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Once upon a time, there was a little mermaid…
Seung-gil always found fairy tales to be stupid. All that once upon a time and happily ever after, he thought, it was meaningless fluff. Magic was for children, stories for people who had time to dream. Lee Seung-gil did not have time to dream, only time to work for that perfect 6.0.
Or so he thought.
He didn’t notice it at first. He was told no one ever did know at first. But it happened, didn't it? It happened during the Olympic season, in Pyeongchang. Ironic, isn't it, that it should be in his home country when his body became a foreigner to his wants and needs.
The little mermaid who longed to see the surface was swimming along one day when she saw a figure sinking in the water. The figure was a human prince, fallen overboard and drowning. The mermaid quickly swam over and caught the prince, and, despite the warnings of her family, knew she had to return him to the land where he belonged.
“Ah, you're Seung-gil, right?” That beautiful, cheerful voice had asked, from out of nowhere, it seemed. Seung-gil had been reviewing jumps in his mind, point values. He knew he could be weak on his landings, but if he got enough rotations in, he could still save his score.
“I don't know if you remember me, but we met at NHK a few years back. Phichit Chulanont?” He had smiled then, the brightest smile. Frankly, at the time, Seung-gil thought he was kind of annoying.
“I remember,” Seung-gil muttered. He remembered how, even with only triple jumps, Phichit had a sort of flair that got the audience, and, more importantly, the judges, extremely excited. He had to admit that his competitor was quite the skater.
“I'm glad!” Phichit laughed, so easily, god, what would it be like . Seung-gil remained impassive. The former seemed not to notice what Seung-gil would most definitely qualify as awkward silence, which is usually a sign for someone to leave. He had hoped Phichit would leave him alone, but to his chagrin, the Thai skater only stayed and sat beside him. Too close, Seung-gil thought. He sighed.
“Wait, are you going already?” Phichit asked as Seung-gil got up.
Seung-gil grunted.
“Oh, in that case… Can you show me where the rink is?” Phichit asked, obnoxiously cheerfully.
“... Are you serious?” Phichit nodded happily, but Seung-gil could only stare, incredulous. “You're here to ice skate, and you don't even know where the rink is?”
Phichit grinned sheepishly. “We just arrived here at the hotel, and my coach is meeting with other people, and I kinda want to explore a bit on my own, so… Please?” He smiled wider, batting his eyelashes joking. Really long eyelashes framing perfect dark gray eyes. Had he noticed that at first, or was it just now, while recalling that moment?
Seung-gil sighed. “Fine.”
“Yay!” Phichit squealed. Seung-gil had been mentally rolling his eyes, but he remembered still the exact pitch of Phichit’s voice at that moment.
It took them twenty minutes to get to the rink, despite the fact that it was literally a block from the hotel at which all the skaters were staying. Seung-gil, it turned out, was not good with directions, and had led them in the opposite way. To make matters worse, Phichit stopped every three feet to take a picture of a landmark or to take a selfie with some dedicated fans who flocked the two skaters. At last, however, they arrived at the giant arena and stepped into the ice rink area.
Once on the shore, the little mermaid took a long look at the prince. In the sunlight, the water glistened on his skin, and although drenched and unconscious, he was still surprisingly regal. The mermaid sang to him, a song about love and joy, hoping he would be alright. As she held out the last note, he coughed, water spurting out from his lungs. His eyes flickered open, and the mermaid knew he had seen her. Relieved he was alive, and afraid to be discovered by other humans, she quickly dove back under the water’s surface.
As she swam back down to her ocean home, she could feel her heart pounding and her face growing hot. She realized that she had fallen in love with the prince.
Phichit turned to Seung-gil. “Thank you!” he said, smiling brightly.
Seung-gil glared at him. “We would’ve gotten here earlier if you hadn’t stopped to take so many pictures.”
The other skater took no offense to the statement, only laughed. “You’re really blunt, you know that?” He grinned, looking right into Seung-gil’s eyes. “To be honest, I’m glad we took so long because it meant I got to know you better!”
Blinking in surprise, the Korean skater nodded. “Okay.”
Those dark gray eyes sparkled as Phichit laughed once again. “Hey,” he stopped Seung-gil just as the latter was turning to leave. “Do you have Instagram? We can keep in touch,” he suggested.
Seung-gil begrudgingly exchanged Instagram usernames with Phichit. What kind of name is phichit+chu? , he wondered as he walked back to the hotel. Still, his heartbeat skipped when he saw the notification that phichit+chu had followed him and that he had requested to send him a direct message.
Thanks for today! - Phichit, the message read.
From out of nowhere, an uncharacteristic smile swam onto Seung-gil’s face, a smile he could neither stop nor shrink.
From her grandmother, the little mermaid learned that humans had much shorter lifespans than humans. Distraught, and yearning for the prince, she turned to the help of the sea witch. She agreed to give up her voice to the witch in exchange for a pair of human legs. The witch said the little mermaid could never return to the ocean should the prince fall in love with her. The little mermaid agreed. The witch warned that she would be able to dance beautifully, but every step she took would feel like stepping on a thousand knives. The little mermaid persisted. The witch reminded the little mermaid that she would turn to sea foam should the prince love and marry someone else. Still, the little mermaid was enamored with the prince and wanted to become a human.
The Olympics were incredibly grand, but to be honest, Seung-gil did not remember much of them. Team Korea had come close to winning, but was beaten out by other countries in other sports. He himself had won silver for his country in the men’s singles concentration, despite not having nearly as many well executed quads as that Japanese guy. He suspected a home team advantage was at play, but there was no use in dwelling on it.
What mattered most was Phichit’s performance. From the moment Phichit stepped on the ice, Seung-gil felt his throat close. He held his breath throughout the entire performance, through each combination, through the somewhat sloppy edge landing, and through the terribly botched quad axel, the only quad he had in his program, which was ridiculously ambitious as no one ever had landed it in competition, but which Seung-gil found endearing. Phichit was a performer, Seung-gil could tell. While Seung-gil’s own mind was occupied the entire time by GOE multipliers and calculating his TES, Phichit’s mind was on the music, on his feelings. When Phichit placed sixth, Seung-gil thought, It’s not fair .
Great job, Seung-gil! Congratulations on silver! The message had come at 23:17, shortly after the last routine, even before the medal ceremony.
His heart had started beating as soon as he got the notification. As he picked up his phone, he coughed. The air in the room felt tight. Was there perhaps a ventilation problem?
Thanks. You deserved better than sixth , he responded.
Another coughing fit burst out as his phone pinged with another notification.
:) , Phichit wrote back.
The little mermaid was discovered on the shore by the prince, who was entranced by her beauty. In fact, the entire kingdom was enchanted by this mysterious girl who could not speak and yet danced so beautifully that even the stars seemed to twinkle with delight. She danced and danced, although every single step felt as though a thousand knives were piercing her feet. The little mermaid spent much time with the prince, for although she could not speak, he enjoyed her company. Eventually, however, the prince was to be married to a princess from a neighboring country. The little mermaid recognized the princess, as she was the human who found the prince on the seashore the day he almost drowned. She saw the prince was in love with her, and she knew that the time would soon come when she would become sea foam.
As the seasons passed, Seung-gil continued talking to Phichit. He enjoyed seeing Phichit’s selfies on his feed. Although Seung-gil only ever gave noncommittal responses, still Phichit continued to send him messages every day, whether it be just a “hi” or a skating tips video. Phichit’s bright smile consumed his mind daily, even during practice.
His coach noticed.
“Your skating has really changed, Seung-gil. The routines are the same, yet something feels different. You’re more expressive,” she smiled warmly. “I don’t know what changed to make you like this, but I’m glad. You have a much greater chance at winning gold in the Grand Prix Final if you keep skating like this!”
Seung-gil did nothing to acknowledge his coach’s praise but continued to push himself in his skating. While thoughts of Phichit occupied his mind and somehow, strangely, gave him strength, there was a part of him that knew his body was weakening. While triples and even quads had been challenging but not overly so before the Olympics, he now found that even doubles and singles left him winded, and after only fifteen minutes of practice, his feet and ankles would ache. He found that everything he ate had a dry feeling to it, and no matter the season, no matter the weather, the cold that he contracted after winning silver in Pyeongchang would not go away. At night he coughed and coughed, but his throat remained coated with god knows what gunk.
He did not know that he loved Phichit until one night in late March of 2019, a year after the Olympics, after doing terribly at 4CC due to his constant illness and new weakness that seemed to grow worse every day.
How was practice today? Seeing the familiar circular icon of Phichit with a hamster on top of his head next to those words always made Seung-gil smile, almost forgetting how awful he always felt now, even though he would always start to cough harder.
Eh , he replied. After months of communicating, he branched out. Could use a little more practice before Worlds though , he sent the second message.
I’m so excited for Worlds :), Phichit replied. I can’t wait to see my boyfriend again!
Seung-gil choked as he read the message. His what ? He reread the message over and over again in disbelief.
You have a boyfriend? He typed back. It looked so nonchalant, so casual. It in no way reflected how Seung-gil’s heart had just plummeted down to his pelvis. He started coughing harder and harder; he really could not breathe this time.
There were tears in his eyes, although whether that was from coughing too hard or despair, he could not tell. Through blurred eyes from those tears and lack of oxygen, Seung-gil could just read the response.
Yeah :) You know Guang Hong from team China? That’s him! We kept it on the dl bc we don’t wanna deal with the press y’know?
Seung-gil sank to his knees coughing, leaving his phone on his bed as he gripped his blankets weakly with one hand and covered his mouth with the other. His husky, Miso, padded over and nudged his shaking back, whining softly. Why, he wondered, was he crying about this? Miso licked the tears from his cheeks.
Taking one long, difficult, shaky breath, Seung-gil typed I see , hit send, and collapsed in another fit.
Finally, after months, something dislodged from his throat, and drawing his hand away from his mouth, he took a long, incredulous look at the single, wilted, golden blossom in his hand.
“What…” he whispered, as he coughed again, flowers now exploding from his throat and mouth and scattering across his lap and carpet. His throat did not feel clearer. In fact, he felt weaker than before.
Miso whined louder, putting her paw on his shoulder.
Sitting amongst the daffodils that he had coughed up, Seung-gil hugged Miso tightly around her fluffy neck. “Oh Miso,” he whispered.
Life wasn’t fair, Seung-gil knew, but this was just absurd. He hadn’t even known he was in love with Phichit, until now. Until now, when he knew for a fact that Phichit did not love him. The coughing, the weakness, his own pounding heart, it all made sense now, but oh, how he wished it didn’t.
The little mermaid accepted her fate sadly. However, the night of the wedding, she saw her sisters in the water. They had chopped their hair off, they said, and gave it to the sea witch in exchange for a silver knife. If the little mermaid killed the prince using this knife and let the blood spill onto her feet, she would become a mermaid once more and join her family back in the ocean.
The little mermaid was horribly conflicted, for she still loved the prince, but she did not want to die, either. She resolved to kill the prince. That night, she found herself standing above the sleeping prince and his new wife. Steeling herself for the act, she swung the knife high above her head. Before she brought it down, however, she saw the prince, dreaming happily with his new bride, who he loved. The little mermaid could not kill him. She waited until just before the sunrise, and when the dawn came, she threw herself into the ocean along with the knife, ready to dissolve.
In the short weeks before Worlds, Seung-gil continued to talk to Phichit each day, never letting on that he was dying. Phichit was so kind, even wishing Seung-gil luck at practice and encouraging him to work hard so they could both be at their best at Worlds. With every message they sent back and forth, more and more daffodils bloomed in Seung-gil’s lungs, wrapping around his lungs, bursting from his mouth, growing tall into his lungs and wilting at the back of his mouth.
Fitting, he thought, that daffodils should grow, sometimes blooming from his mouth while they were still fresh and not yet wilted. Phichit was the sun, after all. His smile that Seung-gil had only seen four or five times in real life but could see every day in pictures made Seung-gil warm inside. Every word he sent was like a beam of warmth and light that made Seung-gil himself yearn to trumpet and bloom. Were daffodils, with their bright golden petals and orange trumpets, not the perfect flower for Phichit? The sun does often attract bright flowers, after all, and do daffodils not turn their heads upward to the sun? Seung-gil, who had always been gloomy and practical, therefore, must have been the perfect soil for these daffodils to take root as Phichit’s brightness warmed him to his very core.
Worlds was growing nearer, however, and Seung-gil was growing weaker. He called out of practice more often than he showed up.
One day, his coach decided enough was enough. “Lee Seung-gil, what is wrong with you?” she demanded. “If you are sick, then you need to let me know,” she shook her head when she saw how pale he looked, the dark circles under his eyes, his thin frame.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, a racking cough taking over his now gaunt body. He choked back the flowers, swallowing hard so that his coach would not see them.
“Fine? You are not fine,” she replied, pacing back and forth as Seung-gil sat dejectedly on the bench on the outside of the training rink. “You are very clearly unwell right now, Seung-gil, and Worlds is next week. Do you need to withdraw?”
Withdrawing meant staying home here in Korea. Withdrawing meant no chance at a medal. Withdrawing meant no chance to see him .
“No!” he exclaimed, grabbing his coach’s arm with such conviction that she stepped back in surprise. “N-no,” he coughed. “It’s fine, I want to… I want to skate.”
“Seung-gil…”
“Please… coach,” he entreated. He could hear his own weakness, his voice barely a whisper.
His coach sighed. “Alright,” she replied begrudgingly. “Seung-gil, I am worried, and this is against my better judgment, but… if you are passionate about it…”
“I am,” he replied, his voice stronger this time.
She smiled sadly, nodded. “I don’t know what has gotten into you, Seung-gil, but it is obviously important to you. Please, just promise me you won’t ruin yourself. I intend you to rest as soon as Worlds is over and then get training for the next season as soon as you’re better.”
Seung-gil hesitated. Next season seemed so far away. At this rate, he was not sure how long he had to live. Finally he nodded. “Next season… for sure.”
As his coach turned to leave, he kept hold of her wrist. “Actually, coach, for my free, can I - “ he coughed into his elbow. Hold it together, Seung-gil . After almost a full minute and a half of coughing and swallowing fresh yellow daffodils, he recovered slightly. “Can I change my costume?” he choked out.
“ What ?!” his coach shrieked. “There is a week before Worlds, Seung-gil, you - !”
“I know,” he interrupted, coughing. “I already got it commissioned from a - a f-friend, don’t w-” more coughing, “worry,” he finally finished, wiping his mouth weakly.
His coach stared at him strangely. “Alright,” she conceded. “I really don’t know what’s gotten into you, Seung-gil, but I’ll trust you. Even this request,” she shook her head, “Something’s changed since the Olympics. I hope you’re alright.”
He nodded, and that was it.
The first day of Worlds, Seung-gil coughed into the hotel toilet through the night. There were fresh blossoms, no longer the wilted ones from the early stages of the disease. Big, fresh daffodils, six pointed bright yellow stars held together by orange trumpets, still connected to their long green stalks and fresh ovular leaves. All night, he knelt hunched over the white porcelain bowl, gripping its edges weakly as he heaved and choked and spat out the products of the spring and the sun. They were still in bloom when he coughed them up. He knew he was eating less and less each day, knew that his insides were turning slowly into daffodils, that he was dissolving into leaves and joyful petals. Daffodils, he thought, grew only under clear blue skies and warm sunlight, but now he knew he was wrong, that they also came into full, proud bloom in cold air-conditioned hotel room bathrooms under the whining buzz of heatless fluorescent lights.
He was still kneeling at the toilet, his knees raw from spending the night pressed against the hard linoleum, when someone knocked on the door to his hotel room. Seung-gil quickly coughed and spat one more time, wiped his mouth, and grabbed a surgical mask, covering his nose and mouth, before he peered through the peephole and opened the door.
Sara Crispino was already dressed in her Team Italy jacket, hair moussed and sprayed, and make up set. She smiled brightly and brandished a garment bag. “Ta-daaaa!” she exclaimed before she fully took in the sight of the weakened Seung-gil.
Her smile disappeared when she saw him. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her hand flitting to her mouth unconsciously. Seung-gil tried to block her from coming in, but he had been fighting the disease for too long, and she was in peak form from training, easily overpowering him.
“You look awful,” she said.
He glared. “Just leave the costume and get out,” he replied brusquely, his voice hoarse after a night of coughing.
Sara squinted at him suspiciously. She had been more than happy to receive his text asking for this favor, to design and make this costume, but she had always been perplexed why he would ask, texting her first, indeed texting her back at all, for this favor.
“Seung-gil, that’s not very nice, I made you the costume you asked for!” She scrutinized him with her dark violet eyes, scanning him up and down, noting how gaunt he looked, the way his hair was dirty and tousled, the deep, sunken bags in his eyes, even darker against his skin, which, although previously pale, was now almost an ash white.
“I’m not sure it’ll fit you,” she pursed her lips, eyes glancing back between Seung-gil and the garment bag.
She lifted the costume out of the bag. Green silk tights first, light and breathable, nothing too fancy. The top, however, was breathtaking. It consisted of a bright, long sleeved tunic, a jovial yellow with lighter cream colored puffed sleeves with tulip shaped cuffs and ruffles of the same cream color at the bottom. A large, swirling, intricate sunburst design was sewn on with orange sequins, catching the light as Sara revealed it. Just like a daffodil , Seung-gil thought.
“Thank you,” he said, the words almost caught in his throat like the flowers that dared to burst out at any second.
Sara looked at him strangely. “What’s wrong, Seung-gil?” she asked, just as he could no longer contain the illness and doubled over, coughing.
Nothing , he wanted to reply, but the words could not make it to his mouth, blocked as they were by the petals that were now filling up his mouth, the light taste imprinting itself on his tongue.
Sara rubbed circles into his back, frantically asking him what the matter was, but Seung-gil could not breathe. Ripping the mask off, he let the petals and blossoms spill out of his mouth, spitting and gasping for air.
She stopped rubbing his back, her hand flying backward in shock, as she uttered quietly a small, “oh my god.”
“Is that…?”
Seung-gil nodded, lifting his heavy arm to wipe away the spit and the taste of flowers from his tongue once again, as he had done for the last two weeks.
“Since when?” Sara demanded.
Seung-gil closed his eyes. He could still see Phichit’s smiling face etched there, as if his eyelids were a computer screen playing on a movie, frozen on that image of Phichit. He could see that perfect, smooth, beautiful, dark skin, hear that lilting voice: “ Ah, you’re Seung-gil, right? ” Phichit, perfect Phichit. Phichit with his long, black eyelashes that framed his large, dark gray eyes, almost trapping them when he smiled so widely that his cheeks pushed upward and his teeth seemed to take up half his face. Phichit who was dating someone named Guang Hong. Phichit, who Seung-gil loved.
“Pyeongchang,” Seung-gil finally responded, eyes still closed, wanting to hold onto that image of Phichit.
“ Fourteen months ?” Sara gasped angrily. “Seung-gil, you’ve had this disease for over a year , and you didn’t think to get the surgery?”
She was wrong. Seung-gil had thought about getting the surgery. He had thought about it as soon as he knew it was Hanahaki, if not for his sake, then for Miso’s. He didn’t want to die, leaving Miso alone. But then he thought about how cold his world was before he met Phichit. He thought about how every time he saw a message from Phichit, his heart would skip a beat, and the smile that he had locked away so long ago would drift out so naturally. He thought about how Phichit’s smile made his entire day seem like a breath of fresh air even as the flowers filled his throat, and how it felt like his stomach fluttered and was filled with light and seemed to expand. For the first time since he was a child, Seung-gil felt alive , and it was Phichit who made him feel that way. How could he possibly get the surgery, remove all the flowers and breathe again, yes, but lose those feelings, lose his memories of Phichit? It wasn’t worth it to live if he felt dead, so he refused himself the surgery, and now death was the price for feeling alive.
“I can’t,” he replied, the tears streaming down his face. God damn it, Seung-gil , he cursed himself. Why was he crying, now of all times? He wasn’t some emotional sap, and he hadn’t lost at Worlds just yet. “I… I love him,” he choked. How pathetic was it, confessing this to Sara Crispino of all people. And yet it felt right. It made the flowers seem lighter, although still thick in his throat.
“Seung-gil, if you don’t get the surgery, you’ll - “
“Die, I know,” he coughed, weakly now. He didn’t have much time left, he could feel it. “But it takes t-” wheezing cough, “time to book the surgery. Just l-let me com-” a stronger, wracking cough this time, “compete.” He opened his eyes slowly, blinking with effort. “Afterward, I’ll do it.”
“Promise?” Sara demanded.
He nodded weakly. “Promise,” he lied.
Sara swatted his shoulder.
“What the hell?” he coughed violently. When he stopped to take a small breath, he saw her shaking, black streaks running down her cheeks.
“You’re lying,” she said softly, still crying.
Seung-gil didn’t know how to respond. He couldn’t comfort her, and he couldn’t tell her he was lying even though he was because then she wouldn’t leave. After several uncomfortable minutes and a long bout of coughing that produced many more yellow and orange petals, he finally said, “Your makeup is running. You should fix it before the free.”
“Seung-gi - !”
Seung-gil shook his head, steadying himself against a drawer to push himself up. “I need to get changed.”
“But - !”
Seung-gil glared at Sara. “After this,” he hissed, his voice almost dead already. “After this skate, I will do whatever you want, but I need him to see m - “ he started coughing again. He shook his head. “I need him to see me this time,” he finished with heavy eyelids when he was done coughing.
Sara wiped her face and got up. “I’ll call the hospital.”
Seung-gil nodded. “Thanks,” he reluctantly told her.
Sara was almost out the door when she suddenly turned back and pulled Seung-gil into a tight hug. “You better get better,” she muttered. “You’re always so awful and mean and ignore my texts even though I just want to be friends. So you’d better recover soon after the surgery and text me first thing when you wake up, okay? You owe me.”
Seung-gil said nothing as she let go of him and left.
The little mermaid did not, however, become sea foam as she expected. Instead, when the sun rose, she found herself transformed into a soul, a child of the air. The other children of air explained to her that because she had chosen to do good and put her love for the prince above her own wants, she would serve to protect her loved ones for the next three hundred years before ascending to the Kingdom of Heaven as an angel .
The Team Korea jacket that used to fit Seung-gil so perfectly now hung loosely on him, like a husk. He deemed it appropriate that it would be, since he was now a mere husk of himself anyway. Sara was right, too, that the costume would not fit. It, too, was too loose on his now sickly frame. Instead of the glorious daffodil he hoped to be, he looked like a wilted one, the kind that came from his throat before the disease had taken hold completely.
“Seung-gil?” he heard the excited voice before he had a chance to see him. Phichit . Just like that, the breath that could not escape to begin with became impossibly trapped by the leaves in his throat.
Phichit looked largely the same since Seung-gil had seen him last at Four Continents. His hair had been cut recently, so his ears seemed to stick out a little more, and he had shaped his eyebrows, but his smile remained the same sunny smile with which Seung-gil had fallen in love. Of course Seung-gil had seen all his photos on Instagram, but seeing him in person was quite literally breathtaking.
“Hey!” Phichit waved happily. “What grouping are you?”
“First,” Seung-gil whispered, drinking in the sight of the beautiful, wonderful man before him who could make even the darkest night seem like morning and the scariest storm seem like a mild day.
“Me too,” Phichit answered. “I’m glad we’re the same grouping! Good luck!”
“You too,” Seung-gil answered quietly as Phichit clapped him on the back.
Phichit was about to walk off, but he turned around. “Are you okay, by the way? You don’t look well,” he was still smiling, but his expression was concerned.
Seung-gil’s heart did a triple axel in his chest. Phichit was so kind, so observant, god damn it. He never stood a chance, he realized. How could one not fall in love with Phichit? “Fine,” he answered, forcing a small smile and a thumbs up. “Just… nerves,” he lamely excused himself.
There was doubt in Phichit’s eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but his coach hurried him off.
“Come on, Phichit,” the big Italian man with the long mane rushed him. “The first grouping is about to start, and you’re going first.”
“Ah, okay, I’ll see you later, Seung-gil!” Phichit replied, as he walked away, but Seung-gil noticed that he turned to glance back at him before turning the corner.
Seung-gil found he could not focus on his stretches after Phichit left, and indeed, he didn’t really have the strength to do them. He was afraid if he stretched on the floor, he might not be able to get up. He instead settled on watching Phichit’s performance from the large screen in the hall. It was there that his coach found him.
“He’s quite good, isn’t he?” she murmured. Seung-gil could only stare, entranced, even going so far as to cough directly into his hands and swallowing back the thick flurry of petals so that he could keep his eyes on the screen.
A perfect Ina Bauer.
Nice landing.
That little wrist flick.
The toe loop execution is lacking.
Seung-gil took in every little detail as if he was going to have to judge Phichit. He wanted to have these last memories, from the violet embroidery pattern on his dark blue outfit reminiscent of a young Danish prince, to the way his lips curved in that little smile, a confident smile Seung-gil had thought of many times.
He continued reviewing these images in his mind long past Phichit’s performance ended, after his time in the Kiss and Cry, and through the next two skaters’ routines until, finally, it was Seung-gil’s turn.
He stepped onto the rink, shaking. Breathe , he told himself, but how could he possibly breathe when his lungs were being broken down into plant food, and his very body was dissolving into a million and two petals?
There was the sound of a camera clicking, although if that was just the music, M. Pokora’s Juste une Photo de Toi , or whether someone was also taking a picture at the same time, he was unsure. The music had been chosen by his coach, a French song about how a man was once in a relationship but his lover left, and now he had nothing of their time together but a photo of the lover. Seung-gil personally thought the man was stupid, just like the fairy tales he once hated so, but as he struggled to breathe, struggled to do a sit spin that last year would have been as easy as breathing, he realized that he had been a fool. He understood that man, now, left only with images of a time he longed for, those fairy tales that ended with a happily ever after that he would never know.
Juste une photo de toi … the music blasted, and suddenly, Seung-gil was in the air, and just as suddenly, he was sprawled out on the cold ice where daffodils could never grow, coughing violently and unable to get up.
Surely, the judges would not like this, and surely , he would look stupid to Phichit, but try as he might, Seung-gil found himself stuck to the ice. The flowers were blooming straight from his mouth now, and he knew it was too late.
Too bad Sara had already called the hospital, too bad he promised his coach he would recover for next season.
As the flowers continued to bloom in his mouth, Seung-gil used the rest of his strength to lift up his head. He found himself staring directly into the dark gray eyes of which he often dreamed. Phichit Chulanont looked at him sadly, tears flowing as realization dawned on him what this meant for his friend, and through the tears, he smiled. It was a gift, Seung-gil knew.
The ice was cold, but when Seung-gil saw that smile, he laid his head down, cheek pressed to the indents made by years of being skated over.
Amongst the daffodils he had coughed out and now blooming from his mouth and throat and lungs, Lee Seung-gil closed his eyes.
The End .