Archive of Our Own

If it was going to happen, Chuuya wanted it to happen in private, during a practice, in the off-season. Injury was inevitable, though the severity varied and most occurred quietly, when no one noticed.

He didn’t want that sort of thing to happen with an audience. It would be humiliating, and everyone would know, and it would be recorded and then there would be the pressure of how long it would take to recover, if he could, and if he would repeat the same mistake again.

At 22, Chuuya thought he’d gotten away with a lot.

Then, the thing he didn’t want to happen, happened in the way and at the time he feared most.

Olympic seasons were difficult for a variety of reasons. In order to get to the Olympics a skater had to be consistently good in every event. They couldn’t let their rankings slip. There was no such thing as a guarantee, and in some countries, there were countless other just as if not more talented skaters to take their place.

In Japan, especially, men’s figure skating was a cut-throat competition at all times. Even outside of the Olympics season, Japan had a good reputation to uphold. International competition was the main goal, but it all started with the national championships.

With a year and a bit before the Olympics, winning this particular national championships wasn’t crucial, but it would be helpful. Chuuya just wanted to get on the podium.

Until he heard that his rival would be competing.

Dazai Osamu had left figure skating for a year, after firing the coach he and Chuuya shared. They had trained together often growing up, which meant that they knew each others’ styles incredibly well. They also became very competitive, because they both knew how good the other was.

Some of it had to do with the coach himself. Mori was a harsh coach, and he pitted them against each other to get the best results. It worked, but it was exhausting. In international events, Dazai and Chuuya were meant to be teammates representing their country, but they were just as harsh towards each other abroad as they were at home.

Having Dazai gone was a relief. There were other talented skaters, but the one who knew Chuuya best was gone. Chuuya expected him to be gone forever. He hadn’t left because of an injury, but rather a disagreement with Mori and a disillusionment with the sport. No one heard anything about him for a year. No one had any reason to expect he’d be back.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d disappeared, he returned and announced (on his Twitter, no less) that he would be competing in the Japanese National Championships in the hopes of being sent to international competitions in the year leading up to the Olympics.

Chuuya started working himself harder than he needed to. Mori exhausted his skaters, but he also had the sense to know when the most work was needed and when it was okay to pull back. By the time the championship came around, Chuuya was wound up and exhausted. He hadn’t even talked to Dazai yet.

He wasn’t looking forward to it.

There was a brief press conference before the event where skaters talked about their plans for the season. Chuuya ended up sitting next to Dazai. He’d hoped that Dazai would look out of shape or something, but he looked better than ever. He went on about how his new coach, Fukuzawa, helped him find meaning in skating again, and how for the first time he felt something when he skated. Chuuya didn’t believe that. Dazai hated feelings. He’d never been an emotional skater.

Chuuya didn’t have much to say for himself. Unlike Dazai, he wasn’t particularly interested in charming the public. Neither of them actually revealed much about themselves during these press conferences, but Dazai used more words to say less.

On the way out, Dazai grabbed Chuuya by the arm. “Long time no see.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Chuuya yanked his arm out of Dazai’s grip and started walking towards the locker rooms.

“I didn’t want anyone knowing about my plans,” Dazai said. “It’s always good to have the element of surprise. Throws everyone off.”

“I’m not thrown off,” Chuuya said.

“I wish I could’ve seen the look on your face when you found out,” Dazai continued. “You make the best faces, Chuuya, especially when you’re angry.”

“Are you here just to annoy me?” Chuuya asked.

Dazai hummed. “Something like that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Chuuya said. “This doesn’t change anything. I’m still winning.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Dazai said. “By the way, you look really stressed.”

Chuuya spun around to whack him in the arm, but Dazai jumped back and out of reach. He waved his hand at Chuuya and then turned and started walking in the opposite direction.

That was the last time they talked during the competition.

*

The short program was shocking.

Not in a bad way, for Chuuya’s performance. He didn’t fall, didn’t make any mistakes. It wasn’t as smooth as he had liked it. He’d almost fallen on one of the jumps, and he generally had been skating too fast, but he got the points he needed and the crowd enjoyed his performance.

Then Dazai skated.

Dazai had always been a very technical skater, while Chuuya had always been more artistic. Chuuya struggled with some of the more difficult jumps, while Dazai had trouble putting emotion into his pieces and making them flow. Despite Dazai’s height being a disadvantage, and Chuuya’s being an advantage, Dazai often did better at jumps than Chuuya and gained more points for them.

Chuuya knew why. It was because of his emotions. There were two things that often happened when Chuuya was on the ice. Sometimes, he would become so absorbed in the feeling of a particular piece that he’d let some of the technical elements slip to the wayside, and mistakes were made. Other times, his nerves about things surrounding the competition would carry over into the performance, and he’d mess up.

He’d fought for years to manage his emotions during a competition, but it was a constant battle.

This year, he wasn’t winning.

As soon as Dazai started skating, Chuuya’s stomach dropped. Dazai had gained the artistic elements he’d been missing. For once, he did skate with emotion. The crowd ate it up. Chuuya couldn’t look away. He knew the judges were feeling the same. The technical elements were all still there, and still infuriatingly good, but now Dazai had that extra edge.

With this, because Dazai was more consistent, Chuuya knew that Dazai could easily beat him.

That scared him. He hadn’t been prepared for this.

Those thoughts carried over into the free skate. Dazai took the ice before Chuuya and performed a near perfect program. Chuuya felt sick as he went onto the ice.

He wanted to do his best. He wanted to get this over with. He wanted to win. He wanted to go home.

He landed his first jumping pass with some difficulty, but he would get the full points. He’d gone into it too fast, and nearly fell on the second jump. Then a triple axel, which again, he nearly fell on. It must have looked sloppy, but he was landing the jumps.

The third pass had his most difficult jump, the quad lutz. He usually landed it, though there was always a sense of uncertainty, because there were plenty of times where he’d fallen, too.

He knew as soon as he was in the air that something was wrong. He was off-balance. But there was nothing he could do about it except try to land on one foot.

His skate hit the ice at a wrong angle, and slid out from under him. He landed on his side, his hip hitting the ice and exploding in pain.

On instinct, Chuuya tried to roll onto his knees and push himself up to continue the program. As soon as he attempted to, the pain in his legs became white hot, and he ended up back on his side, unable to move, the cold of the ice biting through his costume.

The music had stopped. Chuuya couldn’t hear anything except the too fast beating of his heart. The pain was too much. Chuuya didn’t want to cry in front of this crowd. He wanted to get up and start from where he left off. But he couldn’t move. He was scared because he couldn’t move. Tears started racing down his cheeks despite his best efforts to stop them, and his breaths came in uneven gasps.

Then he heard a voice, close to him, asking him if he could move.

Chuuya shook his head. He felt like he was going to be sick. The other person seemed to be kneeling on the ice now, one hand gently resting on Chuuya’s arm. “Stay still,” they said. “Help is coming.”

At some point, they did lift him onto a stretcher. The pain made Chuuya want to scream, but he gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into the palms of his hands. The ride to the hospital was a blur.

Once he got there, he passed out.

*

A hip fracture.

When the doctor told Chuuya the news, after he’d woken up from surgery, Chuuya wanted to scream. He started shaking. There was a little over a year until the Olympics, and Chuuya was already 22, and he hadn’t medaled at the last Olympics because of nerves, and he’d wanted to prove himself this time. And now he would have to struggle just to walk, let alone perform as he did on the ice.

The nurse gave him some sort of anti-anxiety medication to calm him down.

“It is possible,” Mori told him, “to recover from such an injury in time. It would require a lot of hard work, and not everyone can manage it.” Chuuya thought he heard doubt in Mori’s voice.

“But will I be able to get back to the level I was at before?” he asked.

Mori didn’t say anything.

A few days later, Mori decided that it would be best if he didn’t coach Chuuya anymore.

Chuuya had already started rehabilitation therapy. He was trying to walk, and finding it very difficult. He was in a lot of pain. He felt like an old man. Of course Mori didn’t believe he would skate well again.

Once he was released from the hospital, he spent a week not leaving his apartment except to go to physical therapy.

He felt like his life had ended.

During second week home, he looked up videos from the competition. A few reporters had tried to talk to him while he was in the hospital, but he refused them all. Chuuya had seen a few articles speculating on his condition and his future in the sport, but he hadn’t had the heart to read them in full.

The first video he found was in high definition, with commentary. The program started off well, but it was clear that Chuuya was fighting with himself to keep control.

The fall made Chuuya pause the video and turn away from his computer. It looked just as horrible as it had felt. He didn’t want to hear the reaction from the commentators, who had gone silent when he hit the ice. It would just solidify what he already knew: that his future didn’t exist anymore.

Two weeks after he’d returned home, he decided to say goodbye.

*

Chuuya trained in Tokyo, but he was originally from Yokohama, and he still lived there. He went to the rink he’d started at, figuring it would be easier to go there than to face Mori in Tokyo. He wanted to see the rink one last time.

He arrived to a practice.

He didn’t catch sight of the skater. They looked to be in-between practicing a program and were off to the side, talking to the coach. Chuuya struggled to get up into the seats to watch, and when he finally settled down, he wished he hadn’t.

The person skating into the middle of the rink was Dazai. The grey-haired man standing on the side was his coach.

There were a handful of other people in the bleachers. The ones at the bottom were, Chuuya assumed, the coach’s other skaters. Chuuya decided that he would leave once he caught his breath.

He watched Dazai go through his free program twice. It looked like he wanted to change a few things, because some of the elements looked different to what Chuuya had seen. Still, the ease with which Dazai skated meant that Chuuya couldn’t look away, and he felt his throat close up. Dazai’s program was softer than what he’d done in the past. It was beautiful.

After the second pass, Chuuya grabbed his crutches and stood up. Dazai looked up at the audience, and saw him.

Chuuya froze. Dazai’s eyes widened, and he skated towards the exit. Chuuya groaned and sat down again, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to leave quickly enough.

Another skater walked over to the coach. Without the distraction of the skating, Chuuya started to feel the cold of the rink and the pain in his hip. The hard plastic seats weren’t the best for this injury. It had been stupid to come at all.

Dazai slid into the seat next to him, a bit too close for Chuuya’s liking.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said with a smile.

“I didn’t know it was your practice,” Chuuya muttered. “I didn’t know you practiced here.”

“Just like the old days,” Dazai said, “except with a better coach.”

“You’ve improved,” Chuuya admitted, grudgingly. “I’m sure...you’ll do well next year.”

“I’m sure I will,” Dazai agreed. His smile fell. “You’re not coming back.”

Chuuya wrapped one of his hands in his scarf. “What makes you think that? Did you hear about Mori or something?”

“No. What happened with Mori?” There was a strange edge to Dazai’s voice.

Chuuya thought Dazai had already known. But now he had to tell him. “He dropped me. It makes sense. I don’t bla-”

“That bastard,” Dazai muttered, looking away. “As soon as things get a little difficult, he leaves.”

“A little difficult?” Chuuya’s voice rose slightly. “I can barely walk!”

Dazai looked at him again, his mouth set in a thin line and his eyes hard. “You’ve given up.”

“Dazai.” Chuuya couldn’t deny it.

“I didn’t think you’d give up so easily.”

“Dazai,” Chuuya repeated, louder.

“What happened to the stubborn idiot who would meet any challenge head on?”

“I don’t have a coach,” Chuuya snapped. “I can barely walk. There isn’t enough time. I’m not young enough to bounce back from this.”

“You’re still pretty young,” Dazai said. “But with that attitude, maybe it’s better that you don’t waste anyone’s time.”

Chuuya felt his anger flare. He tried to grab Dazai by his shirt, but Dazai swatted his hand away.

“Even if I thought it was possible,” Chuuya said, “what coach would agree with me?”

Some of the hardness in Dazai’s eyes disappeared, replaced by a thoughtful look. “Oh, I’m sure there’s someone.”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“Chuuya, I can guarantee that there will be someone willing to take on this challenge,” Dazai said.

Chuuya stared at him. “Why the hell do you care? Isn’t it better that I’m gone?”

Dazai blinked at him. “No. It isn’t.”

“How…?”

“You figure it out, Chuuya,” Dazai said. He stood up. “I’ll be in touch.”

Chuuya wanted to tell him not to bother, but the words stuck in his throat. It was another five minutes before he could stand up and leave.

*

Two days later, Chuuya received a text from an unknown number.

[14:26 Unknown]: I got you a coach!

Chuuya called immediately.

“Chuuya!” Dazai sounded overjoyed. “I have the best news!”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Chuuya hissed. “I didn’t ask you to get me a coach!”

“Does Chuuya not want to skate anymore?” Dazai asked. “You don’t want to go to the Olympics?”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up for something that won’t happen,” Chuuya snapped.

Dazai sighed. “You’re a lot more pessimistic than you were two years ago, you know.”

Chuuya frowned. If Dazai, of all people, was calling him pessimistic, then maybe he needed to take a step back.

“Who’s the coach?” he asked after a moment.

“Mine!” Dazai said. “Fukuzawa-san wants to meet you tomorrow at noon, if you can.”

“What?”

“Don’t be late-”

“Dazai, when the fuck did you become some sort of a--a--I’m not a charity case!”

“I don’t think you are,” Dazai said, “and neither does Fukuzawa-san, otherwise he wouldn’t have agreed to this.”

“I don’t get it,” Chuuya said.

“You’re afraid of failure,” Dazai said. “So afraid that you don’t even want to come back. But you also have a genuine passion for the sport that hasn’t diminished even when to most people it would seem more like a job. Especially with a coach like Mori. You’ve never lost yourself to your career. Somehow you’ve always managed to do your best and take pride in it without becoming numb to what you were doing.”

Chuuya was silent, taking it in.

“Besides,” Dazai continued after realizing Chuuya wasn’t going to say anything, “I’ve always been at my best when put against a worthy opponent. This is entirely selfish on my part!”

Chuuya sighed.

“So are you coming?” Dazai asked.

“I’ll be there,” Chuuya said, “but I can’t promise anything.”

“Great!” Dazai hung up.

The thing was, even if it was selfish, Dazai was being nice. They were all being nice. Chuuya wasn’t sure he could be worth their kindness. This challenge was entirely unfamiliar.

Dazai said he was afraid of failure. Chuuya had never truly failed in his life. This past national championships had been the first time. He didn’t want to feel that way again.

But wasn’t it a failure to give up his entire career so quickly after one set back?

Was Dazai right?

Chuuya couldn’t deny that he was scared. He didn’t know if he had a future in figure skating, and he didn’t know what his future would be like without it.

He didn’t want to hope for something that seemed so impossible. Mori didn’t believe in him.

But his rival did.

*

Fukuzawa wanted to meet at the rink.

Chuuya wasn’t sure why, because he couldn’t skate. When he arrived, they both sat in the chairs off to the side.

“Sir,” Chuuya said, after a moment. He felt like Fukuzawa was appraising him. “I know this is a bit weird, and I don’t want you to do this just because of Dazai-”

“Do you think I’d let Dazai make my decisions for me?” Fukuzawa asked.

“No.” Chuuya swallowed. Fukuzawa had sharp eyes, and a stern expression. His gray hair made him look older, but he actually was around Mori’s age, Chuuya realized. “But I want to know...I need to know if you think I’m capable of doing what Dazai said I am.”

Fukuzawa was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I’ve watched your career, as I do the careers of any competitors. You and Dazai have always been on top. I believe that Coach Mori was too harsh a coach on both of you. Some competition is healthy. The competition he fostered between you became a source of anxiety. In order to stay in his favor, you had to win at all costs.”

Chuuya opened his mouth to protest and then stopped. Hadn’t he been anxious because of Dazai’s return? Hadn’t he not wanted to disappoint Mori? Wasn’t he so afraid of failure that it messed with his head every time he went out on the ice and caused some of his losses?

Instead he said, “But Dazai told me he was at his best against a worthy opponent.”

“Healthy competition can be good,” Fukuzawa said, “but losses are part of the sport.”

Chuuya nodded.

“I will take you on,” Fukuzawa said, “but only if this is what you want. And on the understanding that you will need to go at the pace your body allows. If you aren’t ready by next year, then you aren’t ready. You will need to work hard, but don’t overwork yourself.”

It was a fine balance, but Chuuya understood what Fukuzawa meant. It would be a very hard, very long year. And that was only to get back to where he had been before.

He didn’t have anything else he wanted to do. He’d never wanted to do anything else.

“I want to do this,” he said. “I don’t want my career to end.”

Fukuzawa nodded. “Then I will be your coach.”

*

What followed were a series of discussions about how Chuuya’s training should proceed. During this process Chuuya saw very little of Dazai. It wasn’t surprising. Dazai didn’t need to be around for any of this. In some ways it made things easier.

Chuuya didn’t really know what he and Dazai were. Rivals, yes. Teammates, sometimes. But Dazai had helped him. Did that make them friends?

They had considered each other as good as enemies before Chuuya’s accident. It was a strange switch to make in Chuuya’s head.

Fukuzawa didn’t want to start training until Chuuya’s injury was fully healed. This took another six weeks, during which time Chuuya kept up with physical therapy. At that point, Fukuzawa allowed Chuuya to start gentle off-ice training.

Everything Chuuya did felt like he was pushing his body to the limit. He didn’t know what was too much or too little, because most exercises caused pain. Walking had become easier, luckily, but walking wouldn’t get him a gold medal. He still hadn’t mastered running. His muscles had become weak from the time spent in recovery, which was where most of his pain was coming from. He felt like he was starting from nothing.

It was frustrating. He knew what he wanted to do, and he couldn’t do it. He had to move forward in small steps, and sometimes he didn’t think he was moving forward at all. Two months in, and he had yet to step onto the ice.

Dazai, meanwhile, had finished the season with a gold at Worlds. Chuuya saw him briefly before a training session and congratulated him. They didn’t talk beyond that.

Chuuya didn’t know what to make of this. Dazai had pulled him back on track and Chuuya hadn’t seen him since. That was fine. Dazai wasn’t his coach. But it still felt weird.

At three months, towards the middle of March, Fukuzawa decided that Chuuya had been doing enough off-ice training that he should start going back on the ice.

That morning, Chuuya was nervous. He hadn’t expected to be nervous; after all, he'd been impatient to get back on the ice ever since he started training again. Yet he couldn’t eat breakfast beyond a few bites, and once he got to the rink, his mind wasn’t all there. His chest felt tight, his entire body tense, and when he sat down to put on his skates, he realized his hands were shaking.

He ignored it. He forced himself to get ready like he always had, laced up his skates and walked to the edge of the ice, where Fukuzawa was waiting.

“Don't push yourself,” Fukuzawa said. “Get a feel for the ice first, and how your body reacts to it.”

Chuuya nodded. With one hand gripping the wall for support, he stepped onto the rink.

He stood still.

Then he pushed off the wall. His skates skidded over the ice, forcing Chuuya to concentrate on not losing his balance. The initial feeling of slipping sent Chuuya’s heart into his throat. He forced himself to take a lap around the rink, testing his ability to move forward and backwards.

He'd never felt out of control on the ice, but now he couldn't stop thinking about how fast he was going, how he was off-balance, how at any moment he could lose control and crash or fall.

He felt dizzy, and he skidded to a stop where he'd started and stepped off the rink. His legs wobbled, and he stumbled towards the locker rooms, needing to feel like he was on solid ground.

He sank onto one of the benches and rested his elbows on his legs, hiding his face in his hands and taking deep breaths. He was shaking.

“Chuuya?” That wasn’t Fukuzawa’s voice. Chuuya didn’t lift his head. Of all the times for Dazai to visit him, he had to come now.

Chuuya remained silent, hoping Dazai would leave. Instead, Dazai sat down. Chuuya felt his weight on the bench.

“You already went on the ice, didn’t you,” Dazai said.

“I'm pathetic,” Chuuya spat. He lifted his head, thankful at least that his eyes were dry. He hadn’t cried since he'd been helpless on the ice during nationals.

Dazai hummed. “Self-pity isn’t a good look on you.”

“Since when do you care?” Under Mori, both Chuuya and Dazai had their fair share of difficulties. When they were younger, Dazai had walked in on Chuuya quite a few times when he was having an emotional breakdown. And then he'd walked right back out.

“I care more about a lot of things,” Dazai said, “but this isn't about me. Fukuzawa said you were skating well.”

Chuuya clenched and unclenched his hands. The news should have made him feel better, but he only felt worse because he hadn’t been aware of what he was doing.

“Alright,” Dazai sighed, “tell me why you're pathetic. Is it because you're scared?”

Chuuya felt his jaw clench.

“Why are you scared?” Dazai continued when it became obvious Chuuya wouldn’t answer. “Well, I’ve always known that you were afraid of failing. But now you're afraid that you've lost control. You're afraid of being on the ice because it finally got the better of you, and you haven't been the one calling the shots for a while. Maybe you never were. That's what you're thinking.”

“Shut up,” Chuuya snapped. Dazai was right. He hated that Dazai was right.

“You're a bit of a control freak, aren’t you,” Dazai added.

Chuuya stared at him. “What?”

“I mean, I am too,” Dazai waved a hand, “which is why I never let myself go, so to speak, during my programs. Do you know what Fukuzawa did when he first started training me?”

“What?”

“He sent me to therapy!” Dazai looked absolutely offended. “Can you imagine me needing therapy?”

“Yes?”

Dazai blinked. “Oh.”

“You were about to give up your whole fucking career because you couldn’t find a reason to care about it,” Chuuya said, and talking about Dazai’s problems calmed him down enough that he wasn’t shaking anymore. “You didn't care about the thing you'd dedicated your whole life to. You didn’t care about anything.” And Chuuya had ignored it, like Dazai had ignored him.

“Maybe Chuuya should be a therapist,” Dazai quipped. “Or maybe Chuuya should see a therapist. But maybe Coach Fukuzawa believes that physical therapy is your therapy...well, you were always better at working through things without talking.”

“Why did you come here?” Chuuya asked.

“Why do you think you're pathetic?” Dazai countered. “Because you're a lot of things, Chuuya, but pathetic isn’t one of them.”

The anger that had calmed down returned now. “I can’t step on the ice without having a fucking breakdown,” Chuuya snarled. “People get injured all the time, and they deal with it and move on. Falling is part of the sport. I...cant even do something simple.”

“Do you think it's easy for everyone else?” Dazai asked.

“No,” Chuuya said, “but fuck, I can’t do this every time I step on the ice. How am I gonna do spins? How am I gonna jump? I can’t waste Fukuzawa’s time-”

“You're not,” Dazai interrupted. “He's a coach. He's here to work with you. He knew what he was doing when he took you on.”

“I’ve been begging to get back on the ice for months and when I did, I freaked out.” Chuuya's voice shook. “How is that gonna work?”

“You're scared,” Dazai said. “You feel like nothing is in your control. So take it back.”

“You say that like its easy.”

Dazai grinned. “I’ve never known Chuuya to back down from a challenge.”

“Dazai…”

“I’ll come with you tomorrow. On the ice. I’ll hold your hand.”

“What?” Chuuya shook his head. “No, no, that'll make it worse…”

“If you can’t trust yourself, then trust 2017 World Champion Dazai Osamu!”

Despite the ridiculousness of his words, Dazai looked incredibly confident. He did, for once in his life, look like someone who both knew what he was doing and enjoyed it. Chuuya hadn’t really trusted him before. He'd never taken advice from Dazai because Dazai never had advice to give.

“I like you better now,” he said, finally.

Dazai raised an eyebrow. “I’ll let that backhanded compliment slide if you let me train with you tomorrow,” he said.

Chuuya sighed. He didn't want Dazai to witness his humiliation, but what he'd done today hadn’t worked. “Fine,” he said. “Why not? I don’t have anything else to lose.”

“That's the spirit, Chuuya!”

*

As it turned out, Chuuya did have one more thing to lose: his patience.

Dazai pulled him onto the ice as soon as Chuuya was out of the locker rooms, barely giving him time to continue the thoughts he'd been overthinking overnight about finally being allowed to skate again and possibly being unable to relearn how.

Dazai led Chuuya into the center of the ice and spun them both around a few times before stopping. Chuuya glanced around. He hadn’t been paying attention yesterday, but today he took in the smooth reflective surface of the ice and the marks he and Dazai had carved by skating onto it. It looked like it would before a program. Chuuya shivered.

“No one is watching,” Dazai said. “Except me. And Fukuzawa. Let’s skate.” He had been holding Chuuya's hand the entire time, but Chuuya only noticed now that Dazai let go and lazily began to skate around him in circles, backwards.

Chuuya used to have excellent footwork.

Footwork, or the actual skating part of figure skating, was something he and Fukuzawa both thought he could re-master more quickly than anything else. It would be less stress on his body, since he wouldn’t be jumping or spinning. It would just require his balance, coordination, rhythm, and concentration.

Chuuya’s eyes followed Dazai as he skated. He felt a pang of loss at the ease with which Dazai skated. He almost forgot that he, too, was supposed to be doing something.

Dazai stopped in front of him and took his hand.

“What are you doing?” Chuuya asked.

“You’re not doing anything by yourself,” Dazai said. “So I’ll help you.” Then he turned and pulled Chuuya forward.

Chuuya’s feet nearly slid out from under him. “Dazai!”

“I’ll catch you, don’t worry,” Dazai said.

“You don’t look like you could catch me,” Chuuya said.

“I’m stronger than I look,” Dazai said.

Chuuya allowed Dazai to pull him around the rink. As they completed their first lap, Chuuya started skating more rather than being pulled. He was still going a bit fast, but he felt like he had more control than the day before. As he completed the second lap, the ice started to feel more familiar. The ease with which the skates carved into the ice calmed something within Chuuya.

He let go of Dazai’s hand.

The initial pang of fear was followed by relief. He wasn’t being pulled around anymore, and he slowed down a bit to experiment with skating backwards more than he had the previous day. It was easier than he expected it to be, and he went around the rink, forwards and backwards, covering the entirety of the ice, making himself comfortable with it once again.

Dazai had stepped off the ice once Chuuya let go of his hand, and he was waiting when Chuuya came to a stop, breathless.

“Thank you,” he said. The words felt weird coming out of his mouth directed at Dazai. He seemed to be saying them a lot to him, lately.

“I told you!” Dazai grinned. “I should be your coach.”

“No.”

Dazai pouted. “Chuuya is no fun.”

“I wouldn’t trust a coach who was also my competition,” Chuuya said.

Dazai laughed. “That’s smart. So, now you have footwork, spins, jumping…”

Chuuya’s mind stumbled over the reminder that he still had so much to do as Dazai continued talking.

Suddenly, he felt exhausted.

*

Chuuya knew that he was in for a hard time. He’d freaked out trying to simply be on the ice after his accident. He knew he would have a hard time relearning to jump.

His body worked differently now.

It wasn’t a dramatic change, but it didn’t need to be. Chuuya had dealt with this once before, during his teenage years, when a sudden growth spurt had thrown him off-balance. He’d only grown a couple of inches, and he didn’t gain much weight, but it was enough to completely change how his body moved.

What felt familiar suddenly felt off. Chuuya first noticed it when practicing spins. Those were hard, because they required him to be flexible. It was painful, but not really dangerous. Still, something threw him off balance, and made him feel like he didn’t have as much control as he thought.

Fukuzawa allowed him to start off-ice training for jumps, and Chuuya was terrified when he sprang into the air with ease only for his body to overbalance.

He fell onto the gym mat.

Fukuzawa frowned. “Your body has changed.”

“What?” Chuuya tried to focus on Fukuzawa and not the panic trying to claw it’s way to the front of his thoughts. He scrambled off the mat, standing up.

“Your injury must have changed the way you move,” Fukuzawa said. “It’s subtle, but you need to accommodate for it. We might need to shift your technique.”

Trying to compensate for a physical change involved a lot of trial and error. Chuuya knew he would be hitting the mat a lot, and then the ice.

He felt sick.

Fukuzawa eyed him. “We will master this before you go on the ice. I wouldn’t force you into something before you’re ready.”

Chuuya nodded. Of course Fukuzawa wouldn’t. He was a good coach. He’d been great so far, patient with Chuuya, giving Chuuya plenty of his time and dealing with Chuuya’s anxieties.

Chuuya would figure this out.

He had to.

*

Chuuya decided to practice until he figured out what wasn’t working. He had the feeling that he was running out of time. It was almost May. He hadn’t jumped on the ice.

He stayed at the gym late. He didn’t tell Fukuzawa that he was doing extra training. Hitting the mat felt better than hitting the ice, and Chuuya convinced himself that it was okay because the gym’s matted floor was soft.

He worked himself to exhaustion.

Dazai walked in on him one night, after Chuuya had taken another fall. His rate of not falling had improved, but he still fell too much for his liking. His legs burned, and he was panting, sweat soaking his hair. He allowed himself to stay on the floor, just to rest for a few minutes.

“You’ll re-injure yourself like that,” Dazai said.

Chuuya’s head shot up. He scrambled to his feet and swayed on the spot, dizzy with the sudden movement.

“It’s fine,” he said.

Dazai’s cool gaze swept over Chuuya’s entire body. “You would think that after what happened, you’d be more careful with yourself. But you’re falling back into old habits.”

“I’m doing what I know best,” Chuuya said. “How else am I supposed to figure out how to make this work?”

“By taking your time. By stopping long enough to think about what might work and might not.” Dazai sighed and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Chuuya, if after all this time you hurt yourself again…”

Chuuya stared at him.

“Don’t make me regret helping you,” Dazai finished. It sounded like that wasn’t what he wanted to say.

“Don’t hold that over my head,” Chuuya snapped. “If you want to see me succeed so badly, give me some useful advice instead of whatever bullshit you’re giving me right now.”

“I’m not a coach, Chuuya,” Dazai said.

“Then why are you here?” Chuuya asked.

Dazai hesitated. “I was watching Atsushi’s practice.” Atsushi was one of the younger skaters that Fukuzawa trained, and he did indeed have a practice that night. But Chuuya wasn’t convinced.

“You could have gone straight home,” Chuuya said.

Dazai tilted his head to look up at the ceiling. “What do you want me to say, Chuuya? That I don’t know how to help you?”

“If you don’t, then admit it,” Chuuya said. “But don’t...make it seem like I’m throwing away the opportunity you gave me. I’m grateful for it, I really am, but I didn’t ask you to get me a coach.”

“No,” Dazai agreed. “You didn’t.”

“I don’t care if you don’t know how to help me,” Chuuya said, “but at least be honest about it.”

Dazai took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Alright. I’ve never dealt with a severe injury before. I don’t know how you would deal with it. But,” he gave Chuuya a hard look, “it’s not by overworking yourself.”

Chuuya shifted on his feet. Dazai was right. Even if he didn’t have a solution, he was right.

“I need to do something,” he said.

“I know,” Dazai said. “You know thinking is also doing something, right?”

“What?”

“Using your brain,” Dazai grinned. “I know you don’t do it often but that is, actually, a thing people do.”

“Shut up,” Chuuya muttered.

“You’re not gonna get over your fear by doing this over and over,” Dazai added. “It’s still different on the ice.”

Chuuya took a sharp breath.

“But you’ve fallen lots of times,” Dazai said. “More than me. A lot more than me.” He laughed. Chuuya glared at him. “And you weren’t injured. Not every fall is going to end your career. The fall that broke your hip didn’t even end it. You’re here, right?”

It made sense. Everything Dazai said was true. Chuuya still felt panic at the thought of going on the ice without a near-perfect success rate of landing jumps off-ice.

“I’ll go home,” he said slowly, because he knew that Dazai was right about Chuuya overworking himself. “But what if-”

Dazai held up his hand. “There’s no what if you can ask me that’ll make me change my stance on this.”

Chuuya sighed. “Fine. I’ll go home for now. I can’t promise anything else.” He pushed past Dazai, heading for the locker room.

Dazai didn’t follow him.

Chuuya almost wished he did.

*

Even though Chuuya hadn’t promised Dazai anything other than going home that night, Dazai’s words stuck with him. Chuuya trained as much as he could with Fukuzawa, and a little bit on his own, but he didn’t work himself to the point of exhaustion he’d been at when Dazai found him.

The anxiety that gnawed at Chuuya’s thoughts didn’t go away, especially without the extra training to distract him, but Dazai had his weird ways of making sure Chuuya didn’t give into that fear.

He came to more of Chuuya’s training sessions. He offered to walk Chuuya home. He offered to walk Chuuya to the rink in the morning. They didn’t talk much on those walks, but it guaranteed that Chuuya got home at a reasonable time. Chuuya didn’t take Dazai up on his morning walk offers, only because he was pretty sure both of them would hate each other if they had to deal with each other so early. Dazai seemed relieved by that.

The day that Chuuya was meant to take his jumps on the ice, Dazai offered him the biggest distraction of all.

“Coach Fukuzawa wants me to talk to you about your season program,” he said as Chuuya laced up his skates.

Chuuya stopped.

“You’ll be late,” Dazai said. “There’s a few practices today, so we’re on a tight schedule.”

Chuuya finished doing up his skates. With everything else going on, he’d forgotten that he needed an actual program to skate to if he was going to compete. He stood up.

“When are we gonna talk about that?”

“Over coffee, right after your practice,” Dazai said with a smile.

“What?”

“Come on, Fukuzawa’s waiting.”

Chuuya’s thoughts raced in several directions on the short walk to the rink. His mouth was dry. Tremors ran through his body. Dazai wanted to talk about his program after this. Because his career didn’t come down to what happened during this particular training session.

The thought was both comforting and exhausting. Every time Chuuya felt like he’d accomplished something, he realized he still had a long way to go.

He stepped onto the ice. Fukuzawa took in his appearance. “Warm up,” he said.

Chuuya skated around the rink several times before he came back to Fukuzawa. It helped work some of the nervous tension from his body, but his heart was still beating too fast.

“Single jumps,” Fukuzawa said. “Pick the one you’re most comfortable with first.”

Chuuya nodded, and turned around. This was the sort of thing he would’ve done when he was first learning. It didn’t have to be impressive.

He took a deep breath. Then he pushed forward.

He skated around the rink once before he prepared for the jump. It was a single toe loop, which should have been incredibly easy for someone like him. It still scared him. He felt his heart leap into his throat as he launched himself into the air, even though it wasn’t that high.

And then he landed, and didn’t fall.

He wanted to laugh, or cry. He’d landed his first jump back on the ice. It was easy, but it was something.

Fukuzawa’s normally stern expression looked softer as Chuuya grinned at him from the middle of the ice.

Chuuya felt like he could move forward, now.

*

Dazai watched Chuuya over the rim of his coffee mug. He'd picked a place that actually served drinks in ceramic cups for those who were staying. Fancy. Not the sort of place Chuuya expected Dazai to pick.

They had excellent baked goods, too.

Chuuya sipped his coffee. Dazai’s stare was getting under his skin.

“It’s a bit weird for you to be planning my program,” Chuuya said finally.

“Is it?” Dazai smiled. “I've never done anything normally. So come on, Chuuya. Music, theme, something. It's an Olympic year!”

“Don't remind me.” Chuuya tapped his finger against his mug, thinking. “What's your theme?”

“Romance.” Dazai winked.

“Fuck off.”

“Rebirth.”

“Damn.” Chuuya had been thinking of using that.

“Why are you working so hard to get back to where you were?” Dazai asked. “Let's start there.”

“To spite you,” Chuuya said.

Dazai leaned back. “Chuuya isn't gonna play nice.”

Chuuya ran a hand through his hair. “I don't know. I mean, I do. I love the sport. It's a way of expressing myself. I don't know what else I'd do with my life.”

“I got you back on the ice,” Dazai added.

“You helped,” Chuuya said. “I'm the one that decided.”

“Loss,” Dazai said.

Chuuya frowned. “That's pretty grim, isn't it?”

“You were terrified of losing the one thing that gave your life meaning,” Dazai said. “You still are, because you haven't quite gotten it back yet.”

Chuuya felt uncomfortable. “Don't put it that way.”

“It's a good theme,” Dazai said. “You'll be in character the whole time you're planning your programs!”

“Shut up,” Chuuya said. “I'm not working towards loss. That can be part of it but...I'm fighting to get what I lost back. Is there a word for that?”

“Your theme doesn't have to be a single word,” Dazai pointed out.

Chuuya nodded. “Well whatever I just told you, that's my theme.”

“Great.” Dazai leaned forward. “So how many quads do you think you can pull off?”

*

Time seemed to speed up once Chuuya added jumps to his training. They took the longest to master, and although he was taking small steps forward, Chuuya still felt like he was going too slow.

It took every bit of self control he had not to overwork himself. He made sure that he and Dazai walked home together as often as they could, to keep himself in check.

Dazai was genuinely interested in Chuuya’s progress and his program, which was a huge difference from when they were younger. Under Mori, he acted like Chuuya wasn't worth paying attention to.

Dazai had said once that Chuuya would burn out quickly and be forgotten easily.

Now he was fighting for Chuuya to stick around.

Despite having started the conversation about Chuuya’s season program, Dazai didn't have a hand in the actual planning. Chuuya and Fukuzawa spent hours talking and adjusting based on the progress Chuuya made. The program evolved from having no quads to two, one in the short and one in the long program. There was room for more, depending on how Chuuya did.

They chose music. Chuuya wanted something fast for the short program, rushed and a bit chaotic. It was a gamble, because Chuuya himself tended to skate that way when he got nervous, and it was what led to his injury, but that was why he chose it. If this was a story of his recovery, he needed to include that part. He just had to remember not to actually repeat what happened.

The long program music started quiet and slow and gained momentum. Chuuya hoped he could do it justice.

The season snuck up on him. In the midst of practice and planning he forgot about time, which was a welcome distraction until the Grand Prix start was a month away.

Chuuya actually qualified based on his season standings before his injury at nationals, which was both a relief and a bit terrifying. He came off as a good enough skater to compete at such a high level despite having sat out the latter part of the season. But that meant he would start off competing at a high level, with the high standards that came with it.

He was still struggling with quads, and during practice he often swung between concentrating too much on technique while forgetting the artistic part of his performance, or concentrating too much on the artistic part and failing at the technical aspects. He had experience with getting carried away by his emotions before, but he’d never had this much trouble blending the two aspects of his performance.

Dazai and Chuuya were assigned to two different sets of cities for the Grand Prix. When they found out, Dazai laughed.

“Looks like I’ll have to wait to compete against you,” Dazai said. “It’s a good thing I’m a patient man. After all the work I put in, too!”

“Shut up!” Chuuya was relieved that Dazai wasn’t involved in his first two competitions. That would have been a level of pressure he wasn’t sure he could handle.

“But look! Chuuya gets to go to his favorite country! Have you practiced your French?”

Chuuya glared at him. “Do I look like I’ve had the fucking time?”

“And you also get to go to Canada. I can’t believe this. Chuuya gets all the fun places.”

“Since when is Canada fun?”

“I’m stuck going to Russia and staying here,” Dazai said with a pout. “Twice if I make it to the final. What terrible luck.”

“How terrible,” Chuuya muttered. He actually wished he had Dazai’s assignments. His own were further, and normally Chuuya would have enjoyed that. But with the way things were, he wanted to feel closer to home rather than isolated from it.

Dazai must have caught onto his worry. “You’ve always done well abroad,” he said. “International crowds love you, too. You’ll be fine.”

Chuuya wasn’t so sure about that.

*

Chuuya stepped off the plane in Canada feeling outside of himself.

The long plane ride hadn’t helped, but he got the feeling it was more to do with his emotions. He still couldn’t quite believe he was competing, and his brain wanted him to be both excited and terrified.

Once he got to the hotel and connected to wifi, he received several texts from Dazai. They were all something to the effect of “how’s Canada eh?” and “what time is it there?” and “if you’re overthinking stop and think about me instead!”

Chuuya hoped the feeling would pass. Dazai’s texts helped, but ultimately, he had to face this challenge on his own. Dazai was competition. If he wanted to challenge Dazai on the ice again, he couldn’t lean on him.

The next two days were set aside for practice and adjusting to the new time zone. Chuuya was grateful for that extra time. But once he was over his jet lag, the anxiety peaked. He felt it in full force, and he couldn’t ignore it by focusing on tiredness instead.

The morning of the short program, Dazai called.

Because he was a pain in the ass, he called at 6am, waking Chuuya up.

“Are you trying to make me lose?” Chuuya asked.

“No. It’s in my best interests that you win,” Dazai said. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t oversleep.”

He’d had a hard time falling asleep, and now that he was talking he was wide awake. “What is it, Dazai? What time is it there?”

“Evening. Do you miss me?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie.”

“You’ll be asleep when I’m doing my program,” Chuuya said. Dazai wouldn’t find out about it until the next morning.

“Will I?”

Chuuya sighed. “You should be.”

“Do you want me to be?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya frowned. “What kind of question is that?”

“Would it make you feel better if I watched live or if I waited until you told me the news,” Dazai said.

Chuuya hadn’t thought of that. Not having Dazai watch live took some of the pressure off, even if Dazai wasn’t actually there.

“I’ll text you after,” Chuuya said. “But it’s not like I’d know if you watched.”

“I won’t unless you tell me to,” Dazai said. “If it makes you feel better.”

“So kind.”

“I try.” There was a moment of silence. “This isn’t the most important competition of your career.”

Chuuya hadn’t expected that. “What?”

“It’s just the first competition of the season,” Dazai said. “Conserve your strength and all that. Besides,” he raised his voice, “only one of us can compete in the Grand Prix Final.”

“What?”

“Japan isn’t big enough for the both of us! You’ll have your chance some day!” Then he hung up.

Chuuya stared at his phone.

Dazai really was an ass.

*

As distracting as Dazai had been that morning, nothing could really distract Chuuya from his thoughts in the afternoon.

The sick fear that had washed over him when he’d attempted to jump for the first time after his injury returned, but it was worse. People would be watching. He knew he must have looked terrible. Fukuzawa kept throwing concerned looks his way. None of the other skaters talked to him. He was glad for that.

He was shaking as he made his way to the locker rooms to change. As soon as he saw the locker room, he spun around and ran to the bathroom to throw up.

Dazai would probably be disappointed. Fukuzawa would probably be disappointed. Chuuya was disappointed in himself. His anxiety had never been this bad before. He’d thought he’d gotten over it months ago, but now it was all coming back to hit him. He didn’t know how he would get on the ice like this.

He wished Dazai were here, and then was angry at himself for wanting that. Dazai had a way of putting him at ease, whether it was through his weird brand of encouragement or pissing him off. Usually, Dazai could get him fired up. But again, Chuuya reminded himself that he had to do this on his own. Dazai was competition. Figure skating was a lonely sport. Ultimately, Chuuya had to rely on himself.

It was asking a lot, for him to put this much faith in himself.

There was a brief warm-up before the first set of skaters went, and Chuuya was probably missing it.

He forced himself to leave the bathroom stall. He washed out his mouth. He didn’t look in the mirror, because he had the feeling that if he saw his own face, he’d freak out even more. He slowly walked to the locker rooms. He was shaking as he changed into his costume.

Then he forced himself to go out to the rink.

Fukuzawa had noticed his absence. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Chuuya shook his head. There was no point in being dishonest.

“You don’t have to compete,” Fukuzawa said. Chuuya jerked his head up, staring at him. “But,” he continued, “you worked hard to get here.”

Chuuya took a shaky breath and nodded.

“Warm-up is almost over,” Fukuzawa said. “You should take advantage of it.”

Chuuya’s stomach lurched at the thought of going on the ice with everyone else, but Fukuzawa was right. He turned and walked towards the rink entrance, then skated onto the ice. The other skaters sped past him, practicing footwork and jumps. The movement made Chuuya dizzy. He knew his own skating seemed half-hearted, but he thought if he really tried to practice he would fall over.

The good thing about this warm-up was that he got a feel for the rink and the ice. He knew what the environment looked like now. He saw where the judges were sitting and where the audience would be.

Once he was back off the ice, Fukuzawa asked, “How was it?”

“Fine,” Chuuya said. “I’m...I’m going to do this.”

Half an hour later he was reconsidering his decision again.

He didn’t know how to deal with this. He hadn’t been overthinking this time. He’d been going through his warm up routine, and suddenly anxiety crashed into him again once he finished. Now he was sitting on a bench, arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to hold himself together, because he was shaking hard enough that he felt like he would fall apart.

That’s when the overthinking started.

The short program was a reflection of Chuuya’s emotions spinning out of control. There was a thin line between Chuuya performing a breakdown and actually having one on the ice, and in this moment Chuuya felt closer to having a breakdown.

He was sure that people had expectations of him. They were watching him to see how his comeback went after last year’s failure. He shouldn’t have cared, but he did. Chuuya’s high standards for himself had always been made worse by other peoples’ standards for him.

Fukuzawa was a calm, steady presence. Non-judgemental. He wouldn’t force Chuuya into any decision, and Chuuya was both grateful and frustrated. He almost wished Fukuzawa would push him, would tell him that his only option was to get on the ice. Chuuya felt seconds away from calling everything off.

He’d gotten so caught up in these thoughts that he hadn’t realized how much time passed. Fukuzawa appeared in front of him, telling him that he was next.

Chuuya felt like someone else was taking the reigns of his body as he followed Fukuzawa to the rink. He didn’t take in the performance of the person before him. He would have preferred to stay that way throughout the entirety of his own performance.

But once he stepped onto the ice, he became aware of everything. The crowd, his own body, his feelings. He definitely had control of himself now, for better or worse.

He took his time taking his starting position. He had to get this over with.

The music started.

It was a thin line between performing a breakdown and having one, and Chuuya didn’t know which way the performance would go until he was in it. He felt like he was skirting the line between the two, going a bit too fast, his brain running in circles. His first jump was a quad. He managed it, but the landing was weird. Not enough for him to fall, but enough to set him even more on edge.

He pushed his nervous energy into the next jumping pass, which started with a triple axel. He launched himself into the air and landed this one perfectly. Now he had the spinning sequence.

Chuuya forced his feelings and thoughts into his spins, and then into his footwork sequence. He was going faster than he should have been. He’d expected this, his emotions affecting his skating. But it was better this way, that his emotions were propelling him forward instead of causing him to freeze.

He had another jumping pass in the second half of his program, and he messed it up by going into it with too much force. He didn’t fall, but it was a close thing. He kept going, spinning to a finish.

He was gasping when the music stopped, and with it, his thoughts seemed to stop as well. He heard people clapping. He took his bows. He let Fukuzawa lead him off the ice. He waited for his scores.

“You did well,” Fukuzawa told him when they walked back to the locker rooms.

At the end of the short program, Chuuya was in fourth.

*

That evening, he called Dazai.

“You’re so mean, Chuuya,” Dazai said. He sounded still half-asleep. Chuuya hoped it was 6am for him. “Not even a text!”

“I wanted to tell you...not in person but close enough,” Chuuya said. He was back in his hotel room with some free time before dinner. His anxiety had gone with the performance, replaced with a tiredness that wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable.

“So what’s the news?” Dazai asked.

“I’m in fourth,” Chuuya said.

“Good!” Dazai sounded genuinely pleased. “We may yet meet on the ice sooner rather than later.”

“It’s too soon to tell,” Chuuya said.

“You sound upset,” Dazai said. “Is it because you aren’t in the top three?”

“I don’t know.” Chuuya did know. It wasn’t the placement.

“What happened?” Dazai asked.

“A few mistakes,” Chuuya said. “You’ll see it. I got a little too...in-character.”

Dazai sighed. “You panicked.”

“Sort of?” Chuuya gripped the phone tighter. “I thought I was over this. It was worse than before. I can’t control myself.”

“Do you think you’ll panic tomorrow?” Dazai asked.

“I don’t know,” Chuuya said, frustrated. “I didn’t think I would today. But I did and it almost ruined everything. I was a fucking mess.”

“You still skated,” Dazai pointed out. “You still made fourth.”

“I could have done be-”

“Stop.” Dazai’s voice was hard enough to make Chuuya’s words die in his throat. “You couldn’t walk at the beginning of the year, and now you’re in fourth place at a Grand Prix competition. I consider you a legitimate threat.”

There was no hint of joking or teasing in Dazai’s voice. He was serious.

“I don’t have your anxiety problem, so I don’t have advice,” Dazai continued. “And actually, even if I did, I wasn’t there when you were having it, either. Do you see what I’m saying?”

Chuuya did. He’d pulled himself out of his anxiety enough to pull off a decent performance. He’d been telling himself all day that he needed to be able to do this by himself, and he had.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Dazai added, his voice slightly softer.

Chuuya laughed.

It was true. He could still do well from fourth. Even if he didn’t make the top three, he would have completed a competition less than a year after his injury. He’d been so focused on not repeating his mistakes that he hadn’t realized the steps forward he’d made.

“Chuuya?” Dazai asked.

“You’re right.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And that’s what I want. I want to be a legitimate threat to you, and to everyone. I’ve wanted it bad enough to work my ass off all year, and now I’m here. Right?”

“Exactly,” Dazai said.

“I can improve,” Chuuya said. Dazai started to protest but Chuuya continued, “I can add difficulty to make it harder for you to win. But for now...I’m doing well.” It felt good to say those words.

“Chuuya isn’t so stupid after all,” Dazai said.

“Shut up.” Chuuya sighed. “This is pretty selfish of you, you know. Helping me out so you can beat me later.”

“It wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t think you’d beat me, too,” Dazai said. “And if we’re lucky, we’ll even be teammates at the Olympics!”

“You just want someone you know,” Chuuya muttered.

“As you said, I am a selfish man.” Dazai sounded pleased with himself. “So what do you say, Chuuya? Think you can compete against me? Beat me?”

Chuuya’s lips curled. Dazai was challenging him, and Chuuya didn’t even know what would happen tomorrow. But he knew what he wanted. And now he felt like he could get it. He’d already done what months ago he thought was impossible.

“You’re on.”