fly me to the moon

The wind whips through Domen’s hair, tangling it into messy knots. He’s annoyed; he should have brought his hat. Peter keeps telling him that—especially since Domen is prone to earaches. But if there’s one thing Domen is good at, it’s not listening to other people, least of all his older brother. And now he’s in a real pickle.

The ski jumping hill is quiet at this time of day, after the competition has ended and most people are already on their way home or back to their hotels. This is exactly the time Domen likes to have to himself. No one nagging him, no questions from reporters. Just him, the ski jumping hill, and nature.

He hears footsteps behind him even before the person speaks.

“Enjoying the silence after the competition too?”

Ryoyou stands next to him, their arms almost brushing. Domen looks up at him. Ryoyou’s eyes are closed, his expression peaceful, completely relaxed. Domen rolls his eyes, even though he knows the Japanese man can’t see it.

“You mean I was enjoying it, until you showed up,” he mutters.

Ryoyou laughs softly, his breath visible in the cold evening air. “I just wanted to talk to you again. You’ve been ignoring my messages.”

He looks at Domen with a mildly reproachful expression, both eyebrows raised. Domen shrugs, his eyes flicking down to his shoes. Maintaining eye contact with Ryoyou still makes him more nervous than it should.

“There was nothing left to discuss,” Domen finally replies, once the silence becomes too heavy.

Ryoyou sighs, glancing around briefly before putting an arm around Domen’s shoulders. Domen lets it happen. He even leans a little closer, unconcerned about being seen. He’d never admit it out loud, but he’d missed Ryoyou. Missed him far more than he should have—especially after swearing to ignore him, to stay out of his way. That had worked out perfectly, of course.

“Don’t look so miserable,” Ryoyou murmurs, managing to coax a small smile out of him.

Domen is certain Ryoyou knows exactly why he’s acting this way. He shouldn’t pretend to be innocent.

“You were the one ignoring me all summer,” Domen says, maybe a bit too sharply.

Ryoyou’s arm tenses slightly but doesn’t pull away. “I know,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry.”

Domen blinks, thrown off by how sincere he sounds. Ryoyou takes a small step closer, his voice gentler than the wind that still whips around them.

“I handled everything badly. Ending things over text, disappearing… you didn’t deserve that.” Domen huffs, the cold burning in his chest more than the words do. “No, I didn’t.”

“I was scared,” Ryoyou admits. “Of you. Of what it felt like. Last winter, I thought it was just a fling. But then it wasn’t. And I panicked.”

Domen finally looks up. Ryoyou’s eyes are open now, warm brown meeting his own, and something in Domen’s stomach twists—not unpleasantly.

“So you ran away,” Domen says.

“Yes.”

Ryoyu hesitates, then adds, “But I’m here now. And I don’t want to run anymore.”

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The ski jumping hill looms quietly behind them, the snow below reflecting the faint lights from the village. It feels like the whole world is holding its breath.

Domen sighs, the last of his anger slipping out with the warm puff of air. “You can’t just expect everything to go back to how it was.”

“I don’t,” Ryoyou says. “I just want a chance to fix it.”

Domen studies him—really studies him. The nervous set of his mouth. The earnestness in his eyes. The tremble in his arm that’s still wrapped around Domen’s shoulders, as if he’s afraid Domen will pull away.

And maybe Domen should. Maybe he should protect himself.

But instead, he leans into the warmth of Ryoyou’s side.

“You get one chance,” he says quietly. “Don’t screw it up.”

Ryoyou’s breath catches, and for the first time tonight, he smiles—not a polite athlete’s smile for the cameras, but a real one, soft and relieved.

“I won’t,” he says. “I promise.”

The wind settles for a moment, as if granting them a brief reprieve. Domen rests his head lightly against Ryoyou’s shoulder, letting himself believe—just a little—that maybe this winter won’t be as cold as the last.