Chapter Text
In his dreams, Jo has wings.
He soars high, wings flapping at full speed. The podium he stands on feels light beneath him, the hefty weight of medals around his neck barely noticeable as he scans the crowd, eyes wide. The thunderous sound of applause fills the stadium, gusts of air propelling his wings forward, his body rising higher into the clouds. The whistles echo in his ears, his heart races. The stadium is filled with people cheering for him, clapping for him. Their eyes shine with joy and pride, reflecting his figure as he raises his arms in triumph. His peers grab at his shoulders and shake him in excitement. Jo feels a laugh bubble from out of his throat, his heart beating hard, because finally he made it. As he tilts his head back to bask in their light, to allow himself to feel proud, the world goes dark.
When Jo’s vision returns, he’s standing in the middle of the ice, alone. His wings wrap around his body, protecting him from the bite of the ice.
The world is quiet–watching, waiting–wondering what his next move is going to be. The arena is dimly lit as he begins to skate, the only source of light being the spotlight that follows his every movement around the rink. His body seems to move on its own, the routine he’s practiced countless times before flowing through his muscles. Nimble fingers tug at his face, the sting of the cold stabbing his cheeks with every push, every spin, every jump. It claws at his skin as he soars over the ice, higher and higher, but he doesn't stop. The burning makes him move faster, his heart racing as he pours every ounce of his being into his skates.
In his dreams, Jo falls.
One minute he’s skating peacefully, an orchestra echoing through his ears as he dances on the ice. The crowd remains fixated on him, eyes following him around the rink, hushed whispers of awe floating into his ears. The next minute, there’s a hitch in his movement. The tip of his skate catches on the ice as he prepares for a jump, and he feels his leg twist unnaturally. His foot slips out from underneath him. His skates disconnect from the ice, and his body plummets toward the frozen surface.
The collision never comes, though. Jo just keeps falling. His wings, once flapping proudly behind him, encouraging him to soar higher, now detached from his body. There was no saving himself from the plummet. The more that he thought about it, though, he wasn’t even sure if he would even try to if there was a way. He had still soared, and that fact alone was enough to bring a smile to his face. Jo had stopped trying to count how long he fell with each dream that came. The last time he had paid attention to his descent in a dream, he found himself waking up in a cold sweat, only two hours after he had originally fallen asleep.
That night was the last time he tried to make sense of his dreams.
Jo’s not afraid of falling.
He can’t deny that he was at one point, when he started out. He was a child, first stepping onto the ice, hands shaking and tears threatening to spill from his eyes. That time has since passed, though.
As the darkness continues to surround him, he doesn't scream, doesn’t cry out. He just continues to fall, silence enveloping him. It almost felt peaceful, his eyes closing as air whipped around him, hair slapping him in the face and limbs limp.
The ice is going to come eventually–that much is always certain. He knows that the impact will knock the breath out of his lungs, leave him gasping for air and wondering if he’ll ever recover. The sheer force of his body slamming against the thick surface will bruise his skin. His muscles will become sore as he lays there, but he knows his body won’t break.
Not yet.
The physical pain isn’t what Jo is worried about, though.
He knows the crowd will continue to watch him with bated breath, murmuring, waiting to see if he’ll get back up again, to see if he’ll fall apart. They’ll watch like vultures, waiting for his last breath before they ultimately attack. And when he finally does break, they’ll be the first ones to tear him apart. They’ll pick apart his every move, every breath, every look. They’ll get bored after a while and begin to claw at his face, at his flesh and bones. Only when he is bleeding out and empty will they decide they’ve had enough. They’ll scurry away with their own wings, mocking Jo’s inability to fly.
His heart no longer races when he falls. It continues to beat normally, as if it, too, has grown used to these never-ending dreams. That, or maybe it’s not even beating at all. He’s never tried to feel it before.
For now, though, nothing happens. His eyes open, waking just before the impact comes.
For now, Jo doesn’t fall. Not anymore, at least. He’d long since grown out of that habit. It’s why those dreams fade into the back of his mind. They’re forgotten about until the next one happens, not allowing himself to dwell on his dream-self’s failure.
It’s how he found himself awake at 2 AM, unable to fall back to sleep. It’s how Jo ended up in an empty rink, the sound of ice slicing through the air, almost loud enough to cover the music that blasts over the speakers. His body spun at full speed as he tried to push the dream away.
For a moment, though, Jo could swear he felt the two worlds merge.
The ice began to fall away from underneath his feet. The rink was still empty besides him, but that didn’t stop him. If anything, it only pushed him further, encouraging him to keep flying. He continued his routine and his body began to feel weightless. If he blocked out the sound of his skates against the ice, he could hear the subtle flapping of his wings as he flew. Jo couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at the sound.
All birds land eventually, though.
His chest heaved as he skidded to a stop, the song demo ending a few seconds later. He stood unmoving for a moment, the empty rink echoing with the sound of his heavy breathing. The silence rang in his ears before he let out a shaky breath, inhaling deep.
Jo involuntarily shivered where he stood on the ice, a soft breeze wrapping itself around his limbs before it disappeared, its cold touch lingering on his skin. The sensation grounded him, the muscles in his shoulders losing their tension. He felt his arms twitch involuntarily with the urge to hold himself, to warm himself up, but he didn’t allow them to move. His eyelids fluttered shut, darkness flooding his vision, the air in his lungs settling as he held his breath.
His fingers cracked as he flexed them, the sound breaking through the silence of the rink and echoing throughout the stands. He’d lost track of how long he’d been on the ice; his legs were wobbly as he stood and his toes felt smushed in his skates. But Jo knew he needed to continue practicing, tension be damned. When it felt as though his lungs were about to burst, he exhaled. A part of him itched to open his eyes again, to watch as his breath curled into the air before it dissipated.
For a moment, as he stays on the ice, the dream returns. The crowd slowly settles back into their seats, having jumped out of them when Jo fell. The orchestra continues as if nothing had happened, but it’s different. Everything is quieter this time. The music is haunting now, mixing with the sound of his name being murmured from the sidelines. They’re starting to talk about him, watching him. They’re already beginning to pick him apart.
The thought makes Jo’s head reel. The crowd began to get louder, their praises shifting to criticism and hatred. The beating of his heart began to echo in his ears–whatever breathing exercise he was attempting was completely failing. His lungs began to scream at him, echoing the roar of the crowd, begging him to breathe.
“Jo.”
Jo’s eyes snapped open at the intrusion, his legs twisting as he whirled around. He wasn’t used to seeing his coach outside of practice, so his sudden appearance startled Jo. Despite the early morning hour, the man still looked put together, white shirt tucked loosely into grey slacks. Jo rarely saw him in anything outside of his usual appearance, but today, his hair, usually parted and styled perfectly, was slightly off kilter, strands of blond sticking up. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, the subtle light from the rink catching the silver ring that dangled from his neck. Even behind the plexiglass separating them, Jo could tell that the man was tired as he juggled a bag and coat on his arm.
“Coach Kei,” he huffed, hand drifting to the collar of his shirt. “It’s–” Jo glanced at his watch, frozen as he stared at the time that flashes at him. It felt like it had only been a few minutes since he started practicing, but the hour on the clock just blinked right back, taunting him with lost time. “Four in the morning. What are you doing here?”
Kei stared at him, a bewildered look on his face. “I own the rink. You…do know that I get alerts for this place, right?” He holds up his phone and shakes it in Jo’s face, a small smile forming on his lips. Jo must’ve looked like a deer in headlights with the way he stood there frozen, making Kei laugh. The sound echoed in the empty space, vibrating through Jo’s body. “You’re allowed to use the rink, I don’t care. Maybe next time just shoot me a text so I don’t have to come all the way here.”
Jo nodded awkwardly, his skin itching at the conversation. He hadn’t even thought about letting Kei know he was going to be here. The thought of his coach waking up frantically and rushing there, thinking someone broke into his rink, made Jo’s entire body feel heavy. He watched as Kei began to turn away, and his heart sank even further.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, bringing his body into a full bow. He wasn’t even sure if Kei had even heard him start talking again. “It didn’t even cross my mind to let you know I would be coming here, I wasn’t thinking and completely forgot that you would get an alert. It won’t happen again, I promise.” Jo heard Kei sigh as he stared at the tips of his skates. He wasn’t sure how long he bowed for, but it felt like an eternity, waiting for his coach to either say something or just completely walk away.
“What’s on your mind?”
The question took a minute for Jo to process, but when he did, it made him frown and straighten up. His eyes immediately locked with Kei’s, and he honestly expected to be met with a look of concern or even pity, one trying to pry its way into his head and figure him out. Instead, Kei only stared at him with curiosity in his eyes, an eyebrow raised as he attempted to make his way through Jo’s brain. The feeling of wind rattled Jo’s bones as he stood there, the same falling sensation from his dreams returning. The weight in his feet grew heavier, dragging him down further. His chest tightened, his lungs felt empty.
In his dreams, he never reaches out. He always just lets himself fall, further and further away.
“Just thinking about this season. I’m okay, Coach.” Jo winced at his own voice cutting through the silence. What he had said wasn’t entirely a lie; he was thinking about the upcoming season and what it would bring him. He just coincidentally excluded the part where he fell every night in his dreams and watched his career get ruined in front of his own eyes.
Watched and couldn’t do a single thing about it.
His gaze was stuck on Kei as they continued to stare at each other, both silent, as if waiting for the other to speak first. Kei wasn’t dumb, Jo knew that. But it also wasn’t entirely out of character for him to be in his head, thinking about his next step. The routines play in his head like a film reel. Everything had to be perfect, each move calculated.
He just had to stay on top.
Kei nodded slowly as Jo’s words linger in the air, waiting for someone to catch them. Jo watched as his narrow eyes moved past him, turning to stare at the ice. “I won’t tell you not to think about the season, because I know you,” he started, turning away slowly. Jo swallowed the lump in his throat as Kei hiked his bag further up on his shoulder. “But don’t start overdoing it this early. You’re allowed to rest.”
Jo nodded as he listened. Even though he had been training under Kei for nearly five years, sometimes he forgot just how much his coach was able to see through him. He always tried to get Jo to talk, sometimes speaking in code that Jo was able to pick up on and avoid, but that didn’t prevent him from trying.
“I know,” he mumbled after a minute, staring down as he dug at the frozen surface with the tip of his feet, watching as the ice splintered and flew onto the laces of his skates. The skates were yet another way in which Kei had shown up for Jo, gifting them to him at the end of last season. He hadn’t done particularly well, not really standing out and not even getting considered for the Olympic team, but that didn’t stop his coach from trying to make him feel better.
Looking back on it, Jo definitely didn’t deserve the Olympics just yet, and maybe the skates were Kei’s way of encouraging him to keep going, to keep practicing. Kei’s seen him through probably way too many seasons, too many seasons of just missing the podium, of not making it anywhere close, and it itched at Jo’s insides that he barely had anything to show of his mentorship. There were countless others who did much better every year, all of them under the guidance of both newer coaches and older ones. Never Jo.
But Kei stayed with him. For what reason he wasn’t sure of, but Jo also couldn’t help but feel thankful that he hadn’t dropped him. He liked Kei, liked training with him, and couldn't imagine his career now without him. The two of them worked well together, and Kei didn’t force him to push past his limits, but rather encouraged him to relax. Both of them had worked hard to get where they were today, to be able to have their names even out there. Jo pushed off to continue practicing, his mind racing. This year would be the year that both of them would have something to show, he was sure of it.
“And Jo?” He skidded to a stop after hearing Kei’s voice again, the scraping of ice echoing in the quiet of the rink, grating at Jo’s ears. As he spun around, he couldn’t ignore that the crowd, once cheering and murmuring his name, was gone. There was no spotlight shining on him, following his every move. The music had stopped, the silence screaming into his eardrums louder than any orchestra ever could. Jo stood alone in the center of the ice, staring at his coach across the room, the white light of the rink highlighting the plexiglass that separated the two of them.
“Yes, Coach?”
Kei smiled at him, sending a chill down his spine. The two have had conversations like this before, discussing Jo’s fixation on practicing the closer it got to skating season, but the tone of this specific one felt different. It weighed on Jo’s entire body, pulling at his muscles and twisting his organs around. There was something else in this conversation that wasn’t usually, and Jo couldn’t entirely place what it was. It just…was. “You’re always welcome to talk to me. Not just about skating, you know.”
Jo frowned. “Where’d that come from?” The question blurted out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Kei blinked, clearly surprised at the drop in his usual politeness, and that thought alone made Jo want to completely disappear. In the five years that the two had been paired together, not once had he used a tone anything less than respectful. The two of them were close, that much was certain, but Jo knew there was a level of respect and seniority that he needed to show in this industry.
He opened his mouth to apologize, to let Kei know that he was grateful for the offer and he would keep it in mind, but the loud bark of laughter stopped him in his tracks. Kei had turned around in an attempt to hide the fact that he laughed, but Jo could see his body shaking and his hand over his mouth, as if that were going to mute the sound.
When Kei turned to face him again, his face was red and a wide smile adorned his face. “Out of everything I’ve ever said to you, that’s what made you speak casually?” Jo felt his face heat up. He wasn’t expecting this kind of reaction, trying to read if the laughter was out of shock or genuine humor. He watched as his coach took a breath, composing himself, before speaking again. “It’s good to see there is casualness in you.”
Jo scratched the back of his neck. “That was an accident.” He paused, still hot from embarrassment. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”
Kei sighed, running a hand through his hair. “There you go again apologizing. I’m not going to bite your head off for breaking formality, Jo.” He tilted his head. “If anything, I’d rather you do it more often. Makes us feel like friends, y’know?”
He had said the last part with a small smile. Jo nodded, turning his attention back to the ice behind him, then back at his coach. “Of course, Coach. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Now,” Kei started. “I’m gonna get a head start on some paperwork.” He pointed a finger at Jo, narrowing his eyes. Jo blinked in response. “Don’t overwork yourself. I don’t want to leave my office and see you sprawled out on the ice ‘cause you pushed yourself too hard.”
Jo couldn’t help but smile, giving Kei a small nod in reassurance. It was the same spiel he got most days, but the conversation felt a little lighter this time. More comfortable. It lingered in his brain, as if it were waiting for permission to settle, to help him relax.
“Oh,” Kei had only made it two steps before he spun on his heel again, tapping away on his phone with furrowed eyebrows. “Before I forget, Coach Murata is gonna be here today with fresh meat. Either the guy finally got a skater that could handle his techniques, or they’re giving him total hell.” Jo scrunched his face, confused, as Kei spoke through a chuckle.
Two things Kei had said stuck out to him: the first was the casual mention of Coach Murata–Jo found out that his first name was Fuma thanks to Kei’s many slip-ups. It was no secret that the two coaches had something going on; whether that meant they both were just into each other or they were official partners, Jo wasn’t sure. The amount of times he would find himself in Fuma’s car after a day of practice was far too many to chalk up to coincidence. Jo always found it humorous that Kei tried to hide their relationship while at work. Thinking about the two of them trying to sneak around while being in the same building later, he couldn’t help but crack a small smile.
What Jo had the most questions about, though, was the mention of a new skater. He hadn’t heard any mumblings of someone new looking around for a coach, especially one that was able to keep up with Fuma. From what Jo heard, the man ran practice like a drill sergeant, and many of the skaters that started off under him didn’t end up lasting a long time. Most would leave before the season even started. Some would make progress, but ultimately find themselves thanking Fuma for his time. Some even quit skating all together after a few sessions with him.
But Fuma was great, at least from an outside perspective. The few times Jo had interacted with him, he was actually opening packs of Pokémon cards while waiting for Kei to finish closing up the rink. Even the smallest of Pokémon had the man making noises in adoration. The two had exchanged small talk, nothing too special, but it was enough for Jo to get some kind of understanding of the man. If anything, it was just enough for him to understand why Kei adored him so much. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder if the experience was just being over-dramatized.
Jo found himself skating closer to the plexiglass, all thoughts of continuing practice put on hold for now. “Coach Murata must be happy,” he said quietly, slowing down as he kept pace with Kei. His coach had started walking away, most likely so he could actually finish setting up the entire rink for the day. That probably meant Jo should leave him alone, but curiosity got the better of him. “It’s not often he has someone approach him willingly for coaching.”
Kei snorted, not looking up from his phone. “I’m telling him you said that.” Jo’s face immediately felt hot; he really didn’t want to be on Fuma’s bad side if the things said about him were true. Kei glanced at him and smiled. “Relax, Jo, he’d laugh. Besides,” he pocketed his phone, still walking. Jo was running out of ice along the side of the rink, the curve slowly approaching. “From what I hear, the kid actually gave him a run for his money. Fuma–sorry, Coach Murata said he’s a wildcard. Someone to keep an eye on.”
Jo stopped at that, eyes following Kei, who kept walking for a moment before noticing Jo was no longer right beside him. “Coach Murata said that? About this new kid?” He couldn’t hide the incredulity in his voice, not having expected someone to actually be able to keep up with Fuma. That in itself was a huge feat. The man had ten Olympic medals by the time he retired from competing, seven of them alone being gold, so for him to be genuinely praising one of his new skaters like that? It was practically unheard of.
Which made the mysterious appearance of this new skater even more surprising. Someone of that caliber surely would have made people talk, but he was completely unknown. Jo frowned at the thought, his mind reeling. “Does that mean he’s competing this year?”
There was a pause as Kei eyed him, the silence making Jo scratch at his arm, his nails leaving faint red marks on his skin. “Apparently,” Kei shrugged after a moment, deciding whatever Jo was thinking wasn’t worth mentioning. The sound of his phone buzzing made him take it back out, eyes scanning whatever notification he just received. “They’ll actually be here for a few hours once I open the rink. We could scope the kid out, see what his deal is.”
Jo paused as he thought about the suggestion. “I’m not sure, Coach,” Jo started, feeling the grimace already beginning to form on his face. He didn’t mind watching from the sidelines, sure, but making it a point to study this new skater? It was a recipe for confrontation he wasn’t necessarily ready for, for an interaction that he really wasn’t in the mood for today. “I don’t think-”
“It’s not like you’re going home any time soon.” Jo blinked, taken aback by Kei’s interruption. He didn’t even know what to say to that, because it was true. He hadn’t quite perfected his routine yet, and it wasn’t going to happen sitting at home.
But Jo would rather spend his time practicing than people-watching. Sure, he was curious about the newcomer, but that didn’t mean he wanted to break from his routine to learn more about him.
Kei threw his hands up, pouting slightly as Jo stayed silent. “Jo, come on, it’s no big deal. Pretend you’re taking a break or something, I don’t know. Oh, that’s actually a good idea, you don’t take rest breaks but he doesn’t know that.” Jo rubbed his eyes as Kei rambled, eyes bright as the plan began to form in his head. Maybe he should just go home for the day. He could hear the excitement in Kei’s voice as he continued talking. “It’s you getting the upper-hand on your competition with all the benefits of actually getting some rest!”
Kei was going to make him sit down and watch today, without a doubt. He could try to fight back. He could say he had a prior commitment with a friend, he had errands to run, he needed to feed his cat. He thought about his friends Nicholas and Euijoo, and their shared café, and for a moment he considered saying they asked him for help today.
It was too bad Kei was also friends with the couple. He’d fact-check Jo in an instant. The more he tried to think of an excuse, the more he realized Kei would see right through him no matter what he said. There was no point in even trying at this rate.
With a sigh, Jo turned away, resting his back against the plexiglass. His eyes traced the scratches in the ice, creating paths that were made by his own routine and others’. “Fine, I’ll consider checking him out, I guess.” He turned his head to look at Kei. “What’s his name, anyways? I haven’t heard anything about a new skater.”
“Nakakita Yuma,” Kei said without hesitation. He shrugged and waved off Jo’s raised eyebrow, clearly unphased by his confusion. “Murata had his records open the other night, so of course I was going to take a look.”
It took a second for Jo to process what Kei said, and when he did, he whipped his entire body back around, eyes wide. “You took a picture of his records?”
“They were right in front of me, of course I took a picture of them!”
Jo groaned, his forehead falling onto the plexiglass. “Coach Kei, is that not illegal? Or at least some kind of violation of ethics?” Jo wasn’t one to know much of the legality of things, but surely this was something that went against some kind of rule or code, and Kei was just waving the information around like it was no big deal.
Kei was clearly unbothered by the potential threat of being suspended or even arrested for something. “Illegal, legal, who cares, we were gonna find out about him at some point.” He glanced back at his phone, tapping a few times before he kept talking. “Born February 7th, 2004–oh he’s older than you. Ha, you won’t have an issue with honorifics, but I hear he’s pretty laid back, so it might not matter.”
Jo rubbed his temples as Kei read from the profile, the beginnings of a headache forming just above his left eye. Kei went down the list without a care in the world, reading off Yuma’s height, weight, hometown, literally everything. It all felt like information he wasn’t supposed to know–or at least not know yet. Jo hadn’t even met the guy yet and he was finding out things that he probably would have learned in conversation.
“Honestly,” Kei continued, his lips forming the smallest hint of a smirk. “I haven’t seen the kid in action either, so I also want to see what he’s got under his belt. Coach Murata is a compulsive liar–like, insanely compulsive–so for all we know he’s just trying to get under our skin.”
It was said as a joke, but the thought made Jo’s skin itch. He hadn’t even realized he was still scratching at his arm until the inside of his elbow began to burn. The skin was red as he stared down at it. His nails had carved into his flesh, not deep enough to break the surface, but just enough for faint scratch marks to remain on his arm. Jo swallowed as he brought his arms to his side, ignoring the slight bend of his arm and the subtle twitch of his fingers.
Kei was still talking when he turned his attention back. His coach had turned around again, getting ready to head to his office. “Murata even had the nerve to say he could possibly take the whole competition this season.”
Kei laughed as he walked away, but Jo barely heard it.
In the darkness of an empty rink, he stood alone in the middle of the podium, illuminated by a narrow spotlight. The silence echoed in his ears as he stared into vacant seats, the sound wrapping around his head like large, calloused hands, rough fingers digging into his temples, ready to squeeze at any moment. Then, there was applause. The sound of cheers and chanting gained volume as he looked around.
Without warning, the podium next to him lit up. The sudden light burned at his eyes. He raised his arm to shield himself, his gaze landing on the scratches that remained in his skin. They had raised slightly, puffy and white around burning red flesh, reminders of the weight of the current season. Jo wasn’t going to disappoint Kei. Not this time. Not again.
Nakakita Yuma may be a skilled skater. Jo would just have to be better.
He’d have to fly.
As the warmth of the light spread through his body, heating up his skin and boiling his blood, he watched as a feather flew in front of his face. It floated high, swirling, before it caught fire, the pure white quickly turning charcoal. He stepped back in shock, forgetting he still stood on the podium.
His foot met air, and his body fell backward.