exo: grazed grace (1/2)

[sunlit]

grazed grace
→ baekhyun/kyungsoo ; 16,137 w.
→ baekhyun burns his wings flying a little too close to the sun, but finds beauty in the aftermath of his fall. (figure skating!au)
→ originally written here for onyu, baektobaek 2014. sincerest thanks goes out to chrys and sarah for the encouragement and sandbox fun! ♥

The books lie, Baekhyun will always say. The movies, too. Morning isn't his off-white curtains fluttering in the occasional sigh of wind, nor the warm prod of sunlight against his face. Morning isn't rolling over on a messy, springy bed, sheets crinkling under the fabric of his tank top and pillow seemingly moving to accommodate the puff of his cheek. Almost as if it's whispering to him, go, go back to sleep. Morning isn't even grappling blindly at his nightstand, accidentally knocking over a tube of face cream in a noble quest to find and silence his alarm clock.

Morning is none of those luxuries.

It's the blank, navy-tinted expanse of his ceiling, shadows of varying darkness perched in corners or crawling across the walls and floor, culminating in vertexes or disappearing behind a cupboard. It's (silent) clockwork - sitting up in bed, sleep falling away from his eyes like crusted powder, fisting the sheets as he calls a truce with the hour of dawn. The moonlight filtering through his window feels like a sheet of glimmering silver, soft and glowing, but Baekhyun's long resigned to calling it a branch, a claw - it's persistent. It wants him awake.

Waking up is made somewhat easier when Baekhyun's feet touch the smooth, hard surface of the wooden flooring in his room. It's usually only then that the cold truly hits him - unrelenting, unflinching, yet so homely, so welcoming. The cold is one of his favourite sensations in the world. In the darkness, only the cold reminds him that he's here, that's he's anchored and grounded, that today is another very real day with real possibilities, real opportunities, real challenges to face. Another day with as much to make history as there is to fuck up.

Baekhyun reaches for the bottle of water on his nightstand and turns to gaze out the window of his room - a length of clear glass that stretches from one end of his display wall to the other. Neat isn't a word Baekhyun would ever use to describe himself; he's fairly certain anyone who's known him longer than a year (or more expressly, paid a visit to his loft first-hand) would vouch for that. His display wall is, however, the cleanest part of his entire unit by a mile and a half. He'd made the decision to keep all furniture away from the windows for the best possible view, even put in extra effort to toss all dirty clothes onto his bed instead of the empty patch on the floor. (That horrified Jongdae the first time he came over. "Where's the sense in making your bed your laundry basket?") It's good space for thinking, he'd reasoned to himself back then. To some extent, Baekhyun supposes it wasn't so much justification as it was part of the truth - the view calmed the fray of thoughts in his head, and still does.

Especially now, at this hour of the day. The stars are the dutiful butlers that greet him good morning as he fully awakens, like an animal coming out of sleep. Sixteen stories above ground level is as good a vantage point as any; from here, if he stays long enough, he can watch Toronto rise and retire.

The water making its way down Baekhyun's throat feels like a steady stream of ice. It's a bad habit he's never really learnt to curb, taking big gulps. Water always chills better naturally instead of in the refrigerator, even if no one's all that keen on waiting overnight.

Buzz. 4:15am every morning, without fail.

The wooden flooring numbs his bare feet as he pads across the living room. If Baekhyun's being honest, he doesn't really need to check the surveillance camera monitor before answering the door - no stranger would call at this hour - but it's always better safe than sorry. "Who is it?"

The voice on the other end of the line is patient, undemanding, fond, but it's a voice Baekhyun would never find it in him to ignore or take lightly. It bore a stunning likeness to the sounds of nightingales chirping in a Japanese garden. It's the kind of voice that earns your respect, somehow. "I got you pretzels. Mini cinnamon ones, the kind you like." The view of the hallway is replaced by the front of a paper bag; Baekhyun recognises the logo from the bakery one street down. A laugh escapes his lips as he answers the door, running a hand through his heavy bedhead.

"Morning, Xing."

Baekhyun would be hard-pressed to forget the first time he saw Zhang Yixing skate. He even remembers what he was doing, what kind of day it was. Five-year-old Byun Baekhyun wasn't the keenest on playing a game of baseball in a muddy, soggy field, especially not when the pitcher's mound was but a pile of wet sand. Wrestling the remote from Baekbeom seemed a very unappealing thing to do (especially when he was like to lose), so he'd contented himself with making cheese sandwich cuts in the living room whilst a re-run of some ice thing played in the background, television muted against the harsh curtain of rain pounding on his roof.

Baekhyun would like to say he's been skating since he could walk, but truthfully, he hadn't had a clue what ice skating was about back then. Heck, the closest he came to skating was looking at the rollerblading teenagers at the local park and telling Jinki he'd do all those fancy flips and tricks one day. Zhang Yixing's routine, though, was impossible to disregard, even to a kindergartener pre-occupied with cheese sandwich cuts. It's hard to pinpoint what exactly it was about Yixing's routine that caught Baekhyun's attention - the cleanness of his execution, perhaps. Or the height of his jumps, the precision of his moves, the extension of his limbs. Most beautiful things, Baekhyun grew to learn, are like that. They brush past you like a breeze, a sudden gust of cold air, leaving you shivering in their wake. An indescribable kind of yearning.

In time, he also grew to learn that the ice thing was the 1997 International Figure Skating Championships. Baekhyun had watched Stojko edge China's Zhang Yixing out to win the men's singles gold, but his skating hadn't been half as riveting. Not then, not now, Baekhyun reflects, as the fragments of both their routines flash by behind his eyes in quick succession, a broken montage.

Yixing is thirty-six now, and way past his prime.

After an illustrious career that spanned two Olympic golds, four world championship titles and countless other domestic and international wins (twelve, to be precise; not that Baekhyun's counting, though), Yixing bowed gracefully out of competitive figure skating and eased into coaching. His first charge, Baekhyun remembers, was a doe-eyed girl of barely fourteen, handpicked from Beijing's finest and transformed into the silver medallist of the World Juniors the year of her debut on the ice.

"Sometimes I wonder what you'd eat if I don't come over," Yixing chides, but the effort is half-hearted. "Your place is terrible." The paper bag crunches lightly when it comes to rest against the dining table. Maybe it's the years he's spent on the ice, but Baekhyun's observed that Yixing treats everything like it's porcelain, like a sound too loud could shatter physical objects as easily as light silence. The chair Yixing pulls back to sit on only whispers against the wooden floor.

Baekhyun flattens a tuft of hair sticking upright and quickly checks his reflection in the television screen, then sneaks a glimpse at the sliver of glass between his drawn curtains. The dark of night is strangely riveting. "I'd eat cereal. Or maybe takeout, I don't know," is his easy answer. The rest of his reply leaves his lips as they twitch upward into a cheeky smile, one that seems to glow when he flips the switches for the remaining lights in the hall. "But then again, if I ate all that stuff, I wouldn't be a world champion."

Succeeding the first two athletes Yixing had taken under his wing hadn't been easy. When the tabloids first reported that China's most successful pair skaters in decades - Zhou Mi and Song Qian - had amiably parted ways with him, the press wasted no time in speculating about their replacement, if any at all. Never taken part in a competition without a podium finish was the phrase most often attached to Baekhyun's name when it was announced that Yixing had personally scouted him from the junior rounds of the South Korean Worlds. Baekhyun casts a glance at the gold medal from last year's ISU World Championships, gleaming in its display case.

For someone who's produced prodigal athletes in all three major categories of figure skating, Yixing's laugh is always modest. "I'm starting to think I'm only getting paid to be your coach. Nobody's paying me for being your personal alarm clock-slash-chef."

The cinnamon pretzels are still warm and crusted with sugar when Baekhyun gingerly fishes them out from the paper bag. "Is my eternal gratitude and love," he emphasises his words for good measure, grinning precociously, "not a currency you accept?" Without waiting for an answer, he leaves the dining table to fetch two cups of cold water; nothing quite like something clear and cool to really set his gears in motion. Oddly, it's almost as effective as stretching.

Yixing accepts the cup gratefully and brings it to his lips, a calm motion that belies the flicker in his eyes as he watches Baekhyun eat. Mildness masking the slight edge of caution in his voice, he says, "The final list of participants for this year's Worlds are out." When Baekhyun gives him a non-committal grunt through a mouthful of food and wriggles his eyebrows - the international Byun Baekhyun code for go on, I'm eating, can't talk - he continues, "Luhan and Jongin are finally taking part in their first championship this year. They skipped out on so many Grands Prix that I was beginning to worry. Soojung's been talking about this new girl too, who - and I quote - popped up of nowhere in this year's Canadian championsh-"

"Wendy, right? Or was that Irene?"

"Wendy," Yixing confirms with a small nod, brushing crumbs off his jeans. "Irene's out with a sprained ankle."

A small twitch of his lips, the slight turn of his belly, the first spark to a fire that blazes through his entire system - Baekhyun's felt this before, so many times he's lost count. He knows it's approaching; the only bit of news he's concerned about. "C'mon, Xing, you know I love the sport, but I'm really only interested in men's singles. I compete in that," he reminds Yixing playfully, leaning forward in his chair. "Is he coming?"

Yixing leans back in turn, almost as if to accommodate Baekhyun in a strange game of push-and-pull. "Word among the coaching circle is he's out to steal the gold from right under your nose. He used to want to kick your ass, but you've proven extremely difficult, in every sense of the word. Trust me, I'd know." He chuckles when Baekhyun flicks a grain of sugar at him and misses by a clear three inches. "Better get your game face on, Byun."

"Well then," Baekhyun stands up and pulls his shirt over head, already walking in the direction of his room to get changed, "we have work to do."

✧

The skating rink feels like a hundred floodlights piercing through the night. A shudder dances down the length of Baekhyun's spine as he passes through the automated glass doors, like a droplet of water sliding across a blank expanse of black, slow, subtle, but definitely there. It's not because it's too cold or too early, Baekhyun reflects, but rather a morbid sense of excitement. He can almost see it, the image burning bright at the back of his eyelids in flashes every time he blinks; in less than a quarter of a year, he'll be on an early morning flight to Shanghai, listening to the music he'll be using for his routine, mapping each beat and transition and moment by rehearsing the choreography in his head. Yixing would tell him to stop twitching ("save it for the practice run"), but Baekhyun's never been particularly good with keeping still. Practice will come and go, as will the short programme, then the free, then the podium, intersected with flashes of the scoreboard, the rife from the crowd and commentators. In truth, it's nothing Baekhyun hasn't seen or done before, but he feels the same exhilaration he first felt when Yixing had held his hand the morning of his first junior competition and told him the ice would be his new home.

Baekhyun hoists his bag higher over his shoulder, each step lighter than the last as he moves towards the edge of the rink. His jacket and sneakers are off in record time, even before Yixing manages to catch up on the short descent down a flight of stairs. "It's fucking freezing here," Yixing comments, running his hands up and down his arms in an effort to do a better job at keeping warm than the shoddy jacket Baekhyun's seen him wearing for years. "Even after so many years, it's hard to get used to standing in the middle of so much ice. You never really get over how cold it is in the mornings, even in summer."

"That's why I keep telling you to get a new jacket. That thing isn't going to last you, Xing." Baekhyun kicks off from the edge of the ice and waves back with a smile, doing a few turns and spirals to warm up.

The air-conditioning in the rink is stagnant, just cool enough to keep the ice from melting, but there's wind in Baekhyun's hair as he skates, faster and faster and faster, gaining enough speed to- The sharp point of precision registers in the back of his mind as he lands a double axel right off the bat, the blade of his skate cutting cleanly into the ice, just enough for footing. He's always been uncharacteristically light on his feet, or so the magazines and interviewers all say - being observant is another quality Baekhyun seldom gets in touch with. It's not landing just right or being enamoured with the technicalities, no matter how satisfying accuracy sounds; it's just figure skating, just the ice.

All those years back, Yixing was wrong. Ice is more than just Baekhyun's new home. The way the wind cuts through his hair and brushes against his cheeks when he attempts a triple lutz feels like a lover's caress; fluidity and freedom flowing through his veins and lifting him, like a friend's reassuring words. The ice is a person, Baekhyun reflects. It's someone you dance with, compromise with, unite with. In its purest, most intangible form, the ice is a medium for emotion and art, something that inspires. Baekhyun lands a triple axel and triple toe loop in quick succession, earning an impressed whistle from someone in the stands.

Yixing can't whistle.

Everything starts to return from being wisps of colour and sound to physical, present objects as he slows down. It's not quite vertigo, but it always takes Baekhyun some time to get used to stopping after a skate, no matter competition or practice. Jongdae shares his sentiments, though, and for all the times Baekhyun disagrees with what he says, no one could've put it better than he did. "It's like you lose a bit of yourself when you skate. Give yourself up to the ice... and it takes a while for the ice to give that part of yourself back to you."

"Miss me, sweetheart?" Baekhyun asks cheekily, wiggling his fingers in greeting when a derisive snort reaches him from across the ice.

Soojung's star skater-turned-choreographer had plucked her from a Sunday ice skating class in San Francisco and groomed her to slowly rise among the ranks as a potential future Olympian singles skater. Spunky attitude and her swan-like grace on the ice had led to a swifter rise in popularity than world rankings, seeing as she's only been in competitive skating for two years, but Baekhyun would never put it past her to one day follow in her sister's footsteps as the leader of America's return to consistent podium finishes in women's figure skating. Baekhyun remembers her account of Yixing's brief stint as her assistant choreographer during her training, and despite having parted ways, she still makes an effort to visit Yixing from time to time, more so now that she's qualified for international tournaments.

In more ways than one, to the untrained eye, Soojung is an unlikely candidate for a friend. Baekhyun knows better, though, knows how to discern contempt from sarcasm, knows to look for the slight lift of the corner of her lips even if she's rolling her eyes or telling him off.

She crosses her arms across her chest, tiny face almost hidden behind her scarf. "You wish, Byun. Can't get enough of being away from you, more like. And stop using pet names on me, it's gross."

"First Yixing, now you? Does nobody like calling me by my given name around here?" Baekhyun feigns appall, clutching a hand to his chest and holding it for brief moments. But then Soojung bursts into soft laughter, the green light for him to do the same; he ruffles her hair and beams at her quickly disgruntled expression. She's almost his height, but still so young, and it's always been too easy a transition for Baekhyun from fellow figure skater to play-pretend older brother.

The old bench creaks softly when Yixing scoots aside to make space for Soojung. "You're here so early," she observes casually, sneaking a bag of what looks to be gingerbread cookies out of her bag and offering one to each of them. "You're always early for practice, but I was thinking I could surprise you two if I got here earlier. Would've thought being world champion would warrant you lesser hours of practice."

Maybe, Baekhyun allows. Maybe it would. When he thinks about it, though, giving up two hours on the ice for extra sleep sounds... less tempting than it really should. It isn't practising, he wants to say, it's skating. It's just doing something I love. Instead of correcting Soojung, Baekhyun opts to flash her a soft smile as a token of thanks and reaches for another one of her cookies, which she gives up without much of a fight. He can't quite remember the last time the three of them have met like this, friends in the still of the dawn.

"He can't afford to have lesser hours of practice."

The jarring interruption startles Baekhyun so much he nearly drops what remains of his cookie. He spies something that looks suspiciously like a gingerbread hand on the floor by Yixing's feet and deduces he probably did drop something, but his attention is steered towards the direction of the new voice somewhere in the middle of the stands. It doesn't take a lot of time or effort to find its speaker; dark hair, dark eyes, even voice, almost like the black of midnight. But there's something about his eyes that burn with a fire equivalent to a hundred suns, the determination in his voice a fine blade that cuts through velvet. For the first time in what feels like a long, long time, perhaps since the previous season, Baekhyun realises yet again that this is the perfect way to describe this person - rich, black velvet, with a flame simmering under the surface.

Do Kyungsoo finishes tying the laces of his skates and makes it to the ice with an ease that even Baekhyun can't help but be slightly envious of; years of figure skating hasn't made it easier to walk on solid ground with skates. Baekhyun still hobbles over to the kiss and cry area occasionally. "You have to practise to stay world champion. Or else I'll usurp that prized position of yours," he says matter-of-factly, like he's talking about today's weather instead of their livelihood, their careers.

"When did you fly in?" Baekhyun asks, pushing himself away from the rink boards in Kyungsoo's direction.

Kyungsoo exchanges quick, polite greetings with Soojung and Yixing before turning his attention to Baekhyun. There, is the thought that flashes through Baekhyun's mind when he comes to a stop on the ice. There it is again. The tiniest of flickers makes itself present in Kyungsoo's eyes, a spark of something Baekhyun has never been able to place. Apprehension? Restraint? Outright contempt, maybe? Baekhyun watches as it bursts to life like a little spark, but it's gone as quickly as it had come. He's always taken care to maintain a few feet's worth of distance when they meet. He's thought about it time and again; neither a written rule nor an unspoken taboo, Baekhyun isn't quite sure what it is. Respect, perhaps. But he knows that if he subscribes to the belief that it's respect, he would be lying to himself; it's not that. It's the stigma that surrounds them both, sensationalised by the media and followers of the sport - two of South Korea's most promising male figure skaters, not just of this decade, but in all history, always pushing and competing and pushing and competing, taking turns edging each other out for the title of national champion. They could be friends, but as long as they're skating, rivalry would always be there.

At the very back of his head, a voice prods at Baekhyun's conscience. Friends? Is that what you are?

Kyungsoo's reply comes curtly, but there is no malice in his voice. There never is, for a rival people considered to be so bitter. "Last night. There were no direct flights, else I would've arrived sooner."

Baekhyun isn't given time to reply as Kyungsoo casts one last glance at him and pushes off to the middle of the skating rink to warm up. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yixing lean forward in his seat, watching Kyungsoo attentively; old habits die hard. Friends or not, Yixing is a rival coach, and is just as eager for Baekhyun to repeat his stint as world champion for the third year running.

Unlike a fair number of skaters, Kyungsoo starts his warm-ups with edges instead of the usual turns or rounds on the ice. To call it a slow process would be unfair, and Baekhyun struggles to find the right word until he lands on calculated and meticulous. It's an accurate representation of Kyungsoo's style of skating and extends to his personality also, to a certain degree. Leaning against the barricade and watching without a word, Baekhyun starts to feel his breath lodging in his throat. He can see Kyungsoo picking up speed, body already slanting into the diagonal glide, then - Baekhyun's hardly breathing at all - a triple lutz.

Lutzes aren't special. Baekhyun knows as much, but Kyungsoo's lutzes - or any of his jumps, for that matter - are. Do Kyungsoo found international renown for his high technical scores; more than once, Baekhyun's heard the press equating it to a textbook demonstration. His jumps reach their peaks, his extensions are perfect, his spins are never under-rotated. Kyungsoo is the embodiment of the ideal skater. What truly sets him apart, though, a fine detail that made an explosive statement the moment he'd begun competitive figure skating, is the fact that he's a counter-clockwise jumper. A rarity, star quality, defining factor, the press calls it. Baekhyun thinks it's a gift, one that - combined with Kyungsoo's precision - robs him of both words and breath every time he bears witness to it.

Yixing joins him on the ice moments later, a knowing smile on his face. "Come on, let's go; you don't want him to steal that title away from you, do you?" What exactly it is that Yixing knows though, is beyond him. Baekhyun snorts and shoves at him playfully, but steals a glimpse of Kyungsoo digging his toe pick into the ice to steady himself by the rink boards as he picks up a call. Baekhyun skates right around him, the familiar feeling of flying on ice burning in him once again. Yes, he thinks, yes.

The ice is his natural habitat, a place that sets him at ease, sets him alight and afire all at the same time. Baekhyun is a predator, and all predators must have competition. It's survival.

Perhaps this is the best way, the only way, to describe what they are.

✧

A question Baekhyun's gotten used to being asked is what he does prior to a competition. If he has any rituals or lucky charms, how he clears his head, what he does to alleviate nerves and anxiety. By extension, it's also become a question whose answer he's learnt to artfully lie about. He doesn't do anything; he's just as nervous as the next skater. Baekhyun's fairly convinced that if the stadiums are silenced to a pin-drop quiet each time, the beating of his heart would resemble the steady pounding of hammer, or maybe strong and consistent flashes of thunder. That, combined with a charming smile and laughter that walks the tightrope between shyness and humility, is a tried-and-tested formula to drive the crowds and cameras mad. The lights and cheers can be a bit distracting in all their intensity, but it works well enough. In his defence, he's not lying entirely; he really doesn't go out of his way to do anything in particular.

The little secret he would never give up, though, is that he loses himself in the minutes leading up to the event. For a few moments, Byun Baekhyun the figure skater disappears. He becomes an eagle, a scuba diver, a hitchhiker, anything and everything, sinking into a sea of analogies and letting it all overwhelm him. The cheering of the crowds feel like the muted crash of a waterfall against a bed of rocks in the background, blades cutting into the ice reminiscent of the wind's sigh between the leaves of a forest. It's nice to pretend to be somewhere else, if only to immerse himself into character. Skating is just as much technique and skill as it is selling your story - working as one with the music to write all the words he doesn't get to say.

He takes a deep breath. The air fills his lungs, cool against the rapid fire of his heart.

Yixing hands him a bottle of water, which he gratefully accepts. Baekhyun watches the current skater do a triple axel, followed by a double toe-loop and a landing that was pretty damn close to perfect. This season's competition is as tight as any could possibly be. A fair number of these faces are easy enough to recognise, mostly rising stars from their respective junior leagues whose scores have finally qualified for the Worlds. The skater whizzes past his bench with a cheeky smile on his face to match the fun accompanying music he's chosen.

"Kim Minseok." Yixing puts a name to the skater, nodding thoughtfully and scribbling something in the notepad he always carries with him. "He's gotten a lot better. Last season, he kept under-rotating his jumps."

The audience bursts into raucous applause when Minseok finishes his routine. The thing about short programmes is that they fly by a little too fast, one athlete after the next in quick succession. Three more skaters to go before his turn to grace the ice. He takes one final gulp of water and begins stretching. Right leg, left leg, right shoulder, left shoulder, right, left, right, left. Baekhyun can feel the sharp corners of deadly focus seeping into his mind as the time draws nearer, tuning out the lively beat of the macarena thundering through the stadium.

Baekhyun honestly hasn't been to China all that many times in his life, but he knows enough Mandarin to be able to identify his own name as well as basic figure skating terminology and announcements. "Next, reprensenting the Republic of Korea, current world champion, Byun Baekhyun!" Deafening cheers drown out both the English translation of the announcement and all that remains of his anxiety. He waves briefly to the audience as he makes his way to the corner of the skating rink - an unusual place to begin a routine, but it's "something that'll make the judges look twice". Baekhyun hasn't needed separate figures for coach and choreographer since first training under Yixing; the latter's dancing days did them both a favour.

Skate hard, Byun. Skate as hard as you always do, and don't think. The last thing he remembers thinking about is a person he'd spotted out of the corner of his eye. Dark hair, dark eyes, reserved caution barely masking the piqued interest on his face, the simmering anticipation.

So he skates.

Baekhyun never actually knows when his routines come to an end; they're whirlwinds from start to finish. It only really hits him when a stalk of white roses lands by his feet, tied together with a scarlet ribbon that stands out against the pale, colourless surface of the ice. When Baekhyun leans down to pick it up, the reflection staring back at him from the other side of the ice is smiling a brilliant smile, even if he's panting so hard that he feels his throat and lungs are scorched bare. As per custom, he makes one round around the skating rink, genuine confidence and joy slipping out through the upturned corner of his lips, the crinkling of his eyes. By the sidelines, camera clicks and the screams of the audience are so loud that they're all Baekhyun can hear, aside from the pulsing of his veins. Laughter looks like it's about to spill from Yixing's lips as he flashes Baekhyun two thumbs up; nothing is quite as elating as knowing your coach is satisfied with your performance. Fellow skaters by the rink boards are either applauding with the crowd or sourly grim-faced, but Do Kyungsoo is doing neither.

This isn't right, Baekhyun decides as he slows down near the exit of the rink and hops down into Yixing's hug. He's the one who, despite not truly ever being one for technicalities, just delivered what could've been one of his best short programmes ever. Why is Kyungsoo the one to steal his breath away with the ghost of a single, soft smile?

Yixing is positively beaming as he leads Baekhyun to the kiss and cry area. "That was amazing," he breathes, almost as if he couldn't quite believe it himself. "You had your Biellmann spin down pat this time. Outdoing yourself, are you, Byun?"

Baekhyun obliges him with a smile before turning back to the eager crowd, their frenzy doubling and tripling in intensity when he waves at them, throwing in the occasional wink and bright grin. He does the same to the camera placed right in front of him, the blinking red light in the corner of the device almost like a nod of approval. Baekhyun flashes one last diffusive smile at the lens and focuses instead on the action on the rink, where an Italian skater who looks like he's barely out of his teen years slips into his starting position.

The announcement of his score precedes the bright green figures on the scoreboard and fills his entire being with an anxiety difficult to suppress. Yixing's hand is warm on his shoulder as the commentator announces the scores for each of the elements, then- "... bringing the total score to 99.83."

Everything happens too fast - part of the audience leaps to their feet, Yixing envelops him in a congratulatory hug, the commentators are chattering away in a mix of Mandarin and English, competitors are looking at him with a mixture of envy, surprise and happiness. It's a personal best. The thought registers in his head so slowly it almost feels like a countereffect of everything else around him. "It's a personal best," he repeats, aloud this time, and Yixing nods triumphantly, saying something Baekhyun can't quite hear over the din as they leave the kiss and cry area.

Just as Baekhyun is about to tell Yixing to speak louder, a hush falls over the audience like wildfire spreading through a forest. The silence is heavy and held back, almost as if no one dares to breathe. Baekhyun turns to the ice, and understands. (His breath gets stuck somewhere between his throat and his heart, too.)

He's just in time to see Kyungsoo move into place in the middle of the rink with a fluidity that feels almost unnatural. Considering the fact that they're compatriots and usually compete in the same championships, Baekhyun's seen Kyungsoo skate more often than he has any other figure skater. Nothing, not even this familiarity and a very underlying understanding of how Kyungsoo works could ever prepare him for the technical precision of Kyungsoo's skating. He takes off on the ice the instant the music begins, without even the slightest discernible pause or fragment of hesitation.

Baekhyun feels like he's slowly running out of adjectives to describe perfection. Kyungsoo's scratch spin is so beautifully rotated, its point of gravity so steady, Baekhyun can almost hear Yixing's whimper of mild distress and admiration. As is, if he's being completely truthful with himself, the entirety of Kyungsoo's routine. Triple axel, Baekhyun recites the names of the movements in his mind, a commentator in his own little space. Serpentine step. Flying sit spin with arms. Quadruple lutz, double toe loop, what the fuck, that was amazing?

The cues in the music hardly feel like cues when Kyungsoo skates. It's almost like he knows the precise moment to switch movements, down to the very second, by heart. Baekhyun grumbles to himself; of course all skaters know their routines by heart, but... this is different. It's an intimate, intense kind of focus. It's innate.

Kyungsoo's performance ends with applause so thunderous that it feels like a storm has momentarily broken out in the confines of the stadium, raining flowers in place of water and flashing camera lights instead of lightning. Two minutes and thirty seconds feels like it's diminished into dust in the palm of Baekhyun's hand. In an instant, he knows. He doesn't need to wait for the scoreboard to update or for Kyungsoo to even step into the kiss and cry area, he knows he's lost. With a performance like that, he knows there's no version of this where Kyungsoo doesn't top the short programme standings. Baekhyun finds himself clapping with the rest of the spectators, too stunned to do much else, but there's no bitterness in him, only a strange feeling that he's never quite been able to grasp, the very same one prodding at his chest whenever he watches Kyungsoo skate. It's not emotive. It feels like renewal, like a bud blooming into a flower on a spring day.

101.57, the scoreboard reads, minutes later.

Unconsciously, Baekhyun claps harder.

✧

The downtime between the end of the free skate (and, by extension, the entire men's singles figure skating competition) and the final announcement of the medallists is when stadiums are usually the most unsettled. It's not always in a bad way, though; it's just chaotic. Spectators are stretching in their seats or leaving for a short break, regaling highlights of the competition, the jumps and the falls. The competitors themselves are spread out around the rink, catching up with old friends and rivals or deep in hushed conversations with their coaches. The flurry of activity is hard-hitting, quite unlike the delicacy and grace of the sport, a contrast that's always appealed to Baekhyun.

There isn't much discussion left to be done, though, only tabulation. Numbers don't lie. Yesterday's short programme was something Baekhyun would continue to be proud of for the rest of this season, but had still left him at a disadvantageous second place behind Kyungsoo's stellar 100-pointer.

Baekhyun's often equated ice skating to running, as unusual a comparison as it might sound. The short programme is his slow start, while the free skate - the second and final component of singles figure skating - is the sprint in the last lap. He still remembers the first time he'd told Yixing this; Yixing had laughed his mild-mannered laugh, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "You must be like the Usain Bolt of ice skating, then." Never one for little details and technicalities, Baekhyun would readily admit to anyone who asks that the short programme isn't his forte. Every calculated step and jump and spin weighs down on him, clipping his wings just enough so he can fly, but not high enough. Kyungsoo, on the other hand, revels in making sure everything about his routines are perfect a la figure skating textbooks. One day, he could be a coach no one would want to rival with, Baekhyun reflects.

Today's free skate, though, is an entirely different story. It's where Baekhyun feels most at home, expressing instead of focusing, taking to the skies instead of staying grounded, elaborate instead of technical. Most of all, it's aptly named - it's freeing; liberating, almost. To Baekhyun, this is where figure skating becomes more than just a show of skill and smoothness. He takes a deep breath, feeling a smile creeping onto his face. It becomes a discourse with the audience. It becomes a delivery of messages. It becomes a performance.

There's not much discussion left to be had. Numbers don't lie - they'd done the tabulation of points from yesterday's short and today's free; the combined scores put Baekhyun in first place, and Kyungsoo in a close second.

A female reporter with strawberry blonde hair and wide, eager eyes interrupts his train of thought when she approaches him with a microphone in hand. Behind her, an elderly man stands with a huge camera hoisted onto his shoulder, a small cardboard sign with the MBC logo stuck to its body. A piece of home, then. "We're coming to you live from the 2015 World Figure Skating Championships in Shanghai, China, where the results will be announced in just a few minutes!" she says chirpily to the camera. "I'm here with reigning world champion and one of the superstars from home, Byun Baekhyun! Do greet the audience back home with a few words, Baekhyun-sshi." She punctuates her sentence with a gesture.

Baekhyun keeps his introduction to the audience short and simple, then turns to her expectantly, waiting for her questions. It's become perfunctory routine. "I'm sure everyone would agree with me when I say that free skate is one of the most phenomenal we've seen not just this season, but ever since you began competing! What did you think about your performance?"

"I have my coach and choreographer, Zhang Yixing-seonsaengnim, to thank for that," he answers with a grin. Yixing hates being called that in private and hates it even more in public, a habit that comes from years of working outside of Korea, so Baekhyun's taken it upon himself to do it just to affectionately spite him. "He's... unfortunately off talking to someone else right now, I think, but we're both in pretty good spirits right now."

"Feeling confident?"

He knows he can say yes, but he also knows he shouldn't. "I gave my all today, and I'm hoping that it's enough. All the skaters today performed beautifully, and no matter what happens today, I can't slack off. I promise to practise hard for the coming tournaments as well." Humility, his public relations agents always remind him. It's not humility if it's true, though; he can't. Particularly not with Do Kyungsoo so close on his tail.

She nods vigorously and reassures him that she's sure his efforts would pay off. "So, you're one of two of our country's most prominent figure skaters of this era, the other being Do Kyungsoo-seonsu." Her eyes are almost twinkling as she edges the microphone closer to Baekhyun. "There's been nothing quite like you two. Can you comment on a little bit about your styles in skating? Your rivalry, perhaps?"

Baekhyun deduces that this segment is probably for an entertainment programme instead of proper sports news; questions like these usually are. "Kyungsoo-sshi is a very precise skater. His accuracy is the stuff of envy for a lot of skaters. I lean more towards free skating." It's an honest and accurate description, but succinct enough for him not to go out of his way to answer. The formal suffix will always feel strange on his tongue, no matter how many times he's said it on broadcast. "We're both strong skaters with different styles, but what should matter is that we always try our hardest."

The reporter looks like she's about to ask something else, but the return of the official commentators' voices to the fray in the stadium cuts her off. It's a reminder that the break will end in five minutes. She thanks him for his time, wishes him the best, and returns to the media area for a prime shot of the podium; Baekhyun wonders if she'll hound Kyungsoo with the same questions later at the press conference or after the medal-giving ceremony.

A few of the tournament helpers circle the stadium to locate the medallists and usher them into a line by the side of the rink to prepare for the walk to the podium. Baekhyun exchanges pleasantries with the bronze medallist, a French skater who Baekhyun recalls to have met at the Trophée Eric Bompard. Moments later, Kyungsoo slips into the space they've left empty for him. He casts a quick glance at the podium - they're still setting it up, and he still has a few more minutes - before turning to face Baekhyun, a small but genuine smile on his lips. Baekhyun's seen it before, but it's so rare, it's almost become a precious commodity. "Congrats," he says, extending a hand between them for Baekhyun to shake. "That free skate was amazing."

Static jolts through Baekhyun's skin when their fingers meet. They feel like sparks. "Says the person who scored triple figures in the short yesterday," is the easy part of his reply. The next sentence comes out too soft and too slow, almost as if the volume's been scraped away as his words crawl through the sands of his throat. "Your skating's really something. I mean it every time I tell you this."

Kyungsoo hears it, though. The telltale flicker in his eyes and the minute widening of his smile is louder than his quiet "I know".

The tingling in his fingers haunts him all the way to the podium. It makes his right hand feel lighter than his left; it's an anomaly, but Baekhyun can't find it in himself to mind. By the end of the ceremony, he isn't sure what would be considered more wrong than the other - stealing glances at Kyungsoo when he knows the cameras aren't on him, searching for the ghost of that smile, or leaning in against his side when the silver and bronze medallists share the podium spot with him for the group photographs.

He can still feel the lingering touch of Kyungsoo's hand on his right shoulder. It's lighter than his left, too.

✧

The ensuing press conference for medallists passes in a flurry of questions, lights and congratulatory wishes. Quite frankly, it's a tiring process to deal with, but if anything, it's a necessary evil. It acts as a platform for top skaters to drop hints about what's in store for the rest of the season, maybe even give the eager press a glimpse of the things to come in the next. Sell a little more of themselves to the audience, become slightly less athlete and a bit more celebrity. Somewhere between the third refill of his glass of water and Kyungsoo's comments on how the season's unfolded, Baekhyun begins to feel the slight ache in his muscles, the usual sign that his body just needs one night's complete rest to recharge after months of preparing for this competition, before he goes back to his usual, rigorous training regime. No rest for the wicked, Baekhyun concludes grimly.

Baekhyun's been to Shanghai a few times, none too many, but there's something about the city now that catches his attention. He isn't sure what it is; the multicoloured LED signs lining the streets still look the same, as do the twinkling golden ones that dot apartment and office buildings. On the drive back to the hotel, he can see the Bund. Maybe it's true when they say the way you see things changes as you grow and develop as a person. Maybe it's simply because he's spent two days looking at nothing but gleaming spotlights and flashing cameras; that's why these subtler lights feel more relaxing. Baekhyun wonders if anyone ever gets used to the chaos of fame, be it Olympic skaters or retired champions.

"Evening, sir," the bellboy greets him as he steps out of the chartered car. "Congratulations on your win." Baekhyun flashes him his best smile and makes sure to thank him properly, slowing down a little on the steps so Yixing can catch up to him, hands in his pocket to keep from the cold.

He all but slumps against the elevator door, leaning against the handle of his trolley bag, where his outfits lie unfolded and his skates resting on top of everything else. "Just wanna sleep right now, if I'm being honest. I can't even be bothered to take a shower, even though I should," he sighs, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"You deserve the rest," Yixing says, patting him on the shoulder. "Tomorrow's your break day anyway, and the flight home isn't till four, so you can sleep in." Jokingly, Yixing adds, "If you're not awake by lunch time, though, I'll swing by reception and ask for a master key so I can come in and draw on your face."

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. "I didn't know you were such an art connoisseur."

The elevator announces their arrival on the suite floor with a soft ding. Yixing follows him into the room and shuts the door behind them both, sitting on a corner of the bed. "Okay, Baek, I know you want to rest, but I really need to talk to you about something. I'd wait till tomorrow but this... this has been your dream for ages. I want to help you start realising it." There is a slight edge of uncertainty in his voice, almost as if he's unsure how Baekhyun would react to whatever it is he's going to say, but there's also excitement and eagerness threatening to burst through the neatly-done seams.

Baekhyun pulls up the desk chair and plops down into it. He certainly hadn't been expecting such a serious topic of conversation to come up on the night of the Worlds, what more one that he'd just won. "What is it?" he asks, and for one horrible, horrible moment, he wonders if Yixing's going to leave him. There's no one who understands and capitalises on his skating style as much as Yixing does. But then he remembers that Yixing said something about it being his dream, and Baekhyun's sure the both of them know that no dream he has involves losing this camaraderie they have with each other. The only dream he's been harbouring forever is-

"The Winter Olympics."

The name leaves Yixing's mouth so quickly that it feels like they were exhaled with a breath. Baekhyun can see Yixing's eyes twinkling under the light of the hotel room, and he doesn't need to look in the mirror to know he has the same gleam reflected in his own. "You weren't age eligible for Vancouver, and you skipped out on Sochi last year because you felt you weren't ready," he starts quietly. "But people are watching you, Baekhyun. I'm watching you, and I know you're ready."

A tightness springs up in Baekhyun's chest, like strings being wrapped around his torso, crushing his lungs and ribs and heart. "Xing, the next Winter Olympics isn't in another three years."

"2015's ending, Baek, and they're always held early in the year. You have another two years or so, and that's not really all that long a time." Yixing pulls out a contact card from his pocket, and it's just occurred to Baekhyun that his hand had never once left the confines of his coat pocket the whole car ride back to the hotel and subsequently the elevator ride up to the suite. "After your performance in this year's Worlds, nobody can say you're not qualified. You've got the world's spotlight shining down on you." He presses the card into Baekhyun's hand. "It's time you looked them in the eye."

The card isn't textured; it's just plain white, with a name written in bold on the front and contact details in smaller font beneath it. It reads, Tatiana Tarasova. Baekhyun is half-certain he's fallen asleep in the car, and this is just part of the luxurious dream he's having.

When Baekhyun makes no move to reply and just stares down at the card, reading the name over and over again, Yixing clears his throat. "Tarasova wants to choreograph your routines for you, Baekhyun. She approached me after the free skate today." Apprehension seeps into Baekhyun's expression as he flips the card over between his fingers. Tatiana Tarasova... wants to choreograph for him? "I'll still be your coach. But her routines... you've seen them, Baek. You can't deny that they're even better than what we've done so far."

"I'll think about it," Baekhyun promises. "I know. The Olympics are important to me, Xing. It's like the pinnacle of possible achievements for me, and I don't want to fuck this up. I can't. I'll think about it, okay?"

Yixing's reply is short but sincere. "Trust me, you won't."

The room is stark quiet once Yixing has left. If Baekhyun focuses hard enough, he can hear the slow hum of the city outside his window. He pulls the curtains back to look at the sprawling city centre, at the people walking the streets and cars pulling up on sidewalks despite the fact that it's almost midnight. No city truly sleeps, he realises. Sometimes, he wonders if cities dream. If they aspire to be anything they aren't now. If they think about their purpose in the world.

Purpose, he thinks. What's mine?

He changes into a shirt and sweatpants, crawls under the sheets and buries his face in the pillows. They smell like lemon, a subtle acidity that's almost sweet. Yixing had told him he won't screw up, and Yixing believed the world thinks he wouldn't, either. Baekhyun honestly doesn't know if he's in agreement with that consensus. Picking up his phone, he scrolls through his contact list, meaning to send Yixing a text thanking him for today and for telling him about Tarasova and for the faith he always seems to have. K comes before Y, though, and Baekhyun finds his finger hovering over Kyungsoo's number.

This is how they've always been, it seems. One little move away, one point away, one decision away. Baekhyun decides he'll bridge the distance, if only for tonight.

Kyungsoo picks up after two rings. There's doubt in his voice, but it's hiding something Baekhyun can't quite place. It's the tone of Soojung's voice when she talks about Minhyuk, her childhood friend of nine years and counting, the one boy Baekhyun knows she's ever fallen for. How strange, to hear it again in Kyungsoo's. "Hello? Baekhyun?"

"Yeah." The sigh of relief that leaves Baekhyun's lips is almost inaudible. He pulls the comforter a little bit more snugly around himself. "Hey... Can I ask you a favour?"

The start of a syllable forms over the line, almost too quickly, but stops itself before it takes full shape. It sounds suspiciously like the beginnings of a yes. "What is it? Is everything okay?"

"Meet me at the cafe around the block of the skating rink back home at two on Monday? The one with the live band you like."

The line goes so quiet that Baekhyun's half-afraid Kyungsoo's hung up. All he can hear is the slow humming of the centralised air-conditioning system in the room and the sounds of the city. "Okay," Kyungsoo finally says. "Monday at two. Don't be late."

"Good night, Kyungsoo."

A slight pause. "Good night, Baekhyun."

Baekhyun wonders if he should put on some music to dispel the stillness of his room and decides against it; he needs the peace and quiet. He can still hear his air-conditioning system and the thrum of Shanghai's pulse, but this time, there's a soft, velvet-like presence blocking them out and coaxing him to sleep. He's only too eager to oblige, and falls asleep with his phone by his pillow.

(A dream comes to him that night, a strange one where he sprouts wings made of gold. They're the most beautiful things he's ever seen, but too heavy for him to fly.)

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