Chapter Text
“Did-” Jihoon still chokes on his words despite the moments, the minutes, that have passed, the ground falling from under his feet. Seokmin must be long gone by now but Jihoon still feels like he’s in a perpetual state of freefall.
He hasn’t even managed to get his ass off the ice yet.
Finally, he manages to focus back on Ivanov and somehow manage to wrangle his breakdown in just enough so that he can finally ask the question that’s been strangling him.
“Did you know?” Ivanov looks just as shell shocked as Jihoon feels, so when he shakes his head Jihoon immediately believes him. It doesn’t actually help him though, knowing that Ivanov didn’t know. Instead, it actually feels like it makes it all worse, and with a numbness coursing through his body at speeds unattainable to man, Jihoon finds himself collapsing onto the ice, his chest heaving with the force of breaths he simply can’t take.
It’s hard for Jihoon to understand time when he’s like this, spiralling out of control as he holds himself in the fetal position and tries to keep it together. Fails all the same, but his body is trying to help where his brain cannot. He can’t even feel the bite of the ice beneath him as his body begins to shake, the lack of oxygen to his limbs and lungs and even brain starting to take its toll on him. Jihoon is falling apart at the seams, and there doesn’t seem to be a way to stop it.
Suddenly, but maybe not so suddenly at all, there’s a hand squeezing his shoulder and a voice frantic above him, far too fuzzy for him to understand. The hand becomes two and together they get him mostly sitting up, his body a puppet without a puppeteer having no choice but to move where the hands want. His own hands, however, stay pressed into his face so firmly it kind of hurts. But, he can’t care about that, not unless he decides to inhabit his body once more and deal with all the emotions waging war inside of him.
The hands that hold him up move so that they may curl around his wrists, tugging and tugging until his hands come free from his face. Jihoon finally looks up at who’s with him, sighing at the sight of Seungcheol’s worried gaze.
He’s still crying. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to stop.
“Jihoonie, are you hurt?” Seungcheol whispers, his eyes wide and imploring as they look over all of him. Jihoon can only manage a shake of his head, sagging in on himself further as the words get stuck like glue in his chest. Seungcheol squeezes his hands but Jihoon doesn’t bother to look up. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you know?” His voice is soft and cracked and sad, a mere whisper lost to the frigid air of the ice.
“What?”
“Did you know?” Jihoon asks, finally looking back up at Seungcheol and staring at him, unblinking. Seungcheol just looks lost, but Jihoon doesn’t offer him a leg to stand on.
“Did I know what, Ji?”
“Did you know Seokmin is blind?” Jihoon knows the second that Seungcheol’s eyes widen what the answer is. He knows it long before Seungcheol swallows and long before his arms are squeezed.
“Jihoon-”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Seungcheol starts to look desperate, but he knows he sounds as hollow as he feels, that if you were to put a stethoscope to his chest all you would hear is emptiness echoing back to you.
“It wasn’t my place.” Jihoon finds it easy to scoff even despite his tears.
“You’d endanger both of us for the sake of your place?” When Seungcheol swallows loudly and visibly, Jihoon knows he’s won. But it’s far easier to feel that he’s lost, and his eyes fall to the ice beneath him. “Sure, it’s not your story, and I’m a, a, a snoepje,” he tries to sneer but it just sounds as worn and sad and hollow as the rest, “but for the sake of both of our safety, you could’ve just told Ivan.”
“What did you say?” Jihoon blinks a few times, not even shocked that he’s still crying, and looks back at Seungcheol with what he’s sure is the barest expression of confusion. Eventually, Seungcheol further explains himself. “What did you call yourself?”
“A snoepje? Seokmin called me it.” Seungcheol just blinks at him.
“What else did he call you?”
“I don’t see what this has to do with anything-”
“Jihoon. Just tell me.” Jihoon sighs, but finds himself conceding. But before he tells Seungcheol anything, he frees a hand to prop up his heavy head, exhausted beyond belief but still going through such an emotional whirlwind that he has no hope in stopping.
“Um, I can’t remember them all,” he starts only for Seungcheol to wave him on, “but snoepje, rakas, solnishko. Some others too I don’t remember. But,” he pauses when he sees Seungcheol’s expression cracking, a deep frown pulling at his mouth, “what? What is it?” Seungcheol’s sigh is heavy and it drags his shoulders down, his eyes big and wet in the worst way when he finally looks back up and meets Jihoon’s eyes.
Jihoon feels his heart freeze.
“Pet names.” Jihoon blinks, not following.
“Pet names?”
“Seokmin’s been calling you pet names.”
And somehow, that makes the whole thing worse. Jihoon feels his heart crack and bleed and shatter, the sharp parts only cutting him worse. After the events of the morning, Jihoon’s not sure he’ll ever have a functional heart again. How could he, after it’s been forced to endure so much. His tears start anew as he blinks at Seungcheol, suffocating on his sobs.
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” he whispers, his voice cracking and wavering. Seungcheol’s expression falls further, and Jihoon feels his world begin to tilt. Or maybe that’s just him, he realizes, as he ends up curled on his side on the ice once more.
It’s just him and the ice. He shouldn’t have kid himself — it will always be them in the end, only them. To think that they would have anything different would be a shame.
—
“Hey.” Seokmin doesn’t even bother to look at Mingyu as he talks to him. Rude, sure, but Seokmin is far too busy wallowing to care. “I brought picarones? From the Peruvian market on 4th Street? ‘Buelita said she made them with extra love today. Should help soothe the soul, or something.” Seokmin wishes he had it in him to get his ass to 4th Street and hold Abuelita as close as possible for as long as she would let him. But he feels far too empty and sad to be able to do anything of the sort.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, not even bothering to lift his head from his bed. Mingyu sighs from his door and Seokmin listens as he crosses the room, the bed dipping as Mingyu must sit.
“You’re really worrying me.” Mingyu’s words are a messy mix of soft and sad and serious, as if he’s minutes away from driving to Jihoon’s and beating his ass but also as if he’s ready to cradle Seokmin to his chest and never let him go.
It’s a duality that Mingyu has always seemed to pull of better than anyone else Seokmin’s known. He’s grateful for it beyond words.
“Just gimme a day or two,” Seokmin somehow manages, a hand patting his hip within moments.
“Only a day?” Mingyu’s concern is usually comforting, but now it’s just tiring. Everything seems to be.
“Yeah.” Seokmin expects Mingyu to leave then, the next to pats on his hip feeling final and all that. But no, instead Seokmin feels the mattress shift some more before Mingyu’s front is pressed against his back, and arm firm around his waist.
The feeling alone has him breaking out in sobs again. He just wishes he knew why everything had to hurt so much.
Mingyu just holds him even tighter, rubbing comforting circles on his stomach as he quietly shushes him.
“Do you want me to text Dimitriy and tell him you’re too sick for practice tomorrow? At least to give yourself a little space from all of this.” Though he doesn’t want to admit it, Mingyu’s suggestion has the vice on Seokmin’s chest lessening. His next breath shudders, threatened by a sob, but somehow he still manages to hold it together.
“Yeah.”
Mingyu hums easily, shuffling a little so that he may reach Seokmin’s phone and unlock the device. Seokmin can only listen as Mingyu types and then murmurs the message back to himself. One final tap that sounds as if it echoes throughout the room is the last nail in the coffin, Mingyu’s hand on Seokmin’s stomach patting a few times.
“There.” Seokmin manages a strangled hum in response. “Now, you wanna watch a movie with junk food and drown our feelings?” Seokmin is about to agree with Mingyu’s casual words before his brain catches on something.
“Our?”
“Yeah,” Mingyu sighs, humming softly when Seokmin squeezes his hand. “Just got something going on. I don’t wanna talk about it.” Seokmin feels his heart sink.
“You sure?” Seokmin feels Mingyu nod against his neck.
“Yeah, just need time to think.”
“Preaching to the choir.” The only response Seokmin receives is a sigh against his neck and the tightening of Mingyu’s arm around his waist.
For now, they can wallow. Tomorrow they can figure everything out, but today is meant to be sullen and morose, perfect for commiserating. Seokmin wouldn’t have it any other way.
—
Fuck.
Jihoon can barely read the text lighting up his display through the tears in his eyes.
A canceled practice can really only mean one thing in Jihoon’s mind — Seokmin’s ready to end their partnership and just hasn’t figured out quite how to do it.
Well, Jihoon considers, sucking in a long breath and forcing himself to straighten up, he might as well present Seokmin with that option. It’s the least he can do.
Before he can do anything, however, his display lights up with new texts.
KSY [07:18]: Jagiya howre you feeling?
Cheolie [07:18]: Yeah, Jihoonie, how are you?
hoon [07:18]: ivan just canceled practice today
hoon [07:19]: fully
hoon [07:19]: im gonna go apologize to seokmin for everything
KSY [07:20]: Is rhat a good idea ???
Cheolie [07:20]: Jihoonie are you sure????
KSY [07:20]: same brain
hoon [07:21]: i can’t not
hoon [07:21]: he at least deserves to hear it
KSY [07:22]: Yeah sure whatever but are you sure you wanna do this today?? I mean everything with the bastard only just happened
Cheolie [07:23]: Soons right, Ji. Maybe you should wait until you feel better
hoon [07:24]: i can’t leave him hanging like this anymore
hoon [07:24]: it’s alright, i’ll just go apologize and leave
KSY [07:25]: Were not gonna be able to change your mind on this are we
hoon [07:25]: no
Cheolie [07:26]: Promise you’ll call if you need a ride or something like that?
KSY [07:26]: ^^
hoon [07:27]: yeah i will
hoon [07:27]: i think im gonna wait a while to go anyways
hoon [07:27]: it’s still early as shit
KSY [07:28]: Smart
Cheolie [07:29]: Keep in touch, yeah?
hoon [07:30]: yes mom
And though Jihoon loves his friends, he has to admit that they’re exhausting sometimes, like now. He shoots them a final message basically dismissing them before he drops his skating bag near the door, collapsing on the couch in a heap. It is really too early to bother Seokmin, especially if he is actually sick, so Jihoon resigns himself to stewing anxiously while he sits.
He’s not sure how, but the world seems to move around him, and when the clock finally hits 10 Jihoon’s getting to his feet slowly. He needs to do this, and he knows it, but it doesn’t make it any more pleasant.
Despite how his feet feel like they’re made of lead, Jihoon trudges his way to Seokmin’s apartment, his troubled mind and terrible disposition and pain in his heart be damned. Somehow he manages to get his ass to Seokmin’s apartment building, the entire walk over spent rehearsing lines in his head and trying to figure out the best approaches to this apology. He has a few to work with when he can finally see Seokmin’s building, the main contenders being:
- Come clean and tell Seokmin what was happening with Rat Bastard and explain why he was so terrible yesterday morning
- Apologize but also make sure to insist that Seokmin is a prodigy (he thinks that one’s the grossest)
- Offer up the bear minimum of an apology
- Bully Seokmin into coming back to skating and understand that they’re done for once the season is over (he hates that one the most)
His debate ends as he opens the door to the building, deciding to just go with whatever happens in Seokmin’s apartment. After all, as much as he tries, he can’t plan Seokmin's reaction until it happens.
The door is tall and foreboding in front of him as he raises a shaky hand and forces a breath, finally managing to knock. He hides his trembling hands behind his back and does his best to stand tall, not cowering or crying or sniveling. His dignity is all he has left at this point, and he’ll be damned if he loses it now.
After a lifetime of waiting, the door finally opens, a scowling Mingyu glaring down at him. Jihoon knew the other man was tall, but with him filling up the doorway and with nothing short of a glower decorating his features, it’s impossible to miss it.
“What.” Mingyu’s voice is hard and angry, the word spat at Jihoon rather than asked. Jihoon can only suppose that he deserves it.
“Is Seokmin here?” Mingyu’s eyes narrow as he crosses his arms, imposing over Jihoon even more.
“Why? What do you want?”
Jihoon has to close his eyes and keep his breathing steady in order to be able to get his answer out. It’s because he’s falling apart, sure, but he can only hope that Mingyu neither catches that nor assumes it’s out of ill will.
“To apologize,” he says as he looks up, hoping that he remains unwavering to the untrained eye. “That’s all Mingyu. I just want to apologize.”
“Why should I let you? What you did was fucked, Jihoon. Fucked.” Another deep breath forces him to take stock of his thoughts and emotions, forcing himself to consider that both Seungcheol and Soonyoung would do the same for him in less than a heartbeat. It takes a few moments, but Jihoon finds it in himself to be grateful that Seokmin has someone looking out for him.
“I know it was,” he says softly, bowing his head in recognition before he looks back up at Mingyu. “That’s why I wanna apologize.” Mingyu continues to scowl, seemingly unsure as to what he’s going to do with Jihoon at the door.
“I doubt he even wants to see you right now-”
“Mingyu? Who is it?” Seokmin’s voice cuts Mingyu off, his head appearing over Mingyu’s shoulder a few moments later. His expression falls when he sees that it’s none other than Jihoon at his stoop, and Jihoon feels his heart stop when he realizes that they very well could close the door on his face right now and there’s nothing he can do about it. The tension runs thick between them all until Seokmin finally sighs, tapping Mingyu’s shoulder softly in a small gesture to make him move.
“You wanna come in?” Seokmin asks Jihoon, his eyes firmly looking towards him but not at him, as if he can’t even stand the sight of him currently. Though he can’t blame him, Jihoon has to admit that it breaks his heart.
“Thanks,” he manages to mumble, sidestepping Mingyu so that he can actually enter the apartment and toe off his shoes.
The air is heavy and awkward as Jihoon follows Seokmin to his room, Mingyu’s death glare following him all the way there. He really is glad that Seokmin has someone like Mingyu to look out for him, even if it is currently at his own expense. Still, he follows Seokmin silently, taking in the cute decorations and the way that Seokmin and Mingyu have filled and decorated their space. Seokmin’s room is endearing too, Jihoon realizes, images of Seokmin in hockey uniforms scattered around with posters and art covering his walls. The pictures of Seokmin with his teams and Mingyu’s and trophies makes Jihoon’s heart pang, and with a soft but sad sigh he settles carefully at Seokmin’s desk chair. Seokmin is sitting on his bed, a pained smile on his face as he watches his hands fidget with his comforter.
“I’m sorry,” Jihoon says immediately, looking at Seokmin with what he’s sure is a desperate expression even if the younger man isn’t looking at him. “You didn’t deserve the shit I put you through, and I’m so sorry. I should have just talked to you about everything and not assumed shit, but,” his breath shakes as he sighs, running a hand through his hair and moving to stare at the floor, “I didn’t. So I’m sorry that I hurt you through my childish actions, and I understand if you aren’t ready to forgive me any time soon, or even if you never are.”
The room stays silent around them, but Jihoon can’t think of anything to do to ease the awkwardness. He doesn’t even really feel like he can, after all, he’s the reason their relationship is such a mess. And holy hell is it a mess. The only thing that he can think is okay is that he managed to get through his apology without trying to excuse his behavior or undermine anything that Seokmin feels. It’s something that he used to struggle with, apologizing to someone else but making it focused around him, and even though this is a situation that Jihoon would rather kill than have been in, he can’t help but to be a little proud of himself. Emotional maturity, growing up; all things we have to do.
When it’s still excruciatingly silent a few minutes later, Jihoon lets out a steady and measured breath, looking up at Seokmin with a fake smile as his fingers twist into themselves to the point that they hurt. Seokmin still isn’t looking at him, which isn’t entirely the worst thing in the world, and with one last deep breath, Jihoon finally breaks the silence.
“I’ll let myself out,” he says softly, standing up and smoothing down his pants despite there being no wrinkles there. “Again, I’m sorry, I was cruel to you and you never deserved that. I understand if you want to end our skating arrangements,” Jihoon’s desperately trying to keep the tears from his eyes - he can’t cry until he’s certain that Seokmin knows he’s being fully, 100% genuine, “but please just send Ivan or me or Cheol or someone a message before practice tomorrow. Um, have a good day,” he finishes a bit awkwardly, but he still manages to finish. Seokmin still hasn’t looked at him since he came in, and with one final nod to himself, Jihoon lets himself out of Seokmin’s room; after all, he’s done what he came here to do. As though he was lurking, Mingyu appears as Jihoon’s closing the door, watching him with a critical stare.
“And?”
Jihoon shrugs and shakes his head, still fighting back tears.
“You were right. Just, um,” Jihoon squeezes his eyes shut and forces a deep breath, quickly swiping at a stray tear that escapes before he forces a shaky smile back at Mingyu. “I told him to let Ivan know if he didn’t wanna continue with pairs, so can you make sure he does that?” Mingyu furrows his brows, watching Jihoon carefully, like a jungle cat stalking its prey, as the latter walks to the door.
“Why?” Jihoon shrugs, forced to swipe at his cheeks once more.
“Ivan doesn’t deserve to be left hanging because of my mistakes.”
“No, no, not that. Why wouldn’t he wanna continue pairs?” Jihoon has to look at the ceiling for a few moments to pull himself together, his heart breaking at the thought of how much pain he put Seokmin, out of anyone, through. It's only fitting that his dagger of cruelty has only ended up turned upon himself.
“I’ve been a shitty partner, for one. But also, I know he didn’t wanna do this and that Ivan and Jeonghan basically made him. If I were him, I would’ve already quit.” Mingyu makes a soft noise, looking back towards Seokmin’s door with a frown.
“Jihoon-”
He shakes his head before Mingyu can continue, finally losing the battle with himself and ending up in messy tears in the foyer as he stuffs on his slides.
“I’m sorry for what I’ve done, Mingyu. I’ll leave you both be.” Mingyu opens his mouth but no sound comes out, so with a final bow Jihoon leaves their apartment. He has the heel of his hand pressed to his nose as he forces himself to try and regulate his breathing, his watery eyes trying to navigate their way through his phone. Eventually he finds Seungcheol’s contact and hits call, tucking himself into a little alcove by the front door and finally letting his tears fall without a fight.
“Jihoon-ah?” Seungcheol sounds worried, which he should be — Jihoon has never been one to call out of the blue and Seungcheol knew what he set out to do this morning. He’s sure his heavy breathing is echoing through the receiver, but Seungcheol doesn’t call him out for it, instead just dropping his voice down into something soft and soothing immediately. “Jihoon-ah, hey, what’s wrong? What happened?” Jihoon has to cover his mouth and force a few breaths before he’s calm enough to speak, his voice as unsteady as the turbulent ocean when he finally responds.
“Hyung, can you come and pick me up?” Seungcheol asks no questions, and Jihoon can hear him grab his keys and his door shut behind him through the line. It’s just after Seungcheol’s started the car and confirmed with Jihoon that he wants him to stay on the line that there’s a familiar voice echoing through the empty stairwell.
“Jihoon? Hyung? Can we talk?” Jihoon bites down on his fist to hide his breathing, praying that Seokmin doesn’t find him before Seungcheol gets there. All he wants is an hour to cry, stew in regret and grieve his relationships with Seokmin and Mingyu and everyone else the younger man connected him with, before he has to have this conversation with Seokmin.
An hour; that’s all he needs.
Footsteps descend down the stairs and Jihoon feels his heart sink further, focusing on the sounds of Seungcheol’s steady breathing and driving coming from his phone in a desperate attempt to calm down.
“Please tell me hyung didn’t already leave,” Seokmin says softly, his tone defeated as he continues to walk down the stairs. Jihoon keeps himself pressed against the wall as he prays for Seungcheol to finally say those two magic words.
“If you don’t wanna talk, can I at least get a hug?” Oooh baby, does Jihoon finally want to give in. He can’t imagine anything better right now than getting a hug from Seokmin — the best hug giver in the world — but to get a hug requires Seokmin to see him in his current state. Instead of openly sobbing like he wants to or chasing down Seokmin to get one of those hugs, he keeps himself pressed against the wall, shoulders shaking with the force of his muffled sobs.
He should have known that he could only keep himself hidden for so long, because it’s within a few short moments that he feels a gentle touch on his arm. When he manages to open his eyes, another sob tears through his chest, Seokmin’s concerned gaze looking him over with care and diligence that he doesn’t deserve.
“Hyung, hey,” Seokmin says softly, rubbing a hand along Jihoon’s side, “can I give you that hug?” Finally, finally, the last bit of resolve in Jihoon dies and he nods, closing his eyes immediately after so that he doesn’t have to see Seokmin’s face. A sob does tear itself from his chest the second that there are arms around his middle, Seokmin pulling him as tightly against him as possible all the while he rubs a hand over Jihoon’s side. It’s a good hug, amazing even, but Jihoon still forces himself to pull away when Seungcheol finally mumbles those two words: “I’m here.” Keeping his head down, Jihoon forces a smile as he sniffles, staring at his slides and his toes rather than anywhere important.
“I’m so sorry, Seokmin,” he mumbles out once again, squeezing his eyes shut as more tears escape from him. Seokmin seems ready to protest, a hand landing on Jihoon’s arm again and squeezing when Jihoon shakes his head. “I gotta go,” he forces out, and with a quick pat to Seokmin’s hand Jihoon leaves the building. Seungcheol’s waiting there for him, leaning against his car with a worried look on his face, and when he meets Jihoon’s gaze he’s upright in an instant. He almost looks scared, but the sight only makes Jihoon’s chest pang.
“Jihoon, what-” Seungcheol doesn’t get to finish the thought before the door behind him opens, a panicked Seokmin suddenly holding his wrist as he looks between Jihoon and Seungcheol.
“Hyung, please don’t leave.” Another sob tears through Jihoon’s frame, this one hard enough to leave him shaking in the middle of the sidewalk. Seokmin must notice because he’s ever so gently tucked into the younger man’s chest again, a hand smoothing over his hair. “Cheol, come upstairs? Jihoon, you too? Even if we don’t talk, I don’t want you to leave so upset.” Jihoon hears Seungcheol lock his car and footsteps approach, even as he now openly sobs against Seokmin’s chest. Eventually, there’s another hand that gently rests itself against the small of his back, fingers tapping softly to call his attention to them.
“Why’re you so upset, Jihoonie?” Seungcheol keeps his voice soft and gentle, but the words alone are enough to rip another sob from his throat. It hurts, crying like this, and Jihoon can only wish that it’ll stop soon. He’s unfortunately long past the peak of rationality, forced to succumb to the turbulent emotions that are currently clawing into his heart and the pain that comes with them.
“Okay, hey,” Seokmin starts softly once more, smoothing over his hair again like he knows how much better it makes Jihoon feel, “let’s get hyung upstairs, hmm? Passing out in the middle of the sidewalk ‘cuz you suffocated yourself with tears doesn’t sound like it would be any fun, huh hyung?” Jihoon hiccups this time, twisting his hands in the fabric of Seokmin’s shirt and barely managing to nod. He hears Seungcheol sigh in relief from behind him, and he instantly feels even more guilty that he’s caused his friends to worry so much.
Seokmin says something in what Jihoon hopes is a different language based on how he understands none of it, Seungcheol responding back before they begin to move. Jihoon doesn’t move from Seokmin’s chest and Seokmin doesn’t even seem to care, still rubbing up and down his spine and neck and hair all the while that he walks. They eventually get into the elevator, Seungcheol and Seokmin talking in hushed tones and mystery languages, and even though Jihoon knows they’re talking shit about him in front of him, he can’t even seem to care.
Jihoon doesn’t know how they manage it, but eventually his wrecked body is deposited on the couch and a glass of water is pressed into his hands, all the while he still remains sobbing. His eyes burn and feel swollen shut, his chest aching with the exertion that comes with sobbing so violently, and his whole body feels like it was hit by a truck before it was run through a meat grinder like glorified roadkill sausage. He finally takes a sip of his water after too much encouragement only for his stomach to violently twist, making him lurch with the sudden need to vomit.
Somehow he manages to get his poor eyes open and finds the table for his glass, pressing a hand firmly to his mouth as he rushes to stand. Of course his movements are sharp and panicked, he knows this, but the sudden jolt to standing makes him actually gag. He manages to sprint towards the bathroom despite his wretched state, thanking the Lord above that he noticed it when he came in, and it’s not a moment too soon that he collapses in front of the toilet.
It should be known that Jihoon hates vomiting, vehemently. He doesn’t do it often and when he does it makes him feel like he was awake for an autopsy, all of his organs taken out and rearranged for the fun of a maniac. It’s how he feels now as the little that was in his stomach force ejects itself, leaving his head to spin like it’s rusted merry go round. A hand slowly traces his spine, just enough pressure to soothe, but Jihoon can’t even appreciate it as his stomach lurches again. It’s a terrible cycle: breathe for a minute, puke for a minute, on and on until his stomach is empty and the force of his dry heaves become the sole reason for his tears.
After what feels like years, Jihoon can finally, confidently, move away from the toilet, slumping into the wall next to him out of exhaustion. That same gentle hand shifts his bangs out of his eyes and traces a soft line down his arm as whoever it belongs to hums something soft and unfamiliar but comforting all the same while Jihoon works on breathing. His whole torso feels like it’s been stabbed a million times before roasted in an oven and rolled in salted lemon juice, each breath making him wince out of pain. His throat feels beyond repair as well, as if he took sandpaper to the whole thing just for fun, and his head feels like someone ripped it open before they stuffed a bomb inside to watch his brain matter paint the walls.
A cup finds its way to his shaky hands, and the word “rinse” is said softly as the hand taps his cheek. Jihoon does as he’s told, rinsing the grossness from his mouth and spitting into the toilet before he slowly sips at the rest of the cold water. It’s a relief for something to be going the right way, and something cold too, so as Jihoon takes his dainty sips he slumps back further into the wall. The hand takes the cup from him once he’s done before it brushes through his sweaty bangs, a sleeve eventually patting at his cheeks. It’s only then that he realizes he’s leaking tears and snot everywhere, and the one part of his mind that’s barely present is mortified. It’s made worse when there’s something like a kleenex blotting under his nose a few times to fully clean him up. God does he feel like a child.
“Hey, you can’t sleep here,” the voice chastises, but Jihoon ignores it. Instead, he lets his aching and heavy limbs go limp, his ragged breaths echoing throughout the bathroom. He’s sure the voice is about to scold him again when more words he can’t understand are spoken from what must be the doorway, the hand now gently scratching at his scalp. They’re locked in conversation, but Jihoon can’t care, instead allowing his brain to surrender to a half conscious state. It’s a nice change after the events of the previous hours, so much so that even the hand trying to shake him awake doesn’t bother him.
“Jihoonie, you think you can walk?” He doesn’t bother to answer, allowing the silence to speak for him. The voice must understand as it sighs, the hand finding his and squeezing it gently. It’s nice, Jihoon’s half asleep brain admits, it’s nice to hold someone’s hand.
“Can I carry you then? Just to the couch,” the voice clarifies. It’s only after Jihoon thinks about it and realizes that the cold of the bathroom tiles and walls pressing into him have started to make him shiver that he nods. A relieved noise finds its way to his ears before gentle hands scoop him up as though he were a rag doll, cradling him to a warm and firm chest as they must make their way to the couch. Worried noises fill the space but Jihoon can’t find it in himself to care, instead shifting just enough so that he may hide his face in whoever’s warm neck above him. It helps him to feel so much better, as does the blanket that’s draped over the two of them once they’re sitting.
“Schatz, are you feeling better?” The first word alone is enough to cue Jihoon in as to who is finally helping him — only Seokmin calls him sweet things in a plethora of foreign languages, but this time it’s so sincere that he feels his heart melt in his chest. Surprisingly, he can’t even say that he minds.
“Is he even awake?” It’s Mingyu’s worried voice this time, and though Jihoon feels bad he can’t bring himself to move or respond in any way. Seokmin shrugs, but he moves carefully as if not to dislodge Jihoon from where he sits.
“I think so, but I think it’s just barely.” A hand scratches at his scalp once more and Jihoon finally lets go, wiggling a hair closer to Seokmin before sleep overtakes him.
—
“Has he done this before?” Mingyu asks Seungcheol softly once they’re all pretty certain that Jihoon’s asleep on Seokmin’s chest. (The thick breathing that resembles snores is a really damning thing.)
“This kinda freak out?” Mingyu nods before Seungcheol sighs. “Yeah. Not often, but when this happens it’s usually this bad. Worse, even.” Seokmin hums softly, running a hand down Jihoon’s back softly.
“But why? He apologized to me and then left in a hurry, but this seems more than just that.” Seungcheol shrugs, his expression sad and worried as he glares holes in the floor.
“I’m not sure I should be the one to tell you this. I mean, I didn’t tell him about your accident and everything just in case there was a reason you hadn’t told him about it.” Seokmin nods with a grateful smile when Seungcheol looks up, sure that the older man sees that he isn’t upset or affronted by the words or actions. “But Jihoonie’s always had a bit of an anxious streak. He doesn’t really know how to work through it well either, and he never really allows himself to, well,” Seokmin gestures to where Jihoon’s still curled into Seokmin’s chest, his small frame made even tinier with how he’s so tightly balled up.
“Oh,” Mingyu says softly, his eyes darting to Seokmin’s with a weird expression on his face. Seokmin doesn’t get a chance to figure out the meaning behind it before Mingyu turns back to Seungcheol, his tone soft even if his questions aren’t. “But what does this have to do with Seok?” Seungcheol sighs heavily, running his hand through his hair before he grimaces.
“These are the waters I’m not really too keen to cross,” he says softly, giving them both a shrug before he continues. “But I will say that he’s not had a good few weeks, months even, and after everything with you guys fell apart it just sorta brought everything to a head.” Seokmin feels his eyes narrow, glancing down at the passed out Jihoon before he turns back to Seungcheol.
“So he’s basically been having a borderline anxiety attack for the last few weeks, is that what I’m getting?” Seungcheol nods as he sighs, his eyes tracking something outside of their window rather than looking at the confused pair on the couch.
“Yeah. He used to work through them on the ice, but the last time he did that he broke his leg, so.” Seokmin feels his eyes bug as Mingyu gasps.
“I-” Seokmin tries before he has to stop and collect himself, eyes back on Jihoon for the few moments he has to take to breathe. “I know he said he had a training accident, but I hadn’t realized it was ‘cuz of anything like that.” Seungcheol nods, forcing a smile as he looks back at them.
“Yeah. So now that he doesn’t use his go to coping mechanism, well, this shit happens kinda often.” Seungcheol finishes his words with a gesture towards Jihoon before he sighs again, curling in on himself with the action. It’s quiet for a few minutes before Seungcheol looks up again, a fake smile plastered on his face as he goes to stand.
“If you wanna wake him, we’ll get outta your hair.” Seokmin feels his brows knit as he blinks at the older man, confused and concerned with the change of pace.
“What?” Seungcheol ignores him, that plastic smile still in place.
“And let me know if you’re done with pairs; I gotta tell Ivan so he can look for flights home.” The words freeze Seokmin to his core, his eyes wide as he trades glances with Mingyu. Seungcheol doesn’t ignore their reaction this time, raising an eyebrow even as he smooths down his clothes.
“Why would Ivan go home?” Seungcheol’s eyebrow climbs even higher, although he seems to suddenly be uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.
“Jihoonie didn’t tell you?” Seokmin and Mingyu shake their heads adamantly. “Oh, uh, if this doesn’t work out he’s dropping Jihoon for a year. Forcing him to rest and shit. He really didn’t tell you?” Seokmin can do nothing more than gape at him and shake his head.
“He told me he told you to quit, borderline,” Mingyu says softly, eyes wide as he takes Seokmin in before he turns back to look at Seungcheol. “Why would he do that?”
“Don’t think it wasn’t genuine, the apology or the offer to quit,” Seungcheol quickly interjects, clearly making sure that the others don’t take anything that Jihoon has done as less than real and genuine.
“But why would he do that? Why would he tell me to quit if it’d practically kill his career?” Seungcheol shrugs, back to looking out the window and seeming almost desperate to leave. “Seungcheol hyung, please,” Seokmin starts, blinking up at the older man with so much confusion on his face he can feel it eating at his bones. “Hyung, I’m so confused. Why would Jihoon hyung do that?” Seungcheol shrugs, grimacing once more as he gestures for Seokmin to hand him Jihoon.
“Here. I get you don’t wanna wake him, but at least lemme take him. He won’t wake up, promise.” Seokmin is reeling, beyond confused with everything that’s happening. But Seungcheol is insistent, and with a glance to Mingyu Seokmin realizes that they’re both certain this is the only way to get an answer. Gently, like he’s a precious and irreplaceable treasure, Seokmin eases Jihoon out of his lap and into Seungcheol’s firm hold. Thankfully, it does turn out as Seungcheol promised — Jihoon doesn’t even make a sound as he’s handed off.
“Please, hyung,” Seokmin begs for one final time, feeling tears of frustration start to build. “I just need to know why’d he do that? It’s always been the ice for Jihoon, nothing else.” Seungcheol shrugs, forcing a smile at both of them as his toe scuffs the floor.
“Maybe you’re more important to him than the ice is. Sorry about the shoes on your floor,” Seungcheol says softly, as if his first sentence didn’t feel like an atomic bomb was set off in their living room, before he leaves the apartment for good. Part of Seokmin wants to chase after him, demand answers for all these questions that he raised, but the part of him in control simply sits there, beyond overwhelmed with information. Instead he’s stuck there, gaping on his couch as he stares at his now closed door.
“Holy fuck,” Mingyu breathes, and Seokmin can’t help but to agree.
Holy fuck.
—
Everything hurts. His throat is screaming and his stomach is cramping and he can feel a sheen of sweat sticking to him despite the cold that's burrowed into his chest and bloomed like one of those Hanahaki fanfictions he’s read (not that he’d ever admit to it). Exhaustion overwhelms his limbs as he works to sit up, acutely aware of the way his brain sloshes and burns with the feeling of being pulverized in a blender.
Fuck, he hates being sick.
Forcing his eyes open, Jihoon realizes he’s in Seungcheol’s sweatshirt but Soonyoung’s bedspread is in his lap, his poor aching brain left confused by the two conflicting stimuli. Eventually the sound of two voices permeates the fog in his head, and Jihoon’s tired brain finally connects the dots. He’s in Soonyoung’s apartment, and Seungcheol must have taken them here after what happened at Seokmin’s.
God, Seokmin’s. It’s a can of worms that Jihoon doesn’t want to think about, at least not with the pressure of his raging thoughts against his weakening skull. He needs to get out of his head and fast if he wants to keep a semblance of normalcy and to prevent another spiral. Despite how pained and sluggish it may appear, Jihoon does his best to rush from Soonyoung’s bedroom and onto his couch instead. He’s breathing incredibly hard for such a small move, which calls the other occupants of the room’s attention.
“Jihoonie? You alright?” Jihoon sucks his lips between his teeth as he forces a nod, curling himself into the fetal position with a tight grip to his knees and the support from the armrest and the back of the couch the only thing keeping him upright. A hand works its way through his disgusting hair, its owner humming softly as their fingers scratch at his scalp.
“You think you can stomach some broth?” Jihoon shrugs, though he has to bite back a whine when the hand leaves his hair. He knows he gets needy and touch starved when he’s sick, but it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. But, because he’s known these two men for longer than he hasn’t at this point, they know this about him. As soon as one of them steps away the other seemingly takes his place, reassuring Jihoon with gentle touches.
“You still spiraling?” Jihoon can only really whimper in response, the voice above him humming softly. “That’s alright, we’ll keep you company.” Though he can’t really say anything, Jihoon’s beyond grateful. He’s not sure he’d be able to manage on his own right now, and he knows he owes his friends the world. Gently Jihoon’s body is moved so that he’s resting on someone’s lap, movement from the kitchen reverberating off of the eclectic decor that Jihoon knows Soonyoung has scattered throughout his space. Fingers work through his tangled hair and scratch gently at his scalp, humming slowly kissing his ears with its soft familiarity.
Jihoon isn’t shocked that he ends up in silent tears.
“Hey,” someone whispers from in front of him, a thumb swiping at his cheeks, “are you in pain? Do you want medicine?” Unfortunately, while he is in burning aching sharp bleeding pain, it’s not like any pain meds can really make a dent in it. Tylenol can’t mend a broken heart, much less a crushed soul. Eventually he manages to shake his head, the person in front of him sighing softly.
“Okay, Jihoon-ah. You can stay with hyung until you feel better,” who must be Soonyoung says softly, his fingers combing through Jihoon’s hair along side Seungcheol’s, bringing Jihoon more comfort than he could ever thought possible. “You’ll tell us if you need anything though, right?” Somehow, Jihoon manages to choke out an affirmative noise, Soonyoung patting his shoulder softly before he’s moving away again.
Someone, Seungcheol presumably, begins humming again, and Jihoon lets himself cry. This is the hour he wanted, a corner of time to break down and grieve presented to him on a silver fucking platter, so of course he’s going to make the most of it.
They stay in that quiet, liminal space for what feels like years to Jihoon, before footsteps approach him and a soft hand presses into his shoulder.
“Jihoon-ah, hey,” Soonyoung whispers, brushing a few stray tears from Jihoon’s cheeks with more care than Jihoon knows he deserves. “Hyung has PT soon, are you okay to let him go?” Guilt festers before he can stop it, but Jihoon knows that they love him too much to take it. Instead, he quietly surveys himself before he comes to a decision, letting out a shaky breath before he tries to sit up. Two sets of hands are helping him in an instant, the three of them managing to get Jihoon in an upright position before a kiss lands on his forehead.
“You’ll tell Soonyoung if you want hyung to come back, yeah?” Jihoon manages a nod that has Seungcheol running his nails against Jihoon’s scalp a few more times, before finally the warmth next to him disappears. It’s replaced immediately, Soonyoung shifting so that Jihoon is more upright as he lays against him. A blanket is tucked around him in a moment and another kiss is pressed to the top of his head, a hand lingering on his back.
“You’ll send updates, yeah?”Jihoon feels Soonyoung nod as a hand slowly begins to curl around his waist, an affirmative hum tickling the air.
“We’ll be okay, Seungcheolie. I’ve got this.” Soonyoung’s words and what Jihoon’s sure is a reassuring smile are enough to convince the eldest, and after two quick squeezes to both of them, Jihoon listens to him leave. Jihoon huffs softly before he wiggles some more, earning him another hum from Soonyoung above him.
“You need something, Jihoonie?”
“No.” Though it’s the bare minimum of a verbal response, it’s as if he’s given Soonyoung the world. He’s squeezed and snuggled immediately, Soonyoung moving his practically limp body close enough so that he can tuck Jihoon under his chin.
“That’s okay.”
They’re quiet for a long while, Soonyoung keeping Jihoon beyond close and Jihoon allowing it without a fight. Eventually, Soonyoung does break the silence, but he keeps his voice soft and a hand in Jihoon’s hair.
“You’re gonna be so sore tomorrow, if you were really puking as much as Cheol said. You think it’s a good idea to try and skate after all that?” Soonyoung’s questions are kind and not at all pressing, his concern forthright and his demeanor soft. Jihoon wishes it had been a different line of questioning, but he knows he can’t exactly be mad at Soonyoung. After all, he’s right.
“I should cancel,” he practically sighs, grateful that Soonyoung just squeezes him tighter.
“You want me to text Ivan then?” Soonyoung keeps his voice light, almost as if his softer tone can convince Jihoon that there’s nothing to worry about, that he’s not throwing his career away. Though he doesn’t actually believe it, Jihoon pretends to. He deserves the peace that comes with ignorance.
“Please.” Soonyoung doesn’t comment on anything as Jihoon listens to him type out a message, and Jihoon wants nothing more than to cease to exist. But he can’t, not really, or at least not in the way that he wants, so instead he just curls himself closer to Soonyoung as a wave of fresh tears leave him.
“It’s done,” Soonyoung whispers after a few moments, and Jihoon does what anyone would do, and he lets his heart break.
—
Cheolie [08:53]: I heard your practice was canceled, you wanna grab coffee?
Seokie [08:59]: Oh sure!
Seokie [08:59]: Gyu’s at practice tho
Cheolie [09:02]: I’ll pick you up
Cheolie [09:02]: When’s he done?
Seokie [09:04]: Ummm I think it’s like 11 today? 1 maybe? But idr tbh
Cheolie [09:05]: If we’re still there when he’s done we’ll tell him to crash
Seokie [09:05]: Sounds good! See ya soon c:
Seokmin waves and hustles towards Seungcheol’s car as the other pulls up. A click sounds as Seokmin’s grabbing the handle and the door opens, his grin growing as he gets into the car. Even with everything that’s happened between him and Jihoon, he loves hanging out with Seungcheol.
He’s someone who gets it, after all.
“Hey,” Seokmin greets, happy yet soft, watching Seungcheol smile in the same way.
“Hey. You ready to go?” Seokmin hums happily in response and then they’re off, Seungcheol driving quietly as the radio fills the air between them. If he’s honest, Seokmin is a little uncomfortable with the silence, itching to be able to grill Seungcheol about Jihoon.
He canceled practice. Jihoon doesn’t just cancel.
And, well, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried.
Somehow Seokmin manages to hold himself back until they’re sitting at a table, coffees in their hands and pastries already half devoured. Personally he thinks he deserves a fucking medal for it.
“How’s Jihoon?”
Seungcheol’s expression falls for a few moments as he seemingly tries to pull it together. It doesn’t really work.
“He was still really sick yesterday afternoon.”
“Is he doing any better?” Seokmin asks softly, sure that Seungcheol can hear the concern layered thick in his voice. The older man sighs heavily before he takes a sip of his drink, clearly contemplating the words he wants to use. Seokmin waits as patiently as he can (so not very), trying to bide his time by focusing on his coffee and drumming his fingers against the table. Finally, finally, Seungcheol sighs once more and Seokmin’s head snaps to him, ready to hear whatever information he’s ready to grace him with.
“Jihoonie,” Seungcheol starts softly as he shakes his head, “he was better today. Stopped puking yesterday and Soonyoung and I’ve been keeping an eye on him. But,” Seokmin feels his heart freeze with the word, holding his breath in a sick sort of anticipation for whatever Seungcheol is going to say next, “he’s almost despondent in a way I haven’t seen since he broke his leg.”
“Is it self-centered to ask if it’s because of me?” Seokmin whispers in a wavering voice, earning him a sad sort of smile from Seungcheol.
“Maybe normally, but not right now.” Seungcheol smiles softly when Seokmin sighs in relief. “I still stand by what I said yesterday, I don’t think it’s just you. And even still, any shit he feels concerning you is solely on himself.”
“I still feel bad for leaving him hanging after he apologized,” Seokmin mumbles around his straw but Seungcheol is shaking his head immediately.
“Don’t. Whatever you were feeling was beyond valid, and if I were in your shoes I doubt I would’ve even talked to him.”
“Really?” Seokmin hadn’t really thought about it, but now that he thinks about it he hadn’t thought Seungcheol would turn someone away like that. But, Seokmin considers as Seungcheol just nods and rubs at his neck, he has a feeling Seungcheol would have felt far more anger than Seokmin did. Probably most people would have, if Mingyu’s reactions were telling enough. But Seokmin did talk to him, and he can’t help but to feel like he made it worse. “I feel like talking made everything worse though.”
“After what happened at the rink, it was bound to happen.” Seokmin winces with Seungcheol’s words, but immediately after there’s a hand patting the back of his own. When he looks back up, Seungcheol’s offering him a soft smile. “You shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened, Seok. I know it might be tempting to, but it really isn’t your fault.” Seokmin sighs heavily, running his free hand through his hair.
“It’s not really Jihoon’s fault either, is it?” When Seokmin looks back at him, Seungcheol’s features are pulled into a look of consideration.
“Ignoring the blow up that happened at the rink, I’m not sure it is.” They’re quiet for a little while, Seokmin unintentionally putting Seungcheol in his blind spot as he considers the older man’s words. He doubts both he and Jihoon would ever be able to consider themselves faultless in this matter. Seokmin feels like he should’ve told them earlier, should’ve been kinder when Jihoon was clearly upset at the rink or even managed to break his silence after the apology. But he doesn’t even need to ask Jihoon to know that he’s blaming himself for everything, for being harsh and for slipping out and for having such a breakdown.
“I won’t tell Jihoonie either way,” Seungcheol starts softly, offering Seokmin a comforting smile when he finally looks back at him, “but have you thought about what you’re gonna so with practice?”
“Actually,” Seokmin says before he can overthink it, “can I talk through it with you?” Seungcheol’s smile widens a touch before he reaches out and squeezes Seokmin’s hand again. Once more, Seokmin is beyond glad to now have someone like Seungcheol in his life, someone who gets it, gets him. Someone who’s more than willing to listen and support him without any hesitation. Even with the topic at hand, Seokmin has never felt more warm.
“Talk away.”
—
Jihoon is greeted by the hollowness of his own apartment when he wakes up. He feels hollow himself, his sadness echoing throughout him as if someone had tapped on his rigid metal shell and made it reverberate horrendously.
The time has come to turn in his skates. There’s no use delaying the inevitable.
Slowly but surely Jihoon dresses himself and gathers his things, trudging out the door once he’s ready. He has some snacks in his bag so he figures it’s not the worst thing that he skipped breakfast.
It’s not like he has the appetite for it anyway.
The closer he gets to the rink, the heavier his feet feel. He can barely lift them by the time he’s out front, his breath sticking in his lungs until he feels like he’s going to implode. If only he could curl up into a ball and disappear, never having to deal with this wretched interaction that is sure to come. But Jihoon respects Ivanov too much not to do this in person, so with a heavy heart and an even heavier sigh he slowly makes his way inside.
He doesn’t bother to go to the locker room, deciding that he’d rather get this conversation out of the way to begin with. After a deep breath, Jihoon pushes the door to the rink open before he’s frozen in place.
Because there, twirling through a perfect routine, is Seokmin.
“What’re you doing?” Ivanov calls when he finally notices him. “Get your skates on!”
Immediately he’s turning on his heel and rushing back into the locker room. And sure, some may call it running away, but Jihoon calls it doing as he’s told.
He feels numb as he puts his skates on, only careful in the actions because of his muscle memory. Admittedly, Jihoon feels like he'll never be able to manage any careful actions consciously again, not with how his insides feel splattered across the walls of the rink.
Somehow he manages to get his ass out of the locker room and into the rink. Somehow he manages to keep breathing too.
In his opinion, he deserves a medal for it alone.
Ivanov is rushing him into the rink but the dread makes him slow, the feeling growing in his stomach weighing him down beyond words. Seokmin’s staring at him now too, an eyebrow raised in either scrutiny or concern, Jihoon doesn’t know.
Hesitantly, Jihoon starts to skate some warm up laps, Seokmin falling in stride next to him. He tries to keep his mouth shut, tries to keep a lid on everything, but eventually the words slip through the cracks of his worn out mind.
“Why are you here?” Seokmin shoots him an odd look, and Jihoon’s certain he’s going to leave it there until he responds half a lap later.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Though Seokmin sounds pretty genuine, Jihoon feels a pit open in his stomach all the same.
“I know you never wanted this, and I figured you wouldn’t wanna see me.” The response is a lot quicker this time, paired with an unbelieving noise.
“Listen,” he starts and Jihoon feels himself straighten at the tone of his voice, despite how soothing the Korean sounds from Seokmin’s mouth, “you really need to stop assuming shit, hyung. I’m here ‘cuz I want to be and I don’t wanna give up on this, on us.”
“Oh,” is all that Jihoon can manage. Eloquent? No. But it does make Seokmin smile softly when he looks. “I’m, um, I’m sorry.” Seokmin shakes his head, still smiling all soft and sweet, his whole body radiating an ease that Jihoon’s almost jealous of.
Practice is stilted, to say the least. That’s not to say that it isn’t good, because no matter what happens he and Seokmin work well together and their chemistry is undeniable.
But something is still definitely off with them, as it should be in Jihoon’s opinion, but it’s clear when Ivanov sort of fucks off in the middle of practice. He says something to the extent of deal with your shit I’m going home.
It leaves them there on the ice, alone and awkward.
“So,” Seokmin starts and stops, and when Jihoon looks up at him it’s to see him looking extremely hesitant. Something in Jihoon’s chest tightens.
“So?” Seokmin looks sheepish and Jihoon finds himself feeling bad, no, worse, within a moment.
“So that hand hold,” Seokmin trails off once more and suddenly Jihoon understands it. And though it sort of feels like he’s probing and being invasive, Jihoon manages to swallow down his hesitation and push forth with the conversation on hand. His ears however proceed to noticeably burn, much to his discontent.
“So you can see up to a certain point, yeah?” Seokmin nods easily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can you show me where it ends?” Seokmin’s brows furrow slightly and Jihoon knows what he’s going to ask before he even opens his mouth.
“Where what ends?” With a deep breath, Jihoon holds his hands up, sure that his face is doing something embarrassing. When Seokmin’s eyes widen at the sight of him, it’s practically confirmed. But somehow, he carries on.
“Can you show me how far you can see?” He flexes his hands then and finally, finally, Seokmin seems to put it together. As hesitantly as Jihoon feels, Seokmin links their fingers together, making Jihoon’s breath hitch. Sure, he knew that Seokmin would be, or rather could be, holding his hands, but he hadn’t realized that he’d be so familiar with him so soon after everything had to fall apart. Half of him thought that Seokmin would barely hold his wrists on his own volition, sans their routine, after everything that’s happened.
The look that Seokmin gives him means that he caught Jihoon’s almost embarrassing reaction, but he doesn’t bother to say anything about it. He’s far too kind for the likes of that, Jihoon tries and fails to think sourly, but his head goes empty when Seokmin just squeezes both of Jihoon’s hands, almost as if he knew the path his thoughts had been taking.
Slowly but surely, Seokmin moves Jihoon’s hands, his voice soft and resigned as he begins to speak.
“I took a bad hit in The Olympics,” he starts, practically whispering despite how it’s just them and the ice. “Was almost completely blinded, but slowly and surely I got a lot of it back. There’s just some of my peripherals that seem like they’ll never come back.” Finally he stops moving, and Jihoon feels something in him crack; his hands are barely more than shoulderwidth apart.
“That sounds terrifying,” Jihoon somehow manages to choke out, fighting against the feeling of tears suffocating him, but Seokmin just hums softly.
“It was. But you get used to it.” Though he’s trying to sound sure and steady and unaffected, Jihoon can hear the pain in his voice as if it were a siren blaring. He squeezes Seokmin’s hands back just to watch Seokmin’s lips twitch, an aborted smile smothered by his clear disappointment, dismissal even. Jihoon’s heart breaks even further.
“Do you?” It slips out. Honest to God, Jihoon doesn’t mean to say it, but he does. He said it and that’s all that matters. That and the way that it makes Seokmin’s expression fall. Jihoon stumbles back, about to start begging for forgiveness, when Seokmin just squeezes his hands. He’s frozen on the ice, his skates pinned into the ground beneath him, hands still in Seokmin’s steady hold.
“Sort of,” Seokmin says softly, lightly, but yet he’s still so clearly sad. Jihoon sort of wishes that he could take it all away, but in doing that he’d be taking Seokmin away from himself as well. He hates how selfish it makes him, but Jihoon doesn’t want to give Seokmin up, not now and not ever.
The realization hits him like a truck, but he stuffs those thoughts as far down as he can and instead focuses on Seokmin in front of him.
“Can you-” Jihoon starts but has to stop, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment so that he can wrangle his emotions and feelings under a semblance of control. His hands flex but somehow he doesn’t manage to impale Seokmin with his fingernails, loosening his grip as he opens his eyes. Seokmin’s just smiling at him, albeit a bit sadly, moving their intertwined hands back and forth in a gentle sway.
“Can I?” Seokmin prods gently, tugging on Jihoon’s hands to pull him closer again, even despite how he continues to sway their hands. Jihoon forces himself to take another deep breath before he soldiers on.
“For that hand hold, can you see my waist there?” It’s clear that Seokmin hadn’t expected that to be the question, but his pause is only for a moment. His expression pulls funny as he thinks about it, but within a few moments he’s smiling again. Jihoon tucks that image away with warm and soft thoughts, cradling it close.
“Yeah, I can see it.”
“Let’s change it then, so rather than a hand hold you can just hold my waist and we won’t have to worry about it, yeah?” Seokmin’s smile only grows, even as he still continues to sway their hands.
“That sounds good, yeah.”
“So,” Jihoon starts, squeezing Seokmin’s hands and offering him a smile, “you wanna try and do a runthrough?”
The waist hold works perfectly, and it’s as if everything has fallen into place. It’s perfect, the way it should be with competition so close, but Jihoon still feels guilt eating at his bones.
“Hey,” he starts softly before he can psych himself out, Seokmin’s kind eyes looking at him within a moment, “can we talk?” Though he seems a little hesitant, Seokmin nods all the same. They stand across each other from the ice, the still air between them feeling thick like jelly, slowly and surely becoming more and more unbearable.
“Sure, malysh.” His grin is teasing and where Jihoon would normally assume that Seokmin was calling him an asshole to his face, Seungcheol’s voice reminds him that it’s likely a pet name. Instead of annoyedly huffing the way Seokmin must expect him too, all he can manage is a half hearted attempt born out of embarrassment as his cheeks flood red. Thankfully, Seokmin’s raised eyebrow is the only comment the younger man makes about it.
“I just want to apologize again.” The playfulness drops from Seokmin’s expression instantly and Jihoon feels his heart wrench.
“You already did.” Though his tone is serious, Seokmin begins to smile once more. “Besides, I thought you’d realize that me coming here was my way of telling you that I forgive you.”
“You shouldn’t,” Jihoon mumbles before he can think about it, only to be met by a challenging look.
“I don’t think you can decide that for me, no matter how shitty you feel.” Though Jihoon hates to admit it, Seokmin has a fantastic point. But the awkwardness and unsteadiness that’s grating between them that Jihoon knows he’s at fault for is something he wants to clear immediately, so rather than conceding he tries another tactic.
“Then an explanation. You deserve at least that much.” Somehow, Seokmin just shrugs at this rather than fighting, almost as if he knows Jihoon needs to get this off his chest.
“Should we sit then? Or would you rather do this on the ice?”
Jihoon’s heart takes pause at the words. Sure, he sort of figured that Seungcheol told Seokmin and Mingyu some things after he passed out at their apartment the other day. And when he considers it, he has a feeling that the way he skates through his emotions definitely came up. But the fact that Seokmin took however much information Seungcheol spilled and not only remembered it but took it in consideration for this moment has him feeling such a whirlpool of emotions that he has to take a few deep breaths to pull himself together.
Besides, he figures it’s about time he stops trying to run from his problems.
“Let’s sit.”
Slowly they make their way to the bleachers, Seokmin’s smile remaining soft and gentle the entire time. He sits close but not close enough to crowd him, and Jihoon can only wonder when during all of this Seokmin learned him so well.
“When I blew up at you the other day,” Jihoon starts after a few moments of silence, earning himself an encouraging nod from Seokmin, “it wasn’t really because of the hand hold.”
“I figured.” Somehow Jihoon manages yet another pained smile. Seokmin looks down as if he were chastised or something equally as terrible, which has Jihoon panicking, before a hand wraps around his own.
Within a moment he realizes what’s happened, and guilt surges up within him once more.
Seokmin had to move to see his hand.
There was nothing else behind the action than that; Seokmin was just trying to see where his hand was.
Every touch to the shoulder that makes Seokmin jump, or sudden voice from beside him, or hell even his discomfort in a crowd suddenly all makes so much sense that Jihoon feels like his world is crumbling around him. Lord above does he feel like such a dick.
But Seokmin squeezes his hand and raises an eyebrow, and Jihoon forces himself to find his original train of thought and jump back on.
“My ex really fucked me up, unfortunately. You’re only young and in love once before it all comes crashing down,” he says bitterly, his hand squeezed once more as Seokmin looks at him with a heartbroken expression. Somehow, Jihoon manages to shake his head and keep going rather than sink into his own misery. “He started being weird and distant and distracted, and I didn’t want to assume anything. If something was wrong he would come and tell me. Or at least, that’s what I thought he’d do.
“I came home one day to find him fucking some woman in our bed. Here he was, my dream guy, my supposed forever, cheating on me clear as day.” Seokmin squeezes his hand again, going as far as to lace their fingers together when Jihoon doesn’t protest it.
“Did something happen that day then? The one you freaked out on me?” Seokmin asks after it’s been quiet for a few moments, his voice gentle and his hold on Jihoon’s hand steady. Somehow Jihoon manages to get air in his lungs and force the next words out.
“I found out they got engaged. And to make it worse, it was the anniversary of when I found them.”
“Holy shit,” Seokmin mutters before his cheeks flare red, as if he didn’t mean to say it aloud.
“Yeah.” Jihoon forces himself to take a deep breath before he soldiers on, telling Seokmin the dark truth that took him months to be able to tell even Seungcheol and Soonyoung. But Seokmin is special, and Seokmin deserves to know. “Somehow it felt like all those chances I gave him is what really killed me in the end, which has fucked me up in ways I can’t even describe. And I know it’s not an excuse, but that’s why I didn’t afford you the grace you deserve.”
Seokmin’s expression takes on a heartbroken edge, for which Jihoon can’t blame him.
“This ex,” Seokmin inevitably whispers, his tone hesitant as he watches Jihoon with so much care that Jihoon feels like he’s drowning in it, “is he the one that led to your broken leg?”
Immediately Jihoon’s cursing under his breath before he’s sighing heavily.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill Seungcheol,” he mutters, ignoring Seokmin’s squeeze to his hand and how his thumb moves to trace Jihoon’s knuckles, “but yes. He’s the one and only.”
They sit in silence for a while, both seemingly caught up in their thoughts. Jihoon can only hope that Seokmin is managing to process this information well, or at least as well as possible, because he can’t actually look at the other man. Instead he’s glaring at the floor and fighting to keep the tears welling in his eyes from falling.
Jihoon’s hates his ex. But Jihoon hates the man his ex turned him into even more.
But then Seokmin’s squeezing his hand again, leaning down and smiling when he finally catches Jihoon’s eyes. The thumb mapping his knuckles adds to the softness that Seokmin’s enveloping him in, and the feeling of such a gentle air around him after everything he’s done and how terribly he hurt Seokmin, it’s no surprise that Jihoon’s tears fall.
Seokmin, the gem that he is, reaches out and swipes Jihoon’s tears away with the softest touch in the world.
“I’m sorry,” Jihoon mumbles, just for Seokmin to tut at him.
“It’s okay, Jihoonie.”
And for the first time since Jihoon had his heart torn to shreds, he believes it.