#jnjm

When you step onto the ice, you think it might really be over.

It’s Nationals, which means that this is your last chance to make it. To prove, to everyone in the figure skating community, that you still have what it takes.

The pressure is on, especially since your childhood friend, Sunghoon, is dubbed the favorite within the men's program. You surpassed all expectations and are coming off an incredibly strong short program, which makes you the last one to leave it all on the ice.

You cross one skate over the other, gliding toward center ice. You lift your arms as you hear your name announced over the speakers. Through your nerves, like you’ve done a hundred times before, you flash a bright smile at the crowd. The only face you somehow manage to catch is Sunghoon’s that’s nearly pressed up against the glass. The rest are a blur, but it gives you some comfort to know there’s at least one person still rooting for you out there.

The first half of your program is hands down your favorite, as it features enough technical difficulty while allowing you to lean into your artistry. You hit your jump combinations flawlessly and execute the elements just the way you want. For the first time in years, your competitive spirit is confident. Unhindered.

Your fire carries you through the first half, until you feel a familiar fatigue pulling at your right hip.

Leading up to this season, almost all skating forums, live commentators, and journalists always positioned your narrative over one central detail: the fact that this is your first season back on the ice after an almost career-ending hip tear.

That was enough reason for you to skip over articles and most social media commentary—reliving your surgery, post-op, and shaky comeback through the eyes of other spectators was too much. You remembered the heartache and depression that manifested when you were injured as an Olympic hopeful, and you’d be damned if you let skeptics drag you back into that mindset. You deserve to be here. You are here to prove that you deserve to move forward.

You grit your teeth, fighting through your spins and pushing into each jump. It’s working until you realize what’s next.

An element highly contested by yourself and your coach was your last jump combination: the double axel, double toe, single loop jump wedged into the second half of your program for maximum point potential. It’s something you’d struggled to execute in the past, but it was a stretch for your recovering body post-injury.

Your coach is probably off to the side praying that you opt for an easier version of this combination, but you decide to press on.

Watch me, you think as you take off. Your entire face scrunches with the effort, but it pays off. You hit the double axel, and the adrenaline rush carries your momentum to hit the double toe as well. As you’re continuing into the last jump, your hip muscles pinch in sharp pain. You flinch, and the falter causes you to underrotate the last jump completely and land on two feet. At this point, it’s a miracle that you don’t fully eat shit in the process.

The crowd gasps. You recover your bearings just enough to finish out the program with somewhat convincing artistry. Your hip burns at the scar site, the muscle underneath fatigued and tender. When the crowd applauds, you skate off to the kiss and cry, trying to keep a smile steady as you hug your coach.

“At least you left it all out there,” he says. That’s his way of saying Not perfect, but it might do.

You force a neutral expression on your face as the camera focuses on your reaction. It’ll be close, especially since a good amount of the women had skated clean. To podium, you need a score close to your season’s best, so the question is obvious: did your mistake ruin your chances?

You fidget with the pink bunny plush from your childhood in your usual kiss and cry tradition. The audience pauses in anticipation, and you feel like you’re going to vomit. Then, you hear your total score.

You’ve done it by two measly points. By the skin of your teeth, you’re making it to the podium. You cry in front of the cameras, too shocked to hold in the sobs heaving from your chest.

❅˚

In your daze and general shock at medaling, you’re hyped up into attending an afterparty before you even know it. It’s hosted by the main sponsor of today’s competition, and you typically never like to go to things like this. Of all people, it’s Sunghoon who ultimately convinces you to go.

“We should celebrate both of our comebacks,” he says with a smile. “Plus, only other skaters will be there.”

It’s enough to get you out the door in the black dress you’d managed to pack in your carry on just in case.

You’re regretting it an hour in as Sunghoon’s pulled into conversation after conversation. He’s always had the larger network between the two of you, which leaves you sipping your drink in the corner as you avoid dragging down his conversations.

You’re feeling buzzed when you feel a tap on your shoulder and hear a familiar voice speak your name.

Your jaw drops to the floor. “Jaemin?”

For the first time in a year, Na Jaemin stands in front of you. He wears a suit that’s a little too formal for this event, but it somehow makes him even more handsome than you remember.

“It’s me,” he laughs.

“I thought this was for skaters only.”

“Ouch,” he pretends to be hurt. “Are you saying I’m not a skater?”

You roll your eyes. “A skater that actually competed today, Jaemin.”

“I know some people. Come on,” he grins. “Are you really that unhappy to see me?”

Along with Sunghoon, you’d grown up attending the same rink as Jaemin. Your trio had been three peas in a pod throughout skating school; you’d even trained as an ice dance pair together for a year until Jaemin and his family decided to specialize him into speed skating. From then on, to your dismay, interactions with him had been few and far in between with your conflicting schedules. The distance only grew as you moved from juniors to then seniors in your respective disciplines.

If Sunghoon was like your brother, Jaemin was the schoolyard crush that never quite faded away. Sure, you’d dated some guys here and there over the years, but any whispers of Jaemin dating sent you scrolling on Instagram in full investigation mode. Considering that he was considered an athlete-turned-influencer with his own fan base, you saw these rumors often.

Even so, you try to play it cool by taking a long sip of your drink. “Of course I’m glad to see you, but when was the last time you even laced up your skates?”

“Ah,” Jaemin shoots you a bright smile, although you can see the nerves peek through his facade as he hesitates. “Well…last week?”

“Last week?” You raise an eyebrow. “As in…you’re thinking about coming back?”

“It’s a work in progress,” he says with a wink.

“Hmm.” Your heart beats wildly in your chest.

He seizes your sarcasm to change the subject. “You look like you’re fully back out there, though.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, you podiumed, which is more than something.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “you looked really good out there.”

The knowledge of Jaemin watching your near-disastrous free skate sends hot embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“My lead from the short program saved my ass. It would’ve looked better if this,” you point to your bad hip, “would behave the way I want it to.”

He frowns. “It’s not fully recovered?”

“It is, but it’s not. Since I spent so much time off, the muscles on my right are weaker than my left, which sucks since my right is my landing leg.” You force a smile. “The road to full-strength recovery is long.”

“As always, you need to be nicer to yourself,” he sighs. “At least you kept Mr. Hops to comfort you in the kiss and cry.”

Your face burns even hotter. “I didn’t think you would remember him.”

Mr. Hops had been Jaemin’s gift to you for your tenth birthday. You’d taken the pink plushie for your first serious competition as a junior, and you’d continued taking him well into adulthood as a good luck charm. Your hip tear had occurred during a competition where you’d left Mr. Hops sitting in your hotel room, which, in your eyes, verified your long-standing superstition.

“Of course I remember,” he smiles wide. “I’m just glad you’ve gotten a bunch of mileage out of him.”

If the earth could open under your feet and swallow you whole, now would be the time. Not only does your childhood crush remember your pink bunny’s name, but he also knows that you’ve been hauling it around everywhere for at least the past decade.

“Well,” you clear your throat. “I think Mr. Hops and his well-traveled wisdom at least reduces the odds of me having a full mental breakdown.”

“You really didn’t need to worry about anything,” he insists. “Out of everyone, I think you were the most bea–”

“Jaemin!” Sunghoon calls. His face is flushed and his breath carries the trace smell of alcohol. “Guys! Everyone wants to drink!!”

You look at Jaemin wildly for help, but he shrugs in a way that conveys what am I supposed to do about it?

You’re pulled into the main group of fellow skaters that are much too drunk; one look at the three of you together has them hollering and forcing drinks into your hands in the name of reunion. You’re not used to partying, and you’re sure as hell not used to being the center of attention among your peers. Even during your prime, you’d preferred to hang around only a couple close friends after any competition.

The spotlight puts you in a vulnerable position to accept any and all drinks. You stay much later than expected, even when Jaemin offers to help you make a quick exit. You’re the most drunk you’ve ever been, both on the physical drinks as well as the atmosphere. Once you're dancing on a table with someone who you think is Cha Jun-hwan, the night is long gone.

The next morning you wake up to banging on the door of your hotel room. Running to the entrance, you peek through the peephole first, which reveals the livid face of your PR manager, Mei.

“God!” Thunk. “Wake up, already!” Thunk thunk.

Mei isn’t the most level headed person, but, even for her, it’s way too early to be this aggressive. Whatever it is, it’s serious.

You take a deep breath, trying to will away the hangover pounding in your head as you swing the door open. “Hey, Mei–”

“Don’t hey me.” She growls. Mei stalks around your room, sticking her head into your bathroom and closet. She only hesitates when peeking around the corner toward your bed then exhales in relief.

“What on earth is going on?” You ask in bewilderment, and your gut twists. The first thing that crosses your mind is that there must be some sort of serious scandal—a failed test for a controlled substance, maybe. You don't know what else would warrant this level of panic.

“Did you have anyone over last night?”

The question catches you so off guard that you nearly trip over your own feet as you follow her erratic path around your room. “What? No!”

Mei searches behind the curtains and even bends down to look under your bed. “Just reminding you that, as your PR manager, it’s to both of our advantages if you’re forthright about any indiscretions…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” You shriek. You didn’t need to hear this from someone who’s known you since your teen years.

Finally registering your genuine confusion, she squints at you. “...I thought you were ignoring me, but have you really not checked your phone at all today?”

Numbness cascades down your nerves. Your phone currently sits charging on your nightstand. “No?”

Your manager shakes her head and fishes out her laptop from her bag, placing it on the hotel dining table. The display immediately brightens into a gossip article published an hour ago.

ICE ROYALTY TO PARTY ANIMALS: A WILD NIGHT FOR THE NATION’S SWEETHEARTS

Your heart sinks low into your chest as you scroll through the contents of the article. It’s you, alright, down to last night’s little black dress while arm-in-arm with both Sunghoon and Jaemin. It’s you, leaving the car disheveled and dangerously close to a wardrobe malfunction. It’s unfortunately you, previous child prodigy, downing shots and dancing on the front page of one of the most popular gossip sites.

Shit, you think. Sunghoon must be freaking out. Jaemin, too.

While both men had gathered the nickname of Ice Prince, it was for entirely different reasons. Sunghoon carried the name for his public aloofness, while Jaemin's persona fulfilled the image of charismatic royalty.

While you’d long accepted the unfair scrutiny of being labeled a “controversial” female athlete, both Sunghoon and Jaemin ruled their private lives with an iron fist. Every post and press release was curated and picked through in order to protect their squeaky clean Ice Prince images–especially with the rising cult following of girls.

And you had messed it all up in one night.

“Was it worth it?” Mei snaps. “Did you have fun? Because it sure looks like it.”

Opening the full slideshow, almost every attendee from last night has been captured. However, the most prominent features are still yourself, Jaemin, and Sunghoon.

Wordlessly, Mei pulls up multiple social media sites, where all commentary centers on the three of you. Most old skating fans remember your friendship as a trio, but many new ones—particularly Jaemin’s new legion of followers—fixate on your presence.

did he fly out just to see her? they’re so together y’all

that picture of her on both of their arms makes me sick THAT SHOULD BE ME

embarrassing that her boyfriend had to witness such a mid program, she should retire already

You nudge the laptop so that you can no longer read the words on the screen. “I was not aware of this.”

“I see.” Mei thinks before gathering all of her things back into her bag. “Take some time to process this. Don’t make any statements to anyone yet. If you’re smart, you’ll turn off your social media notifications. We’ll talk.”

“Okay.” You’ve learned not to question her. She’s gotten you out of enough sticky situations. “I’m sorry, Mei.”

“This is just the beginning, kid,” Mei shoots you a pitying smile as she lets herself out. “Just get yourself ready for the storm that’s coming.”

❅˚

Mei gives you two days.

When she requests your presence at her office, you don’t protest. You get there ten minutes ahead of time and wait politely.

“I’m not going to yell at you,” she sighs when she sees your too-straight posture.

“Wouldn’t be unwarranted,” you mutter. “I shouldn’t have gotten swept up in the atmosphere.”

“As your manager, I agree.” Mei shoots you a look. “As someone who’s always telling you to enjoy your life—I’m glad you finally stopped punishing yourself.”

You tug with your sleeve without commenting.

Mei continues. “Obviously, you already posted the official statement that we sent over yesterday. Nothing else public on social media, aside from the official pictures we got from Nationals. After that—no posting for a while.”

You nod. It’s fair enough. You’d already gotten too many unsolicited comments from strangers. Notifications were decidedly turned off, and only the bravest of souls could field your direct messages.

“There’s been something else I’ve considered for this season,” Mei hesitates. “If you’re open to it.”

Alarm bells go off in your head. “Interviews? Variety content?”

“The ice show,” Mei says.

“Classics on Ice?” You frown. “Sunghoon and I were already planning on skating.”

“You’ll skate there, sure,” Mei says, “but now it’s more.”

“More as in…promotions? Volunteering?”

Your manager shakes her head. “Yes, benefit shows usually yield good coverage. It’s also an opportunity to showcase your relationships within the skating community. During and leading up to the event. Public perception and opinions are unavoidable, but I think if you’re seen out and about being friendly with respected athletes…”

You cringe at the implication: you are simply an athlete—not a respected one. “That’s a fine idea and all, but wouldn’t that harm those athletes? I’m friends with a lot of skaters, but those friendships are away from the cameras. Except Sunghoon.”

“Right. It would be out of the blue to suddenly hang out with skaters you’ve been training and competing against for years, especially with no public history.” She leans forward. “But if there was suddenly an old friend re-entering the community—maybe that would be believable?”

Your blood chills. You recall what Jaemin told you: it’s a work in progress.

“Jaemin?” You fight to push the words out. “Jaemin’s actually returning to skating?”

Mei nods. Her shoulders relax, perhaps relieved that she didn’t have to directly break the news. “His team is making the announcement at the end of the week.”

You’re happy for him—really, you are—but disappointment tugs at your gut. Why hadn’t he told you when you asked?

“So you want me to skate in this ice show and prove that I have at least two friends. Got it. I can do that.”

Mei’s expression twists. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“With Jaemin coming back into the skating world, and the rumors already circulating between the two of you…” Mei bites her lip. “His management reached out to discuss, and we came to the conclusion that showcasing a…closer relationship would likely be beneficial for both parties.”

It’s her pleading expression to not freak out that makes the last puzzle piece fall into place. “A PR romance? With Jaemin? How on earth would that benefit either of us? He’ll get angry fans, and I’ll get the angry fans’ death threats!”

“You don’t need to be over the top with it,” Mei’s waving both hands, which could be her attempt to calm you down or to enact a physical barrier from you. Maybe both. “Nothing crazy or formal—people already think you're dating! Just lean into the rumors. Hang out with or without Sunghoon. Jaemin is popular, but it’s common knowledge that you all were rink rats together. You’ll get some fan hate, but we see people overall getting really into it.”

You’re speechless. You run through the impending possibilities in your mind. Jaemin, back in your hometown. Seeing him in passing. Existing in the same sphere for the first time in years.

“I still don’t understand how that would benefit him,” you say.

Mei hums. “His team can explain it more.”

“His team?” Your stomach drops. “They’re coming here? Today?”

“Oh, no,” Mei says. “We’re grabbing lunch with them.”

–

Mei whisks you away in her car. You barely process that you're heading somewhere at all. When the car pulls up in front of the nicest restaurant in the city, you think, briefly, that you must be hallucinating this entire ordeal.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she scoffs as you stumble out of the passenger’s side.

You follow her lead, baffled at the long roman-style columns at the entrance and dim, ambient lighting. Inside, you can’t even tell that it’s daytime, let alone high noon.

You’ve walked through the interior for minutes before you make a sudden left turn into a more private section of the restaurant. There, at a table around the corner, sits Jaemin with his manager.

His manager rises to shake both your and Mei’s hands. “Jeff.”

“Nice to meet you,” you manage to say, although your throat scratches like sandpaper while speaking.

When Jaemin stands up to face you, your brain glitches on the protocol. Is it proper to shake hands with a childhood best friend, especially when you’re both portrayed on the front cover of tabloids together? When you just saw him a few nights ago, and he only hinted at a comeback? When his team is proposing a PR arrangement? Is a hug too casual for this heavy atmosphere?

“Hi.” You shoot him a pained smile and sit down to avoid confronting the issue entirely. Confusion flickers across his face, but he lowers back down into his seat.

Jeff immediately transitions into business. “Thank you for meeting us today. I hope Mei was able to explain our current situation, especially since the headlines have complicated things.”

Mei nods. “She’s aware. Obviously, we’ll have to be very intentional moving forward.”

Your gaze bounces between the two as they discuss details such as social media use and public outings. You try to catch Jaemin’s eye, but he pokes around at an appetizer on his plate.

You try to listen to their brainstorming of strategies, but you can only take so much before your curiosity gets the best of you. You blurt out to Jaemin directly. “What do you get out of this deal?”

Jaemin’s eyes widen, but he still jumps to speak, as if he’s been waiting for your permission to talk. “Well, I—”

“Jaemin wants to re-enter the skating world,” Jeff interjects. “This…relationship could renew interest in his previous success, since you’re very deeply linked with that time period.”

You frown, but you’re starting to get the picture. You’re sure that this morning’s article alone has most likely sent fans hunting for old skating footage. There’s even some old trio pictures still visible on both your and Sunghoon’s Instagram profiles.

You’ve also seen enough fragments of Jaemin’s fanbase online to know that a public girlfriend would likely alienate the most unhealthily attached fans.

Maybe that’s what someone like him needed to be taken seriously in the athletic world again, just like how you wish people would speak about your current skating and instead of the old.

“Anything else I should know? Any stipulations before I offer myself up as bait for one of the most viral athletes known for having crazy fans?”

Jaemin’s gaze shoots up at you in the corner of your eye. You ignore it as you glare down Mei and Jeff.

“There’s one thing our team is thinking of,” Jeff starts. He side eyes you as if you’re a wild animal ready to pounce. “The charity ice show you’re skating in.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, they’re having a speed skating demo?”

Your sarcasm falls on deaf ears; if he picks up on it, Jeff doesn’t even flinch. “We’ve been told that both you and Jaemin trained together in ice dance before settling in your respective sports.”

Your jaw tightens. “No. I’m not committing to an ice dance routine. It’s way too late to be practicing for that.”

Mei says nothing, but she nods her head.

“As you wish.” Jeff seems unfazed. “We’ll find something else for Jaemin. If you change your mind, please let us know.”

“I won’t. I mean, I don’t foresee that changing, but we’ll let you know,” you hastily add after sensing Mei’s disapproval. “Thank you.”

Mei and Jeff dominate the discussion throughout lunch, and they’re still chatting as you all rise to leave your table. You find yourself in stride with Jaemin, who seems to be looking everywhere but you.

“So. You're moving back,” you say.

He turns towards you, surprised. “I am. I’m moving out of my old place next Monday.”

“So it was a work in progress, after all.” You try to keep your tone light, but it doesn’t prevent the sour edge in your voice from seeping through.

His expression twists with guilt. “I was going to tell you, but then things started moving too fast. I lost the opportunity. This relationship—PR situation—was not my idea.”

You don’t respond. Your ego stings; you’d asked him so many questions out of a genuine interest to catch up, and the whole while he'd held you at arm's length. Your teams concocted this plan, rather than talk it through first with you as a friend.

Jaemin searches your face. “What do you think of all of this?”

You think that you want to delete Instagram altogether, retire from skating, and tell everyone to stuff their clout-chasing proposals up their—

Really, you should calm down. You have to admit that you could benefit from this arrangement. Sure, there would be hate and an uptick in public interest in your private life, but Mei is right. After these headlines, you’re bound to receive more criticism anyway—maybe returning the focus to your oldest friends would remind the world of your younger self. Before all of the hardship. Nostalgia as a vehicle of empathy.

As for Jaemin, you’re not sure what to make of his sudden re-appearance in your life. Any giddiness is now tempered by the jaded realism of your position. Maybe knowing his true intentions is better for your working relationship, since, moving forward, you should be treating this as a professional arrangement.

“Let’s do it,” your laugh sounds harsh and flat. “What more do I have to lose, right?”

❅˚

Upon returning home, you’re allowed one day of sweet radio silence from any obligations. You mute almost all notifications and lose yourself in your favorite shows.

Then, Jaemin’s announcement drops, and all hell breaks loose.

The overall response shows widespread support for Jaemin’s return to speed skating. The speculation of his move, however, has everyone up in a flurry trying to figure out why. Technically, his city’s rink is superior in all of their facilities and amenities. His coach was based mainly in your rink, but he was so close to retirement and was open about only coaching Jaemin.

You’re not sure why he’s chosen to return here, either. From what you know, a large portion of speed skating training isn’t always in the rink, anyway.

Everyone online, however, is staunchly convinced that you must be the reason. You scroll past everything from pregnancy rumors to social media accounts posting threads surrounding the early “evidence” to prove the existence of this secret relationship. As far as your social media feed is concerned, you're practically married.

Half of it seems to be in good fun—a lot of supportive fans make jokes about finally glimpsing into Jaemin’s notoriously private life. The other half of it is not so fun, manifesting in hate comments and threatening direct messages that trigger you to crack down on your account privacy.

Hey, Jaemin texts you after you temporarily set your Instagram to private. You okay?

You don’t respond. Something stubborn and petty wants to double down . So what if you got photographed drinking with friends? Was society really so fucked up that you had to put in work to protect your peace while both of the ice princes got off scot-free?

When you pull your car into the rink parking lot to a couple of flashing cameras, you know that the answer is undoubtedly yes. You’d hoped for a serene first practice back, but you anticipate Jaemin’s presence before you even open the door.

In fact, he’s literally on the other side, sitting at one of the benches between the back entrance and the ice.

Jaemin stands when he sees you. “Hey, good morning—”

You cut to the chase. “What do you want, Jaem?”

“I just thought I’d say hi before your practice,” he says. He seems encouraged by your use of his old nickname; you make a mental note to avoid using it again.

“You got up at the ass crack of dawn to send me off to practice?”

“Uh—no?” Jaemin points over his shoulder. “I’m doing some strength training first in the gym, then I’ll take over the ice for some light stuff after you.”

“Alright then,” you say. You step past him and continue on. “See you.”

“Will I?”

You turn around. “Will you what?”

“Will I see you soon?” Jaemin studies you. “You’re not answering my texts.”

“There’s nothing in our contractthat requires me to text you back,” you point out. You’re all too familiar with the terms and conditions, as you reviewed and signed the paperwork in the days prior. “I can talk to Mei to put a staged outing on the calendar.”

“No.” He exhales and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to say that we should actually do something together. No calendars, no managers. Definitely no cameras.”

You frown. “Why would we do that?”

“Because we’re friends?” There’s a slight gravel to Jaemin's voice. He’s losing his patience with you, and you’re relishing in it.

“We were friends,” you say. Your grip on your duffel bag tightens. “I thought we were still friends up until Nationals. Before you wanted to use our friendship for notoriety.”

“We can still be friends through this,” he says. “It’s not one or the other. And I told you, this wasn’t my idea.”

You sigh. If he’s going to be so persistent about this, you might as well be direct. “Let me be clear. I hate this arrangement. I’m only doing it because Mei thinks it’s a good idea, I trust her, and for once I’d love for people to stop betting against my skating. That’s it. I’m not doing this because we’re friends. That was pretty much ruined once the paperwork was signed.”

Jaemin opens his mouth to argue, but he’s cut off by a voice from the other side of the rink.

“Hey!” Your coach shouts. “That’s a whole lot of talking and not a lot of warming up.”

You give Jaemin your fakest smile. “You heard the man. Have a good work out, Jaemin.”

You put your all into practice to clear your mind. It’s hard, but the determination to stand on your words keeps your focus razor sharp.

When you’re wiping your blades down and stowing away your things, you think that’s the end of it. Then, you hear the sound of the doors to the ice shutting. You straighten your back and peek through the glass.

Jaemin’s already set up a series of small cones that you assume must be to simulate the short track path. He skates around in long, fluid circles.

Your throat catches. He’s always been so beautiful on the ice. Sure, speed and power were par for the course with speed skating, but his edge control and maneuvers are so finely tuned that you're impressed. Even after all these years, Jaemin still looks like a top athlete.

Jaemin’s skates scrape across the ice as he stops. As if he has a sixth sense for your presence, he turns his gaze towards you. He nods, then, after a moment, raises his hand in a wave.

You turn away and stuff your last remaining item into your duffel. You don’t look back as you leave.

Over the next few weeks, your encounters with Jaemin go more or less the same. He waits to greet you in the morning, and you shut him down every time. You’re not sure what he aims to achieve by waiting it out— you’ve made yourself quite clear—but nevertheless he seems to show up day after day, morning after morning.

Until one day, he doesn’t. When you march through the rink one morning, you’re not met with Jaemin but by an old man that you haven’t seen in a very long time.

You start and nearly drop your bag. “Coach Brown?”

Coach Brown’s smile lines spread over his entire face. While he’s gotten older, you haven’t forgotten the kindness that your childhood coach exudes. “I had to come by now that the three musketeers are back under this roof.”

You laugh, but it’s held taut by guilt. “It’s definitely an unexpected development.”

The old man’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Although the three of you are in a bit of a rut, aren’t you?”

Your palms sweat. “You saw Jaemin this morning?”

“Just ten minutes ago,” Coach Brown shrugs. Then, his expression darkens. “You know, the worst thing you could do is turn your back on your past.”

You blink. “Sorry? What did Jaemin—”

“Sunghoon,” he waves you off before continuing. “It’s been explained to me that you are…less than enthused about the situation, but you still should treat your peers with respect. Carving out a path for yourself doesn’t mean you need to block out the others.”

“Coach—” You can’t even fully process his sentence before he cuts you off again.

“You’ve always had the worst temper of the three,” Coach Brown wags his finger in your face. “Calm yourself down and face it like an adult.”

As fast as he came around, he marches away and disappears through the doors leading up to management’s office.

You stare after him long after the doors close, dazed. You feel twelve-years-old again, getting nagged at to be nice to the boys.

After your training ends a bit early, you happen to catch Jaemin as he puts on his skates. “Morning,” you say.

Jaemin’s head whips up so fast that he swings too far back and bumps his head against the back of the boards. “Oh shit—hey?”

“I saw Coach Brown this morning,” you say.

He brightens. “Me too. I hope I’m half as active as him when I’m that age.”

You don’t respond, instead searching his features and body language for any dishonesty. It’s a stare-off—you, chewing on your lip and Jaemin, confused and massaging the back of his head.

That’s it, you admit to yourself. He didn’t tell Coach Brown anything.

And admittedly—both from the open hope in Jaemin’s expression and your shame from being nagged at—perhaps the old man was right about some things, after all.

“Would you be free to grab lunch tomorrow?” You ask before you change your mind. “There’s a new ramen place that opened up last weekend—”

“Yes!” He answers before you’ve fully finished your sentence. “I know which one you’re talking about. I can pick you up?”

“Oh—uh—that’s okay, I think.”

Jaemin shakes his head. “You’re on the way, let me do it.”

Your jaw tightens, but you swallow your pride. “Sure. Noon?”

He nods without saying anything. The two of you stare at each other.

“Well,” you break the awkward silence first. “Have a good practice.”

“You too.” Jaemin cringes. “I mean, shit, have a good day. See you tomorrow.”

At that, you turn away.

Take that, Coach Brown, you think. Look whose temper is adequately controlled.

❅˚

Twenty minutes before noon, you nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock at the door.

You rake over your appearance in the mirror and make desperate last-minute touch-ups. Sure, it's just lunch, but you were never sure when a rogue camera might snap pictures of you in public. The paparazzi had ceased showing up outside of the rink after the first two days, but the initial onslaught had left you paranoid of any flash or loud chatter.

“You’re early,” you say as you open the door, a little breathless.

Sunghoon blinks back at you. “I am?”

It’s your turn to stare. “Sunghoon. Why are you here?”

Regardless of your confusion, you step aside to let him in. As always, Sunghoon makes himself comfortable on your living room couch. “I was bored. Wanna get lunch?”

“About that.” You cross your arms. “Jaemin is picking me up in fifteen minutes.”

Sunghoon’s eyebrows raise. “You finally decided to stop hating him?”

“I don’t hate him—” you fume. “I still disagree with how he went about things, but I might have just gotten a little too mad.”

Your friend snorts and mumbles something under his breath.

“What?” You punch his arm.

“Ow!” Sunghoon swats away your swings. “I said big surprise—clearly you’re the most hotheaded one out of all of us.

“Brown said the same thing,” you mutter.

Sunghoon pauses. “Isn’t it a little crazy that people are just letting him go right back to work? Right after his surgery, too.”

You shrug. “He seemed healthy enough to lecture me about Jaemin. He said I had the worst temper out of us three.”

He smirks. “Wow. The old man needed to get involved to get your head out of your ass.”

“And who tipped him off in the first place?”

“And who with the worst temper gave me this red mark on my arm just now?”

Touche. “Anyways,” you change the subject. “Wanna go with us?”

“Um,” Sunghoon grimaces. “Not if it’s going to be awkward.”

“It won’t be,” you insist. You shoot out a quick text to Jaemin: Sunghoon randomly showed up at my place. Mind if he comes?

Within thirty seconds, your phone vibrates again. Of course. The more the merrier, it says.

“See,” you hand your phone to him. “Jaemin doesn’t care.”

“He’s not in the position to object,” Sunghoon laughs. “From that wall of text? This is clearly the first time you’ve texted him in weeks. He’s probably just saying yes so that you don’t change your mind and run away.”

You roll your eyes. “So you’re not coming?”

“I didn’t say that,” Sunghoon says. "I'm hungry."

You would’ve been more nervous about merging the group if you’d known about Sunghoon’s intrusion beforehand, but it works out well for the car ride over. Jaemin and Sunghoon seem to pick up right where they put their friendship down.

Their conversation goes from topic to topic, but your mind is reeling. It’s too easy, riding as a passenger in Jaemin’s old car, to feel like you’re a teenager again.

The new ramen place is tucked away in a plaza constructed in the last two years. It’s still finding its niche—the only other businesses in the center are a pharmacy and a dollar store—and the ramen place is the most exciting thing to have happened to it.

“Oof,” Sunghoon says as you approach the shop. From the outside, you can see that there’s only a handful of people inside. “Is that too awkward?”

Jaemin steps forward. “It’s not empty.” He swings the door open before any of you can think about it further.

Jaemin and Sunghoon are full steam ahead with their conversations. You’re jealous, in a way. Both of them have so much natural charisma that it overflows into all their interactions. On the other hand, you feel like you always have to work for it.

You all end up ordering different things from the menu. You’re halfway through observing the interior decor when you realize the rest of the table has gone silent.

“So…” Jaemin says. He leans his head into his hand. “How’s it been?”

“How’s it been?” You repeat.

“Since Nationals,” Jaemin clarifies.

Sunghoon stiffens in the corner of your vision. You try to level your facial expression.

“I mean,” you can’t help the wry smile rising to your face. “I deleted social media from my phone. Mei’s posting for me so I don’t have to see the hate. I’m avoiding the news outlets for the same exact reason."

Jaemin swallows. “Right.”

“What about you?” It’s as much as a way to change the topic as it is genuine curiosity. “How are your fans taking the return announcement?”

“Mostly well,” he admits. “Older fans are excited. Younger fans are confused but trying to be supportive, which I appreciate.”

The elephant in the room goes unaddressed. You saw the comments before officially deciding to hand the reins over to Mei. You know for a fact that there were rumors on top of rumors swirling around your connection to both Jaemin and Sunghoon.

“I delete all of the hate comments,” Sunghoon says as if reading your mind. “Just for my own peace of mind, really. I can’t stand seeing that shit on my page.”

“You should try filtering words,” Jaemin suggests. “That’s helped diffuse some of it for me.”

You frown. While you can tell that both have good intentions, it doesn’t make you feel any better. In fact, it’s worse—you feel like a taboo to hide from the world, despite your status as a well-known figure in the skating world.

“You don’t have to delete or filter anything.” You feel a deep sense of resoluteness. “Let them talk.”

The guys exchange glances. “Sure, people will talk,” Jaemin says. “Doesn’t mean you need to entertain seeing it.”

You shrug, looking between the two as your bowls of ramen are placed in the table space in front of you. “Filtering out words won’t stop them. We’ll just give them something to talk about before they move on.”

Jaemin’s smile curls. A hint of his teeth pokes through. “What do you suggest we do to make them talk?”

You think for a moment before holding your phone in the air with a shake of your hand. “Pose for me?”

❅˚

After that first lunch, talking to Jaemin gets easier. You chat briefly whenever you run into each other at the rink, and sometimes you grab a post-practice coffee if your schedules line up. You don’t text, but Jaemin sends a few skating memes after you log back into Instagram—a cautious way to test the water.

“What’s your goal with coming back?” You ask during one brunch after training.

Jaemin’s eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t lose his easy smile. “My goal?”

“I mean—” you scramble to find the right words. Hell, you should think before speaking sometimes. “Why decide to come back now? You have so many opportunities outside of skating.”

Skaters who would kill for his following. Not many people would intentionally halt their own momentum, let alone actively endanger it with a fake relationship.

Jaemin leans back in his chair. “Why did you come back? After your injury?”

“Rude. I asked first.” Regardless, you think out loud. “No one’s actually asked me why. Everyone just assumed that I would try to come back after I was ready.”

“Would you have, even if they hadn’t assumed?” He asks.

“Yes,” you say without hesitating.

“Why?”

“It’s not what people would expect from me,” you start. “I knew it was going to be a long road to any sort of podium, and I didn’t even expect to get there at all. I came back…to see if I could, I guess. Skating has just been such a big part of my life; I wasn't ready to give it up.”

Jaemin’s smile brightens. “That’s my answer too.”

“Uh…” You bite your lip. “It’s not that I don’t admire you for coming back, but you weren’t injured. You left first.”

“I did.” Jaemin thinks for a moment. “When I quit, I genuinely thought that skating had nothing more to offer me. But the more time passed, the more I realized that something was missing.”

This is the most you’ve ever heard him talk about his choice to leave. He had never spoken about it outside of the initial press statement, and he’d all but disappeared from the community after. “What made you realize something was missing?”

“Ah, you know.” Jaemin scratches the back of his head. “Just intuition.”

You stare at him. “You came back after years based on some magical intuition? Right out of thin air?”

His cheeks turn pink. “What’s wrong with trusting your intuition?”

“Just seems too good to be true, I guess.” You take a long sip of your drink. “Ignore me. I’m a pessimist nowadays.”

Silence. Then, Jaemin speaks up again. “If you have to know, I saw some old footage. I got the urge to get on the ice, so I did. Casually skating didn’t feel like it was enough. I felt the pull to do everything—compete the right way, by coming home and reconnecting with everyone.”

It’s like his dark eyes are looking through you and your thoughts.

You think back to the months following your injury. In the darkest moments when you considered giving up skating for good, it always led to reminiscing via old videos. Everything from old competition footage to videos of you messing around with the other kids—sometimes it was your last anchor to hope. More than the nostalgia interwoven in the past, you craved to perform again.

“I know exactly what you mean,” you smile, then hesitate. “I’m glad you’re back.”

The seriousness melts away. He wiggles his eyebrows. “Mean it?”

You snort. “Forget it.”

“Too late,” Jaemin points to his temples. “It’s already saved here. No camera needed.”

❅˚

You push on your bike, fighting for your life to pedal to the music while trying to follow the spin instructor’s directions. Beads of sweat roll down your skin, and your throat feels dry.

You sneak a glance at Jaemin. The bastard looks like he’s barely breaking a sweat. In fact, if it he wasn't right next to you, anyone could easily mistake him as the instructor.

He leans toward your bike. “Are you doing okay?”

“I have decent cardio!” You pant over the bass-loaded music. “I’m fine!”

You sound so not fine that Jaemin throws his head back in laughter.

“You two in the back!” The instructor calls out. “Less talking, more pedaling!”

There were only so many cafes close to the rink to try, so working out together is your most recent attempt at activities together. Jaemin insisted that it’s valuable cross-training for your respective sports—you’re not sure that you agree with the sentiment for your discipline, but it’s a nice supplement to your training schedule.

“What did you think about that instructor?” Jaemin asks as he holds the door open for you.

You snort. “Too intense and too much bass boosting.”

Your phone vibrates with texts and phone calls. You don’t even flinch as you start blocking and reporting the unknown callers.

“Wow, you’re popular,” Jaemin jokes while he backs out of his parking spot.

You don’t say anything. There’s no use in dragging Jaemin into it; not when there’s nothing to be done. At the very least, you appreciate that Jaemin always offers to drive.

“Can I ask you something?” Jaemin asks as he pulls up to your place.

“No,” you laugh before registering the nervousness creeping in on his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Well,” Jaemin clears his throat. “Remember when my team brought up performing an ice dance together at that benefit show?”

“I do.”

“I know that it wasn’t brought up in a very good way.” Jaemin’s eyes flit around your face. “But do you think there’s any part of you that would be open to reconsidering that decision?”

The question makes you freeze. “Why?”

“My team won’t let up about it. I keep telling them that there’s really no need for me to participate…”

He’s continuing into some sort of explanation, but you’re hung up on the first part of his sentence. Sure, Mei and Jeff had been the catalyst for your reunion, but something about the mention of my team douses you as a cold reminder. In the midst of early morning rides and deep conversations over brunch, you’d forgotten that this was all manufactured.

“Our agreement ends right after the ice show, right?” You ask.

He nods. “But it’s just the official clause—of course, I want to—”

“Can you please tell your team that I will not be entertaining this notion again?” You reach for the door.

“Wait, stop. What did I say?” Jaemin’s climbing out of the car too, and a high pitch beeps over and over as he abandons the driver’s seat.

“Maybe I’m just tired,” you huff. “I see you almost every day, and I’m still training. Am I supposed to be all happy-go-lucky all the time? It’s not like we’re friends.”

Jaemin physically recoils. “This again? We are friends.”

“I hadn’t talked to you in years before you decided to come back,” you state matter-of-factly. “We’re bound by a contract. We’re not friends, Jaemin. We’re coworkers.”

You turn on your heel and walk towards your place.

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” Jaemin calls after you. “You just get to say your piece and storm off?”

You face him. “Go on, then. What do you want to say?”

He stands there for a minute, and his face flashes through a chain of expressions. Jaemin opens his mouth to speak but then closes it again. He shakes his head before shutting himself back in his car. The tires squeak against the asphalt as he drives away.

You pace around your house in angry circles. You should feel better, but instead you generate new reasons to be mad at him. Aside from the contractual nature of your arrangement, didn’t he understand that interfering with your art was an entirely different matter? You could go on a million fake dates and post content on social media, but your time on the ice is the only thing that’s truly yours.

You’re halfway through rage-cleaning your kitchen when your screen lights up with Jaemin’s name. You ignore it, but then Sunghoon calls second, then Mei calls next.

You choose to call Sunghoon back, ready to defend your outburst, but your stomach plummets when you pick up the phone to Sunghoon sniffling.

All your anger dissipates into fear. “What happened?”

“Coach Brown collapsed today,” he rasps. “They're not sure if he's going to make it.”

❅˚

Mei and Jeff sit at the front of the conference room. Mei openly observes you and Jaemin. Jaemin sits scrolling on his phone with the hood of his jacket pulled over his head. You cross your arms and try to look anywhere else.

Mei and Jeff review the last month in social media posts and general media coverage. You nod to yourself without listening—they always say the same things anyway: good reception, decent reach, more posting if possible. Today’s presentation is much shorter than expected, with no concrete dates to post strategic content.

You take it as a sign to leave and grab your bag. Jaemin moves as well, putting his phone into his pocket.

“I’m sure you both are worried about Coach Brown,” Mei says suddenly.

You both freeze in place. Your eyes dart to Jaemin, to gauge his reaction, but he’s already looking at you.

You had thought about texting Jaemin a million times since the news broke. You’d checked in on Sunghoon, but he was the type of person to hold things in until later down the line. You didn’t want to push him too hard, since you’re sure that he’s hurting just as much as you.

Looking at the glassiness of Jaemin’s eyes, you’re certain that he’s thought about reaching out to you, too.

“He'll fight through it,” your voice croaks against the silence. “He was a great man.”

“The greatest,” Jaemin says without taking his eyes off of you.

“This may feel a little premature, but the foundation reached out,” Mei prefaces. “They’re having part of the ice show's proceeds go directly to Coach Brown’s family. They asked to confirm if both of you—and Sunghoon, of course—are still planning on participating?”

“Of course,” you answer.

“Are they sure they still want all of us?” Jaemin asks. “I’m not competing in figure skating or ice dance.”

Mei shrugs. “You were in talks before, but I’m guessing it’s because the three of you are his most prominent students. Of course, you went to speed skating eventually, but you were still under him for the entirety of your juniors career.”

Jaemin nods to himself. “It’s relatively short, right?”

Mei hesitates. “Well, I’m not quite sure of the hard details—”

Jaemin shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter. I’m in. I’ll figure it out.”

“We can skate together.”

It’s like the entire room has forgotten about your attendance; all three heads snap toward you, eyes wide.

“You want to?” Mei’s eyebrows climb to her hairline. “Now?”

That’s not exactly a great vote of confidence, but you persist nonetheless. “It’s going to help Coach Brown and his family. It’s as simple as that.”

“Will that be okay to prepare for?” Jaemin blurts out. “While you’re training for everything else, I mean.”

You shrug. “Sunghoon’s also competing.”

“It’s just a lot to balance.”

You stare at him. You’re flush with irritation, but you manage to keep your voice level as you respond. “I’ll manage.”

“Well,” Jeff interjects. He clears his throat loudly and moves to disconnect his computer from the room's screen. “That should be more than enough for today. We’ll both be in touch for details on the exhibition, but our next meeting should be in two weeks as usual.”

“Thanks, Jeff,” you drone as you gather your bag and exit.

You’re not even halfway down the stairwell when a hand latches onto your elbow.

“Wait,” Jaemin rasps. “Talk to me. Five minutes. Please.”

He’s panting like he’s run a mile. You nod. “What is it?”

“You don’t need to say yes, you know.” Jaemin says. “I wouldn’t blame you if you just wanted to work on your own program right now.”

You bristle. “Are you going to ask Sunghoon the same question?”

Jaemin leans his weight against the stairwell railing. “One day we’re laughing and talking about anything and everything, and then the next day you’re telling me that we’re not friends. One day you draw the hard boundary that we will never perform together, and then now you’re willing to. Why are you so upset with me?”

“I’m willing only for the sake of Coach Brown.” Your restrained and rational side snaps. You talk a step forward into Jaemin’s personal space. “I’ve been mad, Jaem. I’ve been pissed since you made your stupid announcement to come back to our rink—some of your crazy fans have found my real phone number, did you know that?”

He's speechless.

You continue. “Ever since coming back from my injury, I can’t do anything right. If I talk about my mental health as an athlete, I’m seen as complaining. If I can’t land a jump? I’m washed up. If my makeup is looking a little off on competition day? My age is showing, and I should feel lucky that someone so old can still compete. People hate me so much that it’s my best PR strategy to become someone’s hated girlfriend, because the new hate is considered an improvement from my old hate.”

“I didn’t know you were being harassed on your personal number,” he mutters.

“And why would you?” You scoff. “It doesn’t matter that we used to know each other, okay? Even though everyone down to Coach Brown wants us to be so close—”

“Coach Brown said something to you before?” Jaemin leans in, which makes you take a step back.

“Well, kinda—”

“Please,” he begs. Desperation lines his eyes. “Tell me what you talked about. I could barely catch him here because of my odd hours, let alone talk to him. I regret that more than anything.”

Your anger wanes. You feel a flash of pity followed by a stark reminder of your surroundings—what were you doing, yelling at Jaemin in a stairwell?

You wrack your brain for a white lie, but nothing comes up on the spot. You’ve already exposed it anyway, so you might as well tell the truth. “He told me to control my temper and stop being mad at you for nothing.”

You expect something like a snarky comment, but Jaemin just looks surprised. “He knew it’s fake?”

You shrug. “I didn’t tell him anything. He either knows us too well or heard something through the grapevine. Or he heard me yelling at you and put two and two together.”

Jaemin snorts, but he doesn’t respond.

You shift uncomfortably. “That was pretty much it. He said the worst thing I could do was turn my back on my past.”

Jaemin pauses for a long time before speaking. “Can I say something to you? No Mei, no Jeff, no social media?”

Your heart feels stuck in your throat. You swallow thickly. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” His gaze burns through you. “I should’ve talked to you more during and after Nationals. I definitely should’ve warned you about the batshit plan our agents were making—I know that probably made you lose trust in me instantly.”

Jaemin glances at you, no doubt expecting some sort of correction or flash of emotion, but you remain silent. He continues: “I know it’s stupid, but they presented me with possible options for a PR relationship — it was going to happen regardless to acclimate the public to my return to skating. They suggested you last, but I think I agreed too fast. I should’ve talked to you before my team made contact with yours.”

Your mind swims with the new information. A laugh slips from your throat without realizing it. “I think I might’ve been the worst choice possible.”

He reddens. “Coach Brown gave me the idea, if I’m being honest.”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“I ran into him here while practicing. Before everything, and before I officially planned to come back.” He admits. “I was venting to him about the concept of a PR relationship—I promise you I didn’t want to—and he started to rehash his past troubles with the media.”

“He got mad when Sunghoon got coverage about his real high school girlfriend,” you recall. “He would’ve lost his mind at a fake one.”

“He didn’t say anything weird,” Jaemin shrugs. “Just a hypothetical: ‘wouldn’t it be nice if someone you feel comfortable with could stand in, instead of doing something like that with a stranger.’”

What was it that Coach Brown had said to you? You should be grateful that he’s someone you feel comfortable around.

The edges of your mouth curl into a bittersweet smile. “That bastard.”

Jaemin smiles back, and your heart flips.

Coach Brown had essentially influenced this entire production. The realization causes tears to prick at the corners of your eyes. “Jaemin—”

“I should've talked to him more.” His eye grow misty. “I fucked up. I should’ve spent time with him, instead of focusing on all of the drama.”

You twitch forward, but you stop yourself short of hugging him. You pat his back in slow taps while holding back your own tears. “It’s not your fault. None of us knew that this would happen.”

He stiffens at your touch. “You don’t need to comfort me, you know. I know you hate me.”

Your stomach drops. “I never hated you, Jaemin. I was just hurt—it felt like you were using me.”

Once you speak it, you know it to be the truth. Try as you might, you could never hate Jaemin. Even if given away ten years ago, you know that he will always hold part of your heart.

“That was never my intention,” he whispers. “I know it’s hard to believe.”

“I see that now,” you acknowledge. “I’ve been an asshole, Jaem. I want to start over. ”

Jaemin sniffs back his remaining tears. He offers you a weak smile. “I’d like that.”

You reach towards him with your hand. “Friends?”

His hand closes over yours, only to pull you forward into a big hug. “Friends. Always.”

Your hands rise from your sides and travel up his back. You squeeze him tight. “Always. I’m sorry it took me so long to remember.”

“One, two, three, turn, two, three—” your choreographer, Maci, counts your steps with a patient tone.

You focus on your footwork. You’re still practicing without music; it’s just Maci’s voice mixed with your shoes squeaking against the floor. You extend your right arm behind you in a soft sweep, and you imagine it making a perfect line with your posture.

Instead, your tricep sticks against something soft yet clammy.

“Mmph—” Jaemin grunts behind you. “That’s my face.”

You stop and wipe your arm. “Sweaty.”

In sync, you both walk to the edge of the room to chug your water.

Practice for the ice show was truly underway, and you all had spent the last week learning choreography off ice. You and Sunghoon had quickly picked up on your routines for your individual portions. Sunghoon would do his routine completely by himself, as he would for any normal exhibition. You, however, would split yours into two: one minute by yourself, then one minute with Jaemin.

It wasn’t a complete disaster, but you were picking it up together slower than either of you anticipated. Jaemin struggled to lead, while you would misjudge your distance and step on his foot—or, in this case, slap him with your tricep.

“I might as well not be there,” Jaemin jokes with you during water breaks. “What happened to all of our training?”

“Our ice dance training from nearly ten years ago?”

“I think you legitimately forget that Jaemin is there if you don’t see him,” Sunghoon observes from the back. Although he almost always finishes before you, he tends to stick around. “You should skate with a rearview mirror.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Actually…” Maci looks lost in thought before nodding her head. “You have a point.”

You gape at her. “You think I need a rearview mirror?”

“Of course not,” she says. Noticeably, Sunghoon deflates slightly in his corner. “I just meant that he has a point…somewhere in there. You guys are taking up completely different spaces”

You both blink at her.

She rolls her eyes, then taps through her phone. A classic waltz plays over the small speakers overhead. “Dance in hold. Just a basic waltz, please.”

Jaemin grins and bows deeply. He extends a hand toward you. “May I have this dance?”

“Corny,” you groan while taking his hand with your right. You straighten your posture and bring your other hand to hold onto his bicep. Likewise, his right hand tucks over your shoulder blade. You’re both glistening with sweat, but you feel goosebumps raise where his hand glides over your skin.

The music continues to play overhead, but neither of you move. Jaemin waits another two measures before leading you across the floor. It’s a simple waltz, but you feel hyperaware of every movement, big and small. You swear Jaemin’s fingers tighten where your hands are clasped together.

“There you go!” Maci calls out.

Right when you’re thinking that’s a green light to call it, she shouts out again. “Now hold eye contact!”

You look up, ready to break the silence with a joke, but your smile drops when you see Jaemin's eyes. They’re dark and captivating—that much hasn’t changed—but there’s an undercurrent of something else that leaves you paralyzed. You nearly forget to breathe, as you have to focus all of your attention on matching his steps.

“How does this pace feel?” He asks while holding eye contact. There’s a ghost of a smirk.

Your heart races so fast that you can’t hear the music over your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “It’s a great pace. Feels good.”

You only realize the innuendo after it’s too late. Your face heats as he laughs at you.

“Alright!” Maci shouts out. “First run through of the partner section with the music! I’ll count you off.”

You start alone in the center of the floor with your arms extended, since that’ll be your position on the ice once your solo wraps up. Similar to how it will be on the ice, you don’t see Jaemin as he approaches; his hands rest on your waist first.

Your heartbeat instantly spikes; you’re unsure if it’s due to the contact or the adrenaline.

You brace your core as he lifts you and turns the two of you in a slight spin.

We’re really doing this, you realize as you extend through the lift. It’s a little wobbly—both of your faults, you think—but you get through it. Jaemin lowers you back onto your feet. Even though the landing is a little rough, a lift is a lift.

You turn out to face each other. Jaemin extends his arm toward you. His features are bright and confident, as if teasing you to come closer. For a split second, it reminds you of the easy stage presence he always carried as a performer.

You take his hand and continue with the rest of the routine. As this is an exhibition show and your dance together is an homage to Coach Brown, all of the elements within this showcase are mostly basic in nature. Sure, you both can tackle the various step sequences with a languid artistry not intuitive to non-skaters, but it’s nowhere close enough in difficulty to a competition program.

“You’re thinking too much,” Jaemin murmurs through a spin.

“I’m worried we’ll look silly,” you say as you part.

“No worrying when we’re dancing,” he says. “Just think about me.”

You do. You hold eye contact throughout the remainder of the step sequence, and all your thoughts revolve around him. His positioning—should you adjust a bit so you’re a little closer? You even focus on how your lines are extending towards him. Mostly technical things, but above all—Jaemin is like the sun, pulling everything towards him, and you can’t help but be swept into his orbit.

Your last element is a stationary lift where Jaemin anchors you by your waist and legs to hold you horizontally. Your entrance works, his hand grips your waist, but you flinch the second his other hand grabs your inner thigh.

“Oof—” your lower half drops to the ground, although Jaemin’s hold on your torso is enough to prevent full impact. “Thanks.”

For the first time, you glance around at your audience. Sunghoon looks away and scratches the back of his neck. Maci’s cheeks tinge with pink as she frantically reaches to stop the music.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with a frown as Jaemin pulls you to your feet. “Did it look bad?”

“No, uh—” Maci claps her hands together in light, awkward taps. She clears her throat. “It’s like you never left, Jaemin.”

“You guys are going to get questions about this routine for the rest of your lives,” Sunghoon snorts. “But it’ll get the donations going.”

Jaemin releases his hold on your hand. You flex it thoughtfully; you hadn’t realized that you hadn’t let go.

You look at your dance partner, but Jaemin’s expression tightens into something unreadable. “Yup, great for charity.”

Your day continues as usual—more individual runthroughs, a snack after practice, and mindless chats with your little group. But when you sleep that night, parsing through your day, you can’t shake the phantom feeling of his hand in yours.

❅˚

“I have to ask you a question,” Sunghoon says before you even have the chance to shut the passenger door.

You blink at him through sleepy eyes. “Right now? It’s 5am.”

Sunghoon puts the car into drive and heads in the direction of Jaemin’s apartment.

“So?” Your crankiness asks. “What’s your question—?”

“Do you have feelings for Jaemin?”

“Uh,” you’re genuinely at a loss for words. “Are we talking about currently, or when we were in middle school?”

He doesn’t respond. There’s not even any music playing in the car, so you squirm in your seat against the silence.

You clear your throat. “Why are you asking?”

“Because the two of you look like you’re ready to jump each other at any moment.”

“Ew, Hoon.”

"You're also acting different." Sunghoon gives you a look. “You would’ve already told me if it was anyone else.”

You break eye contact. Dancing with Jaemin again had asserted one thing: you could not deny your physical attraction to him. The chemistry overflowed, even when you watched practice footage back. Sure, he’s always been your type, but his face had grown more handsome and his body more chiseled into adulthood.

When it came to your emotional connection to him, however, your feelings are a big, jumbled mess. Becoming close again has been easy, but something in the air lingers between you two. It's difficult to differentiate the layers of physical attraction, nostalgia, and genuine fondness. How could you explain the complexities to Sunghoon when you barely understood them yourself?

“It’s just partner chemistry and the tone of our routine.” You groan. “Calm down.”

Sunghoon glares at you as he pulls into Jaemin’s apartment complex. He doesn’t respond, but his expression is crystal clear: I’m going to ask you about this again.

“Good morning,” Jaemin sings as he enters the car. “You guys are grumpier than usual.”

You and Sunghoon exchange a look; when he pointedly looks back at the road without a word, you figure he’s leaving any explanation to you.

You cross your arms. “You’re five minutes late.”

Jaemin snorts. “Touche.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. The heater in Sunghoon’s car fights against the cold air outside, but you pull your jacket around you nonetheless.

Starting today, the two of you are practicing your routine for the show on the actual ice. While the cast was just formally announced last week, the post had generated buzz almost immediately. All the marketing team had to do was put the list of names in their caption, and the internet did the rest. After all, what other opportunity would there be to watch the Na Jaemin skate outside of his discipline?

You’re happy that the show guaranteed to have a sold out audience and likely record breaking fundraising. It’s the whole reason why you both chose to participate in the first place, but you’d underestimated the pressure that came with it.

“You’ll finish your section with a spin,” Maci says as she walks you through the last of your solo steps. “And that is where Jaemin will come in.”

“Finally! I’m here!” Jaemin chimes in.

Both you and Sunghoon roll your eyes.

“Let’s see how many of the skills you remember,” you say as you catch your breath.

“I’ll tell the instructors to save a spot for you in Basic 1,” Sunghoon adds on. "You can learn how to skate with those new ice dance boots you bought."

Jaemin flips both of you off.

You step onto the bench while Sunghoon skates away to run through his third of the program.

You scroll through your phone as Sunghoon starts his routine. It’s not as if you don’t respect his skating; on the contrary, you never miss a performance. You just tune in for the big moments, which means that you don’t have to be as alert for these initial sessions.

While you’re nonchalant, Jaemin can’t tear his eyes away.

“If you told me ten years ago that he would be this graceful, I wouldn’t believe you,” the words fall out half under his breath.

You laugh. “Feed that line to the press.”

Jaemin’s eyes flit to yours. “You wouldn’t.”

You raise your hands into the air. “Kidding. I know exactly what you mean.”

From the beginning, Sunghoon had taken the most time to progress. All three of you had been considered advanced for your age group, but you and Jaemin had always been ahead of the curve.

Now, your friend was known for his focus on artistic elements; in many ways, you felt like he truly embodied the emotions of the characters he was portraying. You’d found that element of skating more difficult after your injury—you’d never been that good of an actor in the first place, and post-accident you didn’t find yourself that invested in pretending to be someone else.

“Do you ever regret not sticking with figure skating or ice dance?” You find yourself asking.

He shrugs. “Hard to say since we’ll never know my real potential. Although I did like the acting aspect of portraying a character.”

“So speed skating still has your heart,” you laugh. “Has it at least been worth diving back into it for a little bit? The theatrics of it all?”

Jaemin turns to you. He doesn’t smile at all, and his tone is dead serious. “It is. I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world.”

Your body hums in response from your heart down to your stomach. “Why’s that?”

He pauses. Then, without breaking eye contact, he smiles and leans in toward you. “What do you think?”

Jaemin smells faintly of oranges. Your head spins at the proximity. You can’t come up with something witty, even if you wanted to. “I–”

At the same time, Sunghoon loses his footing and falls to the ice with an oof. Both of your heads whip towards your friend, who rises and wipes the ice off of his clothes.

“You good?” You half-shout toward your friend.

He shoots you a thumbs up in response before continuing.

Jaemin gazes at you, but you’ve lost your nerve.

“It’s nice to be here with both of you again,” you say as you unlock your phone and sit back down. “It’s as if you never left.”

“Me too,” Jaemin says softly. “It’s just like old times.”

❅˚

It’s three weeks before the show. You rush to the rink alone this time to fit a makeup practice into your and Jaemin’s busy schedules. You groan internally knowing that it falls on your rest day, but the practice is needed. Between both of your training schedules, you had to take the free moments when they come.

You pick up coffees on the way. It’s the first time you’ve driven to practice by yourself in a week, and your nerves rise as you drive closer and closer.

There shouldn’t be anything to be nervous about. Sure, you and Jaemin still have parts of your routine to work on, but progress has been smooth up to this point.

You’re unable to shake off the feeling as you arrive thirty minutes early. You turn off your car and linger in the driver’s seat. You have two options: scroll on your phone in the car or head in early. The latter wouldn’t make sense under normal circumstances—if Jaemin wasn’t practicing.

You glance at the two drinks sitting in your cupholders. Surely there’s no harm in peeking?

You exit the car, both drinks in hand, before you can change your mind. You enter the rink with a sheepish energy, although you’re doing absolutely nothing wrong.

Jaemin’s alternating through basic circle skills. His coach watches at the sideline with a stopwatch in one hand and a phone recording the drill in its entirety from a stand.

More than the difficulty of speed skating itself, you can’t believe that Jaemin has been balancing it alongside the training for the gala. Not only are the skates completely different, but the main mechanics require raw power and endurance. Much different from the slower, technical precision of ice dance.

Despite no spins or jumps, he makes it look graceful. You make a mental note to attend his first competition. You could watch him skate forever, regardless of discipline.

Jaemin’s coach calls him in, reviewing the footage and giving feedback. His expression is neutral, and Jaemin merely nods and repeats the drill each time. It goes on that way until the end of his practice time.

You wave as Jaemin exits off the ice and down the ramp toward you. He blinks, and his steps stutter for a moment before he continues.

“Morning,” you avoid eye contact as you hold out his iced coffee. He hadn’t noticed you during his practice, but you feel shy nonetheless. “Got here a little early.”

“Oh,” Jaemin grimaces. “So you saw all that?”

“What do you mean?” You ask. “I thought you looked great.”

He scoffs. He focuses on something distant over your shoulder. “I don’t know if I would describe it as great.”

You’re at a loss for words. The scenario feels familiar—hell, you’d gotten this way during practice for your solo exhibition—but you don’t have enough technical knowledge of speed skating to immediately understand what happened. Beyond that, it’s rare to see Jaemin so quiet.

Your expression must be comically transparent, because you watch his eyes lock to yours and register your wide stare.

“Sorry, you just caught me at a weird practice,” he clears his throat. “I’ll be ready in fifteen?”

The gesture does little to settle you, but you manage your own uneasy smile. “Take your time. I’ll warm up.”

You’ve never been more grateful for the familiarity of center ice. You run through a quick warmup routine and even squeeze in a couple rough rehearsals of your solo routine for the show.

“Looks good,” Jaemin says as he finally steps onto the ice. “I almost feel bad to make you split your program in half.”

“You’re not making me do anything.” You frown. After everything the two of you have been through to get to this point, his sudden minimization makes you worry.

“Well, you know,” he says, alternating between the inner and outer edges of his blades in small swizzles.

“No, I don’t know,” you shake your head stubbornly. You glide in front of him without breaking eye contact. “I’m doing this because I want to. I want to skate with you.”

It’s the most forward you’ve been, but his expression doesn’t budge. Instead, he just nods. “Shall we?”

The two of you run through the routine a few times, but it’s as though the last few weeks have been for nothing. No matter how many times you restart or run through the counts slowly, the two of you struggle to sync. Rather—you know you’re hitting your movements, but Jaemin merely seems to be going through the motions.

When his hold on you wobbles on the ending pose, you snap yourself out of his arms and huff. “Okay, seriously. We’re done for today. Let’s go.”

Of all things, that seems to wake Jaemin from his daze. He skates after you. “Wait, I’m just off today—”

You ignore him, stepping off of the ice and into your skate guards. You briefly turn around to catch his eye.

Jaemin’s hovering on the ice by the door, watching you. His eyes plead.

You wave your arm towards you in a come here gesture. His face brightens, and he hurriedly follows after you.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out when he’s close to you.

You shake your head. “Wanna get lunch?”

-

You stare at each other from across the table.

“You first,” you point to Jaemin’s burger, which has arrived at your table first. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited to eat, but,” Jaemin crosses his arms. “Do you have to stare at me?”

You say nothing even as the server brings your own food over.

Jaemin sighs but starts eating nonetheless. “Happy?”

“Yes,” you say as you pick at your fries.

“If this is a way to make sure I’m eating, I don’t have issues with dieting while competing,” he mutters between bites. “Luckily.”

“Trust me, it’s not about that,” you laugh. “I know you can eat.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So then…?”

“You were just super out of it today,” you shrug. “You’ve been training pretty intensely this week, right?”

He frowns. “I have, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Compared to the work schedule I was doing before coming back to skating, it’s more or less the same.”

You point a fry at him accusingly. “There. That’s the issue.”

“That I work?”

“That you’re not taking time to not work.”

“No offense,” the words come out slowly, “but aren’t you, like, famously known for never taking breaks?”

You shake your head. “That was pre-injury me. Current me takes breaks. I have hobbies.”

“I have hobbies,” he insists.

“That you’ve invested in recently?” You ask. "Actively?"

He hesitates. “So what, burger eating is supposed to be my next hobby? I don’t struggle with diets, but that one might be hard.”

“Ha ha,” you say flatly. “I just wanted to get you away from training. You love burgers.”

Jaemin looks down at his burger, as if the sandwich itself has betrayed him. “I do,” he sighs. “You don’t need to baby me. I’m a grown man.”

“I know,” you say, looking away. “I just wanted to get your mind off of everything. You’re doing a lot.”

A small silence stretches between you. You can feel Jaemin’s gaze probing over your side profile, but you pretend to look around the restaurant.

“Do you still like bingsu?”

“I–” Jaemin’s smile is bright as day, and, more importantly, it’s genuine. You relax“I do.”

“Wanna go to the cafe near Sunghoon’s place?”

You exhale a relieved breath. “That sounds amazing.”

❅˚

“Quick break?” Jaemin pants after a full run through of your routine.

You simply nod, trying to catch your own breath. The two of you skate to the side without a word.

You pull out your phone. Mei’s sent you three images over text with a short question—Received all the photos for promo. You sure you’re okay with the team using these?

As a part of promotional material for the ice show, all three of you—Sunghoon, Jaemin, and yourself—had submitted throwback pictures to be posted by the official account.

Your picture depicted five-year-old you at your very first skating lesson—pink puffer and helmet in full display. It’s one of your favorites.

Sunghoon’s picture, to your surprise, has both of you in it. It must be from middle school, since you’re dressed in costuming from your first and final pairs competition together.

“What the hell?” Your jaw drops as you inspect the image. Jaemin glances over your shoulder, and you turn your phone to show him. “This is the last thing I would’ve expected him to send. I don’t think I even have any pictures of us from that era.”

Jaemin laughs. “Maybe since they asked Sunghoon for something from middle school? He was complaining about it. They asked me for elementary school pictures, so I had it easy.”

Sure enough, the last picture shows the three of you after a group private lesson together. Jaemin’s in the center smiling wide and bright. Sunghoon’s smile is reserved and slightly awkward to Jaemin’s right. You, on the opposite side, cling to Jaemin’s side in a big hug with an even bigger smile.

There it is. A wave of shyness. “I don’t think I have this one either.”

“It’s my favorite.”

“It feels like forever ago.” Your throat constricts as you speak.

“It’s certainly been a long time since then,” Jaemin says. His eyes are glued to the picture of the three of you. His lips soften into a smile.

“I can’t believe Sunghoon and I thought we could be partners,” you cough and wrinkle your nose. “I don’t think his arm strength would’ve kept up. And we would’ve killed each other.”

It’s as if Jaemin doesn’t hear you. “Do you wanna hear something funny?”

“Does it involve that one time Sunghoon dropped me on the ice, your mom took me to urgent care, and then that incident single-handedly made me quit pairs?”

“No, but that’s good.” Jaemin’s smile still floats on his face with a hint of mischievousness, like he’s keeping a secret.

“What is it, then?”

“I used to be so jealous of Sunghoon,” he laughs. “And look at us now, practicing the choreography for an exhibition performance as partners.”

Your mind goes blank. “Jealous? Why?”

He seems to snap out of his reverie at your question, expression growing a little shy. He shrugs “Well, you know.”

“Um, no, I don’t know.”

“Well, childhood crushes and all that,” he says quickly. He queues up the music on his phone. “So jealous over random things. Anyway, ready to practice the second half?”

He skates away to put his phone down on the ledge and start the music before you can respond. What he hasn’t calculated is that he will need to skate right back to you to practice the step sequence. Two can play at this game.

“Funny you say that,” you mutter as he takes your hand. “Considering my childhood self would’ve killed to be paired with you.”

He swallows thickly. You can tell he’s trying to tune into the music, but his steps are half a beat off. “Meaning?”

You’re not going to make it that easy for him. “Same thing that you meant.”

The step sequence is naturally push-and-pull as Jaemin leads you through each stroke and turn, but today it feels like something more: a balance of power.

“We were partners before,” he murmurs before his hands anchor on your hips to guide you into a synchronized spin.

“Briefly,” you say once you complete it. “But I was devastated when you quit altogether. I would’ve done anything to keep skating with you.”

You maintain eye contact through the remainder of this practice. There’s a charged feeling in every movement, every touch. Even when the steps call for distance, you feel the inevitable pull to come back together. In fact, it never feels close enough.

The two of you slide into a stop at the end of your choreography, but you keep staring at each other long after the song has ended. Jaemin’s brown eyes roam your features hungrily, until his gaze settles on your lips.

Jaemin's going to kiss you.

Time slows. The rink lights overhead make your eyes water, and your mind resurfaces into a complete blank. There's not much choice otherwise—not with his lips nearing yours.

You close your eyes, trembling from your head to your blades as your heart rattles against your ribcage.

Lips graze against your cheek. Gentle hands drift onto your cheeks after.

Your eyelids flutter open. Jaemin's face hovers in front of yours. His features flush in a soft pink, but his eyes seem to droop. The corners of his lips quiver up in a sad half-smile.

"Not now," he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Sorry."

You come to your senses as he skates away, blinking around at your surroundings, as if you've woken up from a long sleep.

No words are exchanged as you both grab your things and exit. It's hardly mumbles of goodbye before going your separate ways.

You slam the car door closed and exist in the silence.

Although it just occurred, you're already winding back the events and weighing what could've been done differently.

You should've demanded answers; pushed him away and left in a storm. Or, maybe, you should've done the opposite—allowed all of your real emotions to sweep and pull at your face.

In actuality, you have no real confidence in the efficacy of either. You just hate the way it ended: neutral, as if you're two strangers rather than friends pushing at something more—not that you had the faintest idea of what. Just…something.

Even later that night, the exact details blur together, feeling more like a hallucination more than a memory. Had you made it up in your head? No, Jaemin was definitely flirting with you. Again. But Jaemin flirted with everyone—well, no, it does feel different when Jaemin flirts with you. Tender.

The moment replays over and over again, trapped within your thoughts. You try to sleep, but your mind is too busy fixing itself on the minute details: how his hands felt around you, the soft brush of Jaemin's lips against your skin.

All of your previous confidence feels like it evaporated from your body. All that filled your mind at the time was the near-aching urge to unleash your pent-up feelings. There had been absolutely no regard for the meaning afterwards, not that it mattered—he pulled away anyway. A wisp of a rejection.

If it happened, would it have even meant anything? You muse to yourself as you trace the lines of your ceiling. It could totally have just been harmless flirting.

For yourself, you know there's only one answer. You're well beyond dismissing your behavior with Jaemin as remnants of an old crush. Still, you wonder when they turned into more, as you can't pinpoint when they intensified. It's as if these new feelings could consume the old ones in their entirety.

You wonder if this newfound hunger will ever be satiated. This is more time than you could've imagined spending with Na Jaemin, but it never feels like enough.

You wonder if Jaemin is thinking of you half as much as you're thinking of him right now.

The thought barely fades when, like a sick, cosmic joke, your phone vibrates on your nightstand. Na Jaemin flashes on the screen.

You lunge for it and straighten your posture, clearing your throat and sliding a finger across the screen to answer. "Hey. What's up?"

"Hey," Jaemin says. "Did you see the group chat? What do you think?"

"Uh, no. I didn't see it," you admit. "What's up?"

"Coach Brown's wife asked if we want to visit him. Since he was cleared to finish his recovery at home."

"Oh—yeah, of course." The words come out rushed. It's as if you're speaking with a mouth filled with cotton balls. "I'm down."

"Cool."

"Are…are we all going?" You ask, then immediately regret it.

"Yes, of course." A pause. "I can take you tomorrow. Since we'll be going after the team meeting."

"Team meeting—?" Ah. The meeting with Mei and Jeff. "Right—yeah, we can carpool. If you don't mind."

"I don't," he says. "I'll pick you up at 1:30?"

"Sounds good."

"About today," Jaemin blurts out. "I'm sorry."

You slouch and close your eyes. "Sorry for what exactly, Jaem?"

"Well—we almost—you know." It's the most you've ever heard him stumble over his words. You would kill to see what flustered looks like brushed over his face. "Right?"

"So you're sorry that we almost kissed." The words flatten as you speak.

"God—can we talk? After our meeting? Or after we visit Coach Brown?"

Stress laces through his tone. Your heart sinks. "Of course."

Jaemin waits for a beat, but you refuse to give in. You don't want to have this conversation over the phone either, and he already offered.

"Good night, Jaemin," you offer.

"…Good night," he murmurs. "Sleep well."

You toss your phone back on the nightstand and cover yourself with the blankets. After that, you're in for the most restless sleep of your life.

"Last alignment meeting," Jaemin says on the way in. "Ready to do this thing?"

You force a smile. Not only are you reeling after a grand total of four hours of sleep, but the car ride over had been little more than dull niceties. "Something along those lines."

He frowns, but you pick up your pace and barrel inside.

Jaemin ends up drifting towards Jeff, although he looks over his shoulder at you.

You shrug and sit at the other end of the table, waiting for Mei to arrive.

Jaemin and Jeff huddle at the front of the table, gesturing and whispering among themselves. They only snap to attention when Mei strides in and shuts the door closed with extra force.

"Good afternoon," Jeff greets with his usual professionalism.

Mei and Jeff jump into reviewing the analytics from the last month. It lives up to your expectations; ever since the ice show announcements and promos ran, it was like someone hit a switch. You—according to sources, since you still avoided social media like the plague—were showing up less in search inquiries. If you were, then content leaned more supportive.

Still, looking at the cold hard numbers, it's clear that Jaemin's growth is unstoppable. Your followers grew by nearly triple, sure, but his total follower count still runs laps around yours.

"I think fans are just grateful to see you so active," Mei explains.

You steal a glance at Jaemin. His face gives away nothing. He looks like a statue, his expression carved in fierce stoicism.

By all metrics, both of your social media profiles look healthier than ever. Buzz has calmed down, and, by some miracle, your "relationship" appears to be accepted by the general public.

"In my opinion—we'll wrap with the ice show, both parties can post the photos from the event, and I think the performance will speak for itself!" For someone so corporate, Jeff looks downright giddy.

You and Mei meet his enthusiasm with tempered applause. Jaemin doesn't even look up.

"Well, there is one matter we should discuss, now that we're at the tail end of things." Jeff's voice turns into the poised tone you're familiar with. "When to announce the breakup."

It shouldn't have this much of an effect on you—it's a fake relationship, after all!—but your body stiffens on its own. You cross your arms over your chest.

You expect Jeff to defer to Mei, but he clears his throat to continue.

"A development that we will not be officially announcing anytime soon…Jaemin is planning on moving back to his old rink."

Your eyes snap to Jaemin. He's already looking at you, assessing your every minute reaction.

"His current coach divulged that he's moving up his retirement timeline. Jaemin's going to add his new coach onto his official team as support for now, then he'll make the hard switch next season."

The same sad glimmer from yesterday shines in his eyes. You understand in an instant—he knew it, even then.

"We're thinking, to leverage the speed skating season, we'll have Jaemin withdraw significantly from posting on social media. That way, breakup rumors and potential fallout can be addressed outside of the season for both sports."

"So no official announcement," Mei muses. "Just a fizzle out."

Jeff nods. "Just a fizzle."

"We'll discuss." Mei glances at you in the corner of her eye, so quick you almost miss it. "For now, we'll just aim to keep social media normal following the show."

You don't want to discuss it. You want to eject yourself from this meeting and dash under the covers, but today is not an option. Not when you, Jaemin, and Sunghoon have a scheduled visit with Coach Brown.

"Ready?" Jaemin asks after the meeting wraps.

You nod without a word and follow him to his car.

"I know you're mad," Jaemin rushes through his words right when your door closes. "Let me explain."

"No need," you say while pulling the seatbelt tight across your torso. "I think Jeff gave us the appropriate context. You're switching coaches, so you already decided to leave."

He runs a hand through his hair. "It's really not my choice. I didn't expect this at all."

You shrug. "Things happen."

Jaemin glances at you, but you train your gaze ahead. "Are you mad because—"

You cut him off. "This isn't a guessing game. It's either you have something to say, or you say nothing."

Jaemin's temper is rarely put to the test, but today you come very close: clenched jaw, sharp brows.

"You know what?" He says. "We'll just talk after we see Coach Brown."

"Fine by me."

Jaemin starts the ignition and snaps the gears into reverse. As both of you have decided there's nothing to say, you spend the entire car ride in pointed silence.

"It's so sweet of you kids to come out here and visit him," Mrs. Brown leaves a bowl of fruit on the center of the table. Not even thirty seconds later, she's back with pretzels. Thirty seconds after that, cookies.

"That's all right, Cynthia," Coach Brown chuckles. "You're going to scare the poor things off."

You, Jaemin, and Sunghoon sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the coach with small smiles. Sunghoon, with his endless generosity, insisted that Jaemin sit in the middle. You initially wanted to strangle Sunghoon, but you also can't help but be hyperaware of Jaemin's muscles pressing into your own.

Despite the current weirdness between two-thirds of you, this was something that didn't need to be discussed at all. Although, sitting here, you and Sunghoon fiddle with your hands and squirm a little in the heavy atmosphere. In situations like this, it's difficult to know the right things to say.

Jaemin leans forward, stands up, and shuffles over to Coach Brown's bedside. "You gotta look at this, coach," he laughs.

While you and Sunghoon sit glued to the couch, the whispers of what you want to say lodged firmly in your throats, Jaemin chatters on like it's just another day.

You feel a flash of pride. Then hurt.

How was it so easy for him to go about and act as though nothing affected him?

You shake the thoughts from your head. This isn't about you.

The three of you relax more through the visit, although Mrs. Brown gently cuts it short to allow Coach Brown to rest.

You all wave goodbye and promise to come again, then you're standing in the parking lot, hovering by your cars.

You're about to ask Sunghoon to drive you when he speaks first. "Jaemin, you can take her back, right? I have something else after this that I already committed to."

The bastard is lying; you know for a fact he's playing nothing but video games tonight. He meets your eyes and grins.

Your welcome, he mouths, none the wiser.

You roll your eyes.

"Yeah, I was going to take her anyway," Jaemin says, shooting you a suspicious side glance.

The two of you say bye to Sunghoon and step back into Jaemin's car. Instead of saying anything, he turns the music up until the bass reverberates the entire car. You spend the drive listening to bass boosted music and wonder if he's lost his mind. Still, you tolerate it—until he takes a couple wrong turns.

"What the hell are you doing?" You try to shout, but the music drowns out your words.

He doesn't even glance at you. You realize, scanning the horizon, that he's driving you to the park nearest to your house. Jaemin pulls into a spot, turning to you when he turns off the engine.

"Want to go on a walk and talk?"

You've often driven past your local park on weekends, swarming with families and soccer games, but today, on a random weekend evening, it's peaceful. The sunset just barely kisses the horizon, blending shades of orange and pink across the sky.

Jaemin walks at your side in shorts and a gray sweatshirt. His hoodie's pulled up, and you're wearing one of his baseball caps over your head.

You walk side-by-side for a while, kicking rocks down the pavement.

After a while, he finally speaks first. "I'm sorry for not telling you directly about the move."

You stiffen. Your legs are still in motion, but your movements feel robotic. Yeah, you'd wanted him to figure it out on his own, but you weren't expecting him to actually know so fast.

Your surprise must show, because Jaemin then clicks his tongue and exhales. "Whew. That must've really pissed you off, if you're that surprised that I got it right."

You find your voice. "Yeah. I didn't love hearing about it through your team. Again."

He winces. "I know. I told him not to mention it, but he kinda went a little rogue there."

"No." You shake your head. "It's not just that aspect of it."

Confusion. "Then…?"

You shrug and throw your arms up. "I wish you told me yourself, Jaemin. No team. Not because you need to tell me in the name of the contract. I wanted you to tell me, face to face, friend to friend."

His jaw drops. "I—"

"I thought we've grown since the start." You hate how your voice trembles. "You knew how upset I was when this started, but you went ahead and did the same exact thing. No mention of these deliberations, even when I see you every day. It's like I mean nothing—"

A shadow crosses his face. "Don't finish that sentence," he snaps.

The two of you are stopped in the furthermost part of the path by a cluster of trees, hidden in the corner from the rest of the park-goers.

You poke a finger into his chest with each word. "I. Mean. Nothing. To—"

It all happens in one swift motion. Jaemin grabs your wrist before you can poke him again, then he tugs you wholly into his chest. His eyes flash before he crashes his lips onto yours.

Your first kiss with Jaemin is the opposite of your near-kiss; from the beginning, you collide, rough and wild, pushing against the other.

This is what you missed out on; it could've just been like this at the rink, too. The realization fuels another flash of irritation paired with a slight thrill. Kissing Jaemin gives you the same rush as competing. Pure adrenaline and dopamine override your senses.

All you can think about is his lips on yours. From the way he pulls you close, hands firmly placed on your back and hips, you know he's equally as lost.

More, you think. The urge completes the thought you've pushed back for months: regardless of the extensive time you've spent together, it will never feel like enough. Down to the level of comfort, the silent understanding, and now the physicality—in this moment, you never want to let Jaemin go.

Probing, you swipe your tongue across his lower lip. He hesitates, easing the pace into slow rhythms. It's not an outright denial—you try again, this time lightly nibbling.

"Alright," he pulls away and presses his forehead to yours as you both catch your breath. "That's enough."

"You started it," you huff with a laugh.

He laughs, then scans around your surroundings. It's not the smartest thing, but there's no one around now, at least.

You lean back in, but he shakes his head. "Can we just…talk?"

He sits down on the closest bench and gestures next to him. You follow.

"I'm sorry for not telling you. It was true though—I wanted you to hear it from me."

You bite your lip. "I believe you."

"I'm sorry for…doing that, too. Just now," he adds.

The relief evaporates immediately. "And you're sorry about…what, exactly?" You ask coolly.

He pales. "I—"

"No more beating around the bush, or going through our teams," you say. "Just tell me what you're thinking please. I think I deserve the truth."

Jaemin thinks for a minute, then grins. "I have feelings for you."

"Jesus, Jaem—" Your whole body feels like it's burning up and smoking into the evening sky.

"What?" He shrugs. "I wanted to just get that out in the open, before you start getting ideas that you don't mean anything to me."

He gives you a pointed look. You stick your tongue out at him.

"I'll say that too. You mean a lot to me."

"I get it," you grumble. His charm has completely disarmed you. "You mean a lot to me too."

His smile shines bright and blinding, even against dusk. "I'll be here for this season before moving, then I'll be three hours away. I still want to give us a try. We can try to make it work even through our schedules."

Even through the warmth of his confession, a cold dose of reality hits you when reminded of your own impending training. "Jaemin…that might get a little crazy, don't you think? Training schedules are one thing, but competition and travel are another."

"I want to go to your competitions," he declares. "At least a good amount of them. I want people to see me supporting you."

You should be happy—after all, Jaemin's discarding his notorious privacy—but the thought of the general public remaining permanent witnesses to your private life makes your stomach coil. Your mind leaps to the worst possibility—what if you flopped next season? Would you retire, disgraced? Would they talk about you online—Na Jaemin's girlfriend, a washed-up skater anchored to him by memories?

"Even if your girlfriend doesn't reach the same legend status?" You ask with a bitter smile.

Jaemin deflates. "You've had a great career."

There it is: had.

You sigh. "Can I think about it?"

"Why?" He demands.

"I just—I want to think about it Jaemin, jeez! One day you don't want to kiss me, the next day you're kissing me and telling me that you want to be together—it's a lot."

"You wanted me to be open and honest," he says quietly. "So I'm leaving it all out there."

He's right. You're being a massive hypocrite, and he's presenting everything that you've wanted right there.

Even with the perfect man offering you everything, you can't shake the rotten doubt that it's too good to be true. You'll ruin what you have, just like you've ruined everything else.

"I mean, I've said it before, but I still think that my image benefited from this arrangement more than yours."

"Come on," he says, hugging you from behind. "You know I don't care about that stuff. "

"I know." You lean back into his chest. It's almost easier to speak openly when you're not looking directly at him. "It's just…when I think about it—really try to think about it—I don't know how everything's supposed to fit together. Once we both go back to training full-time."

His hug on you loosens a little, although you feel his shoulders tighten. "Like…you don't know where I fit into your life after this?"

"No," you respond, then hesitate. "It's like…"

That was the thing—for all of the time you'd spent out of the other's orbit, it was now hard to picture your life without Jaemin's presence. You could see the possibilities laid out clearly: going to his competitions or watching them online if you were out of town. Calling him before your events to calm your nerves, then calling him again after to debrief.

Undoubtedly, Jaemin brought the levity into your life that had been missing for years. But when you tried to conjure your role in his life, your mind drew a big, looming blank.

"I just don't know how I'm going to fit in your life, Jaem," you admit, your voice low and quiet. "We're so different. You're a success that's able to just climb and climb, and I've been struggling for the past five years. I don't know if I belong in your world."

His voice drops. "It's the same world."

"You know I don't mean literally." You untangle your limbs and turn to face him.

Jaemin's lips tighten into a straight line that's neither a smile nor a frown. There's the slightest crease bending between his eyebrows.

Your chest constricts at the sight, and you struggle to breathe. More than the sadness pooling in his features, there's something worse under the surface: disappointment.

You open and close your mouth, forgetting your words, but Jaemin speaks first.

"Do you know you have a tell when you jump?" He says.

"I—excuse me?"

"It has nothing to do with your speed, or even your technique right as you load into it," his eyes turn fiery. "I can tell if you're going to land it based on your expression alone. When you're about to land it, you get this cute, determined scrunch across your whole face. When you're about to pop it or mess up the landing, you get this scared look in your eyes. Like you're about to cry, even before you take off."

"So what?" You manage to choke up. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You're giving me the same face right now, babe." Jaemin looks tired. "You look like you don't believe in this at all."

"I just need time."

"Then you can have it."

Silence stretches and expands between you. You hate this. You want to grab his hand and tell him that everything is going to be okay, but you can't make promises that you're not sure you can keep. You're hurting both of you in the process, but you can't stop.

"I just need time," you repeat, a broken record. "After the show?"

"Okay. We'll talk about it then." You see it cross his face again. Disappointment, disappointment, disappointment. "Let me take you home."

You finish the final touches of your makeup. You take a deep breath.

You're wearing the same dress from your Nationals free program. The ice blue fabric clings to your torso before flowing down your legs in sweeping waves.

You'd selected this dress for the show shortly after Nationals concluded—it was one of your favorites, and you hadn't been in the mindset to pursue a new look on a tight timeline, anyway—but you feel a brief flash of regret.

Dressed like this, it's impossible to not think about the last time you wore this dress. What started as yet another sad stamp in your fractured career pivoted to so much more. Your near-catastrophic failure of a program turned comeback, followed by the return of Jaemin into your personal life.

You pick up your phone, thinking to text Jaemin your revelation, only to remember and put it back down again. You'd left for the rink without checking whether he'd extend an offer to carpool or, at minimum, reach out at all to clear the air. He didn't—now, your first time seeing him today would be within the next thirty minutes, right before your show together.

A deep urge digs at your gut. You want to march right into the room you're mostly sure Jaemin's getting ready in with Sunghoon, drag him out, and demand answers. That, despite everything, he hasn't given up on you.

It's just an instinct. You lean back in your chair and close your eyes. A deep breath.

As you are choosing to handle this maturely (which rules out marching into his dressing room), you brace yourself for what's bound to be your first encounter: your off-ice warm up.

You've shown up ten minutes early. You're cycling through your second round of dynamic movements—light jogs, lunges, leg swings—until the remaining skaters begin to turn the corner.

You hear the slight lapse in chatter, but you ignore it. You're only looking for one face in the crowd.

A hand grabs your bicep. Sunghoon. "Hey, what's going on?" He hisses low into your ear. "Jaemin's pissed."

You swallow. "How pissed?"

"Pissed." His eyes narrow. "You don't seem surprised."

"Well, I…" A familiar figure rises in your peripheral. You free yourself from Sunghoon's grip. "I'm handling it. Promise."

Worry crosses his face. "Is that…good timing right now? Right before everything?"

Your confidence droops a little, but you push through it. "The timing is shit, but it has to be now."

Sunghoon releases your arm. You step forward toward the corner of the space, where Jaemin warms up with a small group of skaters.

He's wearing full-length black trousers that elongate his legs. His long-sleeved top echoes yours in shades of white blending into ice blue. A perfect pair.

You haven't seen him in days. It's like observing him through the lens of a stranger as he enraptures the attention of all around him with endless charm.

For the first time, it occurs to you; if you truly step away, this could be your new reality. Rooting for him from a distance rather than working through each struggle together. Polite yet restrained smiles of acknowledgement that refuse to reopen old wounds. The thought makes you ache.

You know it, then. You can't bear the thought of becoming strangers to one another again. As much as it stings to face your fears, the possibility of losing Jaemin hurts you more.

Rationally, you know that you can only blame yourself for this current situation—after all, it was your insecurities that had pushed him away.

Time after time, Jaemin had proven his genuine feelings and intentions toward you. This time, it was your duty to do the same.

Despite your reassurance to Sunghoon, you're scared to confront him. You're scared, but you push through anyway. You know, deep down, that going on the ice with Jaemin without addressing anything first will crack something deep in your foundation. You don't know how he'll react, and you don't want to find out.

"Hi," you breathe out from a slight distance.

Jaemin steps away from the group. His expression controls itself in an even neutrality, but he scans over your costume and over the details of your makeup.

"Hi," he responds.

A pause. There's a million things you want to say—what you know you should say, but you have no idea where to start.

"Are you ready?" You ask weakly.

"Yes." Then, he adds. "You don't need to worry. We'll give them a good show."

A good show. They're innocent words by themselves, but the accompanied tone leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

"Performance," you can't help but correct. "We'll give them a good genuine performance."

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that not what I just said?"

He's messing with you. The cold shoulder sends hot desperation down your spine.

"Please don't be like this," you plead with him. "Can we just talk?"

"We are talking." He doesn't even look up at you.

"Come on, Jaemin. You know what I mean."

He leans down to retie the laces on his skate. He pulls so tight that the fibers creak against the boot. "I have been talking to you. Ever since we crossed paths again—I think I've been more than clear about where I stand. You're the one that needs more time."

"I don't need any more time." You admit. Your throat is raw. "I don't."

He stops.

This is it, you think.

Except, it's the opposite. Jaemin finishes lacing up his skates in a flash of panic and darts away.

"Jaemin," you call after him. You double back, grabbing your bag before taking off after him.

He weaves past the other skaters, who look at the pair of you with either curiosity or confusion. You're sure that some sort of account of this will end up on some sort of gossip blog or forum later on.

It's not hard to catch up to Jaemin, given that he's hobbling on top of blades covered by blocky skate guards. You end up cornering him in his own dressing room.

"Are you done?" You ask, exasperated. "We don't have time for this. I'm on in fifteen, then you're on with me right after."

"Yeah," he mutters, eyes darting around the room to and fro. "Let's not do this now. Let's wait."

"No way." You're blocking the door now. "God, just—listen to me, Jaem."

Realization dawns on his face, and an uneasy smile stretches completely across his features. "I'm listening."

"Thank you," you cough. Your face feels hot enough to melt ice. "I messed up yesterday."

He nods and waits for you to continue.

"Ever since you came back into my life, it's just felt like everything spiraled out of my control. Having you back and supporting me wholeheartedly while I've been struggling for so many years…" You frown while trying to find the words. "I guess I didn't believe it. I didn't feel like me or any of the work I've done for the past few years was worth that sort of blind optimism."

"It's not blind," he offers.

You ignore him. "You're perfect in, like, everything you do. I had you up on this crazy high pedestal, and I thought I would never be able to actually meet you there."

You look at Jaemin. His gaze is soft.

"You show everyone the best sides of you, but I want to see all of it. Whether you're excited or irritated at how training went, if you're annoyed at your fanbase." You draw in a breath. "I want to see all of you. I want to be with you, after this. Away from the cameras, and just for us."

Jaemin's eyes roam over your face. Then, he exhales loudly and hangs his head on top of his thighs. His shoulders shake as he laughs to himself. "Good god…"

Everything burns. "What?"

He rises to his feet and stands above you. His hands cradle your chin, their touch cool yet gentle. "I shouldn't have lost my temper at you. I'm sorry."

Your throat is dry. "Then…?"

"I got carried away even letting myself think that an idea of us would be possible." Jaemin admits. "I wasn't thinking enough about how you felt."

You nod your head wordlessly, transfixed by his words.

"You don't give yourself enough credit. Your work ethic, your charisma…you don't have to prove anything to anyone." He pauses. "It's not like anyone's perception of us will change, since I guess we're already publicly dating, but I'm ready to love you out loud. Whenever you're ready."

"Love."Your head spins. "Jaemin—"

"Jaemin, you don't know that you love me. Wrong." he anticipates your words with a shit-eating grin. His thumbs caress your cheeks. "I didn't realize it at the time because I'm such a dumbass, but I think I've loved you my whole life."

You press the backs of your hands to your cheeks, which slightly overlaps with his hands lining the sides of your face. "You have?"

"Yup." He takes one of your hands in his and presses a soft kiss to your skin. "No pressure to say it back, though. Take your time."

You don't need time; you've always known it deep down. Regardless of location, age, or circumstances, Jaemin's always reserved a space within your heart.

"One minute," you murmur, reaching for your bag. A pink bunny plushie slides out, and you hand it into the hands of the original gift-giver.

"Mr. Hops?" Jaemin tilts his head.

"I don't compete without him," you lower your gaze shyly. "So I guess you'll be in charge of making sure I have it at competitions."

Jaemin hugs him tight. "I—"

"What I'm trying to say is," you take a step towards him. "I love you too."

Jaemin closes the gap between you. The kiss carries all of your conflicting emotions and promises that you're still a little scared to say out loud. All you know for sure are two things: first, you love Jaemin, and second, to love Jaemin, you're determined to be more comfortable with the unknown.

"Jaemin, I've been knocking, you're on—" Sunghoon lingers in the threshold, jaw dropped. "What the hell?"

The room falls into wide stares. You jump away with your arms raised in surrender, Jaemin squeezes Mr. Hops to his chest, and Sunghoon points a silent, accusatory finger around the room.

"I've been looking for you, Jaemin," his finger moves to you. "You're on in like, five minutes." Finally, it lands at Jaemin's arms. "Why is Mr. Hops here?"

"We can explain," you blurt out.

Sunghoon glares at you. "You're going to explain, you dirty liar. After. You guys have to get your asses out there first."

The corners of Jaemin's eyes crinkle as he looks at you. You feel a warm swell of affection in your chest.

There's so much more you want to say to him, but the show must go on. For now, you press a quick peck to his lips and interlace your fingers together. "Ready?"

Jaemin's smile is so wide that it looks like he might explode with happiness. "For you? Anytime."

Sunghoon fake gags but holds the door open for you.

You hold hands the entire way to the ice. The crowd loses it. You faintly perceive the screams and camera flashes, but all you focus on is the feeling of Jaemin's hand in yours.