Chapter Text
Javier has learned throughout his career that there is always an infinite amount of possible outcomes all predestined to fall into place no matter how hard one tries to prevent them. He learned this the hardest and most brutal way during Sochi. Time itself was uniform in composition, but once consumed, it takes on a deformed shape. One period of time might be terribly heavy and long, while another could be light and short. Occasionally the order of things could be reversed, and in the worst cases order itself could vanish entirely. Sometimes things that should not be there at all might be added onto time.
Javi can trace the outline of wounds that are still slowly forming into scabs produced from the series of events that went on in the 2014 Olympics. Some are deep and ugly gashes that still ooze blood when pressed on too hard, others light scratches that one can’t see unless the light shines directly on them.
Being so close to the top makes the fall down to the bottom hurt even worse, and Javier doesn’t know if he can take it anymore. Losing that is. Especially losing to him, someone he can’t even feel true remorse at, since the kid basically flies across ice and into just about everyone’s hearts. And when he’s not flying, he is crashing, burning, and destroying himself, then getting back up and doing it all over again. All with a look of hungry determination that never seems to get fully fed, no matter how many titles he wins or records he breaks.
Javier doesn’t know what’s harder - losing or winning at the Olympics. His chest hurts and his hands ache from how close he was to snatching that bronze medal, but when he sees Yuzuru bombarded by cameras and questions and scrutiny over his flawed free skate, he still feels sorry for him even though there’s a shiny gold medal hanging around his neck. But maybe that’s just because it’s Yuzuru, who he knows needs solitude after competitions, especially ones as overwhelming as this one. Yuzuru who, despite the fact that he’s forever humble and almost unbearably polite, probably just wants to be alone.
Everybody has one thing they do not want to lose. Humans by necessity must have a midway point between their desires and their pride. Just as all objects must have a center of gravity. For Javier, that thing has become Yuzuru. Somewhere along the way, between plane rides and long, gruesome practices, the type where they can feel their bones grinding together, he has accepted the fact that he needs Yuzuru.
So Javier decides to save him. It isn’t the hardest thing to do, when there are tons of people milling around and no one will notice if he snatches up an Olympic gold medalist and silently makes his escape. He does just that, grabbing the Japanese boy by the arm and basically dragging him out of there, not even looking back to see what they left behind. He doesn’t really look at where he’s going, either, because next thing he knows he’s brought them to a storage closet.
“I, uh, thought you might have wanted to get out of there.” Javier stumbles through his words uncharacteristically, hand scratching the back of his neck in obvious discomfort until he hears the giggles escaping from the boy still being grasped by Javi.
“Thank you,” Yuzuru threads his fingers between the hand still holding his arm, “for saving me.” He smiles at Javi, all teeth and gums and trust, and the pain that hadn’t gone away since he ended his free skate suddenly disappears.
“My pleasure, Olympic champion.” Yuzuru giggles again.
“Don’t say like that, it’s too weird.” The younger slaps him on the shoulder and even pouts a little bit. Some seconds pass before Yuzuru says, “It was strange.”
“What was?”
“Not having you on podium with me. I kept looking to my left expecting to see Javi.” Yuzuru runs a hand through the curls on the side of Javi’s head, right above his ear.
Javier doesn’t know if he should feel hurt or comforted by the others words, but he chooses the latter in the end. With a warm smile and a slightly aching chest he says, “Next time, we will be up there together.”
“2018?” Javi laughs, nodding. “Pinky promise?” He nods again and links his pinky with the others, warmth spreading from where their fingers connect, and he thinks briefly that kissing him in that moment wouldn’t be so bad. That it might even be able to heal all his fresh wounds, without even leaving any scars behind.
He shakes the thought from his mind and exits the closet, opening back up the door to endless flashes of cameras and endless trials and errors.