a competition. He finds himself looking around the wide, open room; quick, searching glances that scan the crowd for one face in particular. He turns immediately as someone enters from the far exit.
The first thing Sunghoon notices about him is how much taller he’s grown since last year.
Shut up. Why do you sound like a relative at a family gathering?
Whatever boyishness was left in him from puberty has abandoned him in the course of the year that has passed since they last said their farewells ─ his features have crystallized into a certain delicate beauty, his gaze sharp as a blade as it sweeps the room. His costume this season is white with sleek lines running down his sides, and as he passes Sunghoon can see the imprint of silver wings down his back.
Sunoo is beautiful, there’s no denying no matter how he frames it.
He tries not to let his mind linger on it as he hears his name over the loudspeakers, calling him to the rink.
“So tell me, do you wanna go?
Where it’s covered in all the colored lights
Where the runaways are running the night
Impossible comes true, it’s taking over you
This is the greatest show!”
─
The short program goes fairly smoothly. He gets points taken off for over-rotating two quadruples, setting him back to 89.31 points for the day. The free skate tomorrow will complete the other part of his scores that give him his final standing.
Coach Bang conducts him back to the hotel as soon as he’s finished. He knows Sunghoon well by now; he performs well under pressure, but only the right kind of pressure.
Kim Sunoo scoring 97.66 in his short program is exactly the wrong type of pressure.
Sunghoon ends up finding out later in the day anyway, wiping his sweat between sets of standing drills in his hotel room. He realizes belatedly that Coach Bang was right to try and keep him from knowing, but he supposes he’d rather be aware regardless.
He doesn’t get more than four hours of sleep before the sun rises again.
─
The minute he steps onto the ice, he knows he’s not in the best condition. The fatigue from the past few days of training is catching up to him, and the lack of good rest isn’t helping his case. More pressingly, he can’t seem to shake, even for a second, the dread the 8.35 difference separating him and Sunoo on the scoreboards leaves him with.
This doesn’t bode well. He acknowledges it matter-of-factly, but of course, acknowledging something and knowing how to fix it are far from being the same thing.
He tries to occupy his mind by envisioning of merry go rounds with people on it (I don’t know, what else am I supposed to think of when I hear Merry Go Round of fucking Life?). As he expects, it doesn’t work. Maybe he should have watched the show, but it’s too late of an afterthought now.
“Sunghoon Park representing South Korea, skating to Merry Go Round of Life!”
Sunghoon doesn’t know what first alerts him that something is very wrong. Is it him missing a triple axel, the same move he hasn’t missed for two years now? Is it him forcibly turning a quadruple loop into a double, after realizing it’s too late to shift his miscalculated velocity?
Is it the lightheadedness that begins midway saturating him, weighing down every movement he makes with an unbelievable slowness?
He barely makes it to the end of his song before everything falls away around him.
─
It’s clear then, as the on-site medics watch over him in the medic bay. He’s burnt out, and severely at that. They say the pressure of the Olympics has gotten to him, as it has to many a star athlete in the past.
Sunghoon doesn’t come to for at least an hour after everything ends.
Coach Bang is next to him when he regains consciousness, huddled in a tiny makeshift chair keeping out of the medics’ way as they bustle around at their job. He is immediately concerned upon seeing light back in Sunghoon’s eyes, and all Sunghoon can think of in the moment is how sorry he is to let Coach Bang down.
Tears don’t come. Sleep does, though, and he re-enters his slumber within minutes, exhaustion wearing him down to the bone.
─
“Presenting Sunghoon Park from Korea, in third place with a score of 302.89!”
“...representing Japan, in second place with a score of 310.27!”
“Kim Sunoo, representing the United States, in first place with a score of 324.76!”
─
Sunghoon’s plane departs from Heathrow Airport two days later. He is constantly around familiar faces; his parents and his coach and teammates like Heeseung and Jungwon are all on the same flight back.
For all it is worth, he might as well be on the moon. Surrounded by the never-ending sea of people, he’s never felt more alone in his life.
“Sunghoon, you did so well!”
“Sunghoon-ah, your father and I are so proud of you!”
“You really tried your hardest, you performed so well!”
It was like the moment the music stopped, something froze over in Sunghoon’s head. Words from then on are heard and not understood, nothing of substance goes in.
All Sunghoon knows is his own failure.
He returns to his regular practice schedule when he gets home.
─
The night air has settled into a mild windchill by the time Sunghoon decides to leave the rink. He has his worn practice skates slung over his shoulder by the laces as he exits the darkened building, heading down the winding route to his home. His family had relocated themselves nearer to Sunghoon’s regular training arena five years ago, after he’d started skating as a semi-profession; there was barely five blocks’ walking distance between the two locations he frequented the most.
The stars, he notices, are beautiful when the streetlights are out. He doesn’t usually see the night sky without the light pollution from all around the city, but tonight it’s late enough that even the lamps that illuminate the footpath have powered off.
He wonders about his future.
Sunghoon stops at the roadbridge over the river along his way home, leaning back against the cold metal railings to look up at the sky. A scene from his memories flashes back before him ─ the last time he was in this position, back in Sapporo, on the rooftop with Sunoo the night before the NHK where they’d spent the night together.
Sunoo.
Sunoo wasn’t here anymore; he’d gone back home to train with his own friends in a city Sunghoon wasn’t in, living a life Sunghoon wouldn’t know.
Sunghoon questions idly why he didn’t even try to stay in contact with the only person he’d ever met who’d bothered to break into his self-imposed isolation. There is no good answer to that he can think of.
My own fault, no doubt about that.
Everything seems to come back to his mistakes these days.
There’s an inexplicable sense of loss that runs through his veins as the stars open up above him. He’d once convinced himself he was one of them; shining bright to be admired by the world, so far, so far away. And maybe, just for that while, he was.
Had he been happy then?
Sunghoon doesn’t think he knows what happiness means to him anymore.
In reality, nothing had changed. He was no worse at skating than he’d ever been, better even, given he’d only ever improved with practice. But somewhere in the course of the Olympics, something vital, something crucial in the way he’d always known himself had been irreparably broken.
I used to be the best.
Was there a hint of wistfulness in his thoughts tonight?
I used to be on top of the world.
After so many years of it, he didn’t really know how to be anything else.
The faraway engine noise of a pickup truck rumbling down the street sounds in the distance, and Sunghoon takes that as a signal that he should be heading home. The rest of the city is far gone into the night, and he should be too. There’s practice for him to catch up on tomorrow.
The thoughts ravage through Sunghoon’s mind as he walks, resisting all efforts to drive them away.
What’s the point?
All you’ve ever done is practice. You’ve wasted ten years of your life, and in the end it all amounts to nothing.
“I didn’t waste them,” his voice is barely a whisper, defeated, eyes pressing closed to stop the tears from escaping. “I didn’t. I tried my hardest...”
In reality, what use were other people’s words when he couldn’t even bring himself to believe them?
Not good enough.
You were supposed to be the best. You are either the best, or you are nothing.
So, you are nothing.
He collapses to his knees in the snow, disregarding the ice that presses into his knees as he lets the tears fall unheeded, the strength to stop them long gone. The tears lend an odd, comforting warmth, the only comfort that surrounds him tonight, the only comfort that will surround him any night.
And what’s more, no one will be here for you.
Sunghoon couldn’t even bring himself to blame anyone else. He had once been the best of the best, so far above the rest of the world that it was okay that he didn't have anyone. He stood alone, because no one else had ever been able to measure up.
And now he wasn’t the best anymore, but he was still alone, and all that meant was that after all these years, he really did have nothing.
Thoughts are, Sunghoon realizes belatedly, difficult to stop once they’ve started running.
Perhaps it was his own hopelessness, in the desolate chill of the winter, that allowed everything that would happen next to happen.
Perhaps it was the streetlights that weren’t shining that night, on the night the boy on the bridge needed them most.
Perhaps it was the driver at the wheel of the pickup, half-awake on the way to his night shift job in the next city, complacent enough not to watch the road as well as he should have.
Perhaps it was the black ice that lined the asphalt roads, treacherously slippery under the cover of the dimness.
Or perhaps the stars just weren’t crossed in his favor that cold, dark winter’s night. Sunghoon would never figure it out, but afterwards it no longer mattered.
The only thing that mattered that night was the pitch-dark roads, the pickup truck speeding to make up for lost time, and the boy who no longer had the strength to save himself as everything crumbled around him.
─
Blood doesn’t absorb well on snow; the temperature divergence forces it to splash like raindrops on cement, settling in a congealed layer over the icy flakes before it dissolves into the whiteness. Sunghoon knows this theoretically, but he doesn’t get to see it in person.
He doesn’t, in fact, get to see anything.
The ice below the snow layer is, he discovers that fateful night, savagely jagged under the snow cover.
As he collapses to the ground, his tears pouring red into the immaculate snow, the only thought that goes through his head is regret that the stars were not the last thing he ever saw.
He supposes that even in his last moments, as consciousness slips away from him, he's destined to have no one, far away from the starlight, the only friend he's ever known.
─
The hospital is, in reality, quite a terrible place. The smell of alcohol and antiseptic, sharp and nauseatingly institutional, the blipping and blipping that never stops, the constant movement of people and more people all around that never lets up throughout the days. Sunghoon would be unhappy, but as it is he is spared from the discomfort of his watching his surroundings.
He doesn't awaken for three days and three nights.
Even when he does, he refuses to acknowledge anything. The thick medical gauze layered over his eyes might as well have obscured his mouth along with it. The doctors put him on intravenous nutrition soon after he comes to, and Sunghoon doesn't protest. He doubts he has it in him to lift food to his mouth and swallow, anyway.
His first visitor arrives at nightfall, at least, what he perceives to be nightfall. There must be a clock somewhere in his room, but he has no way to look at the numbers.
"Sunghoon?"
He hears it, the whine of the door opening carefully, then closing again, the soft squeak as someone sits down in the chair that must be beside his bed. It's Heeseung. He must have heard that Sunghoon had awoken, and come to visit after he was done with the day's practice.
"Sunghoon, the doctors say you refused to speak to them. How are you?"
If Sunghoon's eyes were uncovered, he'd have fixed Heeseung with an "Are you kidding me" stare. As it is, all he can manage is a pained smile. He can tell that his silence is throwing the older boy off, but he's beyond worrying about intricacies like that.
"Sunghoon, won't you tell me anything?" Heeseung moves to take one of Sunghoon's hands, cold against his own. Sunghoon, on his part, doesn't pull away, but he doesn't answer either.
The good thing about Heeseung , Sunghoon realises gratefully, is that he doesn't probe into things when he knows nothing will come of it. He knows not to push Sunghoon further, sitting back in his chair and letting the silence fall.
Ten minutes pass this way before Sunghoon speaks.
"What happened to me?"
"Didn't the doctors tell you anything?" He can almost imagine the expression on Heeseung's face. Worried. Puzzled. Concerned, maybe.
"I didn't want to listen then." Sunghoon's throat is dry after days of disuse, and he accepts some water when Heeseung offers it to him. "So, tell me."
He hears the rustling of plastic and paper, and realises Heeseung must be reading from his patient file.
"Blunt force trauma to skull. Mild hypothermia. Multiple lacerations above the shoulder. Severe damage to corneal tissue and optic nerves."
Diagnoses are so detached, so clinical in conveyance of meaning. In layman terms, he was now blind. He would never see again, read again, admire the stars again.
He would never skate again.
How could twelve words so easily determine the end of Sunghoon's future?
He addresses that last thought to Heeseung, who hesitates to think before answering. "Losing one thing doesn't mean you've lost everything."
"But what if," Sunghoon pauses, a cruel smile marring the part of his face that was unobscured by the gauze. "What if that one thing was everything I ever had?"
"Then, you’ll find something else. Your life isn't over, Sunghoon."
"You're right." Sunghoon's voice is so quiet, so deadened, so pained as he speaks. "Sometimes I wish it was."
Heeseung senses that Sunghoon wants the conversation to end here. He sits by the hospital bed for half an hour more, before telling Sunghoon he has to be home for dinner. The boy in the hospital bed doesn’t respond, but he turns back in the doorway before he leaves.
“There's more to life than being the best, Sunghoon. You've never understood that in the past, but you have another chance now. Don't give up just yet."
Sunghoon thinks about this as the gauze covering his eyes stains red with his tears in the empty room.
─
Eventually the bandages are removed from his face, but the darkness clouding him stays. The impact from the crash has done irreversible damage to a vital part of his optic nerves; a corneal transplant won’t make any difference in restoring his vision. The rest of his eyes remain intact, but the doctors say there’s nothing more they can do.
Heeseung, Coach Bang, his parents, Jungwon and Daniel and the other teammates form an intermittent rotating door of visitors throughout the days of his recovery at the hospital. He tells them apart only by their voices. There’s not much else he can go by anymore.
Heeseung reads off the clock in the room so Sunghoon knows the time whenever he enters and leaves. After a while, Sunghoon doesn’t have to ask for it. Heeseung is the best comfort he can get, and he’s grateful for the older boy’s company in itself.
Coach Bang tells him not to worry about skating. He won’t have to ever do it again, if he doesn’t want to from now on.
His parents tell him they’re not disappointed in him. They never have been, and they never will be.
Jungwon and Daniel don’t seem like they know what to say. They talk about everyday things, funny coincidences, interesting occurrences, anything they think Sunghoon will be interested in.
The words don’t always get through to him, but he appreciates all of them in their own different ways. Sitting alone in the dark all day in an empty room will likely drive him up the wall even faster than it’s already going.
There’s more to life than being the best.
Sunghoon thinks about Heeseung.
Heeseung was year older than him and he'd started skating when he was just five, trained for five years before Sunghoon showed up. Heeseung had paved the way for South Korea in the international junior skating league, easily taking firsts and seconds in competitions at home and away. He’d dedicated his life to skating, even more so than Sunghoon, yet-
“First place, representing South Korea, Sunghoon Park!”
“And now, in first place, Park Sunghoon!”
“Sunghoon Park, South Korean ace figure skater!”
Had he ever blamed Sunghoon for outshining him?
Had he ever thought about giving up on himself?
Had he ever collapsed in the dead of winter, crying blood into the snow, thoughts screaming inside his head to end it all?
There’s a lot more to life than being the best.
Sunghoon thinks about how strong Heeseung has to be, to have gone through worse than he did and come out stronger than anyone else had ever been.
There is a lot he has to learn from Heeseung, and he wonders if he’ll ever get there in his lifetime.
─
A system establishes itself, after a while. His parents always sit in for a while in the morning before going to work, Coach Bang always comes in during lunch, Heeseung and the other skaters in the team take turns in the evenings. It is in one of the afternoons that a new visitor inserts himself into the system, someone no one had ever expected would appear.
Sunghoon hears the door swing open and closed again.
“Who’s that?”
Coach Bang sounds equally surprised when he answers. “It’s-”
“It’s Kim Sunoo.” The other person in the room cuts in before Coach Bang has to reply, and Sunghoon immediately recognises his voice. “Remember me?”
Honestly, how could he ever forget?
“Can I have some time alone with Sunghoon please~” Sunoo’s voice is sweet as he addresses Coach Bang, who pats Sunghoon’s hand as if to reassure him before he takes his leave from the room.
“Hello, Sunoo. It’s been a while.”
Sunoo doesn’t, like everyone else does, awkwardly settle himself into the chair ─ he pushes the blanket away at the edge of the bed and sits down without hesitation. Sunghoon’s first instinct is to be irritated by Sunoo’s closeness, but he softens quickly; this is normal for the Sunoo he remembers.
Sunghoon appreciates any sense of normality he can get these days.
“You went back to being formal with me again. What happened to being friends?” Sunoo sounds so genuinely hurt that Sunghoon immediately breaks into a small smile just to comfort him.
Sunghoon ponders his next words, rephrasing them to be more friendly before he continues. “We are friends, don’t worry. Did you come all the way here from home? It must have been a long journey.”
“I did, and I’m glad you acknowledge all my troubles,” Sunoo answers brightly. “I’m going to be staying in Korea for quite a while, longer than the last time. My grandma will be happy to hear I’m back.”
“You’re competing in Korea again?”
Sunoo laughs, a sheepish tone coloring his voice. “I should have made it clearer. I didn’t come back to Korea to compete. I won’t be skating in any competitions while I’m here.”
“Why?” Sunghoon wonders in passing why someone who still has the capability to do the things he loves would choose not to.
“I’m waiting, of course.”
“For what? You’re already old enough to skate in the ISU seniors division.”
“Not that. I’m waiting for you.”
Sunghoon is confused by Sunoo’s answer for just a brief moment before he understands. “I’m not skating anymore, Sunoo. I thought that would be obvious by now.”
“You decided that while lying in a hospital bed?”
Sunoo’s words are brutal, but there’s enough truth in it that Sunghoon stops to think for a moment. “Sunoo, I don’t think you get it, I’m literally blind. It messes with my balance and I won’t know where the walls are and I can’t land jumps without being able to see-”
“I am glad we’ve reached this point in the conversation,” Sunoo interjects. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Did Coach Bang ask you here to talk me into skating again? I didn’t expect that from him."
“I came here on my own accord, what kind of person do you think I am!"
Sunoo’s unexpected outcry makes Sunghoon laugh again, and his voice is less sharp when he continues. “Anyway, there’s no point in trying anymore. It won’t work. I guess the universe gave up on me, huh?"
“No it didn’t. You gave up on yourself.”
Sunoo’s words hit him so hard that Sunghoon is stunned into silence.
“Will you hear what I have to say now?”
“I can’t stop you, can I?”
“No, you can’t.” Sunoo seems satisfied with that as an answer. “So, let’s be pair skaters.”
“Have you gone stupid since I last met you?” Sunghoon deadpans. “The ISU doesn’t allow same gender pairs in competitions.”
“Who said we had to compete with the ISU?” Sunoo refutes, getting more and more excited with every passing second that Sunghoon seems to be considering his proposal. “There are so many competitions that allow it! And where we can’t compete, we can perform! There’s a whole world out there waiting for us, Sunghoon.”
“No, but why? It genuinely confuses me why you would put your own career on hold over something like this. Do you not care?”
“There’s not much point competing when my strongest rival is out of commission,” Sunoo says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “What’s the use of winning amongst dime-a-dozen skaters when the only person who could beat me can’t be there? There’s no prestige in that.”
“Won’t you be happy to win easily now that I’m not there anymore?”
“Easy’s boring,” Sunoo answers readily. “I want to be first because I did better, not because my competitors did poorly.”
It is then Sunghoon realises how different Sunoo’s perspective on life is, compared to his own. He’d always resented Sunoo’s presence in competitions; the younger boy was another rival gunning for the same prize, and a fair threat at that. He skated to win.
But Sunoo skated because he loved it. If there was a rival who could measure up to him, he was immediately interested. The thrill of challenge and opposition was what pushed him to skate. And so, with Sunghoon gone, there was no more incentive for him to compete.
“So how does that connect to your pair skating idea?”
“Well, you’ll start losing your skills if you don’t practice, so I suppose it keeps your wits sharp,” Sunoo says. “But more importantly, don’t you think there’s a lot we can learn from each other?”
The worst part is that Sunghoon can’t even bear to tell him he’s wrong, because he really isn’t. “You might wait forever, Sunoo. It’s very likely I will never regain my eyesight in this lifetime. Did you think about that?”
“We’ll need an entire lifetime to see if that’s true, won’t we?” The younger boy doesn’t elaborate on his statement. “Anyway, won’t you give it a try at least?”
Sunghoon reminds himself he doesn’t owe it to anyone to agree to Sunoo’s plan, but something inside him inexplicably pushes him towards it anyway. He answers before his mind has even made a decision, but he doesn’t regret his next words.
“Okay. I will.”
─
“This is the longest I’ve ever gone without coming here,” Sunghoon remarks as Sunoo guides him through the front lobby leading to his training rink. “I can't believe I used to spend hours here every day.”
Sunoo laughs, taking Sunghoon over to the benches. “Sit down, I’ll put your skates on for you.”
“I can’t even put my own skates on. What a shame, I should have passed away on the spot.”
“Don’t talk so much, get into the rink.”
Sunghoon finds his way to the entrance of the rink by touch, hesitating as one skate steps onto the ice. “I’m scared of getting on the ice. Look at what I’ve become.”
Sunoo’s tone is almost despairing as he answers. “You are so dramatic and what is the reason? Here,” he slips past Sunghoon to step onto the ice, offering a hand. “I’ll hold on to you. Let’s start again, shall we?”
Nothing about it, of course, comes easy. Sunghoon fares fine after a few warmup laps around the rink despite his lack of vision, but his lack of effective balance is the merely smallest hurdle to cross.
“You know pair skating works differently from singles, right?” Sunghoon throws out. “The focus is on synchronization as much as it is on technique. The way things are, I can’t possibly sync with you.”
“Then I will with you,” Sunoo answers. “Do you look down on me so much that you don’t believe I can adapt to you?”
“No, I don’t.” Sunghoon puts his head down against the railing of the rink, searching for the right words to express his internal frustration. “I just wish you didn’t have to.”
“I don’t believe in wishing.” Sunoo’s voice is cheerful, as usual, but steely in resolve. “I believe in doing the best you can with the circumstances you’ve been given.”
“You are oddly inspiring. I suppose that’s one of your hidden talents.”
“I have many, I appreciate your validation.”
─
The two of them, over grueling weeks of trial and error, work out a system. Lifts are temporarily out of the question seeing as Sunoo is smaller and can’t safely take Sunghoon’s entire weight, but they figure out loopholes around the rest of their signature moves. Spins are partnerwork, which means Sunghoon has Sunoo to guide him in the right direction. Sunoo adapts to Sunghoon’s style of footwork, which takes time given Sunghoon is more technically advanced, but they manage.
Sunghoon refuses to do jumps unless Sunoo is there to take his hand when he lands, to which the younger boy happily obliges. Their pair choreographies alternate between those and throw-jumps, where Sunghoon holds Sunoo by the waist and uses spinning momentum to launch him into a triple or a quad.
“What the hell? I don’t want to do that, I’ll hurt you.”
“Sunghoon, don’t you trust me? Just toss me, and I’ll stick the landing. You know I can do it.”
“And if you fall and hit your head and scream yourself to death-”
“If I fall, that’s on me. I’m not made of glass.”
“Ah, when the blind lead the blind…”
“Can you be quiet and throw me? You’re about to make me wish I did fall and hit my head and scream myself to death.”
The first event they skate at as a pair is the exhibition gala of the 2021 ISU Grand Prix Finals. The ISU’s official rules have always dictated that same gender pairs are not allowed under their jurisdiction, but they make an exception that year just for the two of them.
The crowd is excited to see their old favorites back in play. Sunghoon is nowhere near as showy in front of the audience as he used to be, but Sunoo can see past his unreadable expression with ease. The ice has always been Sunghoon’s kingdom, and after so long the ice prince is only happy to come home.
─
one year later.
“I’m putting a lot of faith in you when I say I’m letting you choose the design for the walls,” Sunghoon reiterates for the seventh time. “Hear me? Don’t you dare get smiley faces or some pink-ass flowers. I’ll burn the apartment down with you inside it.”
“I told you I picked cream!” Sunoo wails. “Do you have so little trust in my taste in interior design!”
“After you said you liked leopard print my expectations of your tastes dropped by at least half.”
Sunoo rolls up one of the sample wallpaper squares and beats Sunghoon with it. “Take it back! Take that back now!”
“I will not let myself be oppressed!” Sunghoon staunchly ignores the whacking of paper. “Sit down and choose the color.”
The two of them are seated at the kitchen island of an almost completely empty house; movers are at work all around them with boxes and boxes and deconstructed furniture in varying stages of completion. Sunoo and Sunghoon are moving into a one-story apartment east of the city centre, even closer to the ice arena than both their old accommodations used to be.
“I’ve chosen it. If you don’t like it you can go and argue to the wall,” Sunoo finally picks one of the swatches from the pile, sweeping the rest aside. “Think of the color of vanilla cream, it looks just about there.”
“Finally some good judgment,” Sunghoon answers teasingly. “I can sleep easy tonight.”
Sunghoon doesn’t question why there’s only one bedroom when they discuss the layout of the apartment, nor does he ask why there’s only one bed. Neither does he try to dig into the way his chest constricts when Sunoo’s arms encircle him after difficult days, or the warmth that lingers in his fingertips when the other boy’s hands pull away.
Come to think of it, there are a lot of things Sunghoon avoids pondering, whether consciously or unconsciously.
There are some conversations, he supposes, that he would do better to leave untouched. Neither of them seem to be unhappy with the undefined way things are, and Sunghoon is reluctant to rock the boat without any necessity to.
He spares himself the agony of contemplating any of it. Emotions still, after all, don’t come easy to him. Old habits die hard, after all these years.
As the weeks pass, Sunghoon settles into the everyday routine of living with Sunoo, only ever finding that things fall into place easier than he would have expected. And so life goes on, like this again.
─
two years later.
“Hello again, Sunghoon-ssi. How’ve you been since the last appointment?” The doctor is warm, effusively welcoming as he usually is when Sunghoon returns to the hospital for his annual review.
“I’ve been fine, thank you.”
Sunghoon doesn’t like the hospital. To tell the truth, who does?
“I’ll start your checkup in just a moment, please give me a minute to get things in order.”
He can hear paper rustling and plastic files and pencils falling into pencil-cups; his hearing has gotten sharper over the years to compensate. The doctor stands up with a tall armful of files and as he turns to put them away, a sudden movement startles Sunghoon, and he raises his hand with lightning-fast reflex to protect his face. Something glances off his hands and falls to his lap, a thin plastic binder.
“Sunghoon-ssi…”
“Yes?”
“Sunghoon-ssi, you flinched.”
“Yes. Is there something wrong?”
“Sunghoon-ssi, do you understand? There wasn’t a sound, but you flinched. You saw something.”
─
The doctor doesn’t waste any time. Further checks are done immediately, and by the end of the day plans are set in place. Sunghoon will undergo a corneal transplant by the end of the next week, and by the week after he will be on the road to recovery.
“Preliminary tests show increased activity in your optic nerves,” he explains between hurried calls and frantic scheduling. “The fibres in your optic nerves were badly damaged after the accident three years ago, which meant getting a corneal transplant wouldn’t have changed anything. But if your optic nerves are recovering, that means something. It means we have hopes of you regaining your sight one day.”
“But the doctors told me it wasn’t possible. They said the optic nerve could never heal itself.”
“Sunghoon-ssi, one thing I’ve learned from forty-two years as a doctor? Everything is possible. All we can do is hope.”
Hope.
Sunghoon doesn’t let go of that faraway thought as he heads home that night.
─
The seven days fly by fast. Sunghoon receives a reminder letter from the hospital the night before his procedure which Sunoo opens and reads aloud to him, telling him not to consume any food or drink for eight hours before his surgery the next morning.
Sunghoon can’t imagine stomaching any food right now, anyway. His mind is spinning in so many directions he despairs over getting any sleep before he has to go back to the hospital again.
“You’re driving yourself crazy, aren’t you?”
Sunoo’s familiar peach-scented embrace surrounds him, and he smiles. Trust Sunoo to know when he isn’t okay.
“There’s no hiding from you, huh?”
“Nope. I see everything.”
“Are you literally saying that because I’m blind? Go to hell,” Sunghoon complains, pushing the younger boy away and only succeeding in getting Sunoo to wrap his arms tighter. They end up on the couch, entangled in each other. As the night stretches out Sunoo falls asleep at some point, arms still around Sunghoon, and the older boy can’t bear to wake him.
He stays still in his position, carding his fingers through Sunoo’s soft hair, the other boy’s breathing gentle and even. “Do you know how annoying you are?” he says softly.
Sunoo doesn’t respond.
“Do you know how crazy you drive me?” he tries again. It’s a test, to see if the other boy is really asleep. There’s nothing else he can go off, after all.
His question is met with silence and he sighs, letting his head rest against the back of the couch, fingers stilling in Sunoo’s hair.
“But even then
Do you know?
You know I love you so.”
Sunoo doesn’t move from his position in a bid to keep Sunghoon from realizing he’s awake, but he smiles.
You know I love you so.
─
The procedure doesn’t take long, Sunghoon is out of the operating theatre within the hour; it’s the recovery process that stretches over months. Sunghoon is a miracle case ─ the doctors at the hospital have never seen one quite like it, and they work carefully with him. The lack of precedence makes him a volatile patient.
His body accepts the corneal transplant without any issue. Vision returns to him slowly, over days, over weeks. The shadows in his eyes form sharper edges by the day, the light returns to his field of sight like the slow, steady illumination of a gentle sunrise. Eventually there comes a day, five months after his surgery, a morning where he wakes up to Sunoo’s face beside his, still asleep on the pillow beside him.
Was it even possible for the most beautiful person he’d ever met to become so much more beautiful in the time he’d been gone?
Probably not, he continues. Maybe I’m sleeping and this is all a dream and I’m still blind.
He isn’t. Sunghoon doesn’t know who to thank for giving him someone who makes every day worth living for, but he is, nevertheless, always grateful.
─
“Come on, hurry! We’re going to miss it!”
“The sun has just set, Sunoo. We are not going to miss anything,” Sunghoon balances on one leg to pull his boot on as Sunoo yanks enthusiastically on his hand. “Why are you like a dog excited to go on a walk.”
“What!” Sunoo immediately stops yanking. “You are horrible. Do you want me to push you down the stairs?”
They make their way to the observation rooftop of the Lotte World Tower, the tallest building in the city. The news has anticipated the coming meteor shower for weeks now, and Sunoo is as excited as every other five-year-old at the observation deck that night.
“Sunghoon, look! It’s starting!”
Sunoo’s eyes light up with the most beautiful expression Sunghoon could ever imagine as the first streaks of light cut through the darkness.
Sunghoon takes him softly by the chin and turns the younger boy to face him.
“Look at you all excited about the meteors. You never look at me like that.”
Sunoo’s eyes disappear into lines as he smiles. “I looked at you like that every single day for the past three years. You didn’t see it, that’s all.”
“‘Didn’t’? Can’t you at least say ‘couldn’t’?” Sunghoon complains. “You’re making it sound like I purposely looked away or something.”
Sunoo remains unbothered by the older boy’s nattering. “Make a wish!”
Shooting stars and meteors are not the same thing, and Sunghoon know this. But he supposes he can forget it for today.
I wish for your happiness. Forever and always.
He imagines a meteor receiving his wish and carrying it away, far, far away. A goodbye letter to the stars he once called home.
Sunghoon doesn’t need the stars anymore. He is home, right here on earth, under the endless sky next to the person he loves most in the world.
─
Their journey home is quiet; a comfortable silence that neither of them feel the need to fill with mindless chatter. Sunoo looks up as they exit the train station closest to their apartment.
“Look at the stars, Sunghoon.” The stars are dazzling that night, like the finale of the meteor shower lingering in the night air. “Look how they shine for you.”
Sunghoon brings their interlocked hands up to point at the sky. “Look how they shine for us.”
─
“Sunghoon Park, representing South Korea, skating to Yellow!”
The crowds have never cheered louder for him in his life. They proclaim the return of the prodigy, the star skater, the phoenix rising from the ashes, the spring after the coldest winter.
It has been four years since Sunghoon’s last competition.
And, as the first notes of the music play, after four long, endless years Sunghoon finds himself again.
─
“Park Sunghoon, representing South Korea, with a score of 332.98!”
“Kim Sunoo, representing the United States, beating the Olympic record he set four years ago in London, with a score of 336.55!”
─
Gold is a secondary derivative of the primary color yellow, coded serial #D4AF37 in the international database. Sunghoon had never cared for the scientifics, but he was no less familiar with the color than he was with the back of his hand.
“Sunghoon, do you have a favorite color?”
“Hm? Maybe gold.”
“Gold...I can see why.”
Sunghoon remembers the conversation with Sunoo on the rooftop that night, and he wonders when gold became the most beautiful not in his own hands, but in the other boy’s eyes.
“Look at the stars, Sunghoon.” The stars are dazzling that night. “Look how they shine for you.”
Sunghoon brings their interlocked hands up to point at the sky. “Look how they shine for us.”
The world silences itself around him. The younger boy’s eyes sparkle in the light, medal bright around his neck, arms wide open, waiting for his embrace.
Sunghoon looks to Sunoo and he sees a sky full of stars, shining gold in the darkness just for him.
And it was all yellow.