你值得真正的快樂, For Everyone
Title: 你值得真正的快樂
For: mochinim
Pairing: Gen, Lu Han/everyone
Rating: PG-13
Length: 5161
Summary: Six months before the 2010 Winter Olympics, Lu Han is sent to Vancouver on a forced vacation and learns that he’s not quite as put together as he’d like everyone to think.
Lu Han frowns at the bright Vancouver skyline as the plane glides smoothly onto the tarmac. It’s sunny, and he can already feel the warmth of the air in the cool, temperature-controlled space of the aircraft. He supposes it’s not that different from Beijing, but as much as he doesn’t want to be in Beijing, he doesn’t really want to be here either. He hasn’t decided which one he doesn’t want to be in more.
The man in the seat beside him blinks awake blearily, trying to wipe away the drool that’s pooled around his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Lu Han thinks about offering him one of the towelettes the stewardess had left behind, but doesn’t.
The noise of the engines rumble in his eardrums as the plane taxis towards its assigned gate. The cabin slowly fills with chatter, and many shift around in their seat, drifting back to the waking world and arching their backs and doing some odd stretching movements that probably do nothing to ease away the aches and pains of a long flight.
Lu Han sighs inwardly and braces himself for the weeks ahead. Twenty-six days is a long time, and Lu Han has never been good with patience.
*
Vancouver is alive with the anticipation of the Olympics, as if life is suddenly more interesting with the prospect of hundreds of athletes and tens of thousands of spectators in its wake. For Lu Han, Vancouver is just another city, another point on a map that he can’t be bothered to read. The training arena in Beijing is the only place Lu Han cares for, and any time spent away from the ice, away from drills and triple lutzes is time lost.
Lu Han’s not sixteen anymore. He can’t rely on young, reckless talent to get him a spot on the podium. He’s just shy of twenty, and there are already whispered rumors of retirement. The title of three-time Junior World Champion means nothing if he can’t keep winning. Medals aren’t given freely, and year after year, the new debuts only come out stronger and better and more vicious than before.
It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and there’s plenty to fight over, be it trophies or sponsorships or trainers. Lu Han doesn’t regret the choices he’s made, but sometimes, when he lies awake in the room he shares with Yixing, just a bus ride away from the rink, he is sorry about the consequences, about the loneliness that sets in when he steps off the ice and walks towards the lockers, muscles sore and ears ringing from the sharp orders of his coach.
Lu Han sighs to himself as he retrieves his bag from the overhead bin and follows the crowd to the front of the plane and onto the jetbridge. He glances out a window and sees nothing but clear skies and the promise of plenty summer sun. It’s nothing like Beijing, and Lu Han can’t decide if that’s good or bad.
*
Minseok is waiting for him in the arrivals hall, cheeks round as ever and holding a sign that reads: ZUI HOU DE XIAO LU ♡! He isn’t even looking at Lu Han, but tapping away at his phone, scowling at the screen. Lu Han doesn’t remember him looking so well-rested, but he figures a normal life will do that to you; walk away from figure skating long enough and you learn how to live like a human being again.
He’s dressed casually in jeans and a plain t-shirt, and Lu Han can’t help but smile fondly as he approaches him. “Baozi,” he sings, grinning at the way Minseok’s shoulders stiffen and relax. “Your Chinese still sucks.”
“My Chinese is fine,” Minseok says without looking up. “I’m waiting for someone whose flight landed two hours ago.”
“I had to go through customs!” Lu Han protests. Minseok’s lip twitches, and he pockets his phone.
“Hello, Lu Han,” he says, and opens his arms wide for Lu Han to fall into, which Lu Han does without hesitation. Minseok is soft and warm, and he smells like sunshine and fabric softener and a short ride to a bed that Lu Han can’t wait to bury himself into.
“I’ve missed you,” Lu Han admits, sighing wistfully as Minseok leads them out of the airport and to the parking lot.
“I’ve missed your zhajiangmian,” says Minseok, grinning when Lu Han punches his shoulder. “How’s Beijing?”
“Smoggy,” Lu Han says truthfully. “With a chance of dust storms.”
“Delightful,” says Minseok. “And you? How are you?”
Lu Han frowns. The hand on the stop light across the street flashes at them to not cross. For a moment, Lu Han wants to walk ahead anyway because what does it matter, he’s got to get to the other side somehow.
“Lu Han?”
“Huh?”
“I said, how are you?”
“Oh,” says Lu Han. “I’m fine.” Minseok eyes him warily, expression unreadable, and doesn’t say anything.
The light turns green, and they spend the rest of the walk to the car in silence.
*
The drive to Minseok's house takes them past the Olympic village, most of it still fenced off, bearing large signs that proudly advertise the construction company with a phone number to call should anyone be impressed enough to want their own Olympic dome.
"This whole thing's going to cost like $2 billion," Minseok says, doing a terrible job of hiding a derisive snort. "$2 billion dollars. Can you believe that?"
"There better be some great ice," Lu Han quips. "I heard they're going to be using the GM stadium?"
"Oh, they are. They spent like $2 million upgrading it," says Minseok. "But it's only for hockey. You'll be at the Pacific Coliseum."
Lu Han makes a face. "Who cares about hockey," he mutters under his breath.
"Hey, watch your mouth," says Minseok with an unapologetic grin. "You're in Canada now."
"I'm not Canadian," Lu Han points out.
"You're an uncultured vagrant," says Minseok. "Canada doesn't want you anyway."
Lu Han grins. He'd forgotten how easy it was to get along with Minseok--Minseok, who's retired from competitive skating, who looks at Lu Han and sees a person and not his weaknesses, who reminds Lu Han of starless nights in Seoul and dizzying camel spins that defy time and space and all the laws of physics.
Minseok is a choreographer now, and his knee slows him down when the weather gets cold. Turin had been his prime, his crowning achievement, and Lu Han still remembers seeing him at the medal ceremony, how he'd held his silver medal high and beamed at the crowd, the new pride and joy of Korea.
Because competitive skating is a horribly fickle thing, he'd blown out his knee during a practice session, not a year later. Lu Han hadn't been there, already having left Seoul for Beijing, but he'd heard about it from Yixing who read about it online and from Zhou Mi, who heard it directly from Minseok's coach.
Minseok has never said anything, and Lu Han's never asked. It's almost too frightening to think about a promising career being cut short because of a bad landing. It's just so realistically cruel that Lu Han doesn't like to dwell on it, preferring the story of early retirement and choosing to focus on other interests.
He knows that he can't do this forever. He's had his share of injuries--they all have; it's unavoidable in this sport--and one day, his body is going to give up. Out of exhaustion or age or maybe even pure spite, Lu Han doesn't know which, but he knows it will happen, knows it as surely as he knows the deafening silence of his Beijing rink at five in the morning, the unearthly quiet punctuated only by the blades of his skates cutting across the ice. He just wants to go out on his terms, preferably on the podium, gold medal between his teeth, and the Chinese national anthem urging him to qi lai, qi lai!
He wants to go at the height of glory while the whole world watches. He wants them to want him, and he wants to smile at the cameras and tell them, you can't have me.
He wants a choice. He wants to choose, like Yixing chooses to continue to push on, even though the strain of the sport may actually kill him.
"Lu Han?"
"Huh?" Lu Han starts, blinking rapidly. They've stopped in what Lu Han belatedly realizes is the driveway of Minseok's house, and Minseok is watching him with an expression that says this isn't the first attempt to get his attention.
"Are you okay?" Minseok asks, tapping the steering wheel with his thumb.
"Yeah," replies Lu Han automatically. "Sorry, I'm just tired."
"Okay," Minseok says, like he doesn't believe him. Lu Han frowns. "We're here anyway. And Lu Han?"
"Hm?"
Minseok watches him for a moment, face blank before smiling slightly. "I hope you enjoy yourself while you're here."
*
Minseok's house is modest and cozy. It's simple and clean, and Lu Han smiles, remembering their shared apartment in Seoul. "I like it," he says, looking around. "It's very you."
"Thanks," says Minseok dryly. "That means a lot, coming from you."
"Hey," says Lu Han. "I'm serious."
"Oh," says Minseok. "Then, that seriously means a lot, coming from you."
"You're an ass," Lu Han tells him, and Minseok shrugs.
"I'm housing you," he says. "I can be whatever I want."
That is rather true so Lu Han wisely does not say any more and follows him obediently to the back of the house. "That's Jongin's room," says Minseok, pointing to the bedroom across from Lu Han's. "He's still at school, but he'll be back soon."
"Ah," says Lu Han. "I forgot you replaced me with a new, young thing."
"You replaced me first," Minseok points out.
"Yixing does not clean as well as you do," Lu Han admits.
"That's comforting," says Minseok. "Jongin's not as terrorizing as you were."
"That's a good thing, I think?" says Lu Han. "I heard fondness in there, Baozi, don't lie to me."
"Yeah, sure," says Minseok noncommitally. "Whatever you say." He smiles, and Lu Han returns it easily.
"Thanks for having me," says Lu Han, earnestly.
Minseok's smile doesn't falter. "Of course," he says affectionately. "Anything for a friend."
*
Minseok leaves Lu Han to get settled in, and after he takes a quick shower and changes, he fishes out his phone and calls home.
Yixing answers sleepily on the fourth ring, and Lu Han glances at the time, just to make sure he hadn't actually called in the middle of the night. It should be just past eight in the morning.
"Wake up, you ass," says Lu Han.
"I am awake," says Yixing. "Good morning? Good afternoon?"
"Evening," says Lu Han, because he can.
"Good evening, Lu Han," Yixing says, bemused. "How was your flight?"
"Fine," says Lu Han breezily. "How was practice?"
"Hell," Yixing answers cheerfully. "Zhou Mi wants me to do a quad instead of the triple toe loop."
"Showy," Lu Han comments. "Judges will love it."
"Yep," agrees Yixing. "If I could stop falling enough to do it."
"Jiayou," Lu Han says seriously.
"Just wait until you get back," says Yixing. "I bet he'll make you do it, too."
Lu Han smiles.
"How's the stomach?" he asks, and Yixing snorts, derisive.
"Ulcerous," he says sardonically.
"How are the ulcers?"
"Hurt like a bitch," says Yixing. "How many points would the judges deduct if I threw up blood during my program?"
Lu Han's grip on his phone tightens. "Yixing," he says.
"I'm kidding," says Yixing. "It's not that bad. No worse than usual."
"Are you lying?" Lu Han asks. He can practically hear Yixing grimacing on the other end.
"No," says Yixing flatly. "Not that you'd believe me."
"I believe you," says Lu Han. "I believe that you're lying to me."
"Ah, well," Yixing hums, dripping in self-deprecation. "As long as the doctor believes me."
"Yixing," Lu Han says.
"Yes, Lu Han?"
He frowns as hard as he can, momentarily forgetting that Yixing can’t see him. With a heavy sigh, he cradles the phone to his ear and says, “Be careful.”
“Ah,” says Yixing, sounding smug enough that Lu Han forgets his concern and wants nothing more than to reach over the line and strangle him. “Are you worried? Don’t fret, Xiao Lu, you’ll get wrinkles.”
“You’re awful,” Lu Han informs him. “We’re not friends.”
“Of course not,” says Yixing calmly. “Now go back to your vacation. You’re supposed to be relaxing.”
“I am relaxed,” says Lu Han. “I’m so very relaxed.”
“Good for you,” says Yixing. “I’ll see you next month.”
“You can tell Zhou Mi how great I’m doing!” he shouts, just as Yixing hangs up on him. He huffs angrily and hits redial, but Yixing ignores him.
I hate you. Lu Han furiously texts. I’m not getting you anything.
Good, Yixing writes back. Tell Yifan and Zitao I said hi when you see them! and wish Zitao well for me.
*
Jongin in real life, Lu Han quickly realizes, is nothing like his competitive self. The world of figure skating is small and incestuous, and Lu Han’s known of Jongin since the boy’s first Junior Worlds win. He was all anyone could talk about, and Lu Han hadn’t heard that much chatter about an up-and-comer since his own reign on the Juniors circuit.
The Jongin on ice, is an ethereal being, gliding about the ice with an unparalleled grace. It hurts to watch, honestly, and Lu Han would be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn’t envious. Jongin exudes talent and focus and passion; his programs are heartwrenchingly effortless, his skill far more advanced than Lu Han would like to acknowledge, but it’s the emotion that Jongin pours into his skating that no one his age can rival. It’s so achingly beautiful that it physically pains Lu Han to watch, and Lu Han kind of admires him for that. He’s the skater that everyone dreams of being, that Lu Han wishes he was.
But the Jongin in front of him, is nothing like that. This Jongin is shy and soft-spoken, and shields himself behind his stony-faced friend that Lu Han knows as Sehun.
“Huh,” says Lu Han, when Minseok makes formal introductions. “Interesting.”
“It’s really nice to meet you,” says Sehun, and Lu Han can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or if that’s just his default face. “We’re both big fans.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Lu Han says neutrally. “I’ve seen you skate,” he continues, looking from Sehun to Jongin. Jongin ducks his head. “You have a lot of potential.”
Jongin flushes a little, while Sehun nods solemnly. “We have morning practice tomorrow,” says Sehun. “Would you like to come?”
He doesn’t even flinch when Jongin elbows him in the ribs. Lu Han is a little bit impressed.
“Lu Han-hyung is here on vacation,” Jongin says. “Why would you invite him to morning practice when he can be resting?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Lu Han laughs. “I’m used to it. I’d love to come, as long as Minseok’s okay with it?”
Minseok shrugs. “I leave at 4 am,” he says. “With or without you.”
Sehun smiles, and Lu Han is rather charmed. He knows of Sehun, but not quite on the same level he knows of Jongin. Sehun isn’t much of a performer; not to say that he doesn’t skate well because he does, but from what Lu Han recalls, he only skated the necessary qualifiers for this year’s Junior Worlds and placed a comfortable third.
He’s certainly got talent, and he seems to like it well enough to have trained for so many years, but Lu Han gets the sense that Sehun isn’t quite ready to give up his life for the sport. He might even love skating, but he won’t ever love it like Jongin so clearly does.
Jongin is looking at him uncertainly, and Lu Han smiles for him, kind and gentle. “Is it okay?” he asks belatedly. “I understand if you don’t want any distractions while you practice.”
“No,” says Jongin quickly, flushing to the tips of his ears. Lu Han is overcome with the strongest urge to pet him. “No, no, it’s fine. I mean, I’d really like that. For you to come.”
“Okay,” says Lu Han. “Then I’ll come.”
Jongin beams at him.
*
“It’s like, 9 pm in Beijing,” Lu Han grumbles as he clambers into the front seat of Minseok’s car, yawning widely around his wonderfully full traveler’s cup of coffee. “It’s bedtime.”
“It’s 4 am in Vancouver,” says Minseok, turning over the engine as Jongin sleepily buckles himself in in the backseat.
“Travesty,” says Lu Han.
“You wanted to come,” says Minseok. “Maybe if you’re good, Henry will let you practice for a bit.”
“Is that supposed to tempt me,” Lu Han snarks back, but his mood lifts a little at the thought of getting on the ice again.
“I said ‘maybe,’” Minseok repeats, but he’s smiling all the same. “Jongin-ah, call Joonmyun. See if he’s got Sehun up yet.”
*
After a quick stop to pick up a bright and cheery Joonmyun and a as-dead-as-Luhan-feels Sehun, Minseok ferries them over to the rink. Lu Han looks around. “Where’s Henry?” he asks.
“Probably just getting out of bed,” says Minseok.
“He’ll be here by 6:30,” Joonmyun adds helpfully. “Start your warm-ups,” he says, turning to Jongin and Sehun. “And do your best so Lu Han isn’t disappointed.”
“Yes sir,” murmurs Sehun, while Jongin bows his head in acknowledgement.
“This feels strange,” Lu Han comments, cocking his head to the side as he watches their retreating backs. “It’s like watching a younger me. Two younger me’s.”
“It is kind of weird,” Joonmyun agrees. “You’re practically identical.”
“I don’t know,” says Lu Han. “I think Jongin might be better than I was.”
“Wow,” says Minseok. “Hold on, can you say that again? I need to record this.”
Lu Han kicks him. “He’s good,” says Lu Han. “Everyone can see it.”
“He is,” Joonmyun agrees. “But I was talking about Sehun. You two are very alike.”
Lu Han frowns and waits for him to continue.
“You’re both a little lost,” Joonmyun explains, eyeing Lu Han as if he expects him to disagree. “A little insecure.”
“I’m not insecure,” Lu Han protests. “I know exactly how good I am.”
“You’re right,” says Minseok, pulling out his phone. “You’re nothing alike. At least, Sehun is humble.”
“I’m a guest, you know,” huffs Lu Han. “You can at least treat me like one.”
“You’re not a guest,” says Minseok. “You’re my ward, sent by overnight express from Zhou Mi.”
“Whatever, I don’t care,” says Lu Han mulishly. “When is Henry going to get here, I want to skate, too.”
“Lu Han,” says Joonmyun exasperatedly. “You’re supposed to be resting. Your ankle is still healing, and where are your crutches? Aren’t you supposed to be staying off your injury?”
“How did you know about my ankle?” asks Lu Han, a little petulant. He turns to Minseok.
“The same way we all I know about it,” says Minseok. “Zhou Mi told us.”
“Zhou Mi isn’t here,” Lu Han points out. “What he doesn’t know won’t--hey, Baozi, are you even listening?” He leans into Minseok’s space, peering down at the phone expectantly, and glowers. “What the fuck,” he hisses. “Are you playing Angry Birds?”
*
Lu Han stubbornly refuses to talk to Minseok or Joonmyun until Henry arrives. He loves them both and respects them as fellow skaters, but he’s a little hurt that neither of them are taking his concerns about his lack of training seriously. He’s especially disappointed that Joonmyun, who’s on a voluntary hiatus after his win at Worlds the previous year, is not even trying to indulge him a little.
Minseok is a lost cause because Minseok had lived with Lu Han for all the years he trained in Seoul, and has therefore, built an immunity to listening to Lu Han unless he has to. Joonmyun, on the other hand, should know how Lu Han feels. Joonmyun had placed second at every World championship since he was eligible to compete; he should know the importance of practice and how the difference between silver and gold was a hundredth of a point. Being the best means being perfect, and Lu Han can’t afford to fall behind. Not now, not when the Games start in less than six months.
“Your mentor is a dick,” Lu Han says meanly as Sehun skates by.
“Huh?” says Sehun, looking confused.
Lu Han sighs. “Nevermind, I didn’t say anything. Sorry, keep practicing. You need to focus if you want to make a good impression at the Games.”
“Oh,” says Sehun with a shrug. “That’s okay. I’m not going.”
Lu Han blinks, taken aback. “You aren’t competing at the Olympics?”
Sehun shakes his head. “No,” he says. Lu Han frowns a little at the bitterness in his voice. “I’m too young.”
“Well, that’s a waste,” says Lu Han honestly. Perhaps he’d been too quick to judge. He could see the discipline in the surety of Sehun’s posture and the lines of his form. Even if his face was rather blank, there was little doubt now in Lu Han’s mind that Sehun lived for the ice. “You’re really good.”
Sehun smiles, appreciative. “Thank you,” he says softly.
“Keep practicing hard, Sehun,” says Joonmyun encouragingly, stepping out from behind Lu Han. “I want to see you at Sochi. You won’t have age as an excuse then.”
“Yeah,” says Sehun, but his spirits seem a little higher than where they started, and he gives Lu Han a little wave as he heads back to the other end of the rink.
“He’s kind of cute,” Lu Han comments, waving back. “His expressiveness could use some work, but he’s cute. I like him.”
“I told you,” says Joonmyun mildly. “He’s just like you.”
Lu Han waggles his eyebrows. “You think I’m cute?”
Joonmyun smiles. “I think you need someone to tell you you’re doing well every now and then, or you lose faith in yourself.”
“No one’s going to tell me I’m doing well if I don’t practice,” Lu Han says.
Joonmyun shakes his head. “Lu Han,” he says. “You have to take it easy. We’re trying to help, but the more you fight us, the longer it’s going to take.”
“I’m fine,” Lu Han insists, but Joonmyun merely shakes his head again.
“Why don’t we wait for Henry,” Joonmyun suggests.
“Let’s,” agrees Lu Han. Henry is much less flighty than his own Zhou Mi. Henry will see sense.
*
Henry does not let Lu Han practice.
Lu Han throws his hands up in defeat. “Who cares what Zhou Mi says,” he half-yells. “It’s not a big deal! I’m fine! I am walking because I can, because my ankle does not hurt, and for fuck’s sake, the doctor said I was fine!” Would be fine. So long as Lu Han stayed off it for a month.
Minseok and Joonmyun turn to Henry who shakes his head. “Can’t, Lu Han,” he says apologetically. “I know you’re worried, but you’re going to be fine. Just focus on recovering.”
“What is the point,” Lu Han grumbles, crossing his arms across his chest childishly. “Of going on vacation if I can’t do what I want?”
“Don’t think of it as vacation,” suggests Henry. “It’s more like, mandated bedrest.”
“Urgh,” says Lu Han in frustration. “Your students have been falling up and down the rink, at least let me show them how it’s done.”
“Nah,” says Henry. “It builds character. But thanks for the offer. Ask again when Zhou Mi gives the all clear.”
“Fuck,” says Lu Han, with feeling. “I hate you all.”
*
Lu Han spends the rest of the week sullenly puttering about Minseok’s house, scrubbing the place spotless with a vengeance.
“Just wait,” Lu Han tells a concerned Jongin. “You’ll be like this one day.”
“Um,” says Jongin, looking slightly terrified.
“Don’t listen to him,” says Minseok from the sofa, forever engrossed with feeding his angry birds. “He’s having a crisis.”
“This isn’t a crisis,” says Lu Han. “2007. 2007 was a crisis.”
Jongin glances nervously at Minseok.
“He broke his foot,” Minseok explains. “Had to sit out the season.”
“But you came back,” says Jongin.
“Of course I did,” Lu Han sniffs, running the head of the vacuum over the carpet in precise, even lines. “Everybody loves a great comeback.”
“Did you--” Jongin gestures at the spot where Lu Han is currently crouched over, sleeves rolled over his elbows.
“He bitched for the whole time he had to wear a cast, and then some,” says Minseok. “It’s amazing Kyuhyun didn’t kill him.”
“I couldn’t practice for three whole months,” says Lu Han. “I wasn’t even allowed to walk.”
“He’s being dramatic,” says Minseok. “He was fine.”
“I placed fifth at Cup of Russia,” says Lu Han, scowling at the memory. “I couldn’t pull off my triple axels.”
“Uh,” says Minseok. “Yeah, because you insisted on performing with the stomach flu. It’s a miracle you finished your programs at all.”
“What I’m saying,” Lu Han says loudly. “Is that you can never be too prepared. There’s no such thing as too much practice.”
Minseok shakes his head and doesn’t bother trying to argue.
“For what it’s worth,” says Jongin suddenly. “I think you’re really great. You shouldn’t worry so much about the Olympics, just focus on getting better.”
He smiles brightly, and Lu Han returns it, taken aback. “Thanks,” he says, for lack of anything better to say.
“Good job, Jongin,” says Minseok, impressed. “You got him to shut up.”
*
Yifan drops by with Zitao on day 15 of Lu Han’s confinement.
“You look well,” says Yifan.
“You look like shit,” says Zitao, hobbling in on his crutches. “Have you even been trying to rest?”
“No,” says Minseok, before Lu Han can answer. “He’s been about as terrible as you can imagine, but he has been taking Jongin and Sehun out bubble tea, if that counts in his favor.”
“Er,” says Yifan, furrowing his brow. “Sure.”
“Of course not,” sighs Zitao. “Because he’s probably been trying to bribe them into letting him sneak to the rink while you’re all distracted or something.”
“I have not!” exclaims Lu Han, affronted, even though that’s exactly what he’s been doing. Not that it matters, Sehun and Jongin are horribly loyal.
Zitao squints at him.
“How’s your leg,” says Lu Han, changing the subject deftly. Zitao makes a face.
“Getting there,” he says. “Better than where I started, but not yet where I need to be.”
“I can relate,” says Lu Han meaningfully.
Zitao smirks. “Can you, really? Did your blades also embed themselves into your thigh and cut your bone?”
Lu Han falters. “Okay,” he relents. “Maybe I can’t, but I am sympathetic. Yixing wishes you well, too.”
“That’s nice of him,” says Zitao with a lazy grin. “Ah, I can’t wait to go back to China and see everyone.”
“Can’t wait to go back to China and be spoiled to death, you mean,” Lu Han deadpans. Yifan laughs and Zitao shrugs unapologetically.
“Let them pamper me while they still remember,” says Zitao. “I deserve it.”
Zitao, on a trial run with the rest of the Chinese speed-skating team, had taken a turn too sharply and crashed. Crashes, Lu Han knows, are not uncommon in speed-skating, but Zitao had landed badly, the blade of his right skate slicing cleanly into his left leg, cutting straight through muscle and narrowly missing an artery.
Fifty-six stitches and months of painful rehab later, Zitao is looking much better than when he’d left Beijing to work with a specialist here in Vancouver. Lu Han remembers trying to help him with his exercises, and how his eyes had been wet from the pain of muscles that would not bend.
“I’m glad you’re better,” says Lu Han, ruffling his hair fondly. “You really scared us back there.”
“Ge,” says Zitao disapprovingly. “You know you’re scaring us, too, right? Your coach had to send you across an ocean to make sure you didn’t aggravate a minor injury. Meanwhile, I am resting as I should, and I am exercising under the supervision of a physical therapist who specializes in severe muscle injuries. I will go to the Olympic trials in two months, and I will make the team. I may not medal, but I will race. I will go to the Games,” he says, full of a confidence Lu Han wishes he had for himself. “And so will you, Lu Han. You will go to the Games, just as Yixing will, and we will walk behind Duizhang at the opening ceremonies and laugh at how surreal it all feels.”
He eyes Lu Han critically, and Lu Han shifts, uncomfortably self-conscious.
“Don’t say things like that,” Lu Han mutters.
“Why,” says Zitao. “Because I’ll jinx it?”
“Something like that,” Lu Han grudgingly admits.
“We want you to get better, too, Lu Han,” says Yifan sincerely. “It’s for your own good. Think about it, would you rather just rest for a month, or get back to training and have your ankle give out on you? Zhou Mi says you were lucky, that it could have been worse. Don’t make decisions you can’t take back.”
Lu Han looks down, away from their prying gazes. “I--” begins Lu Han. “I just want to win,” he says in a small voice. “Fuck,” he says, burying his face in his hands. “I just want that goddamn medal. Is that so much to ask?”
“We know,” says Minseok, not unkindly. “We want you to win, too, so just let us help you. Stop trying to do everything yourself, and let us take care of you. You’re going to be fine, Xiao Lu. Just trust us.”
Lu Han takes a deep breath, and he knows they’re right. He’s known it ever since he took that tumble in practice in Beijing, known it since before Zhou Mi had rushed to his side, face white as he pressed around Lu Han’s ankle until Lu Han hissed in pain.
He knows he’s lucky. There are things far worse than a strained ligament, but the idea of not getting to the Olympics, of not even having a chance to win gold, terrifies him more than he wants to admit. Lu Han, who has spent his entire life on the rink, doesn’t know any life other than the one on the ice. He can’t even imagine anything else.
He looks from Minseok, his oldest friend, to Yifan to Zitao, and closes his eyes.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay. I trust you.”
For: mochinim
Pairing: Gen, Lu Han/everyone
Rating: PG-13
Length: 5161
Summary: Six months before the 2010 Winter Olympics, Lu Han is sent to Vancouver on a forced vacation and learns that he’s not quite as put together as he’d like everyone to think.
Lu Han frowns at the bright Vancouver skyline as the plane glides smoothly onto the tarmac. It’s sunny, and he can already feel the warmth of the air in the cool, temperature-controlled space of the aircraft. He supposes it’s not that different from Beijing, but as much as he doesn’t want to be in Beijing, he doesn’t really want to be here either. He hasn’t decided which one he doesn’t want to be in more.
The man in the seat beside him blinks awake blearily, trying to wipe away the drool that’s pooled around his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Lu Han thinks about offering him one of the towelettes the stewardess had left behind, but doesn’t.
The noise of the engines rumble in his eardrums as the plane taxis towards its assigned gate. The cabin slowly fills with chatter, and many shift around in their seat, drifting back to the waking world and arching their backs and doing some odd stretching movements that probably do nothing to ease away the aches and pains of a long flight.
Lu Han sighs inwardly and braces himself for the weeks ahead. Twenty-six days is a long time, and Lu Han has never been good with patience.
*
Vancouver is alive with the anticipation of the Olympics, as if life is suddenly more interesting with the prospect of hundreds of athletes and tens of thousands of spectators in its wake. For Lu Han, Vancouver is just another city, another point on a map that he can’t be bothered to read. The training arena in Beijing is the only place Lu Han cares for, and any time spent away from the ice, away from drills and triple lutzes is time lost.
Lu Han’s not sixteen anymore. He can’t rely on young, reckless talent to get him a spot on the podium. He’s just shy of twenty, and there are already whispered rumors of retirement. The title of three-time Junior World Champion means nothing if he can’t keep winning. Medals aren’t given freely, and year after year, the new debuts only come out stronger and better and more vicious than before.
It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and there’s plenty to fight over, be it trophies or sponsorships or trainers. Lu Han doesn’t regret the choices he’s made, but sometimes, when he lies awake in the room he shares with Yixing, just a bus ride away from the rink, he is sorry about the consequences, about the loneliness that sets in when he steps off the ice and walks towards the lockers, muscles sore and ears ringing from the sharp orders of his coach.
Lu Han sighs to himself as he retrieves his bag from the overhead bin and follows the crowd to the front of the plane and onto the jetbridge. He glances out a window and sees nothing but clear skies and the promise of plenty summer sun. It’s nothing like Beijing, and Lu Han can’t decide if that’s good or bad.
*
Minseok is waiting for him in the arrivals hall, cheeks round as ever and holding a sign that reads: ZUI HOU DE XIAO LU ♡! He isn’t even looking at Lu Han, but tapping away at his phone, scowling at the screen. Lu Han doesn’t remember him looking so well-rested, but he figures a normal life will do that to you; walk away from figure skating long enough and you learn how to live like a human being again.
He’s dressed casually in jeans and a plain t-shirt, and Lu Han can’t help but smile fondly as he approaches him. “Baozi,” he sings, grinning at the way Minseok’s shoulders stiffen and relax. “Your Chinese still sucks.”
“My Chinese is fine,” Minseok says without looking up. “I’m waiting for someone whose flight landed two hours ago.”
“I had to go through customs!” Lu Han protests. Minseok’s lip twitches, and he pockets his phone.
“Hello, Lu Han,” he says, and opens his arms wide for Lu Han to fall into, which Lu Han does without hesitation. Minseok is soft and warm, and he smells like sunshine and fabric softener and a short ride to a bed that Lu Han can’t wait to bury himself into.
“I’ve missed you,” Lu Han admits, sighing wistfully as Minseok leads them out of the airport and to the parking lot.
“I’ve missed your zhajiangmian,” says Minseok, grinning when Lu Han punches his shoulder. “How’s Beijing?”
“Smoggy,” Lu Han says truthfully. “With a chance of dust storms.”
“Delightful,” says Minseok. “And you? How are you?”
Lu Han frowns. The hand on the stop light across the street flashes at them to not cross. For a moment, Lu Han wants to walk ahead anyway because what does it matter, he’s got to get to the other side somehow.
“Lu Han?”
“Huh?”
“I said, how are you?”
“Oh,” says Lu Han. “I’m fine.” Minseok eyes him warily, expression unreadable, and doesn’t say anything.
The light turns green, and they spend the rest of the walk to the car in silence.
*
The drive to Minseok's house takes them past the Olympic village, most of it still fenced off, bearing large signs that proudly advertise the construction company with a phone number to call should anyone be impressed enough to want their own Olympic dome.
"This whole thing's going to cost like $2 billion," Minseok says, doing a terrible job of hiding a derisive snort. "$2 billion dollars. Can you believe that?"
"There better be some great ice," Lu Han quips. "I heard they're going to be using the GM stadium?"
"Oh, they are. They spent like $2 million upgrading it," says Minseok. "But it's only for hockey. You'll be at the Pacific Coliseum."
Lu Han makes a face. "Who cares about hockey," he mutters under his breath.
"Hey, watch your mouth," says Minseok with an unapologetic grin. "You're in Canada now."
"I'm not Canadian," Lu Han points out.
"You're an uncultured vagrant," says Minseok. "Canada doesn't want you anyway."
Lu Han grins. He'd forgotten how easy it was to get along with Minseok--Minseok, who's retired from competitive skating, who looks at Lu Han and sees a person and not his weaknesses, who reminds Lu Han of starless nights in Seoul and dizzying camel spins that defy time and space and all the laws of physics.
Minseok is a choreographer now, and his knee slows him down when the weather gets cold. Turin had been his prime, his crowning achievement, and Lu Han still remembers seeing him at the medal ceremony, how he'd held his silver medal high and beamed at the crowd, the new pride and joy of Korea.
Because competitive skating is a horribly fickle thing, he'd blown out his knee during a practice session, not a year later. Lu Han hadn't been there, already having left Seoul for Beijing, but he'd heard about it from Yixing who read about it online and from Zhou Mi, who heard it directly from Minseok's coach.
Minseok has never said anything, and Lu Han's never asked. It's almost too frightening to think about a promising career being cut short because of a bad landing. It's just so realistically cruel that Lu Han doesn't like to dwell on it, preferring the story of early retirement and choosing to focus on other interests.
He knows that he can't do this forever. He's had his share of injuries--they all have; it's unavoidable in this sport--and one day, his body is going to give up. Out of exhaustion or age or maybe even pure spite, Lu Han doesn't know which, but he knows it will happen, knows it as surely as he knows the deafening silence of his Beijing rink at five in the morning, the unearthly quiet punctuated only by the blades of his skates cutting across the ice. He just wants to go out on his terms, preferably on the podium, gold medal between his teeth, and the Chinese national anthem urging him to qi lai, qi lai!
He wants to go at the height of glory while the whole world watches. He wants them to want him, and he wants to smile at the cameras and tell them, you can't have me.
He wants a choice. He wants to choose, like Yixing chooses to continue to push on, even though the strain of the sport may actually kill him.
"Lu Han?"
"Huh?" Lu Han starts, blinking rapidly. They've stopped in what Lu Han belatedly realizes is the driveway of Minseok's house, and Minseok is watching him with an expression that says this isn't the first attempt to get his attention.
"Are you okay?" Minseok asks, tapping the steering wheel with his thumb.
"Yeah," replies Lu Han automatically. "Sorry, I'm just tired."
"Okay," Minseok says, like he doesn't believe him. Lu Han frowns. "We're here anyway. And Lu Han?"
"Hm?"
Minseok watches him for a moment, face blank before smiling slightly. "I hope you enjoy yourself while you're here."
*
Minseok's house is modest and cozy. It's simple and clean, and Lu Han smiles, remembering their shared apartment in Seoul. "I like it," he says, looking around. "It's very you."
"Thanks," says Minseok dryly. "That means a lot, coming from you."
"Hey," says Lu Han. "I'm serious."
"Oh," says Minseok. "Then, that seriously means a lot, coming from you."
"You're an ass," Lu Han tells him, and Minseok shrugs.
"I'm housing you," he says. "I can be whatever I want."
That is rather true so Lu Han wisely does not say any more and follows him obediently to the back of the house. "That's Jongin's room," says Minseok, pointing to the bedroom across from Lu Han's. "He's still at school, but he'll be back soon."
"Ah," says Lu Han. "I forgot you replaced me with a new, young thing."
"You replaced me first," Minseok points out.
"Yixing does not clean as well as you do," Lu Han admits.
"That's comforting," says Minseok. "Jongin's not as terrorizing as you were."
"That's a good thing, I think?" says Lu Han. "I heard fondness in there, Baozi, don't lie to me."
"Yeah, sure," says Minseok noncommitally. "Whatever you say." He smiles, and Lu Han returns it easily.
"Thanks for having me," says Lu Han, earnestly.
Minseok's smile doesn't falter. "Of course," he says affectionately. "Anything for a friend."
*
Minseok leaves Lu Han to get settled in, and after he takes a quick shower and changes, he fishes out his phone and calls home.
Yixing answers sleepily on the fourth ring, and Lu Han glances at the time, just to make sure he hadn't actually called in the middle of the night. It should be just past eight in the morning.
"Wake up, you ass," says Lu Han.
"I am awake," says Yixing. "Good morning? Good afternoon?"
"Evening," says Lu Han, because he can.
"Good evening, Lu Han," Yixing says, bemused. "How was your flight?"
"Fine," says Lu Han breezily. "How was practice?"
"Hell," Yixing answers cheerfully. "Zhou Mi wants me to do a quad instead of the triple toe loop."
"Showy," Lu Han comments. "Judges will love it."
"Yep," agrees Yixing. "If I could stop falling enough to do it."
"Jiayou," Lu Han says seriously.
"Just wait until you get back," says Yixing. "I bet he'll make you do it, too."
Lu Han smiles.
"How's the stomach?" he asks, and Yixing snorts, derisive.
"Ulcerous," he says sardonically.
"How are the ulcers?"
"Hurt like a bitch," says Yixing. "How many points would the judges deduct if I threw up blood during my program?"
Lu Han's grip on his phone tightens. "Yixing," he says.
"I'm kidding," says Yixing. "It's not that bad. No worse than usual."
"Are you lying?" Lu Han asks. He can practically hear Yixing grimacing on the other end.
"No," says Yixing flatly. "Not that you'd believe me."
"I believe you," says Lu Han. "I believe that you're lying to me."
"Ah, well," Yixing hums, dripping in self-deprecation. "As long as the doctor believes me."
"Yixing," Lu Han says.
"Yes, Lu Han?"
He frowns as hard as he can, momentarily forgetting that Yixing can’t see him. With a heavy sigh, he cradles the phone to his ear and says, “Be careful.”
“Ah,” says Yixing, sounding smug enough that Lu Han forgets his concern and wants nothing more than to reach over the line and strangle him. “Are you worried? Don’t fret, Xiao Lu, you’ll get wrinkles.”
“You’re awful,” Lu Han informs him. “We’re not friends.”
“Of course not,” says Yixing calmly. “Now go back to your vacation. You’re supposed to be relaxing.”
“I am relaxed,” says Lu Han. “I’m so very relaxed.”
“Good for you,” says Yixing. “I’ll see you next month.”
“You can tell Zhou Mi how great I’m doing!” he shouts, just as Yixing hangs up on him. He huffs angrily and hits redial, but Yixing ignores him.
I hate you. Lu Han furiously texts. I’m not getting you anything.
Good, Yixing writes back. Tell Yifan and Zitao I said hi when you see them! and wish Zitao well for me.
*
Jongin in real life, Lu Han quickly realizes, is nothing like his competitive self. The world of figure skating is small and incestuous, and Lu Han’s known of Jongin since the boy’s first Junior Worlds win. He was all anyone could talk about, and Lu Han hadn’t heard that much chatter about an up-and-comer since his own reign on the Juniors circuit.
The Jongin on ice, is an ethereal being, gliding about the ice with an unparalleled grace. It hurts to watch, honestly, and Lu Han would be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn’t envious. Jongin exudes talent and focus and passion; his programs are heartwrenchingly effortless, his skill far more advanced than Lu Han would like to acknowledge, but it’s the emotion that Jongin pours into his skating that no one his age can rival. It’s so achingly beautiful that it physically pains Lu Han to watch, and Lu Han kind of admires him for that. He’s the skater that everyone dreams of being, that Lu Han wishes he was.
But the Jongin in front of him, is nothing like that. This Jongin is shy and soft-spoken, and shields himself behind his stony-faced friend that Lu Han knows as Sehun.
“Huh,” says Lu Han, when Minseok makes formal introductions. “Interesting.”
“It’s really nice to meet you,” says Sehun, and Lu Han can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or if that’s just his default face. “We’re both big fans.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Lu Han says neutrally. “I’ve seen you skate,” he continues, looking from Sehun to Jongin. Jongin ducks his head. “You have a lot of potential.”
Jongin flushes a little, while Sehun nods solemnly. “We have morning practice tomorrow,” says Sehun. “Would you like to come?”
He doesn’t even flinch when Jongin elbows him in the ribs. Lu Han is a little bit impressed.
“Lu Han-hyung is here on vacation,” Jongin says. “Why would you invite him to morning practice when he can be resting?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Lu Han laughs. “I’m used to it. I’d love to come, as long as Minseok’s okay with it?”
Minseok shrugs. “I leave at 4 am,” he says. “With or without you.”
Sehun smiles, and Lu Han is rather charmed. He knows of Sehun, but not quite on the same level he knows of Jongin. Sehun isn’t much of a performer; not to say that he doesn’t skate well because he does, but from what Lu Han recalls, he only skated the necessary qualifiers for this year’s Junior Worlds and placed a comfortable third.
He’s certainly got talent, and he seems to like it well enough to have trained for so many years, but Lu Han gets the sense that Sehun isn’t quite ready to give up his life for the sport. He might even love skating, but he won’t ever love it like Jongin so clearly does.
Jongin is looking at him uncertainly, and Lu Han smiles for him, kind and gentle. “Is it okay?” he asks belatedly. “I understand if you don’t want any distractions while you practice.”
“No,” says Jongin quickly, flushing to the tips of his ears. Lu Han is overcome with the strongest urge to pet him. “No, no, it’s fine. I mean, I’d really like that. For you to come.”
“Okay,” says Lu Han. “Then I’ll come.”
Jongin beams at him.
*
“It’s like, 9 pm in Beijing,” Lu Han grumbles as he clambers into the front seat of Minseok’s car, yawning widely around his wonderfully full traveler’s cup of coffee. “It’s bedtime.”
“It’s 4 am in Vancouver,” says Minseok, turning over the engine as Jongin sleepily buckles himself in in the backseat.
“Travesty,” says Lu Han.
“You wanted to come,” says Minseok. “Maybe if you’re good, Henry will let you practice for a bit.”
“Is that supposed to tempt me,” Lu Han snarks back, but his mood lifts a little at the thought of getting on the ice again.
“I said ‘maybe,’” Minseok repeats, but he’s smiling all the same. “Jongin-ah, call Joonmyun. See if he’s got Sehun up yet.”
*
After a quick stop to pick up a bright and cheery Joonmyun and a as-dead-as-Luhan-feels Sehun, Minseok ferries them over to the rink. Lu Han looks around. “Where’s Henry?” he asks.
“Probably just getting out of bed,” says Minseok.
“He’ll be here by 6:30,” Joonmyun adds helpfully. “Start your warm-ups,” he says, turning to Jongin and Sehun. “And do your best so Lu Han isn’t disappointed.”
“Yes sir,” murmurs Sehun, while Jongin bows his head in acknowledgement.
“This feels strange,” Lu Han comments, cocking his head to the side as he watches their retreating backs. “It’s like watching a younger me. Two younger me’s.”
“It is kind of weird,” Joonmyun agrees. “You’re practically identical.”
“I don’t know,” says Lu Han. “I think Jongin might be better than I was.”
“Wow,” says Minseok. “Hold on, can you say that again? I need to record this.”
Lu Han kicks him. “He’s good,” says Lu Han. “Everyone can see it.”
“He is,” Joonmyun agrees. “But I was talking about Sehun. You two are very alike.”
Lu Han frowns and waits for him to continue.
“You’re both a little lost,” Joonmyun explains, eyeing Lu Han as if he expects him to disagree. “A little insecure.”
“I’m not insecure,” Lu Han protests. “I know exactly how good I am.”
“You’re right,” says Minseok, pulling out his phone. “You’re nothing alike. At least, Sehun is humble.”
“I’m a guest, you know,” huffs Lu Han. “You can at least treat me like one.”
“You’re not a guest,” says Minseok. “You’re my ward, sent by overnight express from Zhou Mi.”
“Whatever, I don’t care,” says Lu Han mulishly. “When is Henry going to get here, I want to skate, too.”
“Lu Han,” says Joonmyun exasperatedly. “You’re supposed to be resting. Your ankle is still healing, and where are your crutches? Aren’t you supposed to be staying off your injury?”
“How did you know about my ankle?” asks Lu Han, a little petulant. He turns to Minseok.
“The same way we all I know about it,” says Minseok. “Zhou Mi told us.”
“Zhou Mi isn’t here,” Lu Han points out. “What he doesn’t know won’t--hey, Baozi, are you even listening?” He leans into Minseok’s space, peering down at the phone expectantly, and glowers. “What the fuck,” he hisses. “Are you playing Angry Birds?”
*
Lu Han stubbornly refuses to talk to Minseok or Joonmyun until Henry arrives. He loves them both and respects them as fellow skaters, but he’s a little hurt that neither of them are taking his concerns about his lack of training seriously. He’s especially disappointed that Joonmyun, who’s on a voluntary hiatus after his win at Worlds the previous year, is not even trying to indulge him a little.
Minseok is a lost cause because Minseok had lived with Lu Han for all the years he trained in Seoul, and has therefore, built an immunity to listening to Lu Han unless he has to. Joonmyun, on the other hand, should know how Lu Han feels. Joonmyun had placed second at every World championship since he was eligible to compete; he should know the importance of practice and how the difference between silver and gold was a hundredth of a point. Being the best means being perfect, and Lu Han can’t afford to fall behind. Not now, not when the Games start in less than six months.
“Your mentor is a dick,” Lu Han says meanly as Sehun skates by.
“Huh?” says Sehun, looking confused.
Lu Han sighs. “Nevermind, I didn’t say anything. Sorry, keep practicing. You need to focus if you want to make a good impression at the Games.”
“Oh,” says Sehun with a shrug. “That’s okay. I’m not going.”
Lu Han blinks, taken aback. “You aren’t competing at the Olympics?”
Sehun shakes his head. “No,” he says. Lu Han frowns a little at the bitterness in his voice. “I’m too young.”
“Well, that’s a waste,” says Lu Han honestly. Perhaps he’d been too quick to judge. He could see the discipline in the surety of Sehun’s posture and the lines of his form. Even if his face was rather blank, there was little doubt now in Lu Han’s mind that Sehun lived for the ice. “You’re really good.”
Sehun smiles, appreciative. “Thank you,” he says softly.
“Keep practicing hard, Sehun,” says Joonmyun encouragingly, stepping out from behind Lu Han. “I want to see you at Sochi. You won’t have age as an excuse then.”
“Yeah,” says Sehun, but his spirits seem a little higher than where they started, and he gives Lu Han a little wave as he heads back to the other end of the rink.
“He’s kind of cute,” Lu Han comments, waving back. “His expressiveness could use some work, but he’s cute. I like him.”
“I told you,” says Joonmyun mildly. “He’s just like you.”
Lu Han waggles his eyebrows. “You think I’m cute?”
Joonmyun smiles. “I think you need someone to tell you you’re doing well every now and then, or you lose faith in yourself.”
“No one’s going to tell me I’m doing well if I don’t practice,” Lu Han says.
Joonmyun shakes his head. “Lu Han,” he says. “You have to take it easy. We’re trying to help, but the more you fight us, the longer it’s going to take.”
“I’m fine,” Lu Han insists, but Joonmyun merely shakes his head again.
“Why don’t we wait for Henry,” Joonmyun suggests.
“Let’s,” agrees Lu Han. Henry is much less flighty than his own Zhou Mi. Henry will see sense.
*
Henry does not let Lu Han practice.
Lu Han throws his hands up in defeat. “Who cares what Zhou Mi says,” he half-yells. “It’s not a big deal! I’m fine! I am walking because I can, because my ankle does not hurt, and for fuck’s sake, the doctor said I was fine!” Would be fine. So long as Lu Han stayed off it for a month.
Minseok and Joonmyun turn to Henry who shakes his head. “Can’t, Lu Han,” he says apologetically. “I know you’re worried, but you’re going to be fine. Just focus on recovering.”
“What is the point,” Lu Han grumbles, crossing his arms across his chest childishly. “Of going on vacation if I can’t do what I want?”
“Don’t think of it as vacation,” suggests Henry. “It’s more like, mandated bedrest.”
“Urgh,” says Lu Han in frustration. “Your students have been falling up and down the rink, at least let me show them how it’s done.”
“Nah,” says Henry. “It builds character. But thanks for the offer. Ask again when Zhou Mi gives the all clear.”
“Fuck,” says Lu Han, with feeling. “I hate you all.”
*
Lu Han spends the rest of the week sullenly puttering about Minseok’s house, scrubbing the place spotless with a vengeance.
“Just wait,” Lu Han tells a concerned Jongin. “You’ll be like this one day.”
“Um,” says Jongin, looking slightly terrified.
“Don’t listen to him,” says Minseok from the sofa, forever engrossed with feeding his angry birds. “He’s having a crisis.”
“This isn’t a crisis,” says Lu Han. “2007. 2007 was a crisis.”
Jongin glances nervously at Minseok.
“He broke his foot,” Minseok explains. “Had to sit out the season.”
“But you came back,” says Jongin.
“Of course I did,” Lu Han sniffs, running the head of the vacuum over the carpet in precise, even lines. “Everybody loves a great comeback.”
“Did you--” Jongin gestures at the spot where Lu Han is currently crouched over, sleeves rolled over his elbows.
“He bitched for the whole time he had to wear a cast, and then some,” says Minseok. “It’s amazing Kyuhyun didn’t kill him.”
“I couldn’t practice for three whole months,” says Lu Han. “I wasn’t even allowed to walk.”
“He’s being dramatic,” says Minseok. “He was fine.”
“I placed fifth at Cup of Russia,” says Lu Han, scowling at the memory. “I couldn’t pull off my triple axels.”
“Uh,” says Minseok. “Yeah, because you insisted on performing with the stomach flu. It’s a miracle you finished your programs at all.”
“What I’m saying,” Lu Han says loudly. “Is that you can never be too prepared. There’s no such thing as too much practice.”
Minseok shakes his head and doesn’t bother trying to argue.
“For what it’s worth,” says Jongin suddenly. “I think you’re really great. You shouldn’t worry so much about the Olympics, just focus on getting better.”
He smiles brightly, and Lu Han returns it, taken aback. “Thanks,” he says, for lack of anything better to say.
“Good job, Jongin,” says Minseok, impressed. “You got him to shut up.”
*
Yifan drops by with Zitao on day 15 of Lu Han’s confinement.
“You look well,” says Yifan.
“You look like shit,” says Zitao, hobbling in on his crutches. “Have you even been trying to rest?”
“No,” says Minseok, before Lu Han can answer. “He’s been about as terrible as you can imagine, but he has been taking Jongin and Sehun out bubble tea, if that counts in his favor.”
“Er,” says Yifan, furrowing his brow. “Sure.”
“Of course not,” sighs Zitao. “Because he’s probably been trying to bribe them into letting him sneak to the rink while you’re all distracted or something.”
“I have not!” exclaims Lu Han, affronted, even though that’s exactly what he’s been doing. Not that it matters, Sehun and Jongin are horribly loyal.
Zitao squints at him.
“How’s your leg,” says Lu Han, changing the subject deftly. Zitao makes a face.
“Getting there,” he says. “Better than where I started, but not yet where I need to be.”
“I can relate,” says Lu Han meaningfully.
Zitao smirks. “Can you, really? Did your blades also embed themselves into your thigh and cut your bone?”
Lu Han falters. “Okay,” he relents. “Maybe I can’t, but I am sympathetic. Yixing wishes you well, too.”
“That’s nice of him,” says Zitao with a lazy grin. “Ah, I can’t wait to go back to China and see everyone.”
“Can’t wait to go back to China and be spoiled to death, you mean,” Lu Han deadpans. Yifan laughs and Zitao shrugs unapologetically.
“Let them pamper me while they still remember,” says Zitao. “I deserve it.”
Zitao, on a trial run with the rest of the Chinese speed-skating team, had taken a turn too sharply and crashed. Crashes, Lu Han knows, are not uncommon in speed-skating, but Zitao had landed badly, the blade of his right skate slicing cleanly into his left leg, cutting straight through muscle and narrowly missing an artery.
Fifty-six stitches and months of painful rehab later, Zitao is looking much better than when he’d left Beijing to work with a specialist here in Vancouver. Lu Han remembers trying to help him with his exercises, and how his eyes had been wet from the pain of muscles that would not bend.
“I’m glad you’re better,” says Lu Han, ruffling his hair fondly. “You really scared us back there.”
“Ge,” says Zitao disapprovingly. “You know you’re scaring us, too, right? Your coach had to send you across an ocean to make sure you didn’t aggravate a minor injury. Meanwhile, I am resting as I should, and I am exercising under the supervision of a physical therapist who specializes in severe muscle injuries. I will go to the Olympic trials in two months, and I will make the team. I may not medal, but I will race. I will go to the Games,” he says, full of a confidence Lu Han wishes he had for himself. “And so will you, Lu Han. You will go to the Games, just as Yixing will, and we will walk behind Duizhang at the opening ceremonies and laugh at how surreal it all feels.”
He eyes Lu Han critically, and Lu Han shifts, uncomfortably self-conscious.
“Don’t say things like that,” Lu Han mutters.
“Why,” says Zitao. “Because I’ll jinx it?”
“Something like that,” Lu Han grudgingly admits.
“We want you to get better, too, Lu Han,” says Yifan sincerely. “It’s for your own good. Think about it, would you rather just rest for a month, or get back to training and have your ankle give out on you? Zhou Mi says you were lucky, that it could have been worse. Don’t make decisions you can’t take back.”
Lu Han looks down, away from their prying gazes. “I--” begins Lu Han. “I just want to win,” he says in a small voice. “Fuck,” he says, burying his face in his hands. “I just want that goddamn medal. Is that so much to ask?”
“We know,” says Minseok, not unkindly. “We want you to win, too, so just let us help you. Stop trying to do everything yourself, and let us take care of you. You’re going to be fine, Xiao Lu. Just trust us.”
Lu Han takes a deep breath, and he knows they’re right. He’s known it ever since he took that tumble in practice in Beijing, known it since before Zhou Mi had rushed to his side, face white as he pressed around Lu Han’s ankle until Lu Han hissed in pain.
He knows he’s lucky. There are things far worse than a strained ligament, but the idea of not getting to the Olympics, of not even having a chance to win gold, terrifies him more than he wants to admit. Lu Han, who has spent his entire life on the rink, doesn’t know any life other than the one on the ice. He can’t even imagine anything else.
He looks from Minseok, his oldest friend, to Yifan to Zitao, and closes his eyes.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay. I trust you.”